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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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Studious IV (Aemond Targaryen x Reader) 18+

You continue reading Aemond's diary. As his true feelings for you become ever more clear, can you decipher your own feelings for him?

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: Aemond in his smut writer era (semi-public sex, p in v sex, tiddy suckin', riding, fingering, oral sex f receiving, bad sex)

Author's Note: So sorry for the delay! But this baby is 11K words, so hopefully that makes up for it! Also, I tried for a long time to format this like the others, but tumblr wouldn't let me post it if I did, so the formatting is a little different here.

Read Part I Here - Read Part II Here - Read Part III Here

My Masterlist

Taglist will be done via reblogs (there are simply too many of you to fit here)

Studious IV

You were never setting foot in the library again.

Not after what you just read. Not when you were sure that the mere memory of it would have you bursting into flames the moment you crossed the threshold.

Good gods, only a few entries ago, Aemond could hardly bring himself to write the word ‘cunt,’ and now this? What in the Seven Hells were his advisors – Grand Maester Orwyle, Lord Jasper Wylde, and Prince Aegon – teaching him?

You weren’t sure whether the odd feeling in your stomach was due to how much you ate – an entire meat pie and five tea cakes, all washed down with a pot and a half of raspberry tea – or what you had just read.

Either way, it was not enough to stop you from glancing about your bedchamber to ensure no one was watching you and then rereading the entry from the beginning.

The 16th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I have just returned from the library. Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that I consult a book on anatomy. Since there was no business of court I was required to attend today, I asked one of the librarians to help me retrieve the title after I finished my training.

I also found a few books Aegon recommended, only after I dismissed the librarian – I did not want him to know that I took those. Or that I even knew what they were. Gossip abounds in the capital, and I do not wish to be the subject of more than I already am.

By the titles alone, I am surprised Mother allows them to remain in the Keep. I likely will not read most of them. Aegon has already traumatised me quite thoroughly. I see no reason to allow him to ruin reading for me, as well. Although one title, ‘A Caution for Young Girls,’ seems innocent enough.

But the books are not why I am writing now, when my usual routine is to write immediately before I retire to bed. I just… I need to commit this to paper before it leaves me entirely.

On my way out of the library, I saw her. My wife – if I die tomorrow or in a hundred years, I shall never tire of calling her that.

She has quickly found the more private areas of the library, it seems. I would never have seen her if I had not been considering going there to read myself.

It must mean something that she did not choose just any of the countless hidden places within the maze of the library, but my favourite – a secluded alcove along the western wall. An indicator of our compatibility, perhaps. Or even a sign from the gods?

Had the books I’d been carrying not been so… unsuitable, I would have asked to join her.

No, I wouldn’t have. That would require far more courage than I can summon when I see her.

I just stared at her, watching her face as she read. From where I stood, I could not see what she was reading. But I could see her, and that was enough.

She is so expressive! I saw her both smile and frown in quick succession, and once, her entire face scrunched in displeasure as if she had just taken a bite of lemon! Gods, how can even such an unpleasant expression be so beautiful?

Perhaps I should not have watched her at all, for the longer I stood there, the further my mind drifted. And then, I heard Aegon’s voice, as clearly as if he were standing beside me.

‘Don’t limit yourself to the bedchamber brother, or even the bed! A wall or a table serves just as well. And there is a certain thrill to knowing you could be discovered…’

Damn him. Why did I ever ask for his assistance? I would have been better off enlisting the help of an actual whore! At least then, the vulgarity would not come from the future King. Damn him to the deepest of the Seven Hells.

But that stupid advice echoed in my mind over and over. And against my will and better judgement, an image began to form. A dream – a waking dream.

Though my feet remained planted on the floor, I imagined setting aside my books and joining her in that alcove. She would look up and smile upon hearing my approach, perhaps even giggle at my attempt at stealth.

I would sit beside her and ask what she was reading. I might even ask her to read to me. But I would not let her read for long.

I would kiss her while she read. Not on her lips but all over her perfect face. Her cheeks, her forehead, on the tip of her nose. All just to distract her, to make her laugh. Only when she made so much noise that I feared discovery would I kiss her lips to quiet her and finally claim my prize.

The kiss would not be like in the Sept, or in her chambers that night. Instead, she would kiss me back and open herself to me. I would kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Until we were both out of breath but still wanting more.

Seeing her like that, with her lips swollen and cheeks flushed… I would not be able to wait until we returned to our chambers. I would lift her onto that very table, books be damned.

Like our wedding night, we would not undress. We would be in too much of a hurry.

But even hurried, I would be gentle. I would take the time to prepare her, as Lord Wylde said I must do every time. Doing so makes the experience more pleasurable for the woman, he says. And Orwyle added that her enjoyment makes it more likely that the coupling will be fruitful.

Gods, I hardly care about that anymore. Of course, I want an heir, or several. But I want her more. I want her to feel as much pleasure as I do. To ‘peak,’ as Wylde and Orwyle put it. Aegon uses other words, but I find them too vulgar.

And in the library, making an heir would be the last thing on my mind. Even finding my own pleasure would be secondary. I would use my fingers to prepare her – perhaps get her to peak once before I even enter her?

Aegon says women can find release much more than men can. According to him, he once made a woman peak ten times in one night. I would be more amenable to believing him if he didn’t also claim he did so five times. But maybe he is right about ‘practising’ increasing stamina. Though he has had years of practice, and I have had only two days…

But in the dream world where I have the courage to approach her at all, and the gall to bed her in the library of all places (can you call it ‘bedding’ if it is not done in an actual bed?), I also have that stamina. And the skill to indeed make her peak with just my fingers.

I do not know what sounds she would make, as she was entirely silent on our wedding night, but I would want her to make them. I would want her to make such noise that I would have no choice but to kiss her to quiet her and keep her from drawing the attention of the rest of the library.

Even when I was buried within her, I would kiss her. With one arm wrapped around her hips to hold her steady as I fucked her so hard the table would shake, and the other hand tangled in her hair so I could kiss her just as hard.

I want to kiss her so badly. When I finally go to her again, that is what I will do first.

Once we had both finished – for I would ensure she peaked again with me inside her – I would kiss her more, softly, until our breathing steadied. Then, we would simply take our seats again, and this time, I would read to her.

By all the Seven, what has become of me? To not only have such thoughts but to revel in them as I do?

You didn’t bother reading the rest of the entry again before clutching the diary to your chest and staring at the bed canopy above you as a thousand questions burned through your mind and set your heart racing.

Had he been thinking about that the day he came to you in the library?

Was it what he intended to do, had you not reacted so poorly to his words?

Were you really wishing that he had?

You turned on your side, cradling his diary as you once did a small stuffed pony, and noticed for the first time that night had fallen – you had spent nearly the entire day reading. For a moment, you considered running to Aemond’s chambers. But when you looked back at the journal, there were still more than a dozen ribbons shut in its pages.

And if you went to him just after reading what you did…

Whatever was becoming of Aemond, no doubt thanks to the men he had asked for help in better bedding you, by reading his diary and the most private thoughts and fantasies contained within, it was becoming of you too. For when your eyes drifted closed, Aemond’s dream of the library became your dream as well.

The next several days of entries were almost identical.

Aemond woke at dawn after a night of dreams filled with you. They were not always of a carnal nature. Sometimes he dreamed simply of holding or kissing you. Once, he dreamed about flying with you atop his dragon. You didn’t know whether the prospect was thrilling or terrifying. Perhaps both.

Each day, he broke his fast, trained, then ate a small meal before joining court.

Before joining you.

When he wrote in the diary after dinner and several hours of studying and ‘practising’ (you still could not determine what that meant), he still remembered every little thing you did. You had never spoken at court – it was not your place to. But he had catalogued your every movement and reaction to the business of the realm. Every raise of your brows, every repressed smile, and every curious tilt of your head.

You thought you were quite proficient at maintaining a regal mask of indifference. Your mother had you practice it on the journey to King’s Landing while she commanded your brothers to shout at you the most outrageous things they could think of (much of which she promptly scolded them for when they were done).

But Aemond saw through the mask. Not only that, but he correctly interpreted every movement you made.

He knew that the twitch of your lip when Lord Bolton made a petition was a sign of your marked distaste for the man. He knew the scrunch of your brow upon the reading of a missive from a Pentosi diplomat was you noticing a contradiction from the previous message and realising the diplomat was lying. And he knew that you stiffened every time he looked at you because you were nervous about what he would say or do.

Aemond knew you. Even then.

And yet you had so dreadfully misunderstood him.

The shame of it was enough to make you set down the diary and call for a bath – a private bath, without any of your maids present even in the adjourning rooms. You gave an excuse that you were exhausted and simply wished to remain alone.

But really?

As part of his study of the anatomy book Orwyle recommended, Aemond had drawn a diagram of what lay between a woman’s legs. And annotated it based on the advice of Lord Wylde and Prince Aegon.

You were curious to see – with the aid of a hand mirror – just how accurate the diagram and annotations were.

You awoke the following morning feeling more refreshed than you had since you came to the palace, from both the welcome break in your courtly duties and the exploration you had conducted in the privacy of your bath. Though you were fairly sure you did not reach a ‘peak,’ as Aemond described it, you felt close to the height of something several times. But each time, you panicked at the intensity of the racing feelings within you and withdrew your hand. Still, those few minutes of pleasure were incredibly relaxing.

And as it was Aemond’s notes that allowed you to discover the feeling that your own clumsy attempts had failed to bring, the prospect that you would – eventually – once more join him in his bed became thrilling beyond reason.

In truth, the only thing that stopped you from rushing across the castle the very moment you emerged from the bath was the unfortunate fact that you were still bleeding, though it was light.

More than that, while your body was more than ready to forgive Aemond, your heart and mind were still hesitant. He had hurt you. He made you cry. Reading his diary helped you understand that it had never been intentional. However, you still needed to understand everything before making a final decision on whether to forgive him and if you could, as Aemond hoped in his note, ‘learn to like’ or even to love him.

So, after breaking your fast, you again settled into the couch and turned to the next green ribbon.

The 23rd day in the 5th moon of the year

Were Aegon not my brother and the heir, I would throw him from the top of the Rookery.

‘A Caution for Young Girls’ is no such thing. It is little more than a manual in promiscuity and sin!

But… damn him. It is quite educational.

Unlike the book Grand Maester Orwyle suggested, it is not focused on the science of anatomy or conception. Rather, it is entirely concerned with the pleasure of women. After all, it is the supposedly true story of a woman’s quest for pleasure.

A Wylde woman, if it is to be believed. I may have to ask Lord Jasper about it. Is this why he’s had such success with his own wives?

But that, and indeed the sinful nature of the book itself, is unimportant. What is important is that it may actually be the key to my learning how to pleasure my wife.

It spoke at length of various methods of using one’s fingers. Crooking the fingers while within seems to be crucial, as is locating a ‘sweet spot’ where her walls feel slightly different. That spot, as well as the ‘pearl’ which lays at the top of her sex, is the epicentre of her pleasure.

And, like the others said, preparation is required. This is where the use of the fingers comes into it – as well as various other methods. For example, the book mentions kissing quite often, and not only on the lips. Or the cheeks. Or even anywhere on the face.

I admit the idea, though it is new to me, is quite appealing. The book mentioned several places where women most like to be kissed. The jaw, the throat, behind the ear, the nape of the neck, the collarbone…

There was a spot of ink, as though Aemond’s pen had been resting on the page without moving for a long moment.

…the breasts, and lower.

I do not understand why. Perhaps it is because of Aegon’s incessant comments about the breasts of every woman in the Keep, save our mother and his wife – would that he would also exclude my wife! – but I find myself thinking about her breasts with startling frequency. I did not get to see them on our wedding night after I foolishly forgot to undress her.

There is a story in the book which… well, I find myself wanting to replicate. One which would provide me ample access to her breasts. But more than that, it carries an intimacy which I crave most of all.

When Lady Coryanne was serving as a handmaid to a warlock in Qarth, she often found herself called to help him ‘relax’ after a long day. On such occasions, she would mount him while he sat at his desk and ‘ride’ him while he buried his face in her breasts.

I… it was easy to imagine my wife and me in a similar, though more loving, position. Likely not at my desk, as I don’t actually use it often. But perhaps, here. On my chair by the hearth, where I read my books and write in this diary before bed.

She would come back – for she would be living here, with me, not across the Holdfast and so far away – after a long day. Maybe she would have been in the gardens, or with Mother, Helaena and the children, or in the library for hours. I would have been stuck away from her all day in meetings, court, or training.

Even apart from her for only a day, I would miss her terribly. As I do every hour I do not see her. And she would miss me too.

When she came in, she would press herself against the door as she locked it, then turn to me with a mischievous grin. I would know what she wanted, but I would not play along. Instead, I’d mutter a greeting and turn back to my book, pretending that my blood was not racing at just the sight of her. For I want her blood to be as heated as mine.

You read the last paragraph again, the realisation finally set in that Aemond was about to narrate another of his fantasies. Fortunately, after his previous entry about the library, you decided to be more cautious and had already dismissed your servants until your afternoon meal. You had suspected that there may be more in the diary that was thoroughly unsuitable for prying eyes.

And, thanks to his diligent notetaking, you knew precisely what to do when the feelings such unsuitable words provoked began to burn through you.

You undoubtedly did not want an audience for that…

I would let her tease me, pretending none of it fazed me. When she brushed her fingers lightly across my shoulders, I would not flinch. When she leaned over me further than she would really need to see what I was reading, but wanting me to see that peek of her breasts nearly spilling out from her dress, I would barely look. And when she pressed a kiss, long and slow, to my neck – gods, would I like that too? – I might even pretend it was an inconvenience.

It would vex her that I did not give her the attention she desperately wanted. Not enough to truly anger her, but only enough to make her pout. So that when she took the book from my hands and dropped it to the floor, then sat atop me in the chair with her thighs straddling mine… I would simply have no choice but to grab her little lip as she stuck it out and push it back into place before kissing her.

I would kiss her in every place the book instructs, taking my time to worship every bit of her. I want to drive her as mad as she does me just by her mere existence.

But I know she would not simply let me tease her. She would return each kiss I gave her and more. Atop me, she would roll her hips slowly, purposefully, as if we were engaged in a dance. I would be able to feel her, hot and wet and as eager as me, but each time I rose to meet her, she would pull away.

Gods, am I really wishing for her to deny me? Perhaps practising as Aegon instructed has conditioned me to crave such delays to my satisfaction.

Either way, I think I would break before she did. She is strong-willed, and with as many brothers as she has, I believe she can be quite patient. So, I would beg. I would apologise for trying to tease her and plead for her forgiveness. And for her to…

She would, I hope, without hesitation. She would rise only long enough for her to remove her smallclothes and for me to do away with my trousers. Then, we would both sit again, together, with me gently guiding her down to mount me – Seven Hells, that makes it sound like I’m a horse.

I’ll be whatever she wants.

Again, and as always, I would give her a moment to adjust and make sure she is comfortable. Orwyle’s book said that with well-endowed partners – which, according to the measurements in the book, I am – women may always need that moment.

But I would be glad to give it to her. For it would allow me to unlace her bodice, and like the warlock from the book, I could bury my face in my beloved’s breasts.

I find it hard to imagine what it would be like, how they would feel. Soft, I think. Warm, as she is. And perhaps, if I pressed close enough, I could hear her heart beating.

When I was fully settled within her, would I hear it beat faster? Or would it slow with contentment, knowing she was safe and loved – oh so dearly loved – within my arms. Perhaps it would be like the stories, and I would hear it skip a beat.

Either way, I would be more than content to just sit there, breathe her in, and let her move at her own pace. We would not need to be fast, as we would in the library. In my own rooms – our rooms – there would be no need for hurry. We could just stay there, entwined, or we could move together.

I think I would prefer it slowly. Not even seeking our releases, really. Just… enjoying each other. Enjoying the connection of our bodies, our minds, and our souls. Knowing that we are one, that the gods have made us one, and that nothing can tear us apart.

Although… I do think her legs would get tired after a while. That is something I should perhaps be worried about. Especially if she did want to move, and fast. To seek release.

If she did, I would help her. The book did not detail how, as Lady Coryanne was a servant at the time, but… I could figure it out. I could move my hips up to meet hers, or even lift her on my own? I think doing so with my hands on her hips would give me the most leverage. Or perhaps her rear?

I am very drawn to the idea of holding her close as we reach our peaks. Of feeling her breath on my skin, being close enough to hear each little noise she makes, and the sensation of her gripping me as tight as she can as she comes. Even the thought of her nails digging into me brings a certain thrill. And if I don’t reach my peak with her – which, I think, is very unlikely – we can always continue. Or move somewhere more comfortable if her legs do get tired.

At this point, I think I am more than ready to practice. Of course, this wasn’t my intention when I started writing, but… yes, I am most definitely ready. And anything else I wanted to write about seems inconsequential now.

You dropped the diary onto your heaving chest, the image Aemond’s words had painted still burning in your mind. Seven Hells, you could practically feel his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you to his chest as you moved together, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered words of praise between desperate kisses.

With a hazy smile, you snuggled further into the couch and beneath your blanket. As exhilarating as the descriptions of his desires were, what truly warmed your heart was the way he wrote about you, the two of you together.

The connection of your souls as one? It was exactly what you’d dreamed of when first told of your betrothal. Aemond was what you dreamed of.

Why did he have to stop writing? What in the name of the Seven was he practising that was more important than that?

Frustrated and with your pleasure now truly over, you closed the diary and turned on your side, resigned to simply stewing in your own thoughts for the few hours left until your maids returned.

After a light, solitary afternoon meal, you again dismissed your maids. By this point, they were more than a little suspicious about the titleless book you were reading. But, you insisted that you simply wanted to be alone, for your moon’s blood still plagued you. It wasn’t entirely a lie. You did still have some cramping and a slight headache.

In truth, it was because you knew what would happen in just a few entries – your second night together.

It surely wouldn’t be as thrilling as some of his other fantasies. You knew that firsthand. But after learning what Aemond felt for you, you were desperate to know his side of that night.

So desperate, in fact, that you barely skimmed the following two entries in your haste to reach it. Both primarily had to do with whatever smut he had read in A Caution for Young Girls. The first was a rather exhaustive list of all the ways he wanted to kiss you – and there were far more ways than you were previously aware of.

The second caused your most intense blushing yet, for it was near treasonous! After reading another story of Coryanne Wylde ‘riding’ a man, he fantasised about you riding him while he sat on the Iron Throne. It was an intriguing idea, but it seemed a little too hazardous to tempt you.

Finally, you reached what you had been waiting for.

The 26th day in the 5th moon of the year.

I had hoped not to make an entry today – for I had every intention of spending tonight in my wife’s chambers. But she is there, and tragically, I am here.

Tonight was almost worse than our wedding night.

When I saw her watching me in the training yard today, I thought… she was almost smiling – at me! She had no obligation to be there, and yet she was! She sought me out! She wanted to see me!

I had to bite back a cry of joy and relief. I immediately abandoned the rest of my training, nearly impaling the poor squire with my sword for how hard I threw it at him, so I could rush to the ramparts and greet her.

But when I got there, she was gone. I asked a few of the other lords and ladies that were there, but no one knew where she went. Even after speaking to her, however briefly, I still do not understand why she left.

You felt your cheeks flush with shame. Aemond hadn’t grimaced at you that day – quite the opposite. He had been so excited to see you there, and as usual, you had misinterpreted his reaction.

Or, based on how frequently these misunderstandings occurred, perhaps his expressions were merely indecipherable to normal people. Or, more likely, maybe just to you.

You set his diary down, careful to use one of your discarded ribbons to mark your place, and picked up your own. By this point, you had filled several pages with your reactions to Aemond’s writing – some of it sincere, some bordering on humour.

Yet you had no words to express how sorry you were that you had so thoroughly misjudged him. So you wrote nothing and just kept reading.

When I went to her chambers to check on her, I encountered one of her maids, who told me she had retired early with a headache and would not be joining the family for dinner.

Perhaps I should have gone into her chambers then and asked what was wrong. I knew – or at least suspected – that the headache was a lie. An excuse to allow her privacy. I often do the same, citing my scar. Which, as I told her, is not always a lie.

But if I had gone to her, as I wished. I would not have known what to say. Ask her why she ran from the training yard without speaking to me? Or why she wanted to avoid me and the family? Tell her I’m sorry for the disappointment of our wedding night? Ask Beg for a second chance?

I could not do it. I was tired from training and admittedly still somewhat discombobulated from realising she had been watching me. Though I did make it to her door, I merely touched the handle for a moment before retiring to my own chambers.

Now, after yet another disastrous visit… I should have gone to her earlier. I should have trusted my instincts (as Aegon often encourages me to do) instead of allowing my mind to think itself into an inescapable hole.

As I bathed and redressed, and even while attending court and dinner, I could not stop thinking about her. Agonising over what I may have done to make her flee from me?

I never even considered that she may actually have a headache until I was again at her door after dinner. The fear that I was disturbing her, perhaps making her pain worse, was nearly enough to make me turn and flee.

But then, her voice came, soft and light and so enticing. Of course, I somehow managed to answer idiotically when she asked who it was. Though she lessened the sting of embarrassment with a small joke. She is so achingly clever!

I asked her how she was, and her answer made it evident that the headache was a ruse. I am trying not to be too proud that my deduction was correct. She is not used to lying, nor is she good at it. And it is yet another thing I admire about her.

For hours, I planned what I would say to her. It was eloquent and thoughtful – practically poetry.

The tail of the last ‘y’ extended nearly an inch, and you imagined Aemond just staring at the page, consumed by his thoughts for a moment.

But her room looked different tonight. She finally unpacked.

There is a large tapestry above her hearth depicting her home keep, the field below filled with vibrant pink flowers with bright yellow centres. The same flowers appear nearly everywhere. On framed examples of embroidery, on her curtains, pillows, and even the blanket strewn over the back of her couch.

I must find out what they are, for they are clearly very important to her.

You looked up from the diary, glancing about your room. Indeed, you had not realised how many dog roses decorated your possessions. It was no wonder he guessed they were your favourite.

‘I was quite impressed when you brought me my favourite flower,’ you wrote in your diary. ‘I thought you had somehow read my thoughts. I suppose I made it easy for you.’

She also has a large bookcase in her sitting room, which was specifically requested when her father sent word accepting the betrothal. Since the last time I was in her chambers, she has begun to fill the shelves with books and trinkets. I spotted a small silver bell, a wooden box carved with various birds, and a little glass flower. It was not the same flower that is so prevalent elsewhere in her chambers (this one was a pale purple rather than pink), but still quite pretty.

While pondering that flower, I returned to the couch to compare it to the pink flower on her blanket and saw what she had been reading – “The Last Dragonlords,” my first, and still favourite, history of my house. It is not a particularly rigorous academic work, but I prefer it for the sense of wonder it has for the story of my ancestors.

If, at that point, I remembered any of what I wanted to say to her, the sight of that book, and the knowledge that she was somehow reading my favourite… I lost all words. I fear I fell silent for an uncomfortably long time, for she spoke next.

She wanted to know the reason for my visit. I asked her directly about the ruse of her headache. She seemed nervous, so I told her I do the same and that I often experience lingering pain. I was tempted to remove my patch and show her, but… she was already quite nervous. I did not want to make her more so, or frighten her so thoroughly that she will never warm to me.

What lay beneath his eyepatch that would frighten you so? You had heard many rumours. That his lost eye was nothing more than a pit of darkness. That he had replaced it with a jewel. That an ever-burning fire, fueled by his hatred and rage, burned within.

Despite the stories, you felt a twinge of shame and hurt that, despite his love for you, he did not trust you with seeing him truly bare. He thought you could be frightened away.

Somehow, that shame far overshadowed any curiosity or fear about what lay beneath the brown leather of his eyepatch.

I could already tell it wasn’t going to go how I wanted – she would not meet my eye. So, I offered to leave. I would not impose myself on her when she did not want me to. That is not how I want to start this. Or, start it again.

But she did want me to go! At least, that is what I thought she meant. I am not so sure anymore. She said something about my right to be there as her husband. At the time, I thought it was her shy way of asking me to stay. Now… I think she may have just been repeating something her mother or a Septa taught her.

There was another small patch of angry scribbles.

I’m so stupid! And hardly better than Aegon. No – she may not have been particularly enthusiastic, but I am sure if she genuinely did not want me there, she would have said so. And I would have obeyed. After all, she was quick to ask me to stop some of the other things I tried to do.

She did not like the kissing.

When I first mentioned that I would like to lie with her – which I foolishly reasoned was out of my desire for an heir instead of my desire for her – she simply laid on the bed like on our wedding night. But that is not what I want. I do not want this to simply be a union of duty! At least, not anymore. And I so wanted to kiss her.

So, I beckoned her to me, and she obeyed. My hopes that this would be different were still relatively high. I got closer, touched her face, and asked if I could kiss her.

And she asked, ‘Why?’

I swear that one little word hurt more than any pain I’ve felt in the training yard. Almost more than… well, not quite more than that. But close.

I could not think of any reason other than that she is my wife, and I love her and want more than anything to kiss her. I only told her the former and the latter, for I think if I told her I loved her, she would have been more afraid than if she had seen me without my patch. And the gods must be good, for she said yes.

Then I kissed her. I held her close, and I kissed her.

It was the most wonderful thing! She was soft and warm. And when I laced my hand through her hair, she made the most delightful sound! I could have just kissed her forever.

But then it was over. She shouted and pushed me away. It was… it was just after I tried to use my tongue. I don’t think she liked it.

She asked me why I ‘needed’ to kiss her. She must have disliked it very much.

I had no other explanation than what I had already offered. At least, none that I could tell her without sending her running from me forever. So I stopped and told her I did not need it – the first lie I’ve ever told her.

When she moved back to the bed, I could not help myself. I could not let us be in a marriage where we lie together out of nothing more than duty, fully clothed and anxious to get it over with. It was foolish, and I probably scared her with the request, but I asked her to remove her nightgown. She had already taken off her robe – a massive thing in her house colours that practically drowns her.

You allowed a brief kernel of anger to spark within you, enough for you to pick up your pen and write him another little message in your diary.

‘That robe is dear to me, thank you very much. What is it that makes you hate it so?’

There is nothing more beautiful in the world than her. She puts even the Maiden to shame. I would have been happy to stare at her, to take in that beauty until I had my fill – if I would ever get my fill.

She got on the bed and positioned herself exactly how she was on our wedding night. Not quite how I pictured it, but considering her hesitancy, I did not want to push her.

It took all my control to stop myself from kissing her again when I undressed and joined her. But I did. I also resisted doing anything more than just looking at her breasts.

I sat between her legs and stared at her. While I was more than ready to begin, she was not. At all. Of course, I knew I would have to prepare her, but I hoped she would have had at least some desire for me already.

I started with gentle touches, drawing circles on her thighs. She shivered a bit when I began, but she didn’t ask me to stop. From where I was sitting, I could tell she enjoyed it, even if she didn’t understand it. She did ask me to explain, and my answer was probably lacking – how does one explain why he was so inadequate? – but she gave a small nod when I promised that tonight would be better.

Then I finally touched her where I really wanted to and was delighted to find her… well, not as wet as I’d hoped, but it was an improvement upon our wedding night! I ran my fingers over her entrance, hoping to coax more wetness from her before I truly began. And when I looked at her again to ensure I wasn’t hurting her, she smiled at me!

Encouraged, I kept my fingers at her entrance, not venturing inside yet, but continuing my preparations there while I began to seek her pearl. As the books said, I only had to draw a straight line upward from her entrance to find it.

And, oh, when I found it! Her eyes snapped shut, her back arched off the bed, and the most glorious whine escaped her! It was everything I had imagined and more. Gods, I think I could have peaked just from watching her as I circled her pearl again and again, faster and faster.

But then, she asked me to stop – begged me to.

I thought I must have done something wrong, but she shook her head when I asked if it hurt. And when I asked if it felt good, she would not answer. She merely requested that I get on with what I needed to do and leave, for she was tired. This wound cut even deeper than before with the kissing.

I wanted to prepare her more – I was going to use my mouth on her. To show her how dearly I wish to please her, how much I want to worship and love her, if only she’d let me.

In anticipation of that act, I have been consulting Coryanne Wylde’s various accounts and expert critiques of the act in order to form the perfect strategy.

To begin, I would undress her, as I planned to do on our wedding night, laying gentle, nearly chaste kisses on each new bit of skin I revealed. Once she was bare, I would kiss her. Deeply. To give her a taste of what is to come. Then, I would kiss my way down. Her jaw, her throat, her collarbone, her breasts, and the plane of her stomach.

Once I made it past her navel, I would take her leg in my hand and begin a new trail of kisses upwards. The book says to start at the ankle, but I am too impatient for that – I will begin at the knee instead.

Just when she thought I was finally about to give her what she craved more than anything, I would once again change course to kiss her lips one final time. Then, I would descend.

I would start slowly, experimenting with different tactics to determine what drives her deliciously mad. Once I knew, I would feast. I would devour her like her pleasure was the air I needed to breathe. Like her cries of pleasure were beautiful music, and I would die if it ever stopped.

I would bring her to peak once with my mouth on her entrance. Again on her pearl. Then again and again in whichever way made her scream the loudest.

Only when she was so drunk with pleasure that she could no longer rise to meet my mouth or grasp at my hair would I relent. I would make my way back up to her mouth and soothe her with gentle kisses until she had regained herself and was begging for me to finally fuck her.

But I didn’t get to do any of that.

She asked me to stop, so I did. I pumped myself a little to ensure the disappointment hadn’t rendered me incapable of performing my duty and entered her.

The preparation did help. Entering her was easier, and she did not wince as much as the first time. And she felt even more heavenly somehow. The feeling was so intense that I had to take a moment to remind myself that she only wanted me to finish quickly so she would not have to endure me any longer.

So, I fucked her. I did not make love to her, as is my true desire. I just fucked her, like she was just any woman and not the love of my life.

And then, a miracle! I thrust into her, something about the angle allowing me in quite deep, and she reacted. She gasped, breathless, and her hips snapped up to meet mine. I froze in surprise and elation. I found her ‘sweet spot!’

But when I smiled at her, she turned away and refused to look at me again.

I just kept going. I did not try to hit that spot again, so as to not upset her further. I finished as quickly as I could and left the bed.

It was stupid of me, but I turned back to her after dressing. Everything had gone so horribly, but I still love her. I still need her. So I could not just leave her like that.

I asked if I could kiss her again. She let me. I was quick, as promised.

Then I came back here, once again alone and no closer to earning her love than I was before.

I must meet with my advisors again tomorrow. Perhaps they can help me understand why I keep fucking this up so badly when all I want is for her to let me love her the way I want to and for her to love me in return.

Your heart ached so severely that you thought there might be bruises when you looked down at your chest. But there was just skin – skin that Aemond would have happily kissed, had you let him.

As horrible and confusing as that night had been for you, it had been so tenfold for Aemond. He had wanted a grand, romantic evening, and you had greeted him with only coldness and suspicion.

He called you ‘the love of his life.’ You ran your finger over those words so many times that they became smudged, then went to write something in your diary but halted with your pen hovering over the paper.

What could you write to match what he’d said about you? Even if you could, would it really be true? How many times could you say, ‘I’m sorry?’

Well, at least one more time. ‘I’m so sorry, Aemond,’ you wrote, ‘I didn’t know, and I was still scared. Not of you, but of what I thought my life was to be. If you had only told me… I do not blame you, I swear. I just wish the both of us had been more honest with each other.’

You were far too exhausted to continue. It was not yet midafternoon, and you had already been from the near-heights of carnal pleasure to the depths of your despair that the unfortunate state of your marriage was, in actuality, mostly your fault.

So, after setting Aemond’s diary aside, you picked up your embroidery basket and began to work while your mind wandered.

It was only when your maids arrived to bring you dinner that you realised that, somehow, the dog roses you intended to make had become a sprawling wisteria vine.

You dreamed of the castle garden in late spring when all the flowers were in bloom. As you walked down the garden path, you saw every colour imaginable amongst the vibrant greens. But there was only one flower you really wanted to see – and the man you knew would be waiting for you beneath them.

Just as the first purple tendrils came into view, the dream faded, and you woke to see the first hints of dawn still beneath the horizon.

Drawing your blankets over your head, you squeezed your eyes shut and stubbornly tried to fall back asleep and return to your dream – to no avail. You were well and truly awake. And it would be some time before your maids came to dress you for the day.

So, dragging the blanket from your bed with you, you trudged back into your solar and settled into the couch before picking up Aemond’s diary again.

The 27th day in the 5th moon of the year

I met with Lord Wylde, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Aegon this morning. They had advice, but it was not as… straightforward as I had hoped. There is no simple trick to get her to love me. Nothing I can study from a book and then implement with assured success.

I have to woo her. I have to be witty and pleasant and charming and… romantic.

I do not think this is going to work.

Especially not after my first attempt was so disastrous.

Lord Wylde asked that I tell him about her, so I did. When he learned she enjoys reading as much as I do, he suggested I try to find common ground there. So, I went to try and find her in the library.

She was exactly where she was the last time I saw her there, still reading “The Last Dragonlords.” I watched her for a moment, savouring the look of contentment on her face as she read, as well as a few quick reactions to the book. How I love it when her nose scrunches in displeasure!

‘That is quite the odd thing to fixate on,’ you wrote in your diary. It seemed a decent night’s sleep had helped recover some of your humour. ‘What is it, in particular, that you like about my scrunched nose?’

She did smile at me when I approached, but I think she thought I was a Maester, for her smile faltered when I greeted her. And she was so shy. Usually, when I struggle to find the right words, she breaks the silence. Today, she did not.

At least it gave me time to remember why I came to the library. She was still reading “The Last Dragonlords,” so I told her it was my favourite and asked if I could join her. I think she was somewhat embarrassed about reading a children’s book, but I assured her it was no matter and that I would nonetheless enjoy reading it with her, and she allowed me to sit with her.

My plan was to sit with her, discuss the histories, and perhaps, in time, hold her hand as a first step toward genuine affection. But the plan quickly went awry.

It all happened so fast that I don’t even remember exactly what I said. But somehow, I insinuated that she was not intelligent enough to understand the book. The book meant for children – young children.

She was very upset with me. Rightfully so! Still upset enough that she stormed out of the library after making several cutting remarks that proved that she is, in fact, quite intelligent.

After several minutes and a brief reprimand from one of the Maesters, I finally gathered myself enough to realise that she had left the book there. As well as several pages of notes.

Of course, the noble thing would have been to not look and ask a servant to return them to her. But in that moment, I was desperate, not noble. So, I looked.

Her notes were beautifully organised and remarkably thorough – the work of a true scholar! She even crafted a beautiful family tree all the way through Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters. Had I not fumbled our initial interaction so entirely, we would have had a wonderful discussion.

You had feared him finding the notes, but you had never considered that he would be impressed rather than arrogantly amused. It made sense now that you knew his true nature. Perhaps, once whatever was between you was resolved, you could have that discussion.

In all honesty, there were a few questions you had that you hoped he would be able to answer. Not least of which being why in more than a thousand years, Targaryens had only come up with a dozen names that they repeated over and over again. You wrote as much in your diary.

It was useless for me to sulk in the library, agonising over what I should have said, so I gathered the book and her notes and left the library.

An apology was more than necessary, so I went to Aegon’s rooms. After all, there is perhaps no one with more experience apologising to women. Even if his apologies are self-serving.

When I arrived, I found Mother had already found Aegon first, and was well into another tirade about his behaviour. Normally, I would be happy to watch Mother yelling at him, but I did not feel I had time to. And Aegon was glad that I granted him a reprieve.

Admittedly, I had not wanted to admit to Mother that my wife and I were… not as close as I wanted. But, as she always is, she was eminently understanding, and far more helpful than Aegon was. His only suggestion was to bring her something nice – jewels, silks, or the like.

On the other hand, Mother gave me sage advice on what to say when I go to her. As my words have been my primary point of failure, I was very grateful for this. She did also say that a gift would not be amiss. An ‘offering of peace,’ she called it. But she advised something personal, not luxurious. If the gift is too valuable, she says, it will seem as if I am trying to buy her forgiveness rather than earn it.

I knew immediately what I should get her. I thanked Mother (and Aegon) and left at once for the gardens.

I found them – the flowers she loves so dearly. Dog roses, they are called. Unfortunately, they do not grow well in our climate, but the Maester’s managed to coax a few to bloom with their various potions and other horticultural creations.

They are almost as beautiful as her.

The Maester I spoke to said that it would be best if I had them cut just before I brought them to her, to preserve their beauty. So that is what I will do.

I will not practice tonight. At least… not that kind of practice. Instead, I will rehearse my apology. I cannot fail tomorrow.

You winced slightly, knowing that the next day would not go as Aemond planned and feeling as though it was your fault. But there was no changing that now. And you had already apologised – often and profusely.

So, you wrote only a simple note: ‘I don��t recall seeing dog roses on our tour of the gardens. Did you pluck them all?’

Looking back at his diary, you took a deep, steadying breath. Only two ribbons left.

The 28th day in the 5th moon of the year

I am the stupidest, most idiotic man in all the seven fucking kingdoms.

All I was trying to do was apologise to her for my unkind – though unintentionally so! – words in the library, but somehow it ended with her crying and me fleeing from her chambers yet again.

You cringed at the memory, almost not wanting to read on.

Aegon gladly offered his explanation, even after I told him I did not want it. He insists that I have so thoroughly repulsed her that she cannot help but burst into tears at the sight of me.

Mother thinks that she is just missing her family and her home, as she said. That she is overwhelmed by being alone in a strange place, and the familiar sight of the flowers – dog roses, as I have learned – brought those feelings to bursting.

Perhaps Mother is right. But her parents left a fortnight ago, and she has shown no other signs of homesickness. And she is not alone! She has the other ladies of the court to talk to, and Helaena and Mother adore her. And me.

If she came to me, I would do anything to cheer her. Not that she would seek comfort from me, no matter how dearly I wish she would. She certainly won’t after today.

After the disaster in the library yesterday and the scolding I received from Grand Maester Orwyle after my training this morning, I knew beyond a doubt that I needed to apologise. I… the shame I feel for having played any part in the state Orwyle described her in is unbearable.

So, I went to the gardens and had a Maester cut the flowers for me and arrange them in a simple bouquet.

She was on her couch when I arrived in her rooms – still in her nightgown and that robe. And again, she did not look at me. She had eyes only for the flowers. I thought then that they had been the right choice.

I apologised, but she did not react. She still just stared at the bouquet. So, I went ahead with the rest of my apology.

Then she touched my hand. It startled me, and I pulled away from her on instinct, dropping the bouquet in her lap. She looked at them like I had dropped a helpless kitten rather than flowers!

And she started crying. Softly, the tears welling in her eyes for a long moment before spilling over. I do not understand what I did to upset her. I said only what I had planned last night. It was so hard to resist brushing the tears away, but she seemed nearly volatile, and I did not want to make things worse.

‘I miss home,’ she said, finally.

It did sting that she does not consider King’s Landing and her life with me her home – it still does. But she is hundreds of miles away from the family of her birth, from the people who have undoubtedly treated her better than I have. I cannot blame her.

I apologised again for upsetting her and left.

At dinner, I had planned to ask Mother and Grandsire if we could find a way to send her home, at least for a little while. So she could be happy. Perhaps I could even go with her. I might have an easier time talking to her without the pressures of my family and the capital upon me.

You smiled at the thought of Aemond at your home keep. Of him in all his black leather among the fields of dog roses. Talking with your father in the library. Him training with your brothers – you were confident he could defeat any one of them alone, but knowing your brothers, they would absolutely gang up on him.

‘One day,’ you wrote, ‘I would love to show you my home.’

I was waiting for the opportunity to ask when she arrived! After this afternoon, I did not think she would come to dinner, but she did! I could have wept for my relief.

And when I offered my hand to her, she took it. Not only that, but she squeezed it – hard. I think believe it was her way of accepting my apology.

She did not speak during dinner, nor did anyone ask her too many questions. Aegon was his typically infuriating self, silently encouraging me to do something with her. What he expects me to do when in front of the entire family, I do not know.

After the meal, I offered to escort her back to her chambers, which she accepted. And once we were alone, she thanked me for the flowers!

It was going unusually well. That is, until I decided to open my mouth. I only meant to compliment her, as she did look quite beautiful, but… I just kept talking. And then I had suddenly insulted her gown from yesterday and her robe.

She closed herself off from me then, shoving away my arm. Why could I not just shut up? I know my words are the source of so many of our misunderstandings, yet I keep talking! At this point, I am strongly considering a vow of silence.

‘Please don’t take a vow of silence!’ you wrote, scrambling for your diary as if it mattered how quickly you got the words down. ‘Your voice is far too lovely for me to never hear it again.’

Tomorrow, I am going to try a suggestion from Lord Wylde. Show her that I am not a failure in everything I do. I pray it works.

You turned the page, expecting to find the entry for the next day, but there was none. There had been a page between the entries for the 28th and the 30th, but it had been sloppily torn out. All that remained was the beginnings of the date in the upper corner.

It was entirely against what you knew of Aemond. The man who had dutifully started his journal on the first day of the year and began each entry on a new page would not do something like this.

What had upset him so? Had you said something to him?

No, of course not. The only time you had seen him that day was in the training yard, and you hadn’t spoken to each other, not after… not after he stormed off. Had he actually been hurt in his fight with the Kingsguard? Or was he just embarrassed that you had witnessed him fall?

Gods, how you wished you had gone to him that night. But perhaps you could make up for it now.

‘After you were absent for dinner,’ you wrote to him in your diary, ‘I almost came to your rooms. I was worried for you. Though I confess, that was the only reason I found myself walking toward you… I missed you, at dinner. I missed you helping me into my chair. I missed your smile. I missed the way you’d hold the plates for me. Most of all, I missed your voice, and your presence next to me.’

You sniffled slightly, staring at a lamp on your wall to dry the tears that were forming before finishing the entry, ‘I’ve missed you these past days, as well. But I’m almost done. I’ll see you soon.’

The 30th day in the 5th moon of the year

I have made my gravest sin yet. And my most foolish.

We had the perfect morning together in the gardens. Silent, mostly, but perfect. She smiled at me! She allowed me to lead her through the gardens on my arm. It was… precisely what I had hoped for.

Until I once again acted like an absolute fucking fool.

Before I had to leave for court, I asked if I could come to her rooms that night. And for one perfect moment, I really believed she was going to say yes.

But then she mentioned her moon’s blood, and I just… panicked. I am not entirely an idiot (though I become less sure of that declaration with each passing moment), I know what that means.

It means that I’ve failed her. In even more ways than I knew.

I have made her miserable. I have made her cry. I have failed in every duty of a good husband, including the most basic of tasks – I have not given her a child.

I cannot go on like this – trapped in an endless cycle of misery where I can do nothing but hurt the both of us. I must do something to free us from this.

It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t love or even like me. I just want her to be happy. If that means that I never get to see her or love her again, I will make myself accept that.

First, she needs to know why I’ve acted this way. To know my true feelings so she can decide what she wants me to do. Gods, if she wanted me to go to Essos and never return, I would.

A blot of ink covered half the page, as though he had simply set his pen down while he thought.

I know what to do. I just pray she understands.

“I understand,” you said aloud, as though Aemond were before you. But, of course, he wasn’t. He was halfway across the castle, a distance that suddenly felt like the Narrow Sea itself. Throwing down your blanket, you shouted for your maids to dress you at once, your morning meal be damned. The moment finished tying off the last lace of your gown, you ran.

You had only been shown where Aemond’s chambers were once – on your first tour of the Holdfast. Then, you did not know whether to be disappointed or thankful that they were far from yours. Now, as your nervousness flooded through every part of your body, you hated the distance more than anything.

Each step was an effort, as with every one, your legs felt heavier and heavier, as if they were made of iron. Your blood felt as though it was rushing dangerously fast, carrying with it a marked chill. Despite feeling frozen within, sweat still somehow beaded at your brow. Yet you could not wipe it away, for your hands were all but stitched to the two diaries you carried.

Was this a terrible idea? Would Aemond laugh at you for all your silly little notes? Would he be angry with you for taking days to fulfil his request? You came to a halt in the middle of the corridor, tears prickling in your eyes as you considered so many horrible possibilities.

No, you thought, the word echoed by the impact of your foot on stone as you took a heavy, sure step forward.

The Aemond you thought you knew would do those things. But that Aemond wasn’t real – and never was. He had only ever lived in your terrified imagination.

The real Aemond was the one who had been so awestruck upon first seeing you that he could not say anything other than your name. Who had fallen for you so quickly and with such intensity that he forgot how to act like a proper person and instead stumbled over his words and actions like a drunk man through a crowded alley. Who had been so desperate for you to return his affections that he swallowed his pride to seek help. And who had finally given you his diary when he could think of no other way to show you how he really felt and who he truly was.

It was the thought of finally meeting that Aemond that made you put one foot in front of the other, faster and faster, until you were sprinting down the halls, only stopping when you came to the door you had seen only once before – his door.

You did not understand how you had found it again after only seeing it only once before. Nor did you remember knocking on the smooth, dark wood.

But then you heard footsteps approaching.

Hastily, you transferred the diaries to one hand and wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of the other. You wanted to straighten your hair, for it had surely come loose from its braid after running so fast. But there was no time for that.

There was the dull, metallic sound of the door being unlatched, and then there he was.

Aemond stood before you, breathing heavily himself as though he, too, had been running. His silver hair was mussed, and there were smudges of purple beneath his widened eyes – his eyes.

He was not wearing his eyepatch.

Your mouth fell open at the sight. At least one of the rumours had been true. Beneath the raised, rough skin of his scar, in place of his lost eye, was a brilliant blue sapphire. It suited him perfectly and was perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

He looked at you for a moment, the corners of his mouth lifting in a hesitant smile before realising what had caught your attention so thoroughly.

“Oh gods,” he whispered, covering the sapphire with his hands and turning away. He took a few steps into the room before speaking again. “I did not mean for you to see this. I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Please…”

You said nothing. Silently, you moved into the room and shut the door. Aemond stared at you, his good eye watering as you approached him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said again. “You should not have had to – ” He startled when you brought your free hand up to his wrist and started trying to tug his hand away from his face. “What are you…?”

When your only response was to continue tugging, he relented, allowing you to lower his hand. He swallowed thickly, fixing his good eye on the wall behind you instead of at you. Seeing his shyness, and now knowing it for what it was, almost made you smile.

But your own shyness took hold of you as you guided his hand down and wrapped it around the spines of the twin journals you held. When you looked back up at Aemond, he was staring at them and the green ribbon that now marked a page within your diary.

“I don’t understand,” he breathed, tightening his hold on the books.

With a slight smirk, you gazed up at him and dropped your hand from the diaries. “It’s your turn.”

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ukelele-boy · 1 month

Text

I was rereading some of my posts from 2021 and was reminded of how much meta I used to write so imma share my crazy headcanon/ theory which i thought up as plot for a revolution fic:

RR verse is on the "Olympus will fall" timeline and Zeus' actions are speeding it up.

In the recent decade there has been several great prophecies back to back. And people have remarked how weird it is that there have been so many. What if the reason is because of Zeus?

Remember, in greek mythology there is a major theme of how Your Fate Cannot Be Defied. And Zeus, king of Olympus, has a major Fate: being overthrown. However he managed to "defy" it by eating Metis.

My idea is that he has been forcefully clawing out a future where he is still king of Olympus. By doing this, he is literally changing the flow of fate. And obviously fate wants to correct itself, so the harder he fights it, the more counterforce he triggers. All prophecies meant to lead to his overthrowing are suddenly sped up. Olympus begins to lose power. Zeus is aware of this. He is also aware how people are becoming suspicious. And he needs a scapegoat. And who better than the god of prophecy who is also a threat to the throne?

Apollo mentions that Zeus blamed him for his oracle revealing a prophecy "too early" and therefore causing it to happen early. However, everyone knows it's not possible to actually cause a prophecy to happen early...so why would Zeus even have this weird line of thought? everyone probably dismissed it as Zeus being irrational, but there a juicier theory this ties into:

Apollo being the one to overthrow Zeus.

The idea of "fall of the sun, the final verse". What if this is the final prophecy that is meant to happen before Zeus is overthrown? And what if the fall this speaks of is actually when Apollo fell close to chaos? When he pulled himself together there?

What if he reformed different from his original godly form. He was literally almost gone, his body was disintegrating. Maybe he pulled himself together using the energies of chaos. Apollo himself isn't aware of this, due to a suspicious memory gap between him clawing up from the cliff and him waking up next to Artemis.

And this adds to another headcanon of mine, the fates choose Apollo to be the god of prophecy on purpose. At first glance, this is a horrible match. If they wanted a good servant, why would they choose someone so closely tied to his heart and so likely to fight fate? Someone who dares get them drunk just to extend a human's lifespan? UNLESS... they WANT him to eventually try and defy fate??

Imagine if fate was a compass and Zeus had forcefully wrenched the needle point at a bleak dark future where Olympus falls with him. And this river direction has been set so deeply in stone and run on for so long, it has worn a grove and become the mostly likely future.

you need someone willing to fight, someone to wrench the needle out. SOMEONE FAMILAR WITH FATE AND Prophecy. Someone who has the power to fight it and win. Someone who has the will. Perhaps a baby god who was willing to fight Python, and who would have likely died there. But if he successfully did take on the powers of prophecy, one day that same godling would fight Python again, would absorb the powers of chaos to recreate himself.

Perhaps not today and maybe not even for the next four thousand years

but one day that godling would stare down at that wretched compass hand and decide to yank the flow out of its place. And maybe, that godling means a chance for Olympus to have a different future.

Anyways that's my crazy theory i hope it wasn't too confusing. It also links up with my other story theme idea about fate, hope and apollo blah blah blah, which i rambled about in a different post.

Edit: just remembered my other crazy thought, what if ZEUS PURPOSEFULLY TRIED TO GET RID OF APOLLO NOT ONLY CAUSE HE IS A THREAT TO THE THRONE BUT ALSO BECAUSE AS THE GOD OF PROPHECY HE IS MOST LIKELY TO REALIZE SOMETHING IS WRONG AND THAT ZEUS IS MESSING WITH FATE?!???? Basically pulling a imma say you're the murderer before u realise im the murderer. (i cant remember the actual saying Lmaoo)

#mine #lester papadopoulos #trials of apollo #pjo apollo #Crazy theory time #I like my theories full of spice and theme or whatever #Meta #Zeus #percy jackson and the olympians

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m00nc4kes · 8 months

Text

Call Me?

hobie brown x black! reader

words: 1.4k

rating: gen

summary: You find an old note with a number written on it.

warnings: none :). reader is gender neutral and black (even if its not mentioned)

You held the small piece of paper in your hand as your eyes traced a string of numbers you’d long forgotten about. You had come across the note by a complete stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune from how your heart had yet to resume beating.

Unpacking boxes in your new apartment had been a long and grueling process that made you determined to not stop and reminisce. Even so, your box of high school memorabilia enticed you, making you grab your boxcutter and glide the blade along the taped edges. Ironically, you had triple-taped the box shut to prevent yourself from getting distracted. Alas, it couldn’t be helped.

You flipped through your old yearbook, taking in faces you hadn’t seen in nearly a decade. You knew that some people in your class never had the chance to have their picture in the book due to missed deadlines or having an inability to sit still and smile at the camera (a vague voice reminded you in the back of your mind).

You continued to take things out of the box like old assignments, flyers, and notebooks. What you hadn’t expected was a piece of paper to slip out of your previously cherished music notebook. When you picked up the note, your heart hit a wall and you swore you would never recover.

You reread the messy ink that was scrawled onto the paper:

Call me? ;)

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

-Hobie

Hobie.

Flashes of a boy with a lopsided grin entered your mind. You don’t know how you could’ve forgotten about the boy who captured your heart by sliding a simple note to you. Years spent together roaming the same crowded halls, sneaking into concerts, and making music together all started with that note. This note.

No, you were sure you never completely forgot about him. Your first love would always linger in the bright part of your subconscious. It was just that— life moved on.

Yet, you held memories of that boy close to your soul as painful as it was to remember them. So in reality, you knew you never forgot about him, you simply avoided thinking about him until it became second nature. Until you couldn’t deny his existence with concrete proof— with the note in your hand.

You would never forget how you two had bonded through a common love and appreciation for music. He was your first in so many areas and was someone you had commonly thanked the stars for.

Hobie. Hobie Brown.

He made you feel alive after your mother’s sudden death and your father’s sudden emotional reservation. You couldn’t possibly remember being a teenager without remembering Hobie.

Nights spent sneaking on the landline and typing in the number you had known by heart to talk to your boyfriend. Oh, how your father despised catching you twirling your finger along the phone cord in the late hours of the night. He would always say that his child didn’t need to be hanging around some punk teen who had no direction in life. Though, there was nothing he could do. You loved Hobie.

So when your dad suddenly dropped the news that you two would be leaving the city to be with family on the opposite side of the country, you lost your mind. But all your screams and cries and pleads didn’t do anything to stop it.

Hobie would stay in the city with hopes of making it big, while you would finish your last year of high school in a random town no one’s ever heard of. So, you made the reckless decision to cut your relationship off.

You were seventeen and doomed to believe that your world was ending and you didn’t want to drag Hobie down with you.

You remembered that last day, how could you ever forget? Watching Hobie’s heartbroken face as your dad drove you two away, never to be heard from again.

It was a lifetime ago. You supposed, that was the end of it. An end to a chapter, never to be opened or read again.

Yet, here you were, nearly 8 years later, with this note. With this number.

Before you could stop yourself, your eyes flicked over to your phone across the room. It was sat on top of a box labeled: bedroom. What were the odds that Hobie kept the same number? He never had a landline and kept his flip phone tucked in his front pocket. What were the odds?

You stared at the paper again then back at your phone. What were the odds? You slowly shifted toward it but stopped yourself. An image of Hobie’s crestfallen expression entered your mind. Guilt threatened to take hold of you but you stopped it with a heavy exhale.

“What am I doing?” you muttered. You were supposed to be unpacking, not going back down memory lane. It was why you had taped up that godforsaken box in the first place.

You slowly reached for the music notebook and slid the note back into its place, then put the entire thing in the box. With a sudden resolve, you put the box into the closet and shut it behind you.

You walked across the room to your stack of boxes and moved your phone to your bed. You decided to start with the “bedroom” box and peeled off the tape. It came off easily and you tossed it aside, just like how you had tossed aside your dreams of making music with Hobie.

You paused. You could feel your brows furrow at the jab you made at yourself.

You hadn’t tossed aside any dream, you thought indignantly as you pulled out the items inside the box with a little more force than necessary. You just made reasonable dreams. Like getting a degree to show teenagers how to pursue their love for music.

You grew up and after all this time, you were sure Hobie did too. Who knew where life took him? You surely didn’t know.

You tried to chew on that but you didn’t like the taste. You set your picture frame down and stared at your phone for a long moment. The air stilled and your heart slowly picked up its pace as a thought struck you.

…one call wouldn’t hurt, right?

Your fingers curled around your phone as you tried to will your heart to stop racing. You would only do it once, you told yourself as you found your legs leading you to your closet. Only one time, you reminded yourself when you found the notebook again. You flipped open your phone as you held the note in your hand and typed the number in.

Your thumb hovered over the call button.

“Just once,” you told yourself.

With a solidified resolve, you pressed the button. Your heart made thunder in your chest as the phone began to ring.

And ring.

You swallowed down the lump in your throat as the phone continued to ring. When the phone finally clicked, you were prepared to greet the voicemail on the other side.

Instead, you received a deep, “Hello?”

And by god, your heart completely surrendered itself to whatever being lied above. Your mind went haywire as you tried to remember the language that you had spoken your entire life. All you could do was fumble out a: “Hi.”

You cringed at the random emphasis you put on the two letter word. Perhaps you had said it too loud or said it wrong because it didn’t feel right coming from your nervous tongue.

“Hi,” he said again, mimicking your tone.

This— this had to be Hobie. Was this Hobie? You should just ask— “Is… is this Hobie? Hobie Brown?”

There was a vague hum on the other side. “Who’s askin’?”

A shaky exhale left your nose as you placed the phone between your ear and your shoulder to wipe your sweaty hands. “This is… um. This is (Y/N).” The silence that came after made you spiral.

Should you give him your last name? What if he didn’t remember you? What if this wasn’t Hobie and you were bothering some random man with the same number—

“(Y/N)?” You couldn’t read his tone. “From secondary?”

You suddenly felt emboldened as you remembered an age-old debate. “From high school. Yes, that’s me.”

“High school?” he echoed to himself. Then a loud cackle burst through your speaker. “Oh my days?! (Y/N)? That is you— with your random ways of sayin’ things.”

For once, your heart didn’t betray you and you could finally breathe. You couldn’t stop the smile that split across your face. Life moved on, but you swore you were a teenager again, twirling that cord around your finger.

“You got a lot of nerve calling me random, Hobart.”

The laughter you two shared would echo long into the dark hours of the night.

hi hi hiiiiii

hope you enjoyed ;)) i literally wrote this at work omg

#hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #atsv #across the spiderverse #spider punk #writing #spider punk x reader

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reflections-in-a-critical-eye · 9 months

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10 Jikook Fanfictions Part 1

I said I'd make a list before the end of the year and I kept my promise. Now, it's difficult to choose, especially when I have more than 300 bookmarks and unfortunately I also started doing that some year and a half ago. Safe to say, there's probably plenty of good fics I read that are now lost. Anyway, enough with the boring chit chat, here's 10 random jikook fics in no particular order and most likely, several other parts will follow, probably next year 😉

1. Dead in the Water

It's been a couple of years since I read this and honestly, I barely remember much, but what I do know it's that it had an impact on me. Usually fics that have death as a central theme end up resonating with me, but perhaps it's because I've always been attracted to more darker fiction. This one is gritty and there's a lot of pain and I must have cried a lot (those tend to stick in my head)

2. we're holding hands beneath the silver screen

I think this story is taking place in the 90s (you'll see that a lot of the fics I recommend are taking place in the past). I think I ended up reading everything ChimneyCricket wrote, but this one remained a favorite. Coming of age during a summer in Jeju in the 90s. Apart from the theme, it's the writing that made me stick with it.

I'm not the biggest fan of young adult stories. Or better yet, it's not something that I'd go to as a preference. When I do, it's more of an indulgence and thankfully, I found some writers (like this one) who can do a really good job with the genre.

3. Stockwell

Another writer that I've become a big fan of after reading one fic of theirs. And I think it might have been Stockwell that did it for me. I like that it's fanfiction with adult themes for an adult audience. And I also resonate with a lot of the cultural references and themes. I will also admit that this fic leaning into the enemies to lovers trope was a selling point because I'm a sucker for it. I can't help myself.

4. Burn for You

This is a complete self indulgence for me and I embrace it. Just like watching Bridgerton is a guilty pleasure for which I don't actually feel guilty (and the inspo for this fic). This story has everything and I must say the combination of lust, fear of revealing feelings, rumors, proper behavior and hidden romance is a lethal combination!

5. Light of a century

I might have recommended this story before, but it being inspired by Up on Poppy Hill is not just due to the plot, but the writing is able to evoke that studio Ghibli mood. This fic is to be read on a hot weekend afternoon.

6. Map of the Soul

This might be one of the most complex fanfictions I read due to the amount of research needed, but also in the depiction of political contexts and identity politics. Most of all, I like it because as much as relationships are a vital part of the story, there is an entire world surrounding the main characters. Events and other people that have also room to develop and not just remain props that advance the story.

7. Proceed with Caution

I don't know what snatchim did with this fic, but it's the only one I ever reread multiple times and I'll probably do it again in the future. I don't even reread books from my library, let alone fanfics. But Proceed with Caution did it for me. Perhaps it's because of the process of Jungkook inevitably falling for Jimin and even though it's a bad thing considering the context, it's so good. Maybe it's the image of Jimin with a bellybutton ring or maybe because the picture of hot Californian days in the 70s is so vivid, it feels like a nostalgic Paul Thomas Anderson movie.

8. Dishwater World They Said Was Lemonade

The description does not do this story justice because it's so much more than that. It's a canon compliant thriller with really complicated and complex characters and once again, a story meant for adults who understand that it's fiction. Unfortunately, judging by the comment section, a lot of people cannot distinguish betweem real people and characters. For those of you who might be fans of Korean thrillers, this story might be the one for you. It's also one of my favorite jikook fics as well.

9. souvlaki

Need I say more, considering the description? This is a self indulgence as well, but of a different kind. If I happily read tropey fics, I also like the ones that can sound like a uni course. Set during the 1997 FMI crisis in SK, any reader will get familiar with a socioeconomic and political perspective of that time through the eyes of the main characters. If you're only looking for romance, this one is not for you.

10. you wouldn't remember

I think littleflumes might be currently my favorite writer of canon compliant jikook. I think the author really captured their dynamic in its essence and the room left for fiction perfectly fills in the holes left in the last 2 years and up until the present. But what did it for me, not only with this story, but the others in the series as well, is that it's concentrated almost entirely on the two main characters, almost living in a bubble of their own in which their relationship can be explored.

#m thoughts #jikook #jikook fanfic #jikook fanfiction #jikook au #jikook canon compliant #fic rec #bts fanfic

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letsgetbigger · 1 day

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OnlyFat

Nigel looked at himself in the mirror, as he did every morning, admiring his toned and sculpted body, the result of years of dieting and hard work at the gym. At 28 years old, he felt at the peak of his physical form. Firm muscles, broad shoulders, and a defined abdomen, along with his handsome face and sizable cock, had earned him a considerable number of followers on OnlyFans. While he wasn’t a millionaire, earning an average of about two thousand dollars a month allowed him certain luxuries and a pretty comfortable lifestyle. He enjoyed his routine. He filmed private videos, always eager to please, and responded to the strangest and most specific requests from his fans. No matter what they asked of him, he always found a way to enjoy it; perhaps due to his naturally submissive nature, something he had discovered long ago and now used to his advantage.

That Tuesday, as he checked the messages in his account, he came across a proposal that made him pause. It was from someone named Dom43, who had written to him several times before, though never with such a direct request. The message read:

“I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you gain ten pounds of fat in a month and send me a video of the results. No tricks. I want to see how you change. What do you say?”

Nigel raised an eyebrow and reread the offer over and over. It wasn’t the typical request he was used to. At first, it seemed strange, almost absurd. But the money—a thousand dollars!—was a considerable temptation. Plus, a part of him, the part that had always enjoyed obeying and submitting to others’ desires, felt a twinge of excitement at the idea. After a few minutes of thought, he shrugged and let himself go with his gut.

“I accept,” he wrote back.

He knew doing this would change something, though he wasn’t sure what. What he didn’t expect was just how much this would lead him down an unexpected path.

For Nigel, gaining ten pounds in a month didn’t seem like much of a challenge. And he knew that once he hit the goal and pocketed that thousand dollars, he could go back to his strict diet and regain his physique in a matter of weeks. It was just a simple detour, a small, temporary indulgence. Nothing serious. With that assurance, he decided to change his eating habits.

That same afternoon, he went to the grocery store, filling his cart with everything he normally avoided: frozen pizzas, pastries, salty snacks, and especially lots of tubs of ice cream, which he promised himself to devour every night. Salads were out of the picture for a few weeks. When he got home, the idea of indulging in unrestrained pleasure, of breaking the rules he had imposed on himself for years, turned him on. Even more so when he remembered he was doing it for Dom43, to fulfill his request.

That night, he sat on the couch in front of the TV, a pizza on one side and a tub of ice cream on the other, a smile on his face. At first, he ate because he was hungry, but soon that hunger turned into something darker, more intimate. He kept eating, even though he was no longer hungry. The mere thought of knowing he was stuffing himself, filling up to please someone, gave him a thrill he had never experienced before. When he finished, he lay back on the couch, gently stroking his slightly bloated stomach, feeling strangely satisfied.

***

Two weeks had passed, and Nigel had fully embraced his new routine of excess. He was eating as if it were a competition. The food filled him, but what really satisfied him was the idea of transforming his body at someone else’s request. He knew he was changing, that his body was reacting. And it was confirmed when he weighed himself: eight pounds gained. He was close to reaching his goal.

The next day, while working out, his personal trainer, Mark, noticed something different. Nigel was in the middle of doing crunches when Mark let out a mocking laugh.

“You’ve been slacking a bit, man,” he said, giving Nigel’s stomach a light tap. “You’ve put on some weight. And not just around the belly…” Mark added, motioning toward his backside.

Nigel laughed, trying to hide the heat rushing to his face. “Yeah, well, I’ve been indulging a little—nothing serious.”

Mark shook his head, but the comment stuck with Nigel. That teasing remark hit deep. It didn’t bother him, though. On the contrary, he liked it. For the rest of the workout, he couldn’t stop thinking about how his body was changing, about how much Dom43 would enjoy watching him soften up.

When he got home, he quickly stripped off his clothes and looked in the mirror. He touched his stomach, which was no longer as flat as it once was, and caressed the soft roundness beginning to form on his rear. Mark’s words echoed in his mind, and at that moment, Nigel couldn’t resist any longer. He collapsed onto his bed and jerked off, reaching the most intense climax of his life. What had started as a simple game to make some money had now completely consumed him.

The month had come to an end, and Nigel was ready. He carefully set up the camera, making sure the lighting was perfect, bright enough to highlight every change in his body, to show Dom43 the results of his effort. He stood in front of the mirror, took a deep breath, and began undressing slowly, recording the whole process. First, he removed his shirt, revealing his torso. His chest, once firm and defined, now had a slight sag to it. His belly, swollen and covered by a soft layer of fat, folded into rolls when he bent slightly. Then he pulled down his pants, leaving him in his tight white briefs, which now clung to him like never before. His thighs were noticeably thicker. But the real surprise came when he turned around. His ass, bigger and rounder, seemed to want to burst out of the tight fabric. The briefs could barely contain it. He gently touched his ass, feeling its fullness. Without missing a beat, he moved to the scale he had placed in front of the camera. He stepped on it carefully, watching the numbers climb rapidly. And there it was, the number that left him stunned: 191 pounds. He had gained fifteen pounds instead of the ten Dom43 had asked for. Five extra pounds, the result of his complete submission to food. Seeing the number, Nigel instantly got hard, unable to help himself.

“A hundred and ninety-one...” he muttered to himself.

Without thinking any further, he let the excitement take over. He jerked off in front of the camera, his breath ragged, and his moans filling the room. He did it for Dom43, but also for himself, for everything he had discovered about himself in the process.

Once finished, he sent the private video with a mix of anxiety and satisfaction, eagerly awaiting Dom43’s response. It didn’t take long to arrive: a payment confirmation accompanied by a comment that made Nigel shiver. “You’re a pathetic pig. You gained all this weight just because I told you to. I love it.” Nigel read aloud quietly. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars more if you gain another twenty pounds in two months. Do you dare to become my fantasy?”

Nigel sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his still-naked, slightly sweaty body after the recording. His phone’s screen glowed with Dom43’s message: ten thousand dollars to gain another twenty pounds. The offer was tempting, too tempting. With that kind of money, he wouldn’t have to make more videos for months. He could take a break from his online life and focus on something else. Just the thought of that financial freedom made him feel relieved. But there was something more—a deep desire to please Dom43, to follow his orders, to submit to whatever he asked. It consumed him inside. He had discovered a new form of pleasure. Every pound he gained, every humiliating comment, ignited something within him that he had never felt before. Pleasing Dom43 had become almost an addiction. Yet, fear lingered in the background. He had already gained fifteen pounds, and although he initially thought he could lose it easily, he was starting to doubt whether the same would be true for thirty-five pounds. What if he couldn’t? What if continuing to gain weight destroyed the success of his OnlyFans account?

***

Nigel never imagined he would lose so much control. What started as a challenge, almost a game, had become a new reality. In just a month and a half of nonstop eating, he had gained the twenty-pounds Dom43 requested, pushing his body to limits he had never thought possible. Now weighing 211 pounds, the man he saw in the mirror was almost unrecognizable. His belly hung over the waistband, his thighs rubbed together with every step, and his once firm chest now bounced lightly with each movement. But the most shocking transformation of all was his ass, now enormous, two soft masses that jiggled with every step. And for some reason, that excited him more than it scared him.

When he arrived at the gym one afternoon, Mark greeted him with his usual mocking grin.

"Well, look who's here: my star client," Mark said sarcastically, his eyes scanning Nigel’s new body.

Throughout the workout, Mark made constant comments about his weight. Every time Nigel did a squat or lifted weights, he could feel Mark’s eyes on him, watching how his belly wobbled or how his ass strained against his shorts, which barely contained it anymore. But the most intense moment came after the workout when Nigel stepped out of the showers. As he was drying off, he noticed Mark watching him from across the locker room.

"Jesus, man..." Mark said, his eyes trailing over Nigel’s naked body. "You're huge. Like, seriously."

Before Nigel could respond, Mark stepped closer and gave him a smack on the ass. The sound echoed in the room, and Nigel’s butt cheeks rippled under Mark’s firm hand like jello. Nigel felt his face heat up, a mix of shame and arousal spreading over his skin.

"Damn," Mark laughed, "that moves like jello. What have you been eating, ice cream by the gallon? You’re getting obese, dude."

Nigel couldn’t answer, his throat dry, his mind stuck on the echo of Mark’s words. Obese. It was the first time anyone had called him that, and instead of being offended, the word hit him like a lightning bolt of pure desire. He tried to laugh, but the sound came out weak, almost choked.

He stood in front of the camera, taking deep breaths as he prepared for his second private session with Dom43. Like before, he undressed slowly, savoring each moment. He pulled off his shirt, revealing a torso that no longer had any trace of the firm muscles he once prided himself on. His chest was soft and round, visibly moving with each breath. His nipples had widened and felt unusually sensitive as he brushed his fingers over them. Then he slid off his pants, left in the same white briefs from the previous video. This time, they felt like a cruel joke. The edges dug into his hips and thighs, squeezing him in a way that was both uncomfortable and intensely arousing. His swollen belly hung slightly over the waistband, which seemed ready to give up the fight. Nigel turned to face the camera, letting it capture the most obvious change of all: his ass. It completely filled the briefs, making them look absurdly small. The fabric was stretched to its limit, with the tops of his cheeks spilling over, exposing the crack as if the briefs couldn’t possibly contain so much mass. He gave a slight shake, and his ass jiggled, continuing to bounce for a few seconds before settling. Seeing himself like that—so exposed, so impossibly large—sent a wave of arousal through him that nearly made him lose control right then and there. Nigel couldn’t help but smile. He knew Dom43 would love seeing what he had accomplished. The high point of the video came when he stepped onto the scale, carefully positioned in front of the camera. He showed the result: 211 pounds. Thirty-five pounds more than he weighed when this all began. He couldn’t help himself; the thrill of having transformed for someone else, of having fully surrendered to it, overwhelmed him. Once again, he masturbated in front of the camera, but this time, the orgasm was more intense, more liberating. His breath grew ragged, and every curve of his body shook with the force of his release.

When it was over, he sent the video to Dom43. The payment came through quickly, but what made Nigel’s heart race wasn’t the large sum of money. It was the words that followed.

“You’ve become my obedient pig. You’re good for nothing but getting fatter. You should be ashamed of how far you’ve fallen, but the worst part is, I know you love it.”

Nigel swallowed hard, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. It was true. He loved every humiliating word, every cruel comment that made him feel smaller, more submissive, despite his growing size. But it was the last line of the message that left him frozen.

“I’ll give you twenty thousand dollars if you gain another thirty pounds.”

***

Nigel was nervous. It had been over two months since he last filmed a video for his regular OnlyFans subscribers, and now, with his body drastically transformed, he had no idea how they would react. He wanted to see if the weight gain had changed anything, if his fans were still interested in him despite the fact that he no longer had the muscular, chiseled physique that had attracted them in the first place. Deep down, he hoped it wouldn’t matter too much, that they would still desire him, and that he wouldn’t have to rely on Dom43 to stay financially stable. He set up the camera like always, but this time, he took a longer look at himself in the mirror. It was incredible how much his body had changed in just two months. His body felt heavy. Every movement made him more aware of his size.

"It's just a video," he whispered to himself, trying to calm his nerves. "I just want to see how they react."

He stood in front of the camera, shirtless, revealing his round, soft torso, wearing only a pair of black briefs that used to be loose on him. He did the usual gestures he used in his videos, showing his body from different angles, touching his chest and stomach, running his hands over the areas now covered in fat.

He uploaded the video.

The first responses came in quickly. As soon as he read the comments, his fears were confirmed. There was no acceptance, no admiration. Just criticism, mockery, and, above all, shock.

“What happened to you? You used to look incredible, but now you look like a different person,” wrote one of his longtime followers.

“You’re huge! And not in a good way. What kind of joke is this?” added another.

The comments kept coming, each one harsher than the last. They called him fat and disgusting. Some even felt betrayed by the change, as if Nigel had deliberately hidden what he’d been doing over the past few months. Others openly laughed at him, making fun of how his body had lost all definition. Nigel read every word, feeling a mix of humiliation and indescribable excitement. He had expected a negative reaction, but the brutal honesty of their attacks surpassed all his expectations. Far from feeling defeated, something dark and deep inside him awakened. Each insult, each criticism, made him feel more alive, more aware of his body and what he had achieved. The taunts about his physique didn’t discourage him; they aroused him in a way he couldn’t ignore. It was as if those words freed him. He didn’t want to go back. He wanted to push forward. He turned off his computer screen and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Dom43 had offered him twenty thousand dollars to gain another thirty pounds. Thirty pounds that would transform him even more, taking him to a new level of submission. He had thought about rejecting the offer, about going back to his former physique. But after reading his fans’ comments, after feeling the impact of their words on his body, there was no longer any doubt. With a smile on his face, Nigel decided he was going to accept the challenge. He was ready to fully give in, to see just how far he could go.

***

Nigel stopped going to the gym altogether. Every morning, he woke up to the same routine: eat, jerk off, and eat more. His appetite seemed endless, and his libido was out of control, higher than ever. The discipline he once had had crumbled, replaced by an obsession with giving in to food and the thrill of his own transformation. His clothes no longer fit. The jeans, tight shirts, and briefs that had once defined his muscular figure now wouldn't even make it past his thighs or tore when he tried putting them on. Soon, he realized the only piece of clothing that still fit him was an old tracksuit, and even that didn’t fit well—it was so tight that the fabric stretched ridiculously, and his belly stuck out. He only wore it when he went out to buy more food, but at home, he spent his days completely naked.

In three months, Nigel had gained another thirty-five pounds, surpassing even Dom43’s challenge. His body was unrecognizable, and the scale didn’t lie. He weighed 246 pounds, a number he’d never imagined reaching. His thighs were so thick they had changed the way he walked. His belly was soft, round, and hung over. His arms, once firm, were now wrapped in fat. And his chest, completely soft, jiggled with even the slightest movement. He knew it was time to film the video for Dom43. He prepared in the simplest and most provocative way possible: completely naked, with a box of donuts by his side and the scale ready to show the result. The camera started rolling, and Nigel let himself get caught up in the moment. He grabbed one of the donuts and bit into it slowly, letting the sugar slide down his lips as he chewed exaggeratedly. He knew Dom43 would love to see him like this, enjoying the food that had turned him into what he was now.

“I’ve surpassed your challenge,” Nigel said, his voice thick with pleasure as he bit into another donut. “Another thirty-five pounds. I hope you’re happy.”

He stood up with difficulty, his ass visibly bouncing as he walked toward the scale. He stepped onto it with some effort, and it stopped at 246 pounds. Nigel showed the number to the camera with a satisfied grin on his face.

“246 pounds,” he said with pride in his voice. “But that’s not all.”

He grabbed a measuring tape and started measuring his body. First, he wrapped it around his waist.

“Fifty inches,” he announced, staring at his belly.

Then he measured his ass, which had turned into a massive ball of fat, and the number was just as shocking.

“Fifty-three inches. I can’t even fit in my office chair.”

Nigel paused for a moment, looking at the camera with a euphoric expression.

“All of this... is for you, Dom43. I hope you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

He ended the video with one last bite, chewing slowly as he jiggled his whole body while masturbating. When he finished, he turned off the camera and collapsed onto the couch, panting from exhaustion. He sent the video to Dom43 and waited, knowing the response wouldn’t take long. When it came, it was exactly what he expected.

“You’ve exceeded my expectations, pig. I never imagined you’d reach this point, that you’d become such a mountain of fat for me. Look at yourself, you’re pathetic, completely out of control. And you know what? I love it. You’ve done everything I asked and more. You’re the perfect submissive fat boy. You’re good for nothing but eating, getting fatter, and letting others laugh at you. But I must also say, I’m proud of you. You’ve proven you’re completely mine, willing to transform yourself this way just to please me. You’re incredible, in the worst way possible, of course, but that’s exactly where your greatness lies.”

Nigel stared at the screen, absorbed in the words. He had done everything Dom43 had wanted. And yet, he felt he could go further. The idea of gaining even more weight, of leaving behind any trace of his former self, called to him with unstoppable force. Without thinking too much, he typed the question that had been on his mind for days, a question that made him tremble with anticipation:

“How much will you pay me if I reach 300 pounds?”

The silence that followed for a few seconds was deafening, but Dom43’s response came quickly.

“I’m not paying you anything. This time, you won’t do it for the money. I want you to do it for me, because you can’t stop yourself now. I want you to gain until you reach 300 pounds just to please me, because now you know that’s the only thing that turns you on. You’ll do it because you belong to me.”

Nigel took a deep breath, feeling each word of that message wrap around him, filling him with a mix of submission and absolute pleasure. He knew Dom43 was right. It was no longer about the money. It was about something much bigger. What had started as a simple desire to fulfill a fantasy had become his reality. With trembling fingers, he typed the only thing he knew he could say at that moment, the only thing his mind and cock screamed for with overwhelming clarity:

“I’ll do it.”

#gainer stories #gaining fat #gaining kink #gaining weight on purpose #gay gainer #gainer fiction

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 2 months

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Hi Frosty!!!! I just saw you had requests open! Is this true?

If so.... could I please have a brief....Hunter reaction to an accidental seeing reader in a wedding dress? I'm a sucker for this and will reread this trope over and over redone.

Thank you ❤️ and it's ok if not, just discard this then! Love your writing!

Alignment Events [Hunter x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: You and the tattooed sergeant of Clone Force 99 have caught unexpected feelings for one another towards the end of the Clone Wars following a chance meeting in the middle of a friend’s special night. Following the end of the war, your friend has chosen to get married to her soldier sweetheart on her adoptive home world of Naboo. You and Hunter are attending as part of the happy couple’s wedding party right around the time your feelings have gotten a little more serious for each other. While being involved in the preparation means there could be a fair amount of rumination on the future of your relationship, what you don’t expect is how much a fun bit of playful dress-up could end up changing your life. Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader. Republic Victory AU (so no Order 66). Limited Mando’a (pet names and familial terms). Minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Reference/allusion to alcoholic beverages. Iler Ci is an OC who serves as Reader’s friend for the story. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.

Word count: 4,926

Call it what you like - the Force, an alignment of the planets and stars, maybe fate - the galaxy had a funny way of bringing people together.

Meeting someone special in the middle of the Clone Wars had been an unexpected but pleasant happenstance. It hadn’t been in your immediate plans to make any changes to your dating status, but the first time you crossed paths with Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99 amidst what would later become a celebratory night out with some friends, there was something about him you simply couldn’t resist.

A busier night than most, clumsy encounters and a spilt strong drink were to be expected. Trying to cross from one end of the cantina to the other, one did a fair bit of running into happy couples and hopeful romantics.

Hunter had been neither.

There had always been the fleeting flirts and flings, but never anything serious and steady for either of you. There were no qualms about dating statuses, feelings of loneliness or even the emeralds of envy while in the company of partnered people.

Not until the night you met.

It would be a chance meeting. You and several friends were meant to be working, but the soldier sweetheart to a mutual friend had reached out and asked for help planning a special surprise earlier that morning. It would mean losing shifts and owing favors due to the last-minute nature, but hearing what he had in mind, you and your friends were willing to do anything.

Lane was a pilot in the Grand Army of the Republic, and had been in a long-distance yet serious relationship for some time now with your friend, Cici. They met while Lane had been on an assignment near Naboo almost a year ago. Emboldened by some of his brothers, he’d tried asking her out after a helping or two of liquid courage, but it must have been stronger than he anticipated. Lane maintains that while he recalls her politely declining the first request, he has no memory of her agreeing to get some food instead, or how she had apparently “helped” him back to the barracks.

In the morning, he would find a note, and only then in his sobered state would he realize the Pantoran woman he had been trying to charm all night was none other than Iler Ci. For all her humility and generosity, many would not suspect that she was the heiress to a well-known family of artists on Naboo, by whom she was adopted and raised after her birth on Pantora.

Thanks for a nice dinner and lovely company, Lane. Perhaps, if you ever remember where to find it while you’re still here, we can go to that Pantoran place you recommended? :) - Iler “Cici” Ci (PS: Don’t forget to take something for the headache.)

Though he would be reassigned before they could have a more proper date, Cici and Lane have been smitten with each other since.

It would be in front of a full house at 79’s that you and your friends helped Lane propose to his sweetheart, mere months before the end of the Clone Wars. It had never been so loud within the bar as the moment the pilot dropped down on one knee in front of his brothers and other patrons to present Cici with a ring someone had fashioned for him that very morning.

Soldiers in deployments of every color cheered for their brother when she agreed to marry him, and had drawn in from every corner to congratulate them. Marriages among Clones were less of an officially recognized thing, at the time, but Lane had been too eager, too deeply in love to care. The same could be said for Cici; it would not matter that it would only be another few months before the war was inexplicably over.

Among the last to offer congratulations were five men, each of them clad in grayscale, non-standard armor accented in red.

Standing ahead of the rest, a man somewhat shorter than Lane approached and put his hand forward. “Good to see you again, Lane. I came to offer our congratulations on behalf of the Bad Batch.” His handshake seemed quite firm. The four men behind him offered their respective greetings after that - two waved (one half-heartedly) while another merely nodded, and the fourth offered the only other handshake, even firmer than the first’s.

In spite of having most of the feeling squeezed out of his hand mere moments ago, Lane was almost excited, arguably starstruck, by who had come to offer their congratulations to him and Cici. He would make eager introductions to everyone.

“This is Sergeant Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair of Clone Force 99. They’re the ones who helped us pull off that crazy rescue mission two months ago!”

Quite honestly you missed most of the short conversation between Lane and the sergeant as the other four went down the line and got everyone’s name; exchanging nice to meet you!-s with varying degrees of enthusiasm and politeness, shaking hands as they went. At the other end of the line, you were the last to personally greet each member of the squadron.

Introductions had been going smoothly until it came time to shake Hunter’s hand. Feeling somewhat caught under umber brown eyes, you inexplicably tripped while taking that half-step forward to better shake his hand. To your great fortune, Hunter’s reflexes were sharp; though it proved to be a slightly embarrassing method—strong arms laced across your back that brought the two of you chest-to-chest—you were caught before you would have been seriously hurt.

You could only offer a stammering apology, your composure rather rattled as you all but gawked up into the skull-tattooed face of the sergeant. There was a gentleness to the way he eased you off his chest only once he’s certain you’re unharmed, a softness in the way his aquiline nose bunched as the corners of his mouth turned up in a warm smile.

In a voice smokier than the alleyway behind 79’s, he made a small joke in hopes of lightening the mood. “So long as you’re alright, there’s no need to be sorry about falling for me, mesh’la. I’m rather flattered.” It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but the level of confidence and self-assurance he has came as a surprise at the time.

Flirting came with the territory at 79’s; passing advances were to be expected now and again from the GAR’s soldiers by Coruscant’s diverse nightlife. But you found yourself especially charmed by the sergeant.

It would only be the beginning.

Though he may have been the one to make the joke about you falling for him, the truth was Hunter found himself equally smitten with you. He couldn’t get you out of his head. Comm numbers had been exchanged, but a bulk of the communication was done through Lane for the first few weeks following that special night at 79’s.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Hunter was trying to keep you closer than just the periphery of his life; it isn’t every day that Lane finds himself telling you that he’s pretty sure Hunter went out of his way to get a bottle of your absolute favorite body fragrance from a crowded Outer Rim market because he recognized it by smell alone (and heard a rumor it would be discontinued on Coruscant soon).

“He must really like you.”

A month out from the end of the war, there is plenty of accumulated evidence that things are looking a little more serious between the two of you. The near-daily electronic exchanges are a good start. But it’s more than that, of course. Your respective companions have been privy to plenty of instances where you’ve thought about the other, and not to mention the interactions outside of the healthy helping of mutual flirting.

Like the night you had asked Hunter what his favorite mission so far was, his brothers sent you multiple pictures of him—all from different angles, all varying in quality—around their tiny attack shuttle, working on his response for at least an hour or more. Bathed in the blue glow of his datapad, smiling softly to himself.

Or the time you were enjoying a night in with some friends when Hunter would make a near desperate request for holofilm recommendations. They had strict orders to wait out bad weather before returning to command, so they were looking for something Tech could “borrow” in the meantime. There had been much hemming and hawing about certain types of media in the recommendation list you were compiling for him, but your friends gave you encouragement to include them.

“Promise you won’t laugh if half of it’s for kids?”

“Promise. My vode, too.”

Hunter may not have understood what it was about those movies that appealed to you right away, but he kept his promise, and filed the list away for another time, putting it to use later.

A month out from the end of the war, he asks to meet you at 79’s the very same night he and his brothers are due to be planetside. They have some important, short-term business they have to take care of; it’ll take a day at most. It could be his only chance to see you in person after all these weeks of long-distance communications. To great delight, you have agreed to meet him once you get off work, so long as he doesn’t mind that you’re in your work uniform.

You could have worn a full sleep set for all he cared, he would be just as glad to see you.

You’ve beaten him to the bar by a matter of fifteen minutes, finding yourself lucky with skylane traffic for a change. Taking advantage of your extra time, you first make use of the ladies’ refresher, cleaning up your hair and any makeup applied that morning before settling in to wait for him. Securing a two-person table, you wait out any remaining time by glancing over a few personal messages. It won’t be long before Hunter meets up with you.

Pay stub. Spam. Spam. Coupons. Work reminders. Delivery notice. Ooh, good coupons! More spam. Cici and Lane’s wedding plans.

Intrigued, you open the mass message and begin to skim. The happy couple is thinking of tying the knot somewhere large enough to include everyone, having had some concerns that a marriage office here on Coruscant would prove too claustrophobic. Instead, to make sure no one is left out, they’ll be using property within Cici’s family - a charming lakefront villa on Naboo.

You don’t get any farther than that before Hunter turns up, brothers in tow.

Uh oh. Should you have gotten a bigger table?

Before anything can be done, Hunter takes the opposite seat at the table, followed by Wrecker and Tech. They each say hello before the latter carefully begins tipping a few small packages and envelopes out of the former’s pack onto the table. Two small, neatly wrapped packages and a handful of envelopes aren’t a lot of items, but it’s certainly more than you expected. Once everything is laid out on the table beside your bag, Wrecker offers encouragement over his shoulder as the two of them quickly take their leave.

“Have fun, Hunter! You’ll do fine!”

The sergeant must be nervous. Tugging the crimson cloth keeping the curtain of brown curls off his neck and out of his face, Hunter clears his throat before doing his best to flash you a smile, carefully setting a third package on the tabletop.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me here on short notice, cyar’ika.” More tugging, this time at the neckline of the bodysuit under his armor (which appears to be glistening) catches your eye. You gloss over the Mando’a for sweetheart and darling for the moment realizing he must have quickly wiped down his full kit before meeting you here.

He not only called you sweetheart, but he cleaned up for you? Aww.

You chuckle softly. “Of course! I see I’m not the only one who brought something either.” You pull your bag closer, wishing for the moment you had time to wrap any of it. It won’t matter. Hunter appears surprised to hear you have something for him, and offers you the chance to go first, if you’d like. You accept, reaching into your bag to pull ten identical items out. Two are offered to Hunter. “These are for you. I have more for your brothers.” Special micro-weave cleaning cloths from an electronics store are all you have to offer currently, your less practical gifts are either sitting in your apartment or still out for delivery.

Hunter’s nervous energy dissipates as he smiles, dumbfounded. “Guessing you got these for us because we ran out? That was… rather kind of you. Really.” Rubbing the back of his neck in thought, he debates which of the items on the table you should open first. Should he give you the largest package, the one carefully balanced on his knees under the table? Should you start with something small, and leave the best for last? (He should have asked Tech what the best way to do this kind of thing was while they were still at the Marauder. But then again, Tech was busy wrapping everything in old schematic papers.)

Maybe it didn’t matter. Come to a decision, Hunter nudges the pile of envelopes closer to you. “Start with these,” he says. “My brothers got these for you.” Hunter knows he’s made the right call when your immediate response is a surprised “Really?” paired with a smile brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine.

You carefully open one of the flat sleeves to find several stickers and a note inside. The short note is from Tech, explaining he’s taken some inspiration from “nat-born” trends seen on the holonet and everyone has found a handful of stickers you could use to decorate computer terminals or water canisters.

The conclusion and postscript make you smile before you set the note aside and look over the modest assortment of stickers he’s given you.

They are waterproof and weather resistant, so they should last quite a long time. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we’ve enjoyed the process of you and Hunter getting to know one another. Postscript: I hope the butterflies will suffice since I was not certain if you have a favorite insect.

You see evidence of how much Hunter has shared about you in the types of stickers each of his brothers have collected for you. Tech’s butterflies are mostly in your favorite colors. Echo’s given you stickers relating to places you’ve been, and planets you have an interest in seeing one day. Wrecker’s envelope is the heaviest out of the bunch; his collection showcases popular characters from your favorite novels and shows, and a few stickers of your favorite snacks have been added for good measure. (The sticker that says “Make today a BLAST!” with a rough depiction of a thermal detonator is probably your favorite from him.) And finally from Crosshair, you were given a few generic yet nice designs of animals you’d discussed early on with Hunter.

The entire spread is swept into their respective envelopes once everything has been looked at, at which point you make sure to thank Hunter at the very least. You trust him to pass along the sentiment for you in case you don’t get a chance to speak to the rest of Clone Force 99 tonight.

It was sweet of them to get you anything at all. You certainly didn’t expect it. When you agreed to meet with the sergeant you had really only expected one little token from their travels at the most, only possibly wrapped; nevermind three from Hunter alone and all of them wrapped.

One thing was clear: Hunter really likes you.

Between chilled drinks and appetizers, more alignment events occur as the two of you have an enjoyable night using the limited time available. Quite honestly, most of what you talk about goes by in a blur between each package you open. From one such parcel, the face of a favorite character from one of the holofilms previously recommended to him peers up at you in soft, fabric form. You recognize this rendition as one you already own, but you see that it’s been customized.

Added in thread, little details that are not typically included in merchandise have been sewn in with such care to make the character more screen-accurate.

“Wow… This must’ve taken a long time.”

Hunter’s chuckle is warm. “For me, yes. Fortunately it’s just an afternoon or two for Crosshair.”

“He did a really good job. I have one just like it at home, but I like this one a lot more.”

There’s some congratulatory commotion from the booth where his brothers are sitting nearby, among which you hear an excited “did you hear that?!” from Wrecker. Hunter waits until they’ve mostly settled back down before encouraging you to open the second of the three packages, watching as you carefully tear back the wrapping. What you find inside thoughtfully ties into one of your hobbies, made from recently-carved wood. It’s a material not-often come by in the jewel of the Core Worlds, so the rich, earthy smell catches you off-guard, adding to your amazement.

“I made this one myself.” He seems quite proud. And he should be.

Made with his own vibroknife, Hunter has given this gift a lot of care and attention. Wide, curious eyes trace the patterns of swirling grain as you repeatedly turn it over in your hands to admire from every angle. Everything had been sanded smooth, eliminating any stiff edges left by the process of whittling and carving.

You smile appreciatively before finding something to say. “I hope you didn’t get many splinters for all the trouble this must’ve been…”

Shoulders bounce in easy-going fashion.

“A few. Nothing too bad.”

That’s relieving to hear. “I’d feel bad if you went through all this trouble for me and ended up hurt.”

“And if I thought you were worth the trouble?”

Hunter’s question has left you stunned, dropping a delicate hush over the table. Hearing you’re worth the trouble - the possibility of pain - is a sincere sentiment you have not heard outside your social circle in quite some time, perhaps even longer than you realize. Feeling now is the right time, Hunter surrenders the last of the packages to you, the one he has been carefully guarding throughout the night. “I hope this is enough of an answer.” he says by way of answering your unspoken doubts.

An answer that carries you through the months to come. It’s a soothing balm to the long distances apart before the war finds an end, and fuel for the even longer nights after. Every time doubt had crept in and questioned the validity of what you have with the sergeant clad in smoke-gray armor, you returned to the note taped to the bottle of perfume to reassure and reaffirm.

In a promise more precious than pearl or priorite, your relationship will only ever move as fast as you’re comfortable with when Hunter asks to make things official.

No amount of playful pushing will change his resolve when friends, family and brothers find themselves gathered on Naboo in preparation for Lane and Cici’s wedding some months later.

There’s a fair bit of work to be done to get the lakeside villa gussied up for the big day, but with everyone pitching it, it’ll be over before you know it. There’ll be plenty of time for pre-wedding activities before it comes time to tie the knot. After a week of steady progress, there’s only one room left at this point.

One of the largest rooms on the property, Cici’s art studio overlooks a large, glimmering lake, so it should make for the perfect place to serve as the wedding hall once everything has been cleared out. It’s probably double, maybe triple, the size of an average apartment on the surface level of Coruscant, crammed with all manner of art supplies. Ignoring the fine layer of dust and disorganization, it feels akin to standing in an art store once Cici has unlocked the studio door and let everyone inside.

“I guess my parents never used my studio while I was away. That means there’s more in there than I thought… But! Between all of us, this shouldn’t take too long. A day at most, I’m sure!”

Wrecker matches her enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit, Ms. Ci!”

The workload is divided among the fifteen or so people who made it to Naboo ahead of time as equally as possible. You and some of Cici’s other friends from work would find yourself spectating the clean-out if you let the men of the GAR get away with it. They’re certainly efficient, and have made a real art of talking and tidying up at the same time, too. Any messing around is kept to a minimum, but the conversations are plenty playful as teams take boxes and crates full of studio items to temporary storage.

Wrecker and Echo are joking with one of your coworkers as canvases (some as tall (or taller) than the demolition expert) get shuffled into the hallway. One of Lane’s fellow pilots has volunteered to help Tech pack the various paint tubes by general color. And though you could easily move things off of the high shelves on your own, with Hunter holding the rolling ladder steady, Crosshair will not take no for an answer and insists upon helping you dust everything down.

“It will be safer to pass them down to me.” The fourth word escapes in a soft hiss, toothpick rolling with building irritation. “I don’t like the look of the fourth rung.”

It was a little wobbly when you’d climbed up the ladder, hoping to spare Hunter’s heightened senses from the dust… “Mind dusting them down for me, then?” Cross takes a decorative box set from you without a word, offering only a nod.

“Thank you, Crosshair.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As a team of three, you make steady progress. Hunter braces the ladder while Crosshair takes care of the larger items, leaving you to take care of the shelves and any smaller items. You would prefer to focus on getting this done as quickly as possible, so you leave the talking to the brothers. Brushing down a decorative bust, the marksman tries getting under the sergeant’s skin with a sarcastic smirk. “Taking notes for later, vod?” A sweeping gesture to bring attention to all the wedding prep is pointedly ignored as Hunter pretends not to hear the teasing question.

“You missed a spot, Cross.”

Maker, he loves you, make no mistake. Hunter is content for the time being to take all the time the galaxy gives him with you, for the time being.

But it’s too early to be thinking about marriage for him, he tells himself.

Maybe one day.

When the last of the crates full of various odds and ends have been moved into storage, and any paint splatters have been scrubbed from the floor, all that remains for the happy couple and their wedding party is waiting for the big day. Time is idled away with plenty of sightseeing and general merrymaking, everyone forging new memories together in the welcome wake of a three-year war.

Perhaps the most exciting of these pre-wedding events was Cici’s final dress-fitting, for which Cici’s mother invites you and the rest of Cici’s mutual friends into the studio late one evening, when the sky has turned dusky and dark. Large changing screens have been brought in for the fitting, and curtains have been drawn over most of the curtains that overlook the lake.

As Cici and her mother duck behind one of the opaque dividers, most everyone’s attention is given to something off in the distance, likely a first time for many. The elaborate structure, another Nabooian villa, glows brilliantly on an island’s lakeshore in the twilight.

“We were hoping everyone would get to see it lit up. That’s Varykino Villa. Isn’t it beautiful?” Cici swoons over the sound of rustling and shifting fabric. “Before a family friend gave my parents this place, he told us he spotted a private wedding on Varykino Island while looking across the water one day. That was, what, almost three years ago, mom?”

Mrs. Ci hums in confirmation. “Before he completely lost his eyesight. It was already starting to go, then, but he was pretty confident the man and the woman were alone, aside from the officiant. A golden protocol droid and a blue astromech were all they had for witnesses.” The last of the zippers are fastened as some speculate on the unusual choice in witnesses, and Cici steps out from behind the divider to a wave of fawning awe.

Wreathed in a flowing dress, Cici looks like a princess with her long hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. The cool-white fabric compliments the blue skin of her Pantoran heritage well. If she looks this good now, you can’t wait to see what she looks like once she’s gone through the hair and make-up process. She’d look like a proper queen.

Smiling, she wrings her hands somewhat nervously. “Do you think Lane will like it?”

It takes no time at all to reach a general consensus: how could he not?

“Lane will love it when he sees you’ve recreated his armor pattern.” you tell her, gesturing to the beaded embellishments in the bodice. Paint patterns were just as personal as their names. Their colors were just as important too, if the way Hunter reacted to you wearing any combination of red and gray was any indication.

He would tell you you looked good in just about anything, regardless of what you wore, but wearing anything in his colors was guaranteed to make your day extra special.

Now that the final fitting has taken place, you expect to enjoy the refreshments and socialize for the rest of the night, but the fun is only beginning.

Cici does more than just redressing in her previous clothing when she ducks behind the changing divider. With help from her mother, she wheels a large clothing rack covered by a large drop-cloth from behind the privacy screen.

Curious murmurs ripple through your friend group. Is this what you think it is?

“Are you ladies ready for a little fun?”

The cover is removed with a flourish, revealing the rack packed full with all manner of fancy dresses and gowns in various sizes and styles. “There’s more behind the screen, too.” Cici promises, inviting you and everyone to look through all the fancy garments. A majority of them are wedding dresses, but intermixed you find ball gowns and cocktail attire in all manner of material. Chiffon, lace, satin, silk, tulle, velvet. The choices are near overwhelming.

“Who’d like to go first?”

Down the hall from the primary studio, Hunter excuses himself from the bachelor party, a scribbled list of additional beverages he volunteered to get from cold storage in one hand with a promise he won’t take forever. From here, he can hear plenty of excited teasing and tittering from the studio. Sounded like the ladies were having a fun time, too. Good.

Hunter starts down the hall, thinking he can slip past the partially open door unnoticed, but finds himself slowing when he hears your friends saying your name.

“Need help, honey?”

“Um, I think I got it!” you call back.

Curiosity and temptation has gotten the better of him; from the door left ajar, Hunter peers into the studio. Just for a moment, he tells himself. Friends of yours are cloistered in a semicircle, trading giggles and whispers as their excitement builds. There’s several racks worth of expensive-looking dresses, and a changing screen in the corner.

Mock fashion show?

While Hunter has seen you wearing plenty of pretty and flattering things for everyday, casual events and special post-war celebrations, nothing would prepare him for the moment you step out from behind the privacy screen, clothed in a large, predominantly white dress.

From the uncomplicated neckline and upper bodice of the a-line dress, the waist’s lacy accents hug you in all the right places before the skirt material fans out and creates a wide pool of silk at your feet, colors gradually building into a golden train with silken accents all the while. This doesn’t look like any sort of fancy party dress, as he initially assumed, but rather something bridal.

You’re modeling in a wedding dress.

Hunter listens to the women peppering you with compliments, all while his heart flutters madly in his chest at the sight of you. Maker, you look beautiful. Radiant.

You look like you could be the rest of his life.

Hunter can’t explain it right now. He can’t tell what’s aligned, what’s fallen into place to make him so certain right now, but the feeling is unmistakable while he watches you show off the bridal gown to your friends. Spurred on by cheers and applause, you twirl and toss the fabric with bright laughter. You’re having so much fun. You have no idea he’s even there, practically entranced by you, envisioning your future, together.

One day, when the time is right, Hunter will make you a part of the rest of his life.

Thank you so, so much for your patience, Dragon; I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for sending in such a cute request! 🩷

Fic taglist: @msmeredithrose @lonely-day3636 @dukeoftheblackstar @dystopicjumpsuit

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justsigma-bsd · 5 months

Text

A Blank Page, Torn From A Book Without Name

Well, I ended up trying to put the word salad in my head into actual, coherent words after all.

First of all, everything here is just my take on things. The theories and thoughts I've had on certain things. I don't think any of it is official, but if anything of it is, in fact, confirmed to be true or false, feel free to tell me!

Some of the panels were taken from a YouTube video, which I'll link at the bottom!

TW for: Human trafficking, dehumanization

Ok, so first things first, some of this stuff I've already written down a while back for writing reasons. I found some of my old notes, and noticed that, after rereading the panels, they make more sense than I previously thought.

Let's start here: what stands out the most to me isn't that he's in the desert, not even the ticket. No, it's the simple »[...] or even who I was«

Because who, indeed, is Sigma? Sigma does not have an identity. He has no history, no nothing. Just the clothes on his back, a ticket that seems to be useless and earrings, for some reason.

Without a name, you don't have an identity and without identity you don't have a name.

Then there is this, too:

»I gave myself a name. Sigma. A man of the casino«

I don't believe he had a name upon being created. I don't think he had one for a long time, because in the same panel that he mentions giving himself a name, he also mentions the casino- which came much, much later. Sigma existed for three years by the time the series started. However, the timeline is wonky as heck.

Because how long did he stay with the traffickers? How long was he on his own after escaping? How long ago did Fyodor find him? Questions upon questions, but since I've already mentioned the lack of a name and the traffickers, let's get to my thoughts on that, specifically:

»They captured and enslaved me« along with »And once they knew that I had a skill [...]« makes me wonder: how long did it take for them to find out?

I haven't researched anything about human trafficking, but it's basically slavery, from what I've gathered through the previous things I've heard and read. And he does say so himself, too.

Sigma, three days alive, spent his early life a slave. It's confirmed that he was shackled, seeing that he is wearing them in the panels.

(As a side note, I do believe that he has scars from the shackles around his wrist. He wears a tight, wrist-long turtleneck beneath his coat, and I think it's to hide the scars. Both from others and himself.)

His first human interaction was plain horrible. Did he know and understand that? Did he understand that this wasn't normal? I don't think he knew how wrong this was at first. I don't believe that he understood it immediately. If he didn't know who he was, why would he know that being treated like this is wrong?

I believe that he realized it at some point, but not as soon as it started. I think he lived like that for a while, thinking it was normal, before getting some sort of wake-up call. Perhaps through his ability, or a fellow prisoner. Maybe both, or neither.

He must've gotten whiplash, once people genuinely looked up to him when he was the manager at Sky Casino.

I also think that he, probably, does tend to forget that being treated like that is, in fact, not normal or okay. Our upbringing leaves some sort of mark on all of us, experiences define us, give us habits and a feeling of what's normal and what isn't.

Which means that his "normal" is skewed and he expects being used rather than kindness, probably even after learning that some people are genuinely kind. I'm guessing that his mindset is, due to that, a simple "If I'm alive I'm alright".

I don't think he'd complain about being treated wrong and or left behind, or admit when he's injured. Or at the very least attempt to keep it a secret as long as possible- especially from those he sees as authority figures.

However, I also think that he was isolated, as per this panel:

Not only the text, but also the background paint a picture that causes me to believe that.

I almost skimmed past this panel while making my analysis, before pausing and taking a closer look. I thought this was in Sky Casino at first, until I looked closer and realized three things:

1, the background does not match Sky Casino in the slightest

2, he isn't wearing shoes or his current outfit, but the old clothes he had when wandering the desert

3, the shadows aren't from the light of a window, they're bars from a cell

While I did believe before that the traffickers kept him isolated from others (due to wanting to keep him unaware of the wrongness of his situation as well as to make sure he doesn't learn things he should/other prisoners finding out things that Sigma got to know by accident), this sort of put the final nail in the coffin for me.

But, at some point, he did realize that it was wrong. Perhaps he'd had a bad feeling from the start. Maybe he hated being treated like this. Who knows? Point is, he escaped. This brings us back to this page:

»No matter how kind someone seemed, they used me and then tried to kill me for knowing too much«

Sigma, after escaping the traffickers, after escaping the life of a slave, probably still didn't know much about living.

And I firmly believe that Sigma is smarter than even he himself thinks. There's just one issue: Sigma is naive (at least in my eyes), and it's not even his own fault. He simply tried his best to survive, and what was the reason the traffickers kept him around? His ability, most likely.

Problem is that his ability truly is something people would love to exploit, and it seems as if they did. Which makes me believe that he has a talent for running into murderers thinking they're nice people, only to get a not-so-nice surprise.

»The last one to use me [...]«, this specific line is the reason why I believe Sigma to have been used a lot. We don't know how often, exactly, his ability was taken advantage of. But we know the latest person who did.

Fyodor was the last one to use him, which means that, at that point, he was probably used to it. Used to being treated like a pawn, and used to people trying to kill for knowing too much. And I believe that he was, quite plainly, exhausted.

Imagine, your entire life consists of being forced to aid others with crimes, with being shackled. You don't know the difference between working for someone and being used by someone.

If you were offered what you wanted most, wouldn't you accept, too? Even if you know that you're once again being used? I mean... this time around, you gain something for it. Doesn't that make it worth the risk?

It's a gamble Sigma took... and lost.

This page involves two quotes that give me pause:

»Don't you wish for a home?«

We don't know why or how he knows what a home and a family is, but he does. And he wants it. He says it was never within his reach. But it is perfectly clear to us, while reading the Sky Casino Arc, that he wants it. He wants a home and a family.

He'd rather sacrifice his own life than see Sky Casino fall. »Home« and »Family« are, to him, more important than staying alive. Because it's something he never had, and something he clings to. Simply because he doesn't have anything else.

»I, who was originally 'nothing'[...]«

Is the second line that makes me pause. Because like previously mentioned, Sigma was a slave with no name or identity of his own. We don't know when he found out about being created by the book (and I firmly believe that he found out one way or another), but I believe he didn't see himself as a human before, and this "confirmed" it for him.

Think about it, would traffickers care about their victims? Would they treat them as human beings? Call them by their name? What about a person who has no name to begin with?

He wasn't treated like a human being in the beginning, and thus considered himself nothing. Considered his home and "family" to be worth more than hid own life.

He was literally created from nothing. His story doesn't have a beginning. He has no memories prior to being created, he had no name nor identity. How his story will end is unknown. We don't know what's written on his page.

I believe this, combined with being with the traffickers, makes him doubt his humanity. Not only because he was created through the book, but also because for the first (months? Year?) of his life, he wasn't treated like a human.

His sense of self-worth is probably down in the dumps.

»In the end I never did understand what I was born for...«

I don't think he knows the details of his existence. The content of his page, the words that brought him into existence. He doesn't know why he was born/created. He doesn't know what things were predetermined.

He doesn't know what's real and what's just writing on a page.

Sigma, in three years of being alive, went through hell. He was enslaved, his ability was taken advantage of over and over, he was used by multiple people who all ended up trying to kill him and when he thought that he finally found a home? A family? It was taken away from him.

Genuinely, he needs a plate of cookies, a hug and a ton of therapy.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed my little analysis and theories? I never did something like this before, so criticism is welcome!

Here's also the link to the video from which I got the screenshots: https://youtu.be/KwsSvFYAKjA?si=R_IvH-S8GYut_hrG

#sigma bsd #bungo stray dogs sigma #bungou stray dogs #sigma character analysis #sigma's backstory #character analysis #bsd theories #fan theories #ooc post #I had this title floating around but it matched literally none of the os I planned #so I used it for this #I also don't think he knew what hugs were and had to get used to them first #Also he's a self-sacrificial idiot (affectionately)#sigma headcanons #my headcanons

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writing-for-life · 1 year

Text

Nuance in (The Sandman) Fandom

Send me asks about everything Sandman-related!

I thought a lot over the past few days, partly prompted by discourse on here, partly due to a couple of “interesting” asks and messages I received (the type you don’t answer). I *think* they might have been prompted by engaging in discourse on topics like anti-blackness/racism, misogyny/sexism, TERF characters etc in The Sandman.

Fandoms are always getting super sensitive if someone shines a critical lens on their favourite works, authors and characters. So to make this clear (in case it isn’t already obvious from my brain-rot blog):

I love The Sandman. I love Neil Gaiman. I have an extremely soft spot for Dream (and Desire btw, who deserves a lot more character analysis than just being summed up as “villainous, sexy bitch”. One day, perhaps ;)).

I can read The Sandman and just get lost in the story, even after decades and many rereads.

But I can also view it through a critical lens—these things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Not critical enough or too critical?

As fans, we can get trapped in certain thinking patterns, like:

“My blorbo can do no wrong”-syndrome

“Characters with flaws are inherently problematic and imply authorial endorsement of those actions”

“Characterisation and problematic subtext are one and the same” (aka overanalysing and looking for problems where there are none is the death of every story, but failing to see problematic patterns where they are clearly visible is a problem, too).

Don't say anything bad about my favourite character

I think this doesn’t need much further exploration. It’s not my personal way of looking at stories through permanently rose-tinted glasses (I always feel it stalls my experience, but my experience is not everyone else's). Some people prefer that type of escapism, and I’m good with that (although the downside is of course that by not willing to engage with issues, we can unwillingly perpetuate them). Live and let live, ship and let sail. But please, for the love of god: Don’t insult people via their inboxes or messages just because their opinions and preferences don’t align with yours. I’m not going to sugarcoat it or phrase it “nicely”: It’s infantile (and a form of bullying btw), end of.

How can you even like a character who's so horrible? And that author must be equally horrible, too

We have to separate flawed characters, even those who are written to be really problematic, from real-life endorsement of these actions.

Author, narrator and character are three fundamentally different things, and don’t overlap as much as some people seem to think.

We can write vile, despicable characters to make a point (for me, Thessaly was always a prime example for this, and I explained why here). We probably hate them as we write them. I don’t know what else to say, but this facet of writing seems to get more and more lost on people, and it’s a worry. Crying for sanitised characterisation is one step away from censorship. We explore what is problematic about people and humanity through story. That’s how we process and learn. It’s nothing new, but it becomes impossible if we can’t write flawed and even disgusting characters.

Face value…

Since I’m mostly in The Sandman fandom, I often read that its ending is hopeless, and that’s supposedly the entire message.

It is agonisingly sad, yes. But is it truly hopeless? I personally see it as quite the opposite, but of course that’s my opinion, coloured by my life experiences.

I also get that show-only fans often haven’t read the comics, or at least not the whole arc. And as such, their outlook from what they’ve seen so far (and choose to focus on) has to be different by default. I also understand that many people are quite new to the comics, even if they have read them in their entirety. I’ve sat with them for 30 years, and I still find new things on every reread (and I read it more times than anyone should 🙈), and I still don’t feel like I’ve understood it all. Perhaps because I still haven’t fully understood myself (and it’s unlikely I ever will). If there’s one thing The Sandman isn’t, it’s one-dimensional and easy to grasp in its whole depth.

I just wrote a ginormous meta on it, if you’re interested, it’s here:

Subtext, (not so) glorious subtext

This is where it gets complicated:

We shouldn’t mix up characterisation and story subtext. Overanalysing every line to death will always make us find something that’s “problematic”, when it really isn’t in the wider context of the story.

Zooming in is NOT always a good thing. Sometimes, we actually need to zoom out.

But subtext *can be* (accidentally) problematic. Even in stories we love. And none of this negates what I previously wrote.

Stories have real-life implications of sorts, and we need to be able to talk about it. That’s where those slightly flabbergasting, hostile inbox messages come in, and I want to expand on that "topic of contention" a bit:

Neil himself confirmed that the Endless basically warp reality, and that this is why, after Dream’s failed relationship with Nada, many black women in his vicinity suffer terrible fates (Ruby and Carla in particular). And that this spell is only broken when he dies, and that it is the reason why Gwen doesn’t suffer the same fate. And said Gwen then gets used as a plot device to basically absolve Hob (who canonically really is a problematic character, whether show-only fans like it or not) from his slaver past. Once again, very clearly: No one is making this up. Neil confirmed it (for the comics, and that was over 20 years ago. It remains to be seen if his stance has changed as we move into that arc in the TV show).

I don't think it is correct to imply that Dream as a character is racist (I've read that, too) because he logically can’t be. He holds *all* the collective unconscious. He is also, strictly speaking, not white. He is everything and nothing, and he shows up in many different ethnicities throughout the whole arc, depending on who looks at him. But Neil played with a subtext here (reality warping due to a bad relationship which then affects everyone with similar physical traits) that will read very differently to a black person than it reads to a white person, and we have to understand why that is an *extremely* slippery slope.

Plus, we are supposed to see Hob, who *was* a racist at some point (you can’t not be if you’re a slave-trader—it’s impossible by default) as redeemed. And yes, he *does* regret deeply, good for him (and if I were saying this aloud, you would hear the sarcasm in my voice, because it is indeed all about him. We are to sympathise/empathise with him and his character growth while there isn’t much mention of the people he maltreated). But also: it was a black woman who basically forgave him (with dialogue that personally makes me cringe). And that black woman who offers forgiveness is not truly a black woman—she is a character written by a white man. And as much as author and character are not the same (see above), there is an inherent sensitivity in that power imbalance that we can't brush under the carpet.

I don’t think Neil is racist. Probably quite the opposite, and I can even see that his intentions were good from a storytelling point of view. BUT intention and impact are two fundamentally different things, and telling the story this way (comic version) betrays blindspots only white people have. Just like women have blindspots when they tell stories about men, and men have blindspots when they tell stories about women (and there are a few of those in The Sandman, too). And and and…

As storytellers, we can’t always speak from lived experience. It’s impossible. And that also means we occasionally make mistakes that look bad in hindsight, even if our intentions were good.

I guess the proof is in the pudding: What do we do when people who *have* that lived experience tell us it looks bad? If they inform us why it is hurtful, plays into old stereotypes etc?

Are we willing to listen and yield (both are the foundations of allyship btw), or are we insisting that our viewpoint as someone *without* lived experience is right? That lived experience extends to all lived experiences (sex/gender, sexual orientation, age...), and from all we’ve heard from Neil so far, it seems important to him to rewrite what he sees differently today. Whether they’ll always get it right for the show—we’ll see. At the moment, it looks a lot better than in the comics, and certain issues are already being handled with a lot more sensitivity, but a few problems remain.

Pushing back on criticism that comes from people with lived experience is problematic—I’d encourage us to think about what it looks like if a white majority in the fandom is basically saying that the opinions of POC are essentially “overreactions” (and yes, that happened).

It’s complicated. The Sandman was written in a different time, and I think we have to distinguish between things that weren’t really problematic at the time but have aged poorly (again, Thessaly springs to mind, and I have lived experience as a queer person during that time, so I can see it in context while at the same time acknowledging that I would make changes to bring it to the present day), and things that were always a problem due to blindspots. They were a problem in 1990, and if they don’t get changed, they are still a problem today.

This fandom is generally so much more open and nicer than others I know. But that doesn’t mean it’s infallible, because it’s full of humans.

Nuance is sorely needed, in both story interpretation and interaction between said humans.

#sandman #the sandman #dream of the endless #hob gadling #morpheus #the sandman comics #the sandman netflix #sandman meta #fandom blindspots #fandom discourse #sandman spoilers #nada #nada sandman

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eepyuii · 9 months

Text

frostbite — pt. 7

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; none

notes ; happy new year!! it’s story quest time which meaaans- its teucer town. a lot of the reader and teucer being besties and *some* tiny particles of romantic feelings (if u catch them). also just a really lighthearted and humorous chapter :3

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three knocks.

“sergeant?”

“hm? yes, ekaterina? come in.”

the secretary steps up to your desk, where you sit pitifully, head resting on your hands. it’s been some months since osial’s attack and you’ve mysteriously remained stationed at liyue, not that you mind, of course. the traveler and paimon have long since been on their way to inazuma and, according to news you heard from all around, seem like they successfully solved the crises surrounding the electro archon and the vision hunt decree. not only has there been word on the streets of their feats but you’ve also noticed a noticeable increase in inazuman immigrants by the harbor.

but- back to the matter at hand, today you find yourself incredibly more fatigued than usual, perhaps due to your struggles with getting even a good wink of sleep the night before. the sunlight creeping through the windows seems to sting your eyes harsher than normal for early morning but you still try your best to open them and read the letter ekaterina has just placed in front of you.

noticing the strain in your efforts to, well, be awake at the moment, ekaterina clears her throat.

“it’s a mandate from the doctor himself.”

now that gets you up, though not in a good way. the sheer reminder of that man’s existence is enough to shoot an icy burn into your spine, one that makes you flinch into full consciousness.

skimming more effectively through the lines, you find that the mandate talks about a ruin guard research lab here in liyue under his guise, obviously, that he is requiring you to briefly oversee in his absence. not as bad as you thought but also not entirely good. the doctor has never presently explained his affinity for ruin guard robotics to you- because truly, why would he? but it’s no less than apparent how big his interest in them is, in your experience.

with a long, heavy sigh, you nod.

“i see. thank you, ekaterina, you may go.”

she bows politely and turns to leave while you reread the letter to gather the full details of the research lab. once ekaterina is by the door to your office, you take note of the sound of as her heels stop abruptly as she yelps in surprise, muttering a small ‘hello, master childe’ and carrying on her way. the next moment, they very devil she spoke of is bursting into the room.

“good morning, doc!” he chirps with surprising energy for how early it is and places a closed cup on your desk.

“here! i got you some coffee, thought it might help wake you up.”

“thanks a lot… wait, how did you know i was tired-“

“and with that act of courtesy, i would like to propose my own favor to be granted by yours truly. and that is for us to sp-“

“childe, i cannot spar with you today.”

with that, the harbinger slumps into himself like a fussing child, ironic, and groans softly. he’s about to try his very persuasive best to convince you anyway when he spots the letter in your hands and raises an eyebrow curiously.

“what’s that?”

you sigh again, pinching the bridge of your nose. “a mandate from dottore asking me to check up on one of his ruin guard research facilities, here in liyue.”

childe seems to empathize with your disdain for the request and scoffs, mumbling about ‘that lunatic and his little toy robots…’.

“hm, well i wish you luck with that. i’ve also got myself some less than stellar debts to collect today, might as well busy myself somehow even if ekaterina thinks i shouldn’t.”

“good luck with that too.”

childe turns to leave, slightly less chipper than he was when he walked in, until he stops by the door to turn around. “you’re still owing me a spar for that coffee!”

“whatever!”

grassy mountains, building ruins, ginkgo trees- minlin was just like any other area of liyue, though you’d never steal any merit from the relaxing scenery of the entire region. every new place you visited took your breath away with its beauty all the same.

it’s become an unspoken habit to deal with ruin guards at this point and you knew their patterned behaviors and limits like no other, maybe only the doctor himself. several of them sat inactivated in the ruins around you, as expected, and you took note of each one for your report diligently. as you’re approaching the entrance of the lab itself, you spot another ruin guard sat against a crumbled tower- except it was not the only thing there, there were people too. it’s not hard to decipher that it turns out to be the traveler and paimon and… someone else.

wait… surely it’s not him.

“teucer?”

all three of them immediately turn around, except teucer lights up at the sight of you and jumps from his crouching position to run at you with full speed. despite being perplexed at his presence, you still kneel to welcome him with open arms.

“big sibling y/n!! you’re here!!” he yells out, elated.

you chuckle fondly and stand up with teucer clung onto your torso.

“it’s good to see you too, teuce’, but… what in the heavens are you doing all the way here?”

looking over teucer’s shoulder, you turn to the other two, who look just as confused about the entire situation as you do.

“and you two as well, weren’t you supposed to be in inazuma still?”

“mm-yeah, we were taking a bit of a break! we’re on our way to sumeru next and liyue’s the shortest way there so… might as well take some leisurely time off.”

paimon elaborates, until she and the traveler share a look and the two of them sigh.

“unfortunately, the millelith asked us to check out these rui- ahem, i mean mr. cyclops showing up around this area. and as we were doing that, we ran into teucer over here!”

you breathe out a laugh, pitying the pair’s lack of… well- time to take a break without any tasks given to them. ‘talk about leisurely…’ you mutter, quiet enough so teucer doesn’t hear. speaking of him…

“that still doesn’t explain how you were here at all, mister.” you poke the boy’s side with the hand that isn’t holding him up against you and he giggles uncontrollably, attempting to dodge your finger.

“ahahahahah! s-stop! hahah… i’m here to see big brother at the institute for toy research! you work there too, right?”

what.

oh- is that what he thinks childe does? dear gods, that’s too funny. however you do understand why childe would lie about your jobs, you think you’d do much the same. still it takes everything within you to not burst out laughing at the revelation, even the traveler seems to notice so, somewhat understanding the reason but also somewhat not. you huff out a breath to calm the urge to cackle and turn to the two once again.

“listen, you guys don’t need to worry about this one anymore, i’ll take care of him. oh! and don’t worry about the- err, mr cyclops replicas, i’ll sort them out too. go take your break, you deserve it.”

“but- they’re my friends! they like toys like i do! a-and they made the pinky promise!” teucer retaliates.

gods damn the snezhnayan pinky swear.

“plus, he did give us this big bag of mora to take care of him…” paimon eyes the traveler, who returns the glance with a nod as if they’re silently communicating.

“and yeah- we’d much rather go see this ‘toy institute’ than deal with mr. cyclops right now.”

you nod in agreement and gesture for all of you to head back to the harbor, partially to avoid seeing the millelith soldiers patrolling the area.

“so- just out of curiosity, teuce’, what exactly did your brother say about me working with toys?”

“he said you’re a toy doctor! you take care of the toys who get hurt or sick.”

“yeah, that checks out.”

—

arriving back at northland bank, the first thing you spot is childe and ekaterina discussing something at the center of the room, oblivious to your presence for the moment. that is, until teucer bursts from your tired arms to run to his older brother.

paimon, somehow, remains oblivious enough to what is right in front of her enough to whisper. “huh? what’s he doing here…”

“yay, my brother! i found you!” exclaims teucer and childe immediately perks up, ceasing any doubts that paimon might’ve had.

“i know that voice… why, if it isn’t my little brother teucer! my goodness!”

the harbinger takes his younger brother into his arms, much like you did before, except he wraps him in a nearly bone crushing hug before setting him back down.

“haha.. what a nice surprise, teucer! i thought i would have to wait till i return home before seeing you again. how are the others, tonia and anthon? is everybody keeping well?”

“they miss you a lot! tonia prays for you every day at dinner.” it seems that only after teucer’s response is when the realization of the sheer absurdity that is teucer’s presence sets within childe, his face morphing into confusion.

“wait a second… what are you doing here in liyue, teucer? how have i not heard anything about this?”

that entire interaction, you remained merely watching from behind with an irrepressible fond smile on your face- you were so lost in their reunion that you almost miss the incredulous glare childe throws to you, like he’s silently asking if you had anything to do with this. you jump slightly once noticing it and quickly shrug, shaking your head to signify that you’re just as clueless as him.

“well, what happened was- i saw a boat that looked like it was selling toys, so obviously i thought you were on board. and then when i got off i just kept walking and walking… and then, i found a mr. cyclops!”

unbelievable.

“mr cyclops scared off a bad guy, and then i found this nice lady and-and then y/n found us! so we came looking for you.”

childe seems to have another moment of realization, where another fleeting glance comes your way and he sighs, facing off to the side to mouth to himself ‘of course, the research lab…’.

“teucer…” he starts off and you seem to understand what he’s about to say right away, leaving teucer’s side to be right in front of him, beside childe. you kneel to teucer’s height and hold out your hands for him to hold, to make him feel less like he’s being scolded. his tiny hands are dwarfed by yours in a way that makes your heart swell.

“…teuce’, what you did was really dangerous. we’re both happy to see you, really, but please promise you won’t do anything like this ever again.”

childe nods in agreement and teucer sighs, letting go of your hands to put them behind his back sheepishly.

“okay, i promise… please don’t be mad at me.”

“we’re not mad at you. we just care about your safety, that’s all.” childe reassures.

“if you hadn’t met these nice people, and even more if y/n hadn’t found you, things could’ve been a lot more dangerous for you, teucer. i hope you said a big thank-you to all of them?”

“yep! i always remember my please’s and thank-you’s!

“oohh so you did notice we were here… you were just ignoring us, gotcha.” paimon adds sarcastically as she and the traveler look at childe through a sassy glare.

“haha… forgive me, it’s always family first where i’m from. don’t take it personally. i know we’ve had our differences up to now but.. a few minor quibbles aside, we get on quite well, don’t you think?”

the traveler’s incredulous reaction tells you that perhaps teucer shouldn’t listen to the conversation while they sort out their, erm, quibbles- so you gently take him by the hand and lead him off ever so slightly to the side, where you know he’ll be at least distracted enough to not listen. kneeling down, you once again take his impossibly adorable hands into yours and fiddle with them playfully, he only grins in oblivious amusement.

“so, teuce’, tell me more- how’re things back home? you’re not too bored without us there, are you?”

“mm-no, i’m just fine! anthon still plays with me a bunch and tonia always reads me the letters big brother sends us, she always tells such cool stories!”

“yeah? like what?”

the young boy thinks for a moment, rubbing his chin like he’s mentally paging through the deepest, most riveting tales he can recall.

“hmm.. oh! one time she told me the story of how big brother discovered a new version of mr. cyclops! he’s bigger and.. and stronger and he’s got huge horns, like a deer! he’s like mr. cyclops' big brother.”

well, at least childe is keeping his lies somewhat accurate. but the way teucer beams and hops excitedly as he talks about the bigger mr. cyclops, or a ruin grader as you know it, seems to justify keeping him in the dark. the way his big blue eyes shine with wonder is in itself a treasure worth protecting. you’ve practically long forgotten that you’re supposed to be stalling out a conversation to distract him.

“that’s so awesome, teucer!” you grin back at him. “what other stories does your brother tell?”

“hm..- oh yeah! he also talks about you in his letters.”

oh?

“does he?” you’re unsure if you should feel good or bad about the revelation, gods know what childe says to his siblings about you.

“yeah he does! he talks about how you take such good care of the toys when they get hurt and how smart you are and how…”

suddenly, teucer trails off as he turns to the trio still conversing near you, like he’s heard something that’s caught his attention. he entirely abandons the sentence he’d left unfinished to join their side again and you find yourself feeling the smidgenmost bit disappointed that he didn’t finish speaking. you only sigh to yourself and smooth your clothes down from the crouching position you were in, joining back in as well.

“that’s right, my brother’s the greatest! he’s mr. cyclops’ bestest friend!”

childe chuckles in somewhat faux delight, to satisfy teucer and make it seem like he approves of his brother’s message, before leaning over to the traveler and whisper, as you hear it,- ‘just humor me in front of teucer, if you’d be so kind…’

“ahem- ah yes! ekaterina, i will deal with the issue of the outstanding payment right away.”

“hey! slinking off, are we?” paimon accuses.

“but, master childe, would it not be improper to ask you to deal with… debt collection?”

“a bet is a bet, isn’t it? and if you lose a bet with an agent.. well, you might as well get some exercise out of it.”

“are you going off to sell toys now?” teucer interjects, partially with admiration for his brother and partially with disappointment that he has to leave.

“that’s right. as much as i’d like to catch up a little longer, teucer, duty calls! i’m sure y/n and ms. nice lady will keep you company while i’m out, though.”

childe implies with a pleading glance thrown to you and the traveler. you nod gladly while the traveler puts her hand to her forehead momentarily and paimon mumbles a complaint about having to babysit for childe.

“sure!” teucer confirms as well. “i really like y/n and this lady already! and anyway, the nice lady made a pinky promise to take good care of me.”

the harbinger ends up leaving the four of you with a hefty bag of mora to spend out in the city while he’s working and you firstly decide to take him to an elderly lady’s kite shop. she patiently explains how to use the kites and teucer asks for a mr. cyclops shaped kite, because why wouldn’t he- you manage to convince the lady to make a custom build for it with a shining pile of mora. next, you take him to wanmin restaurant, where chef mao graciously offers to make a special dish for teucer, who can’t eat spicy food. you don’t blame him, personally- snezhnayan dishes tend to steer away from spice specifically and lean more towards warm, filling meals to endure the cold temperatures. however, the food teucer asks for turns out sickeningly sweet and even paimon, the awarded food enthusiast, feels nauseated at the end. finally, he asks you to give the wharf a better look than when he was stepping off his boat. paimon proceeds to give a mouthful of an explanation about liyue’s trade port, which ends up too confusing for teucer to even care. instead, his attention is caught by a ship anchor left in the wharf.

“teucer, don’t run off!” you urge as he takes off to see the anchor.

“that metal hook is huge! and it gets bigger the closer we get!”

“this is an anchor. docked ships use it to hold themselves in position, to stop wind and waves from blowing them away.” paimon explains.

“hmm, an anchor… got it. but i think i might get it mixed up with commodore hook.”

“commodore hook..? is that another one of your weird toy names?”

“my brother always sends me a really big toy for my birthday- commodore hook, blacksteel jack, iron tony… we keep them all in your backyard!”

“are they as big as the anchor?” the traveler asks.

“yeah, and that’s why i can’t bring them with me all the time. it’s a shame…”

you choke on your breath at a realization. “i-is that what your father was keeping under a tarp in the backyard..?”

teucer nods cluelessly. you’ve seen tarped objects behind childe’s family house that had some absurd silhouettes hidden by the protective fabric and the snow, but you’ve only ever assumed they were left over building materials- not gigantic fucking robots because why would you ever assume that’s what he’d send a child for his birthday. you’ll have to have a talk with him about gift giving at a later time.

“but my favorite is mr. cyclops. even though i mostly came here to see my brother, the other big thing i wanted to do was play with mr. cyclops! oh- are they selling fish over there, let’s have a look!”

and just like that, teucer is gone again. paimon stomps her foot in the air as she heaves frustratedly.

“quit! running! off!”

you briefly go to see the fish on display as teucer tells you of the time when childe caught him an impossibly large fish just because he asked for it. somewhere in the back of your head, you find it endearing that childe has kept up the habit of fishing just like when his father would take you on his trips to ice fish as well. maybe you could get him to go fishing in liyue, just the two of you when you have some free ti- wait, what are you saying? you’re supposed to be watching out for teucer, who conveniently has gone off to see the boats and seems to have his entire good mood flipped around.

“teuce’, you look upset, what’s wrong? are you tired?” you coo.

he sighs melancholically and covers his face behind his hands. “i miss my brother…”

“what? but we were just with him!” argues paimon.

“yea, but for such a short time that it doesn’t even count! take me to see my brother, i don’t wanna play anymore!”

you sigh and look to the other designated babysitters. they look back with defeated shrugs- seems like you’ve done what you can to entertain him for the moment. turning back to teucer, you offer to carry him in your hold as you leave for qingxu pool, where childe said he would be, and he gladly accepts. from behind you, a low gurgle can be heard.

“urgh… paimon may never recover from that dish.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap

#childe genshin x reader #childe imagines #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin impact #genshin impact fic #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #tartaglia x reader #childe tartaglia ajax #tartagalia genshin impact #childe fic #childe tartaglia #childe genshin #childe genshin impact

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 3 months

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🧚‍♀️ Anon

Is it just me or does Santana and give Tarzan vibes? And it got me thinking about this;

Darling is an ethnologist taken against her will by Stroheim as ordered to take her father’s place as he’s too sick and frail to practice his work

Darling has the same credentials as her father as she learned everything from him (She loves and cares deeply about her father)

Darling only obeys Stroheim to keep her father safe from harm, however she was shocked meeting Speedwagon (But was on his side about being against awakening Santana)

Darling could tell Santana is more intelligent than he looks and was horrified when he escaped from his chamber

Darling unwillingly has Santana’s attention since she has him curious about the items she has near her

Ooh, I've never covered Santana. This'll be fun.

(This is gonna be a bit vauge as my memory on part two is a little weak and I can't really reread the Manga rn as all my volumes are currently in storage)

They were captured a little before Speedwagon was. Darling was used to force their father into cooperating but due to short rashions they've both grown weak.

At first Strohiem plans to have them both killed as their father has stopped making as much progress they want but darling intervenes. Telling him that they've studied under their father for years and can take his place until his condition gets better. They're mocked initially but eventually the deal is struck.

When Speedwagon is brought in he urges them to stop, thinking they're a willing participant. Darling agrees with Speedwagon that it's best the soldiers don't go forward with it but they don't really have a choice in the matter.

Darling struggles to find anything concrete as there isn't a lot of supporting evidence about these creatures, and their father had covered almost everything they could've without an extensive amount of documents of the Olmec to Aztec eras.

Of course darling does ask for more documents to cross reference but this leads to small altercations. Usually getting shoved around or knife being pointed at them but they're placid enough to calm the situation quickly.

When Santana awakens darling is extremely weary of his mannerisms. If his kind could make the stone mask that Speedwagon described then who knows how intelligent his species is. They try to warn the soldiers as they mock him. The laugh it off and grab them.

"Maybe we should throw them in an see what happens" one half jokes before continue in their first language.

"You think he'd tear them apart or try something" they continue with a wink to his mate.

Things change immediately when he's able to escape through the vents. Everyone scrambles around in an attempt to protect themselves.

Something on darling catches his attention (a pendant or pocketwatch) before they shoot him and he kills most of the soldiers before turning back to darling and saying their name. Of course Joesph comes in to save Speedwagon and sometime during this he takes over darling's body like he had with Strohiem and flees.

Darling finds that he's taken them into a cave. And is looking at the heirloom they have. They try to leave while he's distracted but he quickly grabs them. They plead for him to spare them and he tells them he won't harm them. Darling asks why he took them. He's not entirely sure why. They're meant to be his prey yet he kept them alive. He gets them to teach him about the new world and starts to develop feelings for them.

Perhaps he uses darlings body to get essentials both as a means of not getting burnt and making sure they can't.

#yandere x reader #yandere jojo's bizarre adventure #yandere #🧚‍♀️ anon #yandere jjba #yandere santana

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themoonking · 9 months

Text

breaking / preventing bad booktok habits

no one asked my opinion, but i've been thinking about this a lot so i'm going to give it anyway.

consumerism on booktube is a tale as old as time, and it's just as bad if not worse on booktok (due to the norm on tikok being to post something new at least once a day), and that leads a lot of book influencers (both on youtube and tiktok, and even instagram to an extent) into some really bad spending and consumption habits

this is my very long opinion piece on some tips and changes to make if you've already developed these bad habits or feel like you're about to.

tldr: stop buying in to hype and by more mindful about what you buy, and REMEMBER THAT LIBRARIES EXIST.

go to the library

quite simple. allows you to read as many books as you want without spending money or cluttering your home. and if you argue back that your local library is small / doesn't have a large selection, that's all the more reason to support it!! it won't grow or improve if it doesn't have people behind it.

getting rid of books

don't feel like you have to get rid of books even if you enjoyed them. i myself have larger book collection than most people i know. but you do have to make peace with the idea of getting rid of books from time to time. stop treating it like the worst thing that ever happened to you.

next time your bookshelf is full, don't immediately jump to buying a new shelf. instead, go through your entire collection and see what you really want to keep. do the marie kondo thing and take everything off the shelf so you can go through each book one by one. go over it multiple times over a couple of days, so you can come at it with fresh eyes.

when you look at each individual book, really think about it. ask yourself: did i even like this book? if i did, will i ever reread it? was it important to me or was it just a book i enjoyed and will never think about again? if i can't remember my feelings on a book, am i willing to reread it to find out?

if you have books that you were neutral on, that you liked but not in any notable way, or that you straight up didn't enjoy, it might be time to move on from them. donate to your local library: if you didn't enjoy them, there might be someone out there who might, and if you did enjoy them, they're right there if you ever have the urge to read them again.

don't think about book purges as tearing apart your perfect collection, but instead think about it as making room for something new that you enjoy and appreciate a lot more.

if you've gone over your collection multiple times and you still have no room, then feel free to buy a new shelf and expand your collection. obviously, as you read more books you'll find more that meant a lot to you that you want to keep. again, it's not about mimimalism, it's about mindfulness.

unread books

some book influencers (and their fans) have a MASSIVE problem with unread books. as in, they have 100+ on their shelves and they keep buying more to add to the pile. if you have books in your collection that have remained unread for years... it might be time to get rid of some of them. sorry.

do the same thing with the unread books as you did with the read books: go over them one by one and really think about why you're keeping them.

how long have you had it? if you've had a book for 5+ years, and you haven't felt the urge to read it yet, do you really think you're ever going to? read the description: does it seem like something that actually interests you, or did you buy it on a whim? perhaps it interested you when you bought it, but time has passed and tastes change; does it interest you now?

if you haven't touched or even thought about a book in multiple years but you can't bring yourself to get rid of it because "well maybe someday i'll need it!!" consider how dangerously close to hoarder mentality you're getting.

if you're really convinced that you'll enjoy a certain book, set it aside. make the books you set aside your priority for the next 6 months / the next year and don't buy anymore in that timeframe. if by the end of that time you haven't read the books you set aside, it's time to accept that you are simply never going to read them, and its better that they get some use rather than collect dust.

once again: donate any you get rid of to the library. if you're worried that you're going to suddenly want to read them (even though you haven't for years) and won't have them anymore, remember that if you give them to library they will be right there for you to borrow whenever you like. except that, in the time between you donating them and reading them, they won't have simply been sitting on your shelf gathering dust. instead, other people will have gotten the chance to read them and perhaps enjoyed them more than you ever would.

buying books

quite simply, just be more mindful about the books you buy.

when a new book becomes trendy on booktok or booktube, don't buy it right away. a lot of book influencers' unread books tend to be ones that they bought because they were really popular online, but that they lost interest in when the trend died out. if you're worried about missing out, remember that the book will still be available when the trend dies, and if you're only interested in something so you can partake in the trend... you're not really interesting in the book. you're interested in the clout.

when a book trend catches your eye, takes some time to think about it instead. first of all, does the book actually seem like something you're interested in? yes, everyone on booktok is talking about this new historical romance, but do you even like historical romance? this new epic fantasy is filling your youtube recommendations, but do you even like epic fantasy? look at reviews. look at reviews from people you know have similar tastes to you. did they like it? were the things they liked about it things that you enjoy?

if after thinking it through you're still engaged, go ahead and buy it! once again, its not about mimimalism. it's not about having less books. it's about mindfulness.

if you're subscribed to a book subscription box (or, god forbid, multiple book subscription boxes) maybe take stock and see if you actually want to remain subscribed. in the past 12 months, how many books from them have you read, and how many have you actually enjoyed? in my opinion, unless you've read an enjoyed the majority of books you've recieved in the past year, it might be time to unsubscribe. also always know that if a particular month's selection really interests you, you can simply buy the non-subscription version of the book without paying for all the ones that don't interest you.

like many book lovers, i enjoy wandering aimlessly around the bookstore even if i don't get anything, but if impulse buying books is an issue for you don't go to bookstores for fun. stay away from book-specific online stores. if you're spending issue is really bad, it might be time to block book-related social media tags (aka abandon booktok).

if you have an issue with your unread books getting out of control, set aside a physical space for your physical to-be-read and always ensure that your unread books can fit inside that space. if it starts to overflow, thats your sign that you need to ban yourself from buying books and focus on the books you already have (and then actually stick to that!!).

i personally have a three-tiered utility cart that i use (they're really common, you can find them a lot of places, but mine is specifically from ikea). it has a little wooden table lid that goes on the top tier that prevents me from storing anything in that layer. my unread books go in the bottom two tiers. if they get to the point that, to store them all, i have to remove the lid and start putting them on the top tier, i know that i need to slow down in my book buying and stay away from the book store. if, after that, it gets to the point where the entire top tier is full, then i know that it's time for a full book-buying ban until they're all read.

other methods i've seen people use: keep a separate, much smaller bookshelf in another part of the house. keep them in stacks but use a ruler to measure how tall the stacks get, and go on a ban if they get above a certain height. limit unread books to how many can comfortably fit on the bedside table. etc.

in general, it's best to NOT store unread books on the shelf with your other books. if they're on your shelf next to all your read books, you may not really be able to comprehend how many unread books you have, which can lead to the number getting out of hand.

and if you're buying books less for the pleasure of reading them and more for the pleasure of buying them (aka you genuinely not as a joke say "buying books and reading books are two different hobbies")... babygirl you have a shopping addiction </3

special editions

a lot of book influencers have a lot of special editions of books, but rarely have they read all of them. a lot of people really like collecting special editions, which is why my advice to unsubscribe from book boxes might, perhaps, be difficult.

however, many people who own a lot of these special editions don't really care about what's inside the book. rather, they care about the clout that comes with having a lot of special editions. even if they aren't an influencer, if you consume a lot of book content, you might get a feeling of superiority knowing that you have this type of collection that your favorite creators have.

essentially, when you go through your special editions, treat them the same as your other books from earlier but also ask yourself:

(1) is there anything actually special about this special edition? some special editions have exclusive bonus content such as cut chapters, interviews with the author, special art on the inside, et cetera; is this one of those or is it just the trade version with a recolored cover?

(2) if i have multiple different special editions of the same book, is there anything to actually distinguish them? do they have different exclusive bonus conent? different exclusive covers made by different talented artists? or are they essentially the same, except this cover is a slightly different shade of red, and this one has gold foiling in a slightly different spot?

(3) assuming i've read it, did this book actually mean something to me? do i care enough about this book to want a special copy of it? if i thought it was just okay, or even disliked it, wouldn't it be better off in the hands of someone who has it down as one of their favorite books of all time?

if you're going over your book box subscriptions and you say that you wouldn't be interesting in reading a certain book if you don't get your hands on the special edition, remeber that your experience of reading will be exactly the same if you have the exclusive special edition hardback or the standard trade paperback. it's like the tiktok trend; if you're only interested in this book if you have a special edition, you're not really interested in the book. you're interested in the clout.

essentially, the base thing you have to consider is: do you want this rare, expensive copy because the book actually means something to you, or because you want the online social status that comes from having a rare, expensive copy?

conclusion

once again, the main point is: be more mindful about the books you buy.

actually think about if you're interested in reading something instead of buying books you'll never read on a whim. think about whether your buying something for yourself or for clout.

and remember that libraries exist!! donate books to your library, donate funds to your library, borrow books from your library, etc. if you like audiobooks or ebooks, download whatever app your library uses. if your library doesn't have a book that you'd like to read, put in a request and they might purchase. participate in your library's events and activities. get involved in your library. show your local library the love it deserves!!!

bye. if you have another tip about breaking or preventing bad book habits, feel free to reblog w/ your tip.

#i speak #my monologues #anti booktok #booktok #anti booktube #booktube #bookblr

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darkstaria · 3 months

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Здравствуйте!

У меня после прочтения первой главы Солоумейт ау возник огромный вопрос. Что со временем? То есть в каком промежутке времени происходит глава (хотя это я вроде поняла) и в каком возрасте читатель. Ещё я не совсем поняла что с возрастом у мальчиков и какое соотношение возраста между всеми ними с читателем. (кто старше, кто младше) Возможно это произошло из-за того, что я плохо знаю английский, но пожалуйста, ответьте на этот вопрос, я сколько не перечитывала не поняла.

К слову глава и задумка мне очень понравилось:)

Hello!

After reading the first chapter of Soulmate au, I had a huge question. What about the time? I mean, in what period of time the chapter takes place (although I kind of understood that) and at what age the reader is. I also didn't quite understand what happens to boys with age and what is the age ratio between all of them and the reader. (who is older, who is younger) Perhaps this was due to the fact that I do not know English well, but please answer this question, I did not understand how many times I reread it.

By the way, I really liked the chapter and the idea :)

And I apologize for the English, I am writing with a translator

❤

Thank you for translating your question! I'll do my best to answer.

So, there are multiple time periods featured in the fic, as it is about the Reader's situation and their background in the Au. The main time period is with Reader and the Batfam, and the primary plot is from that perspective. So in this time period, Reader is a year or two younger than Tim, and older than Damian. So the age range goes: Dick, Jason, Tim, Reader, Damian.

Occasionally I write flashbacks to Readers' childhood, so I can detail how the soulmate bond has affected those events. When I use

~ ~ ~ ~

it's because I'm changing scenes, which might be a skip in time or a flashback.

Hopefully that clarifies some things!

#darkstaria #anon ask #ask #asks #anonymous #soul animal au

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13eyond13 · 9 days

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hi, not too long ago, i read death note one-shot 2020. i really enjoyed it, but i have a question. What would have happened if Minoru never died. Do you think Minoru and Near will have met each other. I hope you have a headcanons about them.

Hi! Thanks for the ask, it was fun to think about the 2020 one-shot again. I hadn't revisited it since it first came out, so I reread it again just now to have it fresh in my mind.

So I don't really think Minoru and Near likely would've met even if Minoru never died, because Minoru asked Ryuk to erase his memories and also made it really hard to trace everything back to him with how he planned the selling of the notebook. He didn't WANT to be tracked down by anybody, nor to remember what he had done, and Near said himself that it would be basically impossible for them to find him now after the transaction had taken place. The only clue L's team really had to go on after the auction finished was that A-Kira was probably one of the many hundreds of thousands of people under 60 years old who had a bank account with Yotsuba.

HOWEVER! I also do like the idea of Minoru and Near meeting each other, especially because Near expressed interest in meeting him due to his obvious intelligence and due to coming up with that kind of a plan with the notebook. And think it might have been fun to see how they got along.

("read more" cut because it's a bit long)

I also liked Minoru as a character quite a bit. He came off pretty chill and patient and peaceful and non-egotistical, but still pretty scheming and clever as a character as well. I also liked how he found a way to try to use it to benefit himself and his own country (I guess - it's up for interpretation, but that much money going to Japan would be "greasing the wheels" of the economy, as they said?). And to me he also seemed to be trying to entertain and placate Ryuk while also getting the notebook away from him and not actually using it himself to kill anybody. After all, Minoru really had no choice in the matter initially when Ryuk selected him for his next notebook owner, so he didn't ask to be put in that position, and he had all the history of what had happened before when Kira had the notebook to draw on. And Near points out that now that the world knows about Kira's power and its whereabouts that it will be a lot harder for it to be used sneakily by anybody, and perhaps that was something that Minoru had been anticipating too (I assume he had thought of many things like this before he chose this plan, seeing as he for some reason spends 2 entire years coming up with it).

Near in this one-shot is a bit of a question mark to me characterization-wise. He doesn't act a ton like Near did in the manga in my eyes, and comes off a bit more cynical and listless and self-centered than I thought he actually was back in the manga. He seems a bit less idealistic and less caring about the others around him to me in this one-shot, too; and I thought that the part where he says that he wants to meet A-Kira because he's smart sounds a lot more like something the original L would say than something Near would say. Much of the stuff that made his personality refreshing and unique to me in comparison to L just wasn't really that present in this one-shot for me. And I'm just not sure if that's because Ohba is intentionally writing him to have been changed by the Kira case and differently characterized now to how he wrote him in the manga, or what? Perhaps he is trying to show Near slowly becoming more like L over the years as he spends more time doing L's job? Or maybe I just interpreted Near's personality in the manga differently to how Ohba was actually conceptualizing him and writing him in the first place.

Anyway, whenever I imagine Near and Minoru meeting and interacting I tend to picture Minoru having a bit of a calming effect on Near for some reason, as Near comes off a bit depressed and cranky and lonely to me in the later one-shots. They're so far apart in age in canon and when Near first learns about A-Kira that I don't ship it, but I can imagine them getting along well as friends if they met (and if someone came up with an AU where they are closer together in age and/or both first met as adults that'd be fine for me shipping-wise as well). Maybe Near would do well to have a friend like Minoru who came off smart and relatable to him in an interesting way, and who also immediately understood that something like having the power of Kira handed to him wasn't automatic good news and didn't want to use it to kill anybody. Minoru could maybe be Near’s chill voice of reason when he gets a little too cynical and stubborn about things and get him out of the house a bit more, introduce him to some of the things the kids are into these days and see what he thinks about them. I feel like Near would maybe do well to not be so caught up in his role as L anymore as well, as it doesn't really seem to be agreeing with him that much later in life. I can picture them doing something fun and low stakes and nerdy together like hanging out at a board game cafe. Or maybe it'd even be nice to see them working together on L stuff, and maybe Near would be a happier person with an actual pal to hang out with.

#ask #anon #minoru #near #2019 death note one shot #death note #p #headcanon

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ahundredtimesover · 2 years

Note

Hiiii how is the love after!couple doing? 🥺💜

Are the girls healthy and happy? 🥺🥺 Guk-ah how is fatherhood going? 💜💜

It's been a while but here we are! I did a reread of TLA and i.hurt.so.much that I just had to write this bc I needed my own closure for all the pain 🥺 so here's a sneak peak into fatherhood and something more. (warning: animal hunting [sorry, rabbits!], sexual content)

Title: The Love After Drabble (06): Do you think it'll ever go away? The guilt of what I've done? || You're reminded of your past

WC: 7,579

From: The Love After (werewolf!JK x human!reader)

“Daddy, I want to be a pink wolf!”

“I want to be yellow!”

“But what if you don’t want to be yellow anymore?”

“What if you don’t want to be pink?”

You’ve opened the door by the time your daughters yell out in unison, “daddy, can we change our colors when we get older?”

You gaze at a wide-eyed Jungkook as he sits on the living room floor with Eunjoo and Hayoon on his lap, his mouth open then closing, perhaps trying to figure out how to tell his kids that, no, they can’t be either of those colors; neither can they change them.

He looks back at the 2 pairs of curious eyes and smiles. “Why don’t we ask Amma later, okay?”

“Okay!” They both squeal, turning to face you with a greeting and then focusing on their works again.

Jungkook stands up and helps you with the produce-filled bags and places them on the dining table.

“We were just coloring and then they decided they wanted to be pink and yellow wolves,” he pouts at you. “I didn’t have the heart to tell them they can’t.”

“Yeah, so you’re gonna let Amma be the one to tell them?” You chuckle. “Back in my day, it was the ‘where did we come from’ question that my parents didn’t wanna answer. Amusing to think that now it’s this.”

“It’s just them, though,” Jungkook sighs. “I don’t think any of the other pups in this town want to have bright-colored fur or something.”

“They’re 3 years old, Kook,” you cup his cheek. “They’re being creative and imaginative and that’s normal when they have parents who read them stories every night. They’ll eventually learn the truth and they would’ve outgrown wanting to become pink or yellow or rainbow-colored wolves by then. So you don’t have to worry about disappointing them, okay?”

You know that’s what he’s more worried about - breaking your daughters’ hearts. It’s the one thing he can’t bear to do, and so many times you’ve had to talk about him learning to say no to them, otherwise they’ll grow up thinking that they could get anything they want, and that’s not the kind of world they live in.

“Fine,” he gives in. “But I’ll really have them ask Amma so I don’t have to answer and see their disappointed faces.”

“Oh, Kook,” you hug him, wanting to comfort your mate who’s made it his goal to always make your daughters laugh and smile. “You’re doing great, okay? We are. I mean, look at them. At that age, Baram was constantly bullying me.”

You and Jungkook laugh as you both soften at the sight of your daughters who exchanged coloring books so they can decorate and draw on what their sister just did. They like sharing things with each other, and that includes their own creations. They like complimenting and hugging each other, too.

“Anyway, was your market run good?” He asks, walking to the kitchen to get the late breakfast dishes that he prepared for all 4 of you.

“Yes,” you grin. “They finally have persimmons and oranges. I got more fruits and vegetables, too. All for half the price.”

“Perks of being the Beta’s mate,” he winks.

“Obviously, although I think we would’ve gotten them for free if you were the one who went to buy,” you laugh.

That wouldn’t be far from the truth. The whole town loves Jungkook, especially those who work at the market because he’s the one who makes sure that their harvests are safe from wild animals. They claim it’s just right that he doesn’t pay much for it; they earn due to his protection, after all.

“That’s true, but those 2 didn’t want to let me go,” he smiles, thinking back to earlier in the morning. He checked on them in their new bedrooms and they woke up, immediately hugging him.

“They’ve missed you,” you say. “We were at my parents’ for an entire week because you decided to be all ‘father of the century’ by building the second floor so they could have a bigger room. You were gone most of the days and they just want to be with you.”

Jungkook shyly smiles and you melt when he does. He kept his promise of building a second story to accommodate your children. He built 3 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms upstairs and you were blown away when he revealed it to you and your daughters the other day. They squealed in excitement because they could finally have a big space for all their toys.

You don’t know how Jungkook managed to do it in such a short time, but perhaps that has a lot to do with all the help from the townspeople and members of the pack. He rarely ever asks for help, Taehyung told you, so when he inquired about plumbing and bathroom tiles, people were quick to offer.

The second floor is stunning and you’re still in the process of designing it. But it took so much of Jungkook’s time, and so when your daughters woke up to their daddy’s voice, you’re sure they were ecstatic to spend the morning with him, too.

“They seem to like their room a lot,” Jungkook hums. “We were playing there earlier and they asked me to make a dresser and a chest for their things. I’ve got designs in my head already and I can’t wait to make them.”

“How are our daughters just 3 yet they already know what they want and how to get it?” You chuckle. Sure, they grow almost twice as fast as normal humans do, but still, a lot of the things they do surprises you.

“They get it from you,” he laughs now. “And they probably know that I’d do anything for them. I tell them every night.”

“I really hope we’re not raising spoiled kids, Kook,” you furrow your brows.

“We aren’t. You’ll make sure of that.”

“Hey!” You nudge his knee. “I’m not the only one who’s gonna keep them in place.”

“Fine, fine. We both will,” he smiles.

Parenting werewolves is not easy, and for a time, Jungkook didn’t think he’d ever be having this conversation with his mate. Neither did he think he’d ever be able to make this cabin feel like a home for a family, and now, there’s 2 storeys of it filled with nothing but warmth and love that all 4 of you share. He can’t wait to share it with more.

Eunjoo and Hayoon go to you once you call them, and they haven’t really outgrown sitting on both your laps during meals so they could hug you while they eat.

It’s one of your favorite things as a parent, you think, as Hayoon wraps her arms around your neck after a mouthful of grilled fish and rice. She goes back to sitting on your lap to feed herself, and then lays her head on your chest. Eunjoo does something similar with Jungkook, and you both share a look as if to say that you both did this.

All those times of having them sleep in between you and Jungkook and reading them stories and humming them lullabies; all those afternoons of laying on the grass while you all make out the shapes of the clouds; all those evenings of sitting on the couch at the porch, hugging each other under the light blanket - perhaps both your daughters keep all these moments as memories, too, and their affection is all the love they’re returning because of your love that they feel everyday.

“Daddy, will you take us to Amma? I want to ask about our fur,” Eunjoo looks at him sweetly.

You stifle a laugh as Jungkook sighs.

“Yes, angel. I’ll take you and your sister to her,” he says, hugging her back after she squeals. “And you can play with your cousins and the other kids there, too.”

It’s a Saturday, after all, and a lot of families go to the pack house and Amma’s residence to gather over food and conversations while the pups listen to stories and play around the garden by the pond. It’s like a daycare center there, and you’re glad there’s a place for your children to grow and learn about themselves where they’re safe and comfortable.

“I have a meeting with my brothers,” he turns to you. “Are you sure you don’t need my help at your parents’?”

“No need,” you assure him. “Mother just needs someone to carry around furniture and boxes since she wants a repaint. I can handle it.”

Jungkook nods and you both return to your meals, chuckling when the kids slurp their bowls dry and then finish a large piece of orange each. You decide to clean up in the kitchen while he gives them both a bath, and you all spend time choosing the girls’ outfits for today’s afternoon at the pack house.

“Bye, mommy!” They both yell, kissing you sweetly before jumping into their father’s arms. “We’ll see you later!”

You kiss Jungkook and watch them get in the car, gushing at how attached your children are to both of you.

You get back in the cabin and look around, checking every corner to see if there’s something you need to clean or put in order. After rearranging some things, you head out to the backyard and see the remaining slabs of wood that Jungkook didn’t use for the second floor. Those might be for your daughters’ chest and dresser, you think. Some of his tools are still outside, including the one ax that he accidently broke.

You’re reminded again of all the work Jungkook did to continuously make this place a home for your family, and you don’t think you can ever thank him enough. You suppose that a good dinner of rabbit stew and some chicken spinach pies would be a good start.

“Just a little more to the left,” your mother instructs you, and you do as she says before she releases another breath. “Good, you did it. You’re fine.”

“You do know I have superhuman strength now, right?” You laugh at her, knowing that she tends to still worry whenever you lift heavy things. “I can do all this and not break a sweat.”

“I know, my dear. I still need a lot of getting used to,” she smiles. “Both my daughters are incredibly strong beings and well, good on us for not needing to hire more people to fix the house.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll try to learn to paint for you,” you tease. “Jungkook could be your foreman or something.”

“Ah, I don’t want to add to his responsibilities anymore,” she hums. “He’s doing so much fixing your own place and being an amazing father to your 2 girls. He needs to spend the remaining time he has of not working and patrolling with you.”

“I know, but it’s not a big deal,” you assure her. “We spend time together as much as we can. And it’s been a tough few months for him, too; he’s just been needing care and reassurance more than anything. Being mates allows us to just know what the other needs, you know?”

“That’s good,” your mother smiles, cupping your cheek as she walks towards you. “And you’re good at that - giving care and reassurance.”

“Am I already?” You wonder out loud.

You hate to think of a time when it wasn’t the case, and the thought of those months of ignoring Jungkook, shutting him out, and putting him in danger causes an ache in your heart. You’ve tried to make up for all those times but you don’t know if anything you do will also ever be enough.

“Of course, my dear,” she nudges you, acting upset that you’d think otherwise. “He wouldn’t be looking as happy as he does whenever he talks about you if you weren’t. It makes my mornings.”

“And when does this happen?” You arch an eyebrow.

“During the days when he comes over some with meat after a hunt. About twice a week,” she informs you. “He has that glimmer in his eyes, you know? It makes me so thankful that you were fated to him. I just knew he’d love you so well, the kind that would let someone as hurt as you open up completely to him and love him just as much.”

The words are meant to be comforting, and you know your mother means well - she laid witness to you shutting out the entire world after all, and she’d been one of those to ask you to give Jungkook a chance. You just can’t help sometimes but think of how hurt he must’ve been feeling so unwelcomed, unwanted.

You’ll never know what that’s like; that’s the last thing Jungkook would ever make you feel. Even when he’s hurt and dealing with his own pains, he seeks for you.

Like that time a townsman was attacked by a wild boar, leaving him in critical condition, and Jungkook blamed himself for failing to protect him. Or just recently when Mr. Roi, the owner of the workshop he works at, passed away due to an aneurysm and Jungkook was upset that he hadn't sensed it sooner.

He was hard on himself both times but he let you hold him. He was upset and grieving but he let you comfort him. He let you share all that pain with him, and not once did you feel like he wanted to go through all that on his own.

“You okay, sweetie?” Your mother’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“Yeah, just… thinking. You’re right,” you manage a smile. “Jungkook loves with all of him. The girls and I are so lucky.”

“Well, they’re lucky they have you, too,” she comforts, kissing your forehead. “So I was wondering… what do you think about redesigning your bedroom so it could accommodate your family? Perhaps getting rid of your desk and bookshelf to fit 2 double beds?”

“What for?”

“Well, your father and I were thinking that it would be nice to have you and your sister and your families here some weekends,” your mother says. “Your kids are growing so, so fast and we don’t want to blink and miss all that. And well, it gets lonely here sometimes. And with your grandfather gone…” she trails, her voice dropping low at the thought of how much she misses him. “It’s just… we want to spend time with all of you, all at once. Is that alright?”

“That sounds good,” you say. “The girls will outgrow the double bed but uh, maybe sometime in the future, we could build an extra room just off the living room? Or we could convert grandfather’s—”

“No,” she interjects. “I mean, not yet. I’m… I’m not yet ready to let him go like that.”

You mirror the sadness in her eyes, and though it broke you when your grandfather passed, you can’t imagine how it must’ve been for your mother who’s spent all her life with him. You understand wanting to keep people who have passed in spaces, in things. It lets us feel like they’re still here.

“Okay,” you say. “We can redesign the rooms. I’ll ask Jungkook to help out one weekend.”

Your mother returns your smile and you both get back to work, emptying the living room so the painters could prepare it for tomorrow.

It’s mid afternoon by the time you finish, and you say your goodbye to head home and start preparing for dinner. You work on your dough and filling for the pies, deciding that you’ll go for a hunt while they’re setting.

You’ve never joined Jungkook on a hunt. Ever since your transformation, you’d only ever shifted to run into the mountains or when you feel like your family is in danger. Jungkook had always insisted it was his job to do that, and he knows this area more than anyone; hunting is his thing and there was never a need for you to do it.

Not unless you want to surprise him, of course.

Rabbit stew has become his favorite ever since you prepared it for him one night years ago, when you redid the Ceremony dinner at the cabin. That was the night you admitted what you felt for him, and you have a feeling that Jungkook ties that meaning to the dish. So every time you feel like showing him how you feel - however that is - you make him stew.

There were no rabbits from yesterday’s hunt so you decide to look for them yourself. You shift into your wolf form and head out, trying to remember Jungkook’s hunting strategies that he’s shared with you. You look for fresh prints, sniff their scent, and let the animal in you dictate where to go.

It doesn’t take long for you to sense movement from the meadows a few kilometers away. As you follow the sound, you know it’s what you’re looking for. There are 2 of them and their prints are heavy; they’re big, enough for your family of 4.

You run faster, not wanting them to wander farther. You sneak up on the pair and instantly catch one, alerting the other. You follow, scanning the field before you and knowing that you could easily outrun it, back it into a corner and then call this hunt a success.

The rabbit is fueled by adrenaline, running faster than you expected and heading towards a body of water that you know it hates. But you take this opportunity by outrunning it, growling as you go and then pouncing on it once it nears a boulder.

You’ve got it, the wolf in you rejoices. You know once you shift back into human form, you won’t remember much of this; it’s your first time, anyway. It’s why Jungkook doesn’t let you hunt; once you do it regularly, it becomes a part of you, and killing prey is not something he wants you to get used to, much as it’s for survival. He’s there to do it, it’s in his nature unlike you, a human by birth.

One thing you learned after your transformation is that you don’t retain much of your memory as a wolf when you’re in your human form. But when you’re in your wolf form, your memory as a human remains, balancing you. Amma has said once that it's what reminds you of who you are by nature, that having your human memories is one way to ensure that you don’t remain as a wolf.

It’s why once your forelegs hit the water, you remember.

The breeze that evening. The cold water. The sound of the river’s current.

You remember the feel of the boulder against your soaked body. How hard it was. How it diluted the blood that was seeping out of your head.

The sun had set then, like now. There were wildflowers on the riverbed, like now.

You’re growling, but back then, it wasn’t yourself that you heard - it was another wild animal, big and black and angry.

It was here, years ago, when that bear attacked you, when you were close to giving up, and when Jungkook saved you. He took you on his back and ran as fast as possible to take you to safety. He was frantic in the pack house as he demanded the doctors to save you. It was the same night when you broke his heart for the millionth time by saying that the cabin wasn’t your home, that he wasn’t your home.

You haven’t been here since that night. You hate that it took away from the good memories you had here with Yoongi before, and being back here brings you back to that time when you almost gave up on yourself. When you almost gave up on Jungkook.

The human fear and sadness from that time alerts you that you have to leave, that you have to shift back. So you run as fast as you can and head back home, prey in hand, and tears in your eyes.

Standing in your shower as you wash away the blood from your body, you feel betrayed. You aren’t supposed to remember much of what you saw but you remember it. You remember everything.

Perhaps it’s because those were your human memories and that’s why it’s as clear as day; being in that place as a wolf doesn’t mean you’ll forget what you experienced.

Because you’re here now, unable to move, feeling an unnameable type of pain that’s familiar, and it hurts so bad. If it wasn’t for your timer going off to say that your pot is boiling, you’d be staying here for hours.

It felt so vivid. You didn’t think that being back there would make you recall how it was that night even if you didn’t remember much right after. It’s been years, after all, but as you caress your neck to feel the mark of your bond, you know why you feel empty yet heavy; you know why you feel like your heart is being ripped apart even as it beats rapidly.

It may be your memory, but it’s Jungkook’s pain you’re feeling.

The sight of you helpless. The thought of you giving up, of losing you for good.

The thought of him withering away at the loss of you.

The thought of never having this home, this family, this love.

You exit the bathroom and see your bed, and you remember the nights you spent holding his hand because he’d been weak, because you’d selfishly taken all his energy, because you’d taken so much of him without giving anything in return.

You remember the fear you felt of losing him, the guilt of hurting him, and the worry that you might never be able to make it up to him.

You feel Jungkook’s pain. And yours. All at once.

You’re surprised you manage to make a decent-tasting rabbit stew and not burn the pies given how absent-minded you’ve been since you got back from your hunt. You suppose it’s due to muscle memory; you’ve made these dishes so many times before. Just like as it’s reflex for you to turn to the door once to hear it unlock, even if you’re unable to fully process what’s happening.

“Mommy!” Eunjoo and Hayoon greet in unison as they run to you for a hug.

“Welcome back,” you coo, taking them into your arms and giving them a tight hug. If there’s anything to remind you that everything from earlier is a memory, it’s them - the manifestation of the love you share with your mate. “How was your afternoon?”

They yell over the other about things they did, but you pick up that they listened to some stories, planted flowers, and fed the fish in the pond.

“I’m glad you both had a great time there,” you kiss their noses. “Did you give daddy a hard time?”

They look at each other before smiling and squealing, in unison, no. You cock an eyebrow at them before looking to your husband for the truth.

“They wanted to follow the ducks into the lake,” he playfully shakes his head. “They said they want to learn to float in the water or something.”

“Oh, my babies. You’ll learn to do more than that,” you smile, kissing them again before letting them jump on the couch and turning the TV on.

“Hey,” Jungkook kisses your lips now. He turns his head towards the pot and his eyes get bigger. “Rabbit stew? How… how did you get the meat?”

“I hunted,” you smile, letting it fade right after.

“You, what? Hey, that’s my job,” he pouts.

“I know, but I wanted to surprise you with your favorite dish,” you reply. “It was a quick hunt. And it won’t happen again.”

He looks at you like he’s waiting for you to say more, but he just kisses your forehead and whispers his thanks when you don’t.

“Can you set up the table, please? I should be done soon.”

Jungkook does as you ask, and it’s not long after when the 4 of you are seated on the dining table, with Eunjoo and Hayoon taking turns narrating - with more details - what happened today. You’re amused, as you always are. They’re only 3 but they can do so much; they’re still babies in your eyes and perhaps they’ll always be.

You nod and ask questions, but you think that Jungkook can sense something is wrong, as he takes your hand under the table and catches your eye when you look his way. You fake a smile to assure him, even if you know he can see right through you.

“Mommy, I’m tired,” Eunjoo says after squealing about how cute ducks are. She lays her head on the table and Hayoon does the same, facing her.

“I’m sure you both are,” Jungkook says, taking both girls in his arms. “Why don’t mommy and I get you 2 ready for bed, huh?”

“Okay!” They both speak at the same time.

“Leave these here first,” he tells you. “Let’s tuck them in, together.”

You nod and follow, with Jungkook leading the way to their bathroom.

Your daughters imitate ducks as you bathe them in their tub, and you watch in awe as Jungkook plays along with them. He knows just what to do to get their attention, and you adore the way he takes care of them - making sure the water’s not too hot or cold, massaging their heads as he shampoos their hair, then wiping them dry once they decide another time that they’re both tired.

Snug in their towels, he lays them on their beds. “Tell mommy how much you love her, okay?” He whispers in both their ears, although it’s something you hear. He turns to you and says he’ll start cleaning up downstairs and you nod in response.

It’s more quiet with you and your daughters now. You want to savor this time with them as you gaze at their eyes that are just like their father’s. Energetic as they are, they have his warm heart and his affection, too, as they hug you tightly and tell you that they love you very much, and it’s not just because their daddy told them so.

You wish them goodnight and head down the stairs, no longer surprised when you see that in a short amount of time, Jungkook’s managed to clean everything up.

“I’m outside,” he calls out once he hears you’re back.

You walk out onto the porch, letting the cool wind embrace you. He’s sitting on the couch, looking out into the forest. He turns to you with a comforting smile.

“Hey,” he says.

There’s so much warmth in his eyes. You often wonder how the fiercest wolf of the pack can have so much tenderness in his body. It’s in the way he speaks to you, looks at you, holds you. You don’t want to imagine a world where you don’t experience this; you hate to think that there was a moment where it could’ve been taken away from you, where all this could’ve been taken away from him.

You give in, knowing that at the end of the day, he’s all you need.

You sit yourself on his lap and wrap your arms around his neck, your face finding refuge at the crook of it. You breathe against his skin but the tears sting your eyes. You let them fall anyway.

His large hands envelope you - one holds your hip against him, the other caresses your back.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks after a while.

“I was chasing the rabbits and I ended up at the river,” you finally say. “The one… the one where I fell, where there was, uh. Where you saved me.”

You turn to face him, tear-stained cheeks hurting him as he looks at you.

“And then I remembered,” you continue. “I remembered almost giving up. I remembered almost letting go.”

The words pierce through. Jungkook remembers it, too. He remembers your faint heartbeat and the way you’d slowly loosened your grip on that boulder. He remembers feeling like his world was ending, seeing you helpless and scared.

“I haven’t gone there since that day. And being there again just… I…”

You break into a sob before you can say more. It’s overwhelming to feel this much sadness, this much regret. It’s as if seeing where it all happened after you’d buried that memory made your life in the past few years flash before your eyes, as if all that’s good was being stripped away from you.

And it almost felt like your heart was being torn into pieces. The way it tore Jungkook’s. Perhaps that’s what you felt - his heart at that moment, breaking.

He wishes he was there with you so you didn’t have to go deep into the memory, that he could protect you from all that hurts you. He can, but not from this.

“I wasn’t good to you, Jungkook,” you say this time, eyes glazed from all the tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” he exclaims. “We’re past that. There’s nothing to apologize for anymore.”

“It’s so heavy,” you sigh, breathless, as you clutch your chest. “It’s hard to breathe. I keep thinking of everything I put you through, of every time I pushed you away and kept you out, all the times that I made you feel unwanted, that I made you feel like I would never love you. I keep thinking that I… hurt you. So much. And I didn't… I didn’t stop.”

“Look at me,” he urges you, his own eyes glassy now at the sight of you carrying all this burden. “Feel this.”

Jungkook takes your hand to his chest.

“My heart is beating, the way yours is. They’re connected. We’re alive and we’re safe and we’re home. We made it that way because we chose to try, because we chose to move past all that happened because we wanted this. We wanted to love each other. And I don’t doubt that love even for a second,” he says, desperate for you to listen to his words. “Whatever parts of me you hurt, you’ve healed them. Everyday that I come home to you and our children, I heal. You heal me. That’s all that matters.”

Jungkook always said he’s not good with words. But you disagree. Every time he speaks like this, he heals you just as much.

“I don’t ever want to live a life that isn’t with you,” you manage to say. “I don’t ever want to live a life where I’m not loved by you.”

“And you won’t ever know a life like that,” he assures you. “I’d save you in a heartbeat, ___. I’d save you a thousand times a day if I have to.”

It feels like hours that Jungkook holds you - on his lap while your head rests on his chest. You just want to feel his warmth, feel his heart, the one that’s connected in so many ways to yours.

“Let’s have a bath, okay?” He says.

You wrap your arms around his neck again. “Okay.”

This attachment tells Jungkook you don’t want to let go, so he stands up and carries you in his arms, walking both of you towards the bathroom. You remove yourself from him once he places you on the floor, and he tells you to wait for him as he fills up the tub.

He returns to you right after and kisses your forehead before undressing you, slowly removing your shirt and then your jeans. He helps you get rid of your undergarments, leaving you bare for him.

Jungkook doesn’t take his eyes off you as he undresses himself, but he keeps them on your face, studying the sadness emanating from it.

He’s bare in seconds, and he takes your hand and guides you towards the tub - the one he built, wooden and deep and spacious for both of you.

“Come,” he whispers.

You follow, sitting yourself between his legs and laying against his chest.

You and Jungkook do this often. Though neither of you ever gets tired, your shared warm bath helps your bodies relax. It lets you feel close to each other, too, and it’s times like this when you feel what he’s said - that your hearts and your bodies are connected.

He kisses you tenderly, starting from your temple to your cheeks, inching downward until he reaches your neck and then the mark that bears your oneness.

There’s a certain kind of emotion that stirs within you whenever he does that, and you sigh in relief, because that’s what the act usually does - it assures you, comforts you, unburdens you to some extent and lets you breathe.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re starting to feel lighter with just this.

“You held onto me, you know?” He speaks after a while. “During those times, you made me feel like you still needed me in your own ways. Even if it was just my warmth, you’d move closer, and anytime I could see that you liked what I could give, it made it all worth it. And then you called for me that night. I… I knew then that you needed me and I wasn’t ever gonna let you go.”

You turn to him with questioning eyes.

“That night? After the attack?” You ask.

Things were hazy for you but you know nothing about calling for him. You turned him away after all, and said he wasn’t home.

“You did,” Jungkook hums, recalling the car ride home and taking you to your room. “We were back at your parents’ house and I was… well, I was a mess. It was hard seeing you in pain and I just cried. I kept crying, actually.” He chuckles, trying to make light of it. “You were asleep but you were tossing and turning. A bad dream, I think. So I just held your hand and then you called my name. It was a whisper but I heard it. Whatever the reason, I just felt like somewhere deep down, you needed me.”

“Maybe I did,” you nod, smiling despite the tears in your eyes. “‘Maybe I didn’t know it then but my heart did. My heart knew it needed you.”

“It’s a good way of looking at it, right?” He smiles back.

“It is. But it doesn’t mean I’m any less sorry,” you pout now.

“I know, and I wish I can change your mind.”

Jungkook has a forgiving heart. You’ve always known it. He told you once that he lacks the strength that you have but you know it takes courage to forgive. And he forgives you every time. He does it without fail.

You think about this as you both finish your bath. You gaze at him and watch his every forgiving and loving movement as he wipes you dry and leads you back to the bedroom. Wanting to feel him bare against you, you trace his face as you hover over him, having slid in between his legs again so you can look at him fully.

He’s a lot softer now. You remember you used to see tenderness only in his eyes. His face was always so hard, so strained. You’d find out later on just how much he was holding back on a lot of things. But now, he melts into your touch and it says of how much that’s changed.

You wonder if you’ll ever stop thinking about it - how much you hurt him, how close you were to not having him. Everything he is now may be because of you, but a lot of who he was back then was because of you, too.

You lay on top of him, your chest flushed against his. You listen to his heartbeat while his fingers trace patterns on your back. It’s soothing more than anything, and it’s what prompts you to ask.

“Do you think it’ll ever go away?” You wonder out loud. “The guilt of what I’ve done?”

You push yourself up to look at him, curious if he’d fallen asleep because of his silence.

“I wish it would,” he finally says. “I can’t… I can’t lose you to your thoughts.”

Not again, he doesn’t say.

You feel things. Too much sometimes. Guilt is not an exception. And he worries that if you keep that with you, it might be what would pull you both apart.

But you know what he means without him saying it. You lived in your mind and in your pain all those months, and he lost you to them before he could even have you. And this… this might not be any different.

What is guilt but chains, you think. Guilt isn’t love. It doesn’t make the other person feel loved. Maybe it’s what would drive them away.

“We should be enough, don’t you think? Me, this home, our girls?” Jungkook asks, almost desperately. “Love got you this, not guilt.”

“I’m scared that the more I think of how much you love me, I’ll think of how you’d done that so selflessly. And that’s why the guilt creeps in, like it did today,” you try to explain. “Because you had to lose so much of yourself for me to see how much I needed you. And you still had so much to give.”

“I’ll always have a lot to give. Because I take from you,” he says, caressing your mark. “That’s what’s so beautiful about this - we give to each other and we take from each other. And we’ll never run out. And so that guilt? I’ll take it from you, I’ll share it with you. Maybe that’s how it goes away.”

“I don’t want to feel it anymore. Because I don’t want you to feel it,” you pout.

Maybe that’s how it goes away, you think.

“Then we won’t feel it,” he chuckles softly. “But know that whatever it is that’s inside you, it’s mine, too. You’re my mate, ___. I’m here because of you.”

You nod vigorously as tears slide down your cheeks again. “Okay. We’ll share it all. We’ll share everything.”

There’s clarity in your eyes. There’s acceptance. There’s understanding and remembrance of the promise you made to the Moon and to each other. And as you look back at him, he feels you slowly give all that guilt up so he can take pieces of it from you.

You kiss his lips once, and then another time. The next is long and deep, and the way you pull the tips of his hair and push against him tells him what you need.

He needs it, too, so he helps you mount him, your hands now on his shoulders as your lips glide against his hard cock. His hands on your waist guide you as you move until you give him that look that lets him know where you want him this time.

Jungkook lets you slide down on him, his tip hitting your edges right away and this is how you want it tonight - you want to feel it all. You want to take control at the beginning and give it all to him. You want to look into his eyes as you move up and down on his shaft while moaning his name.

He matches your movements, pushing upwards just as hard so he could feel every inch of you, too. He sits up and you come the first time when he swallows your breast, his tongue swirling around your pert nipple. He lets you come down from your high as he wraps his arms around your waist, his head against your chest while it heaves to let him know how good he made you feel.

There are no other words said. You both know what the act of mating does and with how heavy it’d been, doing this all night is what you both need to once more feel that oneness, to feel that sharing of pain and hurt, to give and take each other’s strength.

Because behind the pleasure is that trust, that undeniable connection. It’s the love that courses through your veins and that you hear in each other’s beating hearts; it’s the loss of breath and moans of your names, the glassy eyes and trembling lips as you let each other know just how healing this love is because it’s meant to.

Because that’s what it means when you’re fated with someone - you feel their pain and their joy like it’s yours. You trust that at your most vulnerable, they’ll hold you like you’ll break but they won’t treat you like you’re fragile. And they’ll kiss all the broken parts of you and love you hard until you’re whole.

“Sleep,” he tells you after you come for the fourth time, caressing your cheek and kissing your lips. “It’ll all be better in the morning.”

The sun is high, almost blinding. Your book isn’t big enough to block its shine but it still works. The wind is cool and the day is too nice for it to not be spent outside.

And it’s where you are - at the meadow where you’d fallen asleep before the incident by the river. Jungkook thought it would be nice to bring the girls somewhere new where they could ride their new bicycles after having just learned, and you were the one who suggested this place.

He was unsure - you’d cried about the painful memories of that night and its aftermath just last week - but he gave in after you said that you’re feeling better, and that maybe the guilt can completely go away if you replace the bad memories with good ones. Eunjoo and Hayoon were running around and picking flowers earlier, and their squeals and sounds of wonder have been all worth it.

Jungkook’s smile is worth it, too. Laid on his lap, you lower your book to get a peek of your mate, and the look of pure joy he has on is indescribable. The sparkle in his eyes whenever he watches your daughters is something you hold dear in your heart; you’re glad it’s the one image you can’t ever get out of your head.

“Careful, you two!” He calls out after Eunjoo falls to the side.

She quickly stands up and waves at both of you. “I’m okay, daddy! I’m strong!”

“You’re still a child, though,” he answers back.

“But I’m a strong child! See? No booboos!” She counters, earning you and Jungkook a laugh.

“Look at them go,” you say, humming when he combs your hair with his fingers. “They were latching on to me not long ago and now, they’ll bike and run around for as long as they can.”

“Our kind really grows too fast,” he chuckles. “They’ll probably be jumping over rocks and running up mountains in no time.”

“I wish time would stop,” you sigh. “Just so we can savor these moments with them. And just so we won’t have our babies no longer needing us so soon.”

“Well, time won’t stop but you do know that we have a lot of time,” he says. “You know what that means.”

“Uh, I’m not sure I do?” You sit up and face his smirking form.

“We can always have more pups,” he shrugs, the statement so casual as if it’s that easy to just decide on having more children. “The girls are grown. We can handle things. I… I’d like to think we love each other even more now. What do you think?”

The thought of it excites you. Sure, there are so many things to consider. But you’d like to think that with all that’s happened in the past years, and especially last week, there’s so much more for you to give.

You look at Jungkook and the way his eyes shine and his smile softens when he talks about your daughters. There was a time when all he had was an empty cabin and himself - none of your nightly family cuddles on the porch, none of the snowball fights during winter, none of the laughter and giggles and homemade pies and handmade wooden toys that you all bond over.

Home has become more than a structure for Jungkook, it’s now more than a dream - it’s people he loves and he’ll continue to love. And you know you want to give that to him. You want to give him that joy of being able to create a bigger home with more children he’ll care for, because you know that there’s so much space for his incredible heart for that.

“Okay,” you smile. “I’d love to have more children with you, Kook.”

He can’t contain his smile, and all he can do is hug you tightly and let you feel through this how much it means to him. You hug him back and kiss his cheek, and he can tell that you want this, too.

“Family hug!” Hayoon squeals once she turns towards your direction, and it’s not long after when both girls are running towards you, squeezing themselves in between the spaces and hugging you and Jungkook.

Their giggles are music to your ears, and the image of more of them doing this with you makes your heart jump. Your home will be bigger, and you can’t wait for that, too.

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