#the reason i like it so much and my affection for it has endured

[shesjustanothergeek]

The Gods We Can Touch Chapter Seven: Ending Anew

Masterlist of Series

Summary: The older twin of Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, you were a picture of the maiden, untouched and untainted by man's sins. At least, that was what Alicent Hightower believed when she held you in her arms moments after her old friend's labors. You were her shining light, her dream. Though you were never hers, she believed you were meant to be.

What will become of you as time passes and the Queen's shining light grows within the blackened darkness? Will her eldest son's morbid fascination with the light burn the realm? Or will her second son's obsession with the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen change the course of the Seven Kingdoms as we know it?

Author's Note: Thank you for your patience and understanding with the uploads. I've been working six days a week and have only one day to myself where I can do basic necessities like wash clothes and clean. My bedroom has certainly paid for it and so has my hobbies. (Or lack there of) I hope you all enjoy this seeing young adult Aemond and reader! (⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

Chapter Warnings: sexual harassment, dubious consent, bastardphobia, implied mental illness, lots of sexism.

The distinction between those we love and those we hate can be subtle. Both emotions are directed towards an individual based on their inherent qualities. Despite this commonality, they are often perceived as opposites. Loving someone entails wanting them to thrive while hating someone involves wishing for their suffering or transformation. However, love and hate can coexist despite their seemingly contradictory nature.

Six years ago, you experienced deep affection for an individual during your youth, believing that their sun-kissed hands epitomized kindness. However, after enduring years of distress, you discovered the unexpected capability to harbor animosity towards this once beloved person. This realization perplexed you as you contemplated whether he endured similar inner turmoil.

You hated Uncle Aemond for hurting your brothers the night at Driftmark many years ago and for not responding to your countless ravens who sought to apologize and keep broken promises. But because of the love that never ceased beating in your heart, you continued to create reasons for yourself to loathe him. Despite realizing your uncle would never respond, you still sent him letters with the blind hope that someday you would have one addressed from King’s Landing, though if one ever did come, they were from Queen Alicent, and in which you promptly fed them to the fish-eyed billy goats on Dragonstone.

The contents were of anything and everything you could think of. Sometimes, you retold important events like leaving to study at the Citadel and becoming a lady of Queen Esabella of Dorne as a temporary peace bargain for what happened in the Stepstones. Other times, it was your interests, such as a new plant or a medical technique, that you learned and thought would help him with his… ailment. 

Though you heard nothing from Aemond, that did not mean you knew nothing about him. You heard rumors that he took to putting a sapphire in his empty eye socket, and while the idea was sure to inspire fear in the hearts of many, it fascinated you, wondering if the gem was smooth and round or jagged and sharp, much like your uncle’s personality. It seemed like him to fashion something such as that as he was always a bit odd, though you never minded it. You imagined the discomfort his wound might cause despite it becoming scarred. From what you understood about those with similar injuries, the person could feel the severed nerves and tissue healing themselves, the sensation like a thousand hot needles in the skin.

It was no wonder why he was gossiped to have such a cold demeanor. You hoped one day you would be allowed to see it yourself, even if you were on the receiving end. 

Some of you worried that Aemond never received your letters, thinking you abandoned him and all the promises made in secrecy. Queen Alicent wouldn’t be the one to bar them from him as she most desperately wanted you to visit the Red Keep and mend the bond broken on the night at Driftmark. You didn’t understand why it had to be you to be the one to do so. These were matters created by the ruling adults in your life, and they should have sought to fix them.

Nevertheless, neither you, your parents, nor Queen Alicent tried to mend what occurred between the family. Still, that lack of effort did not extend to your relationship with your uncle. You still wanted to fly with him as you promised some years ago.

“The Conqueror and his sisters sailed with a great army,” Jacaerys translated from High Valyrian, his words proud but still holding a certain waver to his voice now that you weren’t there to assist him.

You stood by one of the tall metal-paned windows in the Chamber of the Painted Table in Dragonstone, the ancient seat of your family, silently mouthing the words of your ancestors’ histories spoken by the Maester in your mother tongue. 

The thick, gray clouds outside cast a dull light into the room, creating a somber yet peaceful atmosphere. You and your brother understood that your imposing maternal presence made him nervous and hindered his concentration. Over the years, you developed the habit of speaking over Jace during your studies. 

This hadn’t gone unnoticed, leading to reprimands from Maester Gerardys and your mother for not giving your twin a fair chance to learn. You only wished for Jace to be the best version of himself he could be. He was to be your King when Mother passed.

“Se Blākuata Rāsho drāñot vilinio viartis,” (And made landfall at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush) Maester Gerardys conveyed, his words slowed and accent thick to convey their meaning. 

The resounding echo of the chamber doors opening filled the air with the unmistakable clang of metal. As they parted, a graceful figure emerged—your mother, adorned in a flowing, vibrant red dress that complemented her regal presence. She moved with a poised and graceful stride, her hand tenderly skimming over her gently swelling belly, radiating an undeniable sense of maternal warmth and affection. Catching your gaze, you offered her a tender smile, and in response, she bestowed upon you a fleeting yet soft expression that spoke volumes of her boundless love without the need for words.

“Drāñot,” your mother asked Jace to repeat, but he stared at her wide-eyed, the words slipping from his mind.

Meeting your mother’s strides to greet her, you answered for him with a bright and eager-to-please smile. “The mouth.”

She flashed a tight-lipped grin and scrunched her nose, lightly nodding as Jace slouched in self-directed disappointment. “Mouth! I knew that, sister. You needn’t answer for me,” he expressed with disappointment, stomping his foot on the ground.

“If you keep speaking for your brother, he will never learn,” your mother lightheartedly scolded as she kissed the top of your head. You have heard those words for the past six years.

If Jace knew the answers, you wouldn’t have to help him, you thought reproachfully. 

You did not rush to pay attention to your twin as you knelt beside your younger brothers Aegon, Viserys, and Joffrey. Instead, you focused on the youngest, Viserys. With great tenderness, you gathered him into your lap, the book Elinda brought for them cradled in your hands. 

Leaning in close to your half-brother, you whispered. “I will teach you our mother tongue once you learn to speak,” as you lovingly smoothed the silky strands of his blonde hair.

“Drāñot. Drāñot,” your brother repeated, as if the meaning of Maester Gerardys’ words would magically appear in his mind.

“And made landing at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush,” you whispered under your breath so no one would hear, answering for him. 

You and Jace were the same age, two bodies with one soul, yet different. You could have helped him more if Mother had not sent you away. You never understood why she separated you instead of betrothing you to Jace. She constantly danced around the notion of marrying for years, which was incomprehensible, seeing as the match was the only option that would make sense. You would rule together, and the realm wouldn’t have the same unrest they did with your mother.

“Perhaps that is enough for today,” your mother offered as Jace became increasingly frustrated with his inability to master High Valyrian.

“No!” He exclaimed ardently, holding his arm as if to stop the suggestion physically. “I-I want to keep going.” 

You smirked and flipped the page in the picture book you showed Viserys as he babbled nonsensically, his tiny fists grasping the bound leather. As you touched his plump cheek, he smelled like tallow and lavender.

Your mother allowed Jace to proceed with the bob of her head as Maester Gerardys began again. “Guēsi ropakakson Āegon ūndas.”

“Aegon gave orders for the trees to be felled,” you responded as if the question was directed toward you. Your mother quickly snapped her violet eyes in warning. You were used to that look and continued to tend to the babe like nothing happened, as Jace answered with stutters. 

“Aegon… ordered that the trees should be… killed,” he stated proudly. You released a puff of air through your nose that sounded like a laugh as Viserys took the tome with tiny, curious, grabby hands. 

“Felled. ‘Tis a related word,” your mother gently corrected as she clasped her hands behind her sturdy back. “I don’t expect you to learn High Valyrian in a day, Jace.” 

“A king should honor the traditions of his forebears,” your brother steadfastly declared as you turned with your brows raised, spine cracking. 

“That sounds like something your sister would say,” your mother expressed with a slight tightness in her tone. Pursing your lips with guilt, you returned to Viserys, acting as if you weren’t paying attention. 

That was precisely what you said to him before your lessons today. 

“Unless you plan to depose your mother, you have plenty of time to study,” she teased with a grin like she always did, her happiness becoming contagious as you returned the look over your shoulder. Jace did not share the same enthusiasm as the chamber doors opened again, revealing that of your stepfather strolling down the steps. 

You looked to Daemon grimly as he met your mother with a grave expression on his time-worn visage. She declared that you all leave the room as he entered without looking further at you and your siblings. Jace called the young Joffrey to follow him, and you and your mother’s lady took Aegon and Viserys. As you passed your stepfather, he brought his hand out, noiselessly ordering you to stop while handing your mother the sealed letter in his fingers. He traced a calloused knuckle over his son’s cheek and placed a kiss on his crown, purple orbs piercing your dark ones.

He knew of your distaste for him ever since he wed Rhaenyra mere days after your father’s death, refusing to leave your rooms unless necessary. While you never felt like the Velaryon side of your family liked you, they agreed with the unspoken sentiment that Daemon had something to do with your father’s death. You disagreed with the idea that your mother did. She loved your father in her way and, in your mind, wasn’t capable of plotting the murder of her children’s father. 

You didn’t outright disrespect Daemon; after all, he was still a prince, but he would never be someone you looked up to or went to in times of strife. He would never be your father, not even as he irritatingly called you daughter and played with the new pearl and sapphire necklace your mother forced you to wear today—a gift from your stepfather. 

You understood Daemon only did these things to irk you, refusing to play with the ruse like usual. With no sentences exchanged between you, the Rouge Prince sent you on your way with his offspring wrapped securely in your arms.

“Another raven from Dragonstone, Your Highness,” a Steward announced, holding a rolled piece of parchment sealed with a delicate blue ribbon. 

The One-Eyed Prince sat in a green armchair by the hearth, seemingly unbothered, his lithe form in thought and leg crossed over the other. He did not move. His violet eye trained on the flickering orange and blue flames. No words of acknowledgment were said, and the servant placed the letter on the Prince’s foot table as he took a long sip from his goblet in hand. 

You were always stubbornly loyal to whoever you cared for, and he thought it rather pathetic, especially when you still sought contact from him after you were met with uncaring silence. 

On more than one occasion, his mother attempted to uncover what you said to him, Aemond discovering her rummaging through his writing desk drawers. He met her with an anger he had never felt before, as if she had stolen his most prized jewels. 

The Prince told himself that he didn’t care if passersby discovered them. They were inconsequential items containing meaningless ink, and he thought they were a waste of paper until she almost found them. Although he loved his mother dearly, this was something that was Aemond’s, untainted by neither her nor his grandfather’s fingers. 

He spent many hours pouring over the subjects you wrote as he battled with the urge to burn your writings, yet desiring to fly to Dragonstone atop the Mighty Vhagar and ensure the oaths you declared in the refined loops of your High Valyrian were indeed true. Aemond never did, only having gotten as close to Driftmark and spotted the glinting silver roof of High Tide before the suffocating feeling inside his chest took hold.

Blood, screams, and horror on your face as he clung to your chest before you crushed the childish hope of being different from the rest of them.

As the Prince grew, he found solace in places he never did before, frequenting the Keep’s gardens and Godswood with Helaena when he wasn’t on the training grounds. He was never fond of the outdoors, preferring the company of a good book curled next to a simmering fire, but he discovered that spending time in those areas brought a sense of contentment, though he was uncertain as to why.

Taking one last sip of his wine, Aemond sat his silver goblet and replaced it with the rolled parchment, licking the sticky remnants away from his lips as he untied the soft satin ribbon. 

“Uncle Aemond,  I hope this finds you in good health and spirits, as I cannot say the same for myself while writing this. I have overcome a recent bout of melancholia, as Maester Gerardys calls it, and now I’ve heard that Lord Corlys was gravely wounded during an ambush in the Stepstones. Insultingly, Ser Vaemond Velaryon has petitioned the Crown to declare him my Grandsire’s successor upon his passing. This infuriates me to no end. I know if my father were still alive, he would have protected him with his life, and we wouldn’t be having such a discussion. My younger brother will be the next Lord of the Tides since our father is gone. While we may disagree on specific lines of heritage, Luke is my father’s son, and I am his daughter. I find it ironic, however, that a place that haunts him, and you, he will now have to preside over. He shall be forever reminded of the great misdeed he infringed upon you, and I do find a sort of justice in it, but I would never dare to voice such a thing aloud. Luke is my brother, after all. I love him with all my being, but a part of me will never forgive him for what he did to you. I’m sure you feel the same.  Mother said we would attend the petition to affirm my brother’s long-decided succession, but we both know the actual cause behind this. I do not enjoy discussing these matters. It boils my dragon blood whenever the false rumors surrounding my birth are brought up. Laenor Velaryon is my father and loved me as such. ‘Tis a fact that will never change no matter what lickspittles and gossipers claim.  Oddly, despite its negative connotation and history, I eagerly await my arrival at the Red Keep. Do not think I am forgetful of you. You would not believe me if you knew how often you are in my heart and mind. I hope to see you in good health and that my recommendations for your eye, which I’ve mentioned in previous correspondence, have proven useful.  Until we meet.”

Aemond did not know whether to throw your letter into the smoldering fire and watch the flames engulf the tan pages or to rip it into a dozen tiny pieces. He hated you. He loathed you with his entire being as he dangled the parchment over the orange and yellow embers, yet he could not will the rage in his heart to drop it as the heat burned his fist. Aemond welcomed the discomfort, the pain. He grew accustomed to and welcomed it until he felt the water beneath his flesh bubble. 

You were no more than a dirty bastard, a daughter of a whore, yet you flaunted riches like a Targaryen princess, unbefitting of your actual status. Aemond did not want to see you ever again, lest it be you groveling on your knees for his forgiveness. It was you who broke the vows and betrayed him, choosing your filthy, Strong brothers over him. He would never forgive you, though seeing you knelt before him as your pretty tears decorated your plump cheeks would be a lovely sight. The Prince felt his cock impulsively swell at the image. 

He abhorred you, yet Aemond meticulously placed your letter amidst a collection of others in an exquisitely crafted wooden lockbox adorned with intricate carvings of dragons. As he savored a deep gulp of wine, his gaze fixated on the flickering light evoked by your memories. It brought to mind the recollection of your unique grace, a quality that remained unmatched despite the countless attempts made by him and Aegon to find women of similar allure. The sharpness of his eldest brother’s words and the acrid scent of his breath lingered in his memory as Aegon leaned in on his thirteenth nameday.

“Worry not, brother. We’ll find one that looks like her for you. Time to get it wet.” 

Without hesitating, he flung his drink into the fire, extinguishing its voracious flames.

The ground was cold beneath your fingers despite wearing gloves as you pruned the small plot in Aegon’s Garden. Budding crocus dotted the moist area with tiny bursts of purple petals and green stems, withstanding the late winter season. Spring was a moon away, but winter refused to release its clutch on the land, leaving the dirt to keep the frigid dampness that few things could grow in. 

Aegon’s Garden was where you found yourself in strife, seeking peace and distraction in your passion. Now, with your mother’s nerves upon hearing that Ser Vaemond Velaryon decided to challenge the line of succession to the Driftwood throne, you felt the heavy burden of the future on your hunched shoulders. You felt bad about the whole situation, from your Grandsire Lord Corlys’s serious injury to the unspoken notion that Vaemond bringing this petition to the Crown was that Lucerys, and by extension, you and Jacaerys were illegitimate. The truth did not matter, not really. It was what those believed or those in power seats told those to think, and it was that you, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were the offspring of Laenor Velaryon and Rhaenyra Targaryen.

As the King declared, you were next in line to the throne after your mother and Luke for Lord of the Tides after your Grandsire. His word was law, but it was no longer that of a King who sat on the throne but a Queen. 

“You should be readying for the journey, Princess. Your mother wants to leave at first light,” Edwina, your most loyal lady, stated. She stood with her broad shoulders squared, hair tucked underneath her white maid’s cap, and hands clasped behind her back. Though she was barely a few years your senior, she acted as if she had decades. 

You sighed, rolling your dark eyes in annoyance and sitting on your haunches. You supposed Edwina’s mothering was not unfounded, as your impulsiveness tended to lead you into regret. “I will not be joining my mother and Daemon on the ship. ’Tis much faster on dragon back,” you quipped.

“The Princess wants you all to arrive together,” your lady expressed, taking a few steps closer to show her seriousness. 

“To show a united front. Yes, I know Edwina. I could not go,” you teased, smirking, removing your leather gloves finger by finger. “I have no love for the Red Keep, my extended family, or them for me.” 

Edwina knew that was a lie. It was evident how she saw you pour over letters addressed to King’s Landing. The maid knew not who the intended recipient was, but there was someone who held a secret place in your heart. The Karstark often wondered if it was Aegon, seeing as a betrothal was whispered in the past, though that idea was quickly squashed after you had an uncharacteristic fit when she voiced it. 

“I understand, Your Highness, but duty is sacrifice. Those of your standing must do things in service to your House and family that are against your wants. I do not envy that,” Edwina offered with a half smile of pity as the pair of you entered the benevolent brimstone walls of Dragonstone. 

In response, you hummed, linking her strong arm in yours and lowering your head with a look mirrored hers. “This a small price to pay to live a life of privilege.” 

The lady nodded in acquiescence as pictures of the poor folk in line for their food rations showed in your mind. Your travels gave you a perspective that your family did not have, forcing you to confront privileges you were unaware existed until they were thrown into your face. You held a sinking feeling inside when you thought of it for days after, guilt gnawing at your heart every time you were draped in lavish dresses of Velaryon blue and adorned with lavish jewels. It sparked you to grow your plot in Aegon’s Garden when you finally returned home and give to those less fortunate despite the odd looks your family gave you. 

A similar heavy, sinking weight inside your gut returned as you thought of going to the Red Keep, seeing your uncles and Queen Alicent after what happened at Driftmark. Your guilt and shame felt as prominent as if you were the one who sliced into Aemond’s eye. You tried to reason that he deserved some form of punishment for hurting Baela, Rhaena, and your brothers, but it never worked. Your conscience was too steadfast to allow lies like that to blind you. 

Your mother planned on staying in the Red Keep for a night to spend time with her father and to renew her place at court. There was no joy in your heart to learn of her plans as you chose what dresses and jewelry to wear before supper. Though King’s Landing was once your home, it no longer held the wonderous warmth that came with a place of rest. Childhood memories spent there did not come with a smile when you thought of them. Instead, misery came to mind with lingering stares from adults and Aegon and Aeomnd’s relentless teasing regarding your birth. 

The cold, briny halls of Dragonstone were your home. Everyone loved you and your kin here, and there was no whispering behind silk fans wherever you went. The only gossip was if you would become with child before or after Princess Rhaenyra betrothed you and Jacaerys. 

After you supped with your brothers, mother, and Daemon at night, you lay within thick furs that threatened to let the frigid midnight air in. When you woke to leave, the ground would dust with the crystalline covering of frost, and you knew how Gaeli despised the cold. He would fly at your command regardless, but you would undoubtedly feel his displeasure until he resided in the heat of the Dragonpit.

This petition felt like a dark cloud looming in the distance of a clear sky, promising its threat of a storm as you soared over Blackwater Bay. Despite your mother’s insistence that you ride on the ship with her because of her pregnancy, you choose to take Gaelithox across the water. In turn, that caused your brothers to want to take their dragons to King’s Landing and leave your mother to make the journey with only the comfort of her husband, which you were sure she didn’t mind. 

It was customary for the family to make an entrance together and be greeted by the host’s kin, but when you emerged from the wheelhouse that took you from the Dragonpit, its dark caverns still the same, you were greeted by only guards. The lack of forethought and the apparent insult of the Green’s absence sent an icy feeling into your gut, causing you to itch at the skin beneath your black dress. 

The gown was not your typical style choice, as it was your Velaryon blue and pearls, but your mother wanted you to wear one of your garments fashioned in the Targaryen colors of black and red with a golden linked belt and rubies to match. She planned to present a united front before the Court and the Greens and, without it said, further solidify her and your siblings’ legitimacy to the throne.

As you stepped out of the carriage with an encouraging inhale, Jace, Luke, and Joffrey, along with the nursemaids carrying Aegon and Viserys, followed after a chill running through the air. You brought your fur-lined cloak closer to your goose flesh arms, shuddering as you observed the Red Keep in all its grandeur. It was as big as you remembered, looking at the tall pale red stone towers, windows, and colliers. You felt small, the unmistakable burn of tears under your eyelids, your nose beginning to run as memories from six years ago flashed inside your mind’s eye. 

Luke and Jace came to stand behind you, taking note of your trembling lip and pink cheeks. The youngest of the two was filled with the same anxiety as you and quickly took his hand in yours—a united front. They did not know why you were shaking in your riding boots, squeezing Luke’s fist for comfort as Lord Caswell led your family inside the front gates. 

While the red and black banners of House Targaryen were raised on the Keep’s walls, it seemed to be House Hightower that occupied the castle. The Seven-Pointed Star was everywhere you looked throughout the halls that once were Harold with the tapestries of flying dragons, riders bounding with their mounts, now those of the Seven, holy pictures of the Crone and her guiding light, the Maiden with her pure, ethereal beauty, and others of religious importance.

It reminded you of your time in the Citadel in Oldtown, the ancient seat of House Hightower, who aligned themselves closely with the Faith of the Seven. Your family’s relationship with the Septons and Septas was strife until the late King Maegor ruthlessly crushed the Faith Militant Uprising. However, during your stay, you heard whispers from passing Lords and Ladies that the animosity supposedly vanquished long ago was still there, simmering below their fear of House Targaryen and their dragons. 

While the Seven did offer you something to soothe your soul in times of unease and explain unanswered things, it didn’t provide you consolation seeing it paraded around grotesquely in place of your House’s history. It churred the feeling of anxious dread in the pit of your stomach as your brothers eagerly left your side to explore the long-forgotten Red Keep. 

“I would say it’s nice to be home, but I scarcely recognize it,” your mother said, a slight lilt to her melodic voice and sharing a knowing glance with Daemon. 

You stood closely by her side, moist lips tucked in concern as you observed your stepfather’s butter smirk walking before the two of you. You and your mother stayed unmoving for another moment to allow the situation to settle. The abrupt raven, Lord Corlys gravely injured, Princess Rhaenys traveling to King’s Landing, Luke’s legitimacy loudly called to question all happening within a few days was more commotion than you had within the entirety of your stay at Dragonstone. It was a wonder you hadn’t plucked at the hairs of your Crown, your digits twitching and coming to scratch at your scalp.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in the air, unable to name the sensation as you turned to your mother, whose beautiful violet orbs were trained on a series of portraits of your kin. While your King grandsire, stepfather, mother, Queen Alicent, and her children were there, your siblings were not, leaving only the elegant, rectangular golden frame of your countenance in the places of your brothers. You felt your heart drop and glanced at your mother with wide, curious eyes. 

This meant too many things. Not only was it an insult to your mother and siblings to have all but their pictures, but the fact that it was only you there out of the six of you. It was no doubt Queen Alicent’s doing as you forced yourself to swallow a lump in your throat. The tears you kept at bay reemerged as your fingers dug under your black mesh veil, rolling the fine dark hairs at the nape of your neck between the pads of your thumb and forefinger.  

Swiftly, your mother took your wrist, soothingly rubbing your knuckles as she gave you a brief yet wistful smile. “Why don’t you find the Godswood, yes? I shall meet you there shortly.”

You bobbed your head stiffly, willing your tears and trepidations to quiet as you rubbed at your damp lashes. “Yes, Mother,” you responded in kind with a sniffle. 

You found yourself within nature as you always did in times of strife, gazing up into the crimson leaves of a Weirwood, the soft rustle of branches reminding you of inaudible whispers. They were hard to make with the sky’s brightness, only to see the fuzzy outlines with the gray clouds, but they comforted you. The Old Gods watched you with their unseen eyes as your fingertips traced the rough bark grass crunching beneath your boots.

The Godswood was the only place within the Keep’s grounds that did not cause you significant stress, as only fond memories of your times with Helaena catching insects and playing games with Jace and Luke filled your mind. You had no desire to return to King’s Landing despite being away for so long. It felt as if no time could heal the irreparable wounds caused within these walls and the person who did it. 

Many rumors spread throughout the realm and to your little island of Dragonstone from the smallfolk, whispering that Prince Aegon’s appetite for depravity did not curb after his marriage to Princess Helaena. The people said it increased tenfold as the Prince was spotted frequenting the gambling houses, brothels, and illegal fighting pits. It seemed fitting for your eldest uncle’s character to become the worst of something he was supposed to make the best of. 

You could only think of the innocent children sired into this world without their mother’s consent and then put into the fighting pits so that Aegon and other highborns could have their entertainment. When you are Queen, you shall kill every man or woman who dares to share the same interests as your uncle. You would not willingly allow such depravity under your rule. No amount of coin from such establishments could be worth it to keep the economy afloat.

The soft crunching of late winter grass caused you to jump, tearing from your thoughts as you turned to see your grandmother, Princess Rhaenys. You bestowed her with a deep curtsy and smile, coming to greet her with open arms. 

“Grandmother!” you called with unspoken joy in your tone. “Tis a pleasure to see you after so long.” 

She extended a tight-lipped smile that looked like a grimace, and you felt deflated. “I wish I could share the same unwitting joy you do, seeing as my Lord Husband lays battling with the Stranger.” 

You lowered your arms with chagrin and took a few paces back as you felt the sting of tears resurface. “Apologies, my lady. I did not mean for my joy at seeing my father’s mother to make light of the gravity this day brings.” 

She chuckled wryly at your words, shaking her head as she looked to the Weirwood tree behind you. Following her gaze, you moved from her path as she took steps forward. There were so many things you wanted to say to her, to scream to her how much you loved your father and wished for those involved with his death to pay as you twirled his signet ring on your middle digit. 

Princess Rhaenys looked to you in the serene noiselessness of the Godswood, the chill in the wind causing you to shiver, gaze drifting to where you worked the gold around your knuckle. She said nothing with her mouth. She needn’t, as you could see it written plainly in the deep wrinkles lining the corners of her eyes. The Princess felt the same but would never admit it aloud to a… bastard. 

“I shall leave you in peace, Princess,” you bowed again, walking with less brightness into the Keep as you left the one person you could speak about your father to.

You felt like an imbecile for what you said, even though any grandparent should feel the same glee you did at their grandchildren’s arrival. A hot wave of embarrassment seared your insides, causing you to dig the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, ripping your veil off in anger. You didn’t care about the beautifully plated hair your ladies created, scraping your nails into your scalp to feel the threadlike texture of your bothersome strands that ached to be released as you ran blindly through the stone halls. 

There had been times when Aemond had forgotten who you were, your smile, your laugh, your eyes, who your birth father was, and the sweet kisses you bestowed on him alone in his chambers. That is why he reasoned that he was surprised to see a woman grown and no longer a girlish figure with a short, flat torso and legs. Instead, it was a lady with the slope of your neck dripping with rubies and dragonglass barely hidden beneath the crevasse of your swelling bosom. 

Your eyes were all he could think about from the moment you emerged from the second wheelhouse. A scared, almost dovelike look to them as he watched Luke and Jace come to your side. 

Good, he thought. You all should be terrified. Yet he did not hold the same conviction as his stare drifted back to you.

The Prince thought you were so small and fragile from a distance as he observed you leave the Godswood, an arch to your dark brows that seemed to be in pain. He thought there should be nothing within your perfect ideal life to be so torn about and wanted to give you a reason to be upset. Aemond planned to spit all the vitriol he held within these six years as you rounded the corner, and yet, as Aemond held you within his bruising grasp, you stared at him with such fire beneath unshed tears. 

The passageway Aemond cornered you into carried a chill seeping in from the outside as he saw your cheeks redden in ire. Your moist, plump lips slightly parted to breathe as he dug his blunt nails into your biceps. He felt his breeches become impossibly tighter as you swallowed, darting your pink tongue out in nervousness, much to his frustration.

Aemond was no longer the sun-kissed Prince with wide amethyst eyes full of light. His plush, boyish face had slimmed in the time lost and turned into one of hardened maturity with a sharp nose and chiseled jaw that came to a point with thin pink lips. His countenance resembled the statues you saw in Dorne as you felt his strong hands dig into your muscles like he wanted to tear at your essence. You felt your body weaken against your will, succumbing to the emotions you felt for your uncle in your youth, but resolved to stay firm against his intimidation. There were still hints of the Aemond you briefly knew in your childhood, the one that kept that night a secret still to this day.

“Unhand me, Aemond!” you spat as if he had swiped filth across your face, a deep wrinkle on your forehead.

Aemond wanted to laugh despite your seriousness as he pressed you further against the pale red stone wall, uncaring if Princess Rhaenys heard your cries. You dropped your headpiece in your struggles and attempted to retrieve it before your uncle’s piercing grip righted you again. 

“Must I?” he quipped, his stomach churning with excitement as the familiar scent of citrus and something darker wafted into his nose. “You’re a strong lady. I’m certain you can overpower me.”

Aemond allowed his gaze to roam over your face as you scoffed with a squirm. He wanted you to be ugly, for you to become the personification of all the wrongs your family committed against him, to be the picture of the betrayal he felt for you choosing them over him on that dreadful night. Up close, he unwillingly realized you were what the smallfolk claimed you to be. The picture of the Maiden though he knew you were anything but. Aemond wondered what they would think should the people discover your true nature.

“You believe yourself a true Velaryon, do you not? The Old, the True, the Brave,” he asked, his voice low and menacing. His face was so close to yours that you could see the intricate stitchings of his brown leather eyepatch. You wondered if he wore his sapphire today. “Your hair is decorated with gold and pearls, fingers adorned with jewels, and wrapped in lavish dresses. Yet beneath all the decadence you wear, you are still nothing more than Strong.” 

His insults meant nothing as you realize your uncle felt the same inner turmoil. Why else would he speak such prose of your being? He loathed and loved you in the same breath, something he fought to keep inside.

“Do not hide behind cruel words, Aemond. I see you as you are.” A delicate hand came to cup his marred cheek, the smooth pads of your fingers tenderly stroking the plunging indentation through his skin. You wished to get through to him, to tell him that despite the rift between your families, you cared for him. He could still be your Mors Martell.

The Prince felt himself crack, an unconscious twitch of his lip that he disguised as a sneer. Aemond felt a sensation he fought to keep at bay since he was disabled, struggling to hide the way memories from long ago clouded his mind. Instead, the Prince focused on how you inhaled a sharp breath when his hand left your arm and came to your face, jerking it towards his as Aemond lost your tender touch. He would swear upon his death that he saw your eyes dilate a fraction too much for it to be the shadow of the torchlight. 

Wondering then if the rumors were true that you and your twin had a closer relationship, he brought his other fist to encircle your waist, trailing it down the back of your plump thigh until he forced it to wrap around his hip. A part of Aemond was sure you would scream for help as you did when he found you with Aegon, but no words escaped your moist lips.

“You hurt me, my light. Can I not simply bask in the presence of my long-lost dream?” he mocked and realized that he might have gone too far as he felt your body stiffen and face blanched. The expression on your visage reminded him of the times he saw wounded soldiers return from minor village uprisings, the bloodshed changing their perspectives. 

The Prince understood that there was no returning from what he said, seeming to have flipped an unseen switch inside you at the mention of his mother’s petname for you. Your lips began to tremble on their own volition, and you abruptly noticed the striking resemblance between Aemond and his older brother. The most venomous expression you could muster curled onto your face, hiding your fright and not allowing him to hold power over you any longer.

“Don’t insult my intellect, Aemond. I know what disgusting thoughts play inside your mind, and they intimidate me for naught. You are more alike to Aegon than you allow,” you jeered. You knew what to say to wound him, to compare him to his wastrel of an older brother who raped innocent serving girls and his kin.

Unable to help your wandering eyes, you watched how your uncle’s pink tongue moved within his mouth, how the wetness glistened with the flick of his ire. 

“And what of you?” Aemond rebuked. “You cannot simply only be close siblings. The dragon’s blood runs thick and even more so between twins.” 

You were silent, leaving only the faint rustling of nature in the distance wrapped around the pair of you like a rope, tightening against your skin and pulling you and Aemond closer. Despite the frigid weather, it became hot, sweat collecting on your upper lip and nape. All Aemond could hear was the fierce rhythm of your breathing, his eye wandering down to the elegant necklace perched on your chest.

“You spout baseless, vile accusations of your kin that have made lesser men lose their lives,” you rebuked, fists coming to clutch at his jerkin and wrapping your digits in the green leather as if you meant to fight him.

“Perhaps,” he breathed with an air of superiority, “but I don’t believe it to be treason to question your morals,” he replied coolly, his light brow quirking with his tone of practiced impassivity. 

The Prince was stunned into silence when your tiny, delicate palm echoed off his marred cheek. It was not the force that shocked him, but rather the notion that you did it despite the threat of violence.

For a brief moment, white, hot pain seared at his left temple and into his skull as he turned to you and saw an expression of regret. Aemond felt the heat on his cheek and smirked. He knew you intended to hurt him by striking him on his injured side and now understood how to cripple you as Luke did him. It would always be your beloved family—your weakness.

The lamb bit as fiercely as the wolf, Aemond mused. You may not be as frail as he thought.

Excitement curled the Prince’s toes at the whimper that escaped your lips as he used his strength around your throat, perfectly styled hair fraying on the stone. Your once flat irises now burst with life as they darted across Aemond’s lean form in brief terror, a proud grin wrinkling his eyes.

“You ignorant bitch,” he declared, pressing himself closer, his hand firm around you despite attempting to pry them off. His other limb reached down, shifting you to the tips of your toes as he dropped your leg. Though fruitless, he reveled in the terror that washed over your features as you attempted to fight him. He wouldn’t dishonor you, but all that mattered was that you did not. 

Aemond felt disgusted at his actions, believing for a moment that you were right about him, that he was indeed the same as Aegon, yet in different colored clothes. 

“I’ll scream. Just as I did that night.” 

“Then do it and let the whole Keep think worse of you,” the Prince mocked, bearing his white teeth. “I shall say it was you who seduced me, and who will they believe? The King’s second son or the bastard daughter who fucks her brother?” 

He could feel your humid breath against his face, fanning the spot where you had struck him. Aemond stared at this vicious yet adored creature in his grip as he concealed his insecurities with the intimating tilt of his head as if examining a new book. His violet eye traced the ink, waiting for your next move. The Prince would have you think him to be Aegon if it meant fucking his spend into you no matter how undeserving you were of it. Perhaps you would finally see what the true seed of a dragon looks like. Aemond grinned with his unspoken words and felt satisfaction with the anger he stoked in your eyes. 

“You will let me go. Now,” you demanded, pushing against your uncle as you struggled for purchase.

“And then what will you do? Run? Men in King’s Landing are not as kind as I when they see a distressed lady.” Your jaw ached, feeling like a rabbit cornered by a fox as a familiar and unwelcomed primal warmth blossomed between your thighs. 

You wanted to threaten him, to say that you would feed Aemond to your dragon or poison him in his sleep, but nothing came to mind besides the smell of too-sweet wine and the taste of dried dates. Memories came from that night, as you felt yourself becoming faint, the will to fight to leave you just as it did with Aegon as powerless tears welled on your lashes. You were a fool to think Aemond would see past his injustice for the sake of the past and resign yourself to whatever fate he chooses for you. 

There was no point in fighting. Once again, you were at the mercy of your uncle, and you only prayed that this one would be gentle.

The Prince no longer felt proud of his actions as he watched your body recoil into itself. There was something in your eyes that Aemond couldn’t name as he looked between them, feeling himself slowly pulled into their depths as he did the night after Aegon. The Prince wasn’t going to hurt you, not really. He was young and foolish, but not to the extent that he would commit an act of one of the highest sins.

As if the mother herself took mercy on you, the soft murmur of voices down the hall echoed into your and Aemond’s ears. You could not hide your smirk as he stared into you with a deep scowl on his porcelain face. Whatever plans he had, they crumbled like dead leaves underneath your boots as your mother and step-sister came. Taking his momentary distraction to your advantage, you shoved against the hardened planes of his chest, your sudden rush of strength knocking Aemond off balance as you retrieved your forgotten headpiece. 

Soon, they came into view, their destination no doubt being that of the Godswood as you fixed your disrupted attire. You couldn’t help the grin that pulled at your plump cheeks as you saw your uncle’s scowl, taking a few paces to reach them. You seemed the proper princess to the outside, greeting them with a quick embrace and your chin high.

Rhaena acted like Aemond wasn’t there. Only the uncomfortable shift of her shoulders revealed she noticed him while your mother extended a short but polite acknowledgment before he stalked away without proper dismissal. 

“What did he do to you?” your step-sister pointedly questioned, scanning your form for any injury.

You looked at her in what you hoped was a confused yet grateful expression and not one of guilt. “Prince Aemond merely wanted to make amends for the lack of presence at our arrival. I do not believe him to be sincere.”

Your mother smirked her delicate peony lips, releasing a scoff of disbelief as she shook her styled hair. She closed the space between you and tenderly grasped your shoulders as she scanned your form for injury.

“Do not let them get to you. They seek only pride and glory,” your mother declared steadfastly, a vibrancy you had never seen before in her amethyst eyes.

Nodding in acquiescence, you extended another brief embrace before you excused yourself, wanting nothing more than for this day to end as you went to search for your brothers. 

You needed Jace—to feel the comfort only your twin could give after facing the scars of the past. Before reaching your destination, you felt an iron-like grip across your upper arm, pulling you into a secluded alcove. You feared the worst, that someone planned to harm you and that your last words to your mother would be lies.

“You are quick, niece,” Aemond whispered haughty into your ear, causing you to drop your headpiece in fright, “but that quickness will do you no good in King’s Landing. Your whore mother has no hold here.” 

Just as quickly as your uncle took you, he released you with a shove. You wanted to bite with some clever or witty remark but thought of none. Tears of embarrassed frustration welled in your eyes as you spun on your heel, ignoring the tickle on your wrist like something had touched it.

As Aemond watched your womanly form retreat, dark eyes trailing over your curves, he did not feel the satisfaction he believed the interaction would create, spotting your discarded veil on the flagstone floor. He stared at it for a long moment, tracing the intricately sewn beads as he picked it up. 

Unsure of what came over him, he brought it to his nose, the scent of citrus flooding his senses and into the blood that engorged his cock. He was able to appreciate the feminine quality of your fragrance fully. Your aroma was refreshing and rounded, sweet but complex and deep simultaneously, similar to the limes that garnished drinks during the Keep’s summer gatherings, but with floral, herbal, and resinous undertones.

With a guttural noise, the Prince tightened his grip on the headpiece, channeling all his hatred towards your family into his clenched fist and tucked it into his jerkin. He swiftly went to the training session with Cole, hoping the knight wouldn’t see through his façade before witnessing the impending downfall he believed your family deserved. 

Masterlist of Series

Spotify Playlist

Sooooo, what did we think about their reuniting? Just two mentally ill and horny young adults. XD I originally wanted the whole meeting with Aemond again, the petition, and the dinner scene to be all in one chapter, but that was waaaaaay too much. I split them up to get those infamous scenes in the next chapter. I'm excited. It's gonna be juicy!

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you so much for reading! (⁠ ⁠´⁠◡⁠‿⁠ゝ⁠◡⁠`⁠)

I wanted to briefly give credit to @targaryenrealnessdarling, and their fic The Blood is Rare for inspo of the setting when Aemond and the reader meet for the first time. However, I did change things to make it my own. They have a lot of Aemond fics that will surely quench your thirst as y'all wait for the next chapter. (⁠◠⁠‿⁠◕⁠)

Tagged Peeps: @millies0bsimp, @britt-mf, @marvelescvpe, @haikyuusboringassmanager, @discofairysworld, @lottiemsgf , @nessjo @fiction-fanfic-reader , @qvnthesia , @hotvillianapologist , @p45510n4f4shi0n, @theendlessvoidofdarkest , @readerselegance , @gothamgurl2024 , @aleemendoza2425-blog , @vaylint , @ln8118 , @prettyduckling22 , @primroseluna

[dashiellqvverty]

the thing is in my brain throam is genuinely very good in many ways but also i haven’t read it in years and it very probably is Not

[void-tiger]

I don’t think y’all will ever understand how much it soothes my very emotionally neglected and abused inner child that you guys actually want to spend time with me. And one of you lights up like a kid on christmas morning, who also happened to be the first person to see an adhd/cptsd reaction slip out of me and not instantly treat me with disgust then isolation or harassment or lecturing in every sequential interaction following that.

Just. You have NO Idea.

(If you do…ouch. I hate it you dealt with that, too.)

[awearywritersworld]

my very soul demands you

sukuna x reader summary: you introduce sukuna to cuddling and romance novels. meanwhile, he's still struggling to make sense of his feelings for you, despite wanting to commit murder because another man had the nerve to touch your arm (which earns him a lecture from yuuji). w/c: 2.5k tags/warnings: enemies to lovers. angst to fluff. jealous!sukuna. aged up!yuuji. features yuuji x reader. cursing. banter. hopefully not too ooc for sukuna. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. no manga spoilers. a/n: this could maybe be read as a stand alone, but it'd flow much better with the context of the previous two parts. lots of denial and begrudging softness from sukuna here. definitely more fluff than anything tho. this series has been fun to write, so thanks for reading<3 i appreciate reblogs or feedback! let me know if you'd like to be tagged in any additional parts. series masterlist // masterlist

when you crawl in between sukuna's legs and curl up against his chest, it's a foreign experience that makes his body stiffen.

he'd been with countless women during his lifetime, but while fucking is one thing, he never once found himself in a position that struck him as this... intimate.

"hold me," you whine as if you can sense his unfamiliarity with such matters.

he rolls his eyes, beginning to wonder if your habit of throwing orders at him is actually some sort of compulsive need. "didn't anyone ever teach you manners?"

despite his irritation, he acquiesces to your demand and once he envelops you in his arms, some of his rigidness dissipates.

you hum contentedly. "isn't that better?"

"it's tolerable," he asserts, his chest vibrating against your cheek.

"whatever you say." tangling your legs with his, you turn your attention back to the movie you've both been watching.

he doesn't understand this... tedious display of affection, nor does he particularly enjoy it... right?

and he only allows it because he can't rid his mind of the image of your tear stained face... right?

yeah, that has to be it. he figures he can endure this, given that he was the reason you were so upset earlier.

it goes without saying that he doesn't realize it when he begins to rub absentminded circles on your back.

and the way the warmth of your body forces his usually tense muscles to relax goes unacknowledged.

when the credits begin to roll, sukuna's wearing an expression of unimpressed disinterest. "that's seriously how it ends?"

you don't respond, so he looks down only to find that you're fast asleep.

"tch. you ask to watch a movie, force me to pick it, and then you don't even have the decency to stay awake." he's not sure why he's chiding you even though he knows you can't hear him, but he keeps his voice low enough that it won't disturb you.

sukuna's spent more time than he cares to admit watching your sleeping form, but this is the first time that it's actually him you're pressed against. it's the first time he can reach out and touch you.

your hair has fallen across your face, so he pushes it back behind your ear gently. the pads of his fingers brush against your cheekbone, a ghost of a caress, and his gaze lingers on your parted lips.

he lets out a deep breath, tearing his eyes away from you. "impertinent brat."

reaching for the remote, he flips off the tv and casts the room in darkness.

upon waking up in the morning, yuuji's confused once he notices that he's on the couch and you're sleeping against his chest.

he may have been half asleep when he arrived home, but he's still positive he went to bed. stretching his arms above his head, the movement jostles you from your slumber.

"mornin', baby."

"good morning, yu," you yawn in response, shifting to sit up.

"how'd i wind up on the couch?" he asks, though he's already got an inkling of the answer.

"oh," you blush. "sukuna kind of made an appearance last night."

"that so? how'd it go?"

you think there might be a shadow of a smirk playing on his lips. is he teasing you?

"good," you offer. "we watched a movie."

"watched a movie with the king of curses," he muses before his face breaks out into a lopsided grin. "you sure are somethin', baby."

returning his smile, you lean in and press your lips to his. "hm. says you."

it's not uncommon for you to meet yuuji for lunch if his mission is short and nearby, and today is one of those days, so he eagerly makes his way to the cafe you agreed on.

he's still a few hundred feet away when he spots you through the window, chatting with a man he recognizes as your childhood friend.

his gaze drops to where his hand is wrapped around your forearm as you both share a laugh together.

it doesn't really bother yuuji, he trusts you implicitly and jealousy isn't an emotion that's really on his radar. the same can't be said for everyone, though.

sukuna watches on as well, his thoughts much darker than his vessel's. who does that wretch think he is, putting his hands on you?

you're not his to touch.

"give me control," sukuna growls, his mouth appearing on yuuji's cheek.

"and why would i do that?"

"so i can rip his heart out and gift it to her since he seems so interested in offering his affections."

"duuuude," yuuji begins, somewhat amused. "i don't think she'd be super crazy about you murdering her friend."

"fine," sukuna bites back, well aware that yuuji has a point. "but he can live without his filthy hands, can't he? perhaps i'll pull each arm from his torso—"

yuuji snorts. "you have some serious issues, man."

he can feel sukuna trying to take over and easily curbs the attempt, though that only fuels the king of curses' irritation. "my only issue lies in the fact you're allowing this to happen."

yuuji reaches the door, a bell chiming through the cafe as he pulls it open. "she's a big girl. she doesn't need either of us to dictate what can and can't happen to her."

once you see your boyfriend, your face lights up and you call out his name. you place a kiss on his cheek and snake an arm around his waist in greeting, and the space it puts between you and your friend is enough to keep sukuna from protesting further.

"you two have met, right?" you ask.

"yeah! hey, itadori! it's been a while."

"it has! good to see you, yamada."

"i'd love to stay and chat more, but i have to get going," he states, leaning in to give you a hug which you return. "we should all go out together soon!"

"absolutely not, you deplorable knave—" yuuji slaps a hand to his cheek before sukuna can continue and yamada gives him an odd look.

your eyes widen for a split second and you have to stop yourself from facepalming.

"what'd you say?" yamada asks, sounding a bit hesitant.

"i said absolutely, sounds like an enjoyable night!"

the men exchange a handshake before you and yuuji make your way to a table.

"sukuna, what the hell was that?" you hiss once yamada's out of earshot.

"i don't know what you mean," he responds smugly.

you meet yuuji's eye and he just shrugs his shoulders, but you swear the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

you can't imagine anything good coming from the two of them colluding with one another, but let it go anyway.

opening up your menu, you sigh in defeat. "if you say so."

"what do you mean you'd rather disembowel yourself?" you question the man sitting across from you.

it's becoming more commonplace to see those dark marks adorning yuuji's body during the nighttime hours. you sometimes wonder if he's letting it happen or if sukuna's just getting better at taking over, but you're too nervous to ask.

"do you need a dictionary? there's one over on the shelf—"

"no, asshole. i know what disembowel means! i just don't understand your refusal."

he raises his eyebrows at the obscenity, but doesn't comment on it. "i'm not reading some inane romance novel."

"but brontë's one of my favorite authors!"

"it makes no difference if it was penned by the gods. the thought alone is absurd. can we move on now?"

you don't respond. instead, you cross your arms and stare at the wall defiantly. your face is contorted into an expression that lets sukuna know you're clearly affronted.

"very mature, you silly little girl."

"sorry you find me and my interests so childish," you huff.

"oh, please. that's not what i said."

you continue giving him the cold shoulder, having no desire to argue further, but more than willing to die on this hill.

"fine, don't talk. it's no matter to me," he claims (despite it being the furthest thing from the truth).

as the minutes tick by, he keeps looking at you from the corner of his eye and exhaling dramatically.

eventually, he calls your name in an exasperated tone, and while it makes your heart flutter, you still don't spare him a glance. you just hold the book out for him and to your surprise, he rips it from your grasp.

"you're ridiculous," he grumbles, opening the cover to reveal the first page. "i hate you."

when he glances over to see you're beaming at him despite the insult, he adds (albeit half heartedly), "i mean it, brat."

the two of you sit in silence, each of you reading your respective books. a few chapters in, sukuna comes across the following conversation:

"do you know where the wicked go after death?" "they go to hell," was my ready and orthodox answer. "and what is hell? can you tell me that?" "a pit full of fire." "and should you like to fall into that pit, and to be burning there for ever?" "no, sir." "what must you do to avoid it?" i deliberated a moment; my answer, when it did come, was objectionable: "i must keep in good health, and not die."

to your astonishment, you actually hear him chuckle, but when he looks over and finds your self satisfied smirk, any hint of humor disappears from his face in the blink of an eye. your hand quickly moves to your mouth to stifle a giggle.

"something you want to say?" he baits you.

"nope, nothing at all!"

two nights later, he's already nearing the end of the story and you refrain from commenting about how quickly he's made his way through.

you doubt he'd allow your current position if you had— you're laying on your side, your head resting comfortably in his lap, one hand occupying the space above his knee.

when you asked if it was okay, all he offered you was a clipped, "i suppose."

your hair is splayed across his thigh and your eyes fluttered shut a while ago. when he agreed to this, he didn't realize how distracting it'd be. his gaze flickers between you and the words on the page with embarrassing frequency.

he's decided what you call cuddling is absolutely suffocating. how anyone could actually enjoy it, he's sure he'll never comprehend. he can hardly concentrate on the novel that's right in front of him—

"read to me, 'kuna," you mumble, interrupting his thoughts. it surprises him that you're still awake.

he scoffs. "what do i look like? your personal audiobook?"

"you didn't even know those existed until like a week ago," you laugh. "c'mon, pleaaaaaase."

he stays quiet for a few moments, so you're under the impression he may just ignore your request. as such, you're exceptionally pleased when his voice fills the otherwise still apartment.

you think the sound of his voice is comforting, an idea that would more than likely make him cringe, so you keep it to yourself. after all, you don't want him to stop.

at some point or another, he begins twirling a strand of your hair around his finger whenever he's not turning the page, an action that seems to take place without his noticing.

occasionally he'll pause to ask if you're even listening. it's an odd feeling that blossoms in his stomach when you assure, "mhmm. every word."

as he reaches the second to last chapter, he reads a line that makes you question whether your heart's stopped beating. you're not sure if it's because of the tone of his voice, the words he's imparting, or some mix thereof.

"no—no—jane; you must not go. no—i have touched you, heard you, felt the comfort of your presence—the sweetness of your consolation: i cannot give up these joys. i have little left in myself—I must have you. the world may laugh—may call me absurd, selfish—but it does not signify."

he stops reading, as if he too feels the sense of unease that's invaded the air. against your better judgement, you turn to look at him. his eyes are glued to the page, almost like they're avoiding you, and his jaw is tense.

"my very soul demands you: it will be satisfied, or it will take deadly vengeance on its frame.”

when his gaze finally lands on you, his expression is almost pained. it's a strange contrast to the warm fondness you spot in his eyes.

you quickly push that thought away, however. whatever you believe you may have seen, you're probably just deluding yourself. you know you aren't his least favorite person, but surely he'd never feel even half of that sentiment toward you—

your breath catches in your throat when his hand reaches up, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. he still marvels at the fact you don't shy away from his touch, that you're usually the one to seek out contact with him.

perhaps the story is not as asinine as he expected it to be. rochester presumes jane will find him revolting, yet she still agrees to be with him, even after his selfishness has been made plain to her. after the sins of his past have caught up to him.

no, no, no.

to be so desperate for some woman's approval, or her devotion for that matter, is despicable. rochester's nothing less than foolish and sukuna isn't anything like him.

but you're certainly like jane, aren't you? fearless, passionate, and determined: all things he can't help but find endearing...

gods, what is this turmoil? it's making him feel pathetic and there isn't an emotion in the world he hates more—

you distract him from his internal monologue when your fingers wrap around his wrist and bring his knuckles to your lips. "you okay?"

"of course," he mutters, pulling his hand away. "just trying to get past all the mawkishness."

"really? you think it's that bad?" you question, the frown on your lips igniting that ache in his chest that appears whenever you're upset.

"it's not terrible," he sighs, realizing there may indeed be one thing he despises even more than feeling pathetic. "although i don't understand how jane is so taken with rochester."

you seem to ponder this for a moment before shrugging. "love is weird."

"what a clever analysis."

you slap his chest playfully. "oh, whatever. just keep going, you're almost finished!"

and you're right. he does reach the end of jane eyre that night, but not before you fall asleep on his lap. he closes the book, running a finger down the creased spine and setting it down carefully. it's obvious you've read it several times.

admittedly, he can see why, but he'd be caught dead before he'd ever tell you as much.

left alone with his thoughts, he considers the impossibility of jane and rochester: a charming, headstrong woman and a cruel, arrogant man.

leaning forward, he whispers your name to make certain you're asleep, then places a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"..sweet dreams."

[ponderingmoonlight]

can you pleaseee make a sequel to the "jjk men hurting y/n" (gojo part) where their son wonders if they can marry y/n when they grow up. you know what i mean.

(also oh my goddddd that fic had me rolling in bed giggling and kicking my legs 😭😭😭😭)

Nothing better than that, thank you so much for your request and liking my work<3

Part l can be found here under Gojo's part

Gojo's and (y/n)'s son wanting to marry (y/n)

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,2k

Warnings: fluffness overload

Tags: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @defnotriri @smarsd @sharycatx3 @kaiserkisser @sanicsmut

As usual, feel free to leave a comment or reblog <3

What happened on that fateful day of the night parade was hard to swallow for both you and Satoru. That unimaginable grief of the breakup when all he wanted to do was to save you. Suguru who wanted to not only kill you but Yuta for your abilities and died himself.

It was all too much to handle, a test for both of you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? I told you I’m pregnant, that I’m expecting your child and you-….You looked at me with nothing but hatred in your eyes…”

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). Believe me, it killed me from the inside to be so cold to you when in reality, I wanted nothing more than holding you in my arms and tell everyone. But there was no other way. If I’d told you about Suguru’s plan, you would have insisted on coming to Tokyo. And if I didn’t and you’d find out yourself, you would have been absolutely mad and would have been there anyway. Please, all I wanted was to keep you safe. I had no other choice…”

For the first time in your relationship, you saw Satoru Gojo cry in front of you, his hands wrapped around your face. Oh, if you only knew how hard it was for him, how it broke his very own heart within these three cursed weeks.

But now you’re here, safe and sound.

“What happened to Suguru?”

Your innocent question pierced his heart like a knife. Satoru wanted to break down in front of you, too overwhelmed by everything that happened over the last weeks.

But he had to be strong. For you and his unborn baby.

“He didn’t make it.”

Your heart dropped, arms instinctively wrapped around your boyfriend’s trembling frame. Oh, your Satoru. All the things he had to endure over this time. Despite you had every reason to be mad at him you simply can’t. He did this for you, after all. And who knows at what cost.

“We’ll get through this together, okay? You, me and our baby.”

And after months of grieving and talking everything out, you did eventually. You did live through it all: the difficult pregnancy, you almost dying during birth, Satoru getting sealed at Shibuya, the loss of many good friends. It was never easy, you thought about giving up all too often.

But now you’re sitting at the kitchen table with your three year old beautiful son who owns the eyes of his gorgeous father and your hair color.

“Good morning my lovelies”, Satoru purrs against your ear before gently placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Stop that!” your son suddenly shouts, gazing at your husband and his very own father visibly upset.

Huh, what has gotten into him today? Normally he doesn’t mind much when Satoru shows you affection. You tilt your head to the side, Satoru nods towards you.

“What, are you jealous, young man?” Satoru asks challengingly, sitting down next to his son who crawls into his lap immediately.

“You can’t just kiss mama like that because I wanna marry her!” the little boy in front of you announces, determination sparkling in his blue orbs.

Satoru and you stare at each other bamboozled and before you can help yourself, a little giggle escapes your lips. Is this why he was acting so weird? Where does this thought come from?

“You wanna marry her?” Satoru repeats.

“I learned that you kiss at a wedding. So you can’t kiss mommy!”

“Oh, I understand. And how did you get the idea of marrying her?” Satoru continues the conversation.

Your heart feels like exploding in warmth, pure joy speeding through your veins. Seeing your sweet little angel sitting on his father’s lap while announcing that he’ll marry you makes tears sting in your eyes. After all the things you’ve been through, the fights, the injuries, the worries, is this really your life right now? Sitting at the breakfast table while having a delightful conversation with your family?

“I love my mama because she makes me brave.”

Satoru’s eyes dart towards you, so touched by the words of your little one that you can immediately see the glossy shine in them. It’s still like a dream to him, sitting here in peace with both of you by his side. This was definitely worth all the fights and losses he had to endure over the last years. This precious little moment of innocence and pure love.

“Y’know little man, just because you love someone you can’t automatically marry that person. That here is your ma, which means you can’t marry her. If someone gets to marry her that would be me”, Satoru clarifies with his oh so sweet voice.

You desperately try to hold back tears. The love you hold for your little family is more than you could ever explain, deeper than any ocean on this planet. Your son might not be aware of it know, but the fact that he’s sitting here so unbothered was never granted, that all of this will work out was never given.

But now it is. Now you’re sitting there all together. And your son just announced that he wants to marry you.

“But why can you marry her and I not?” he requests, lips forming that little pout that reminds you so much of his father.

“Because you already have her as your wonderful mama. Leave some for the rest”, Satoru replies.

Your son shrieks in his father’s loving arms as he begins to tickle him, laughter filling the room. If anyone would have told you 5 years ago that this will be your life, you would have laughed at him. You really thought this world has no joy for you left, that you and Satoru are cursed through being jujutsu sorcerers.

But that child in front of your very own eyes isn’t a curse. No, it is a true blessing just like Satoru himself. You can’t help but admire him for his strength, for his never ending optimism in this world that tried to tear him down multiple times. Always running back into your open arms, always looking out for you and your family. How do you even deserve him, the man in front of you who looks at your child lovingly?

“But why did you not marry her then?”

You tilt your head to the side, amused by the question of your little one.

“That’s a really good question, angel”, you comment sweetly.

Of course you know all too well that the last few years didn’t have any room for a wedding. Between so many deaths, getting sealed and constant fighting, there wasn’t enough time to arrange something like that. But still, you love to tease your boyfriend a little bit.

“I definitely will someday”, Satoru ensures, gaze set on you with a breathtaking smile.

“And I’ll be there too!” your son cries out in excitement.

“Of course you will, Suguru! Ain’t no wedding without my favorite man by my side!”

[nyctoaerah]

TWTWTWTWTWTW: GORE TWTWTWTWTW

Hi, I love the Yandere Gojo series! I'd like to make a request. My request: Yandere Gojo gives his non-sorcerer lover the worst punishment he's ever seen in his life because she keeps trying to run away… he makes her unable to move or run again. either amputation or broken bones. But in the end, he regrets it very much.

⋆♱⋆REMINISCENT

⋆♱⋆SYPNOSIS: Satoru loves Suguru deeply and he misses the latter so much, so how could he let go off you? How could he let a pretty little thing like you slip through his fingers when you’re literally just like suguru?

⋆♱⋆WARNINGS: Yandere (duh) bone breaking, Surgery stuff, Satoru himself is already a warning, Satoru has Capgras delusion disorder, Both Reader and Satoru ended up having shared psychosis disorder. Satosugu.

⋆♱⋆PAIRINGS: Yandere! Gojo Satoru x Fem! Non-sorcerer reader. Satosugu.

⋆♱⋆NOTE: okokok, i know that you didn’t requested satosugu anon, but there’s a reason why there’s satosugu in here, and it’s important in the plot. Hope you understand<3. Broken bones is already a bad punishment, but i’ll add a twist on it;) Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3. Please do support me in wattpad and quotev too<3 i suck at doing angst, sooo.... Idk.. might make a part 2 though.

MASTERLIST

HE WASN’T THE MAN that you once knew, no longer the gentle soul who showered you with affection. The bond you shared over four years had been pure, filled with love and warmth, until that cursed night , Twenty fourth of December in 2017.

Satoru’s mental state appeared to deteriorate drastically ever since that day. The once warm and affectionate gaze he used to cast on you had now transformed into a cold and distant stare, devoid of any tender emotions.   

Sometimes he would blame non-sorcerers like yourself too, grumbling things under his breath like

“You non-sorcerers are the reason why suguru went spiraling”

You didn’t grasp the true meaning of this statement until you did a little digging into Satoru’s past. It was then that you realized you had been living in a state of blissful ignorance.

And after learning about his troubles, instead of scolding him for his erratic behavior and pushing him away, you chose to approach him with kindness and understanding—You felt bad, for you would mostly just yell at him for acting like that, when you didn’t knew the reason why he was like that.

You made every effort to comfort him and show him that you cared deeply for him, to show him how apologetic you are for being so ignorant. However, at times, you also confronted him with harsh truths in order to bring him back to reality. 

In these moments of brutal honesty, Satoru took notice of the uncanny similarities between you and Suguru. From the way you conducted yourself to the gestures you made, tie your hair up, everything seemed to echo Suguru’s presence.

The way you spoke, moved, the way your lips would curl up into a smile, the way you would laugh and interacted with others all carried a trace of Suguru’s aura.

And your voice, fuck, the softness of your voice was reminiscent of the way suguru’s voice would soften whenever he talks to satoru.

Despite lacking a clear physical resemblance, the essence of Suguru seemed to radiate from you in all aspects of your actions.

And perhaps, it’s the way that you managed to make him see suguru in you was what made him so obsessed with you. He saw echoes of his beloved friend in your every gesture, your every word. Sometimes, in a strange mixture of jest and earnestness, he would playfully dub you and Suguru, as if to merge the two of you into one entity. Sometimes he would joke about you being suguru’s genderbend.

You found it peculiar yet endearing at first, dismissing it as a harmless quirk borne from grief, as you had always seen it as his coping mechanism. Little did you know, this oversight would prove to be your gravest mistake.

Despite the warning signs he showed, his redflags, you somehow chose to endure it all.

And that was your biggest mistake.

His once-charming gestures now morphed into suffocating constraints, possessiveness, obsessiveness. Slowly but surely, he isolated you from the outside world, severing even the most basic ties of communication with your own family.

Your past talking stage and lovers would be either found dead or missing without any trace. The friends who once stood by your side now regarded you with wary glances, distancing themselves.

Of course, you felt a deep sense of sadness, believing there was a flaw within yourself. And seeking solace and understanding, you opened up to Satoru, shedding tears as you shared the studf that you were facing in your life. In your moments of vulnerability, he offered you comfort, reassuring you that he was all you needed and that you should distance yourself from other individuals. He warned you that these individuals posed a threat to your well-being, emphasizing that their intentions were harmful—and insisting that he was the only one that you need.

As much as you wanted to believe Satoru and trust him completely, your innate intuition stopped you from fully buying into his facade. Because despite his convincing demeanor, a lingering sense of unease tugged at the back of your mind, suggesting that something wasn’t quite right.

Moreover, Satoru showed a tendency to involve himself in even the most mundane of tasks, such as brushing your hair, typically tasks you would manage alone. It seemed as though he viewed you as some kind of doll, someone he could manipulate and control at his own whim. He made sure to always be in close proximity to you, refusing to give you any moments of solitude. The only instances where he allowed you some privacy were during bathing or changing, and even then, he seemed reluctant to leave your side.

His obsession became so intense that he became insistent on your constant presence by his side, whether he was on a mission, teaching, or interacting with colleagues. His students and coworkers all recognized the unhealthy attachment, with Shoko and even Megumi expressing pity towards you for being caught in Satoru’s suffocating love. Despite the visible discomfort from all parties involved, Satoru remained unmoved, justifying his actions to keep you close at all times.

Even when Shoko attempted to reason with him and knock some sense into his fucked up mind, Satoru would manipulate the situation to shift blame onto them, for separating him with suguru—and that they’re the reason why he only has you now.

Nanami also tried to intervene by trying to convince the higher ups to arrange dangerous solo missions for Satoru in hopes of separating you two, but his stubbornness prevailed.

Maki and Nobara also attempted to intervene, even organizing girls’ nights as a means of providing you with a break from Satoru, yet their efforts were futile. 

Ultimately, the support from those aware of the situation—Nanami, Megumi, Nobara, Shoko, Maki, and others—proved futile in alleviating the troubling dynamic with Satoru. Despite their best intentions and efforts, your circumstances remained unchanged due to Satoru's unyielding obsession on keeping you with him.

Everyone knew how fucked up he was, but what can they do?

Satoru is the strongest after all.

Your parents weren’t even aware of your situation, as you were not allowed to talk or visit them.

One instance stands out in your memory, when you attempted to say that you want to speak with your parents, and he adamantly refused, claiming it was too perilous. Despite feeling frustrated at the time, you ultimately acquiesced to his wishes. The following day though, a horrifying discovery awaited you— the lifeless bodies of your parents. It was at this moment that you began connecting the dots, reflecting on the untimely death and murder of your previous partners, the gradual alienation of your friends, the look of pity his students and colleagues gives you, the persistent reasoning of people trying to separate you from satoru, his increasing control over your actions, and the coincidental deaths of those you sought to interact with. 

The realization dawned on you that all of these  events were orchestrated by Satoru himself, with the sole intention of keeping you entirely under his influence. And an overwhelming sense of fear crept into your chest, prompting you to devise a plan to escape while he was on a mission. 

----𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐄, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐆

Your entire body was engulfed in pain and weariness, each muscles contracting in pain, your breaths labored and shallow as if your lungs were about to give out—About to rupture, and a searing sensation in your chest as it tightens, heaving with each labored breath you took.

Your feet were raw and bloody, multiple cuts on it from the jagged edges of rocks you have stepped on, perspiration was all over your body in rivulets, and a dry, scratchy feeling in your throat due to lack of moisture and oxygen.

Everything burned, yet you persisted in moving forward, walking a fine line between imminent collapse and the urgent need to evade getting caught by Satoru—your boyfriend.

Rather than face capture, you were willing to risk death in your desperate attempt to escape.

You’d rather die trying to escape than live without trying to fight for your freedom.

The exhaustion consuming you mattered little, all that occupied your mind was the need to break free from his grasp and his control over you.

The passage of time was a blur, perhaps an hour had passed since you began running, your energy waning as your vision blurred with fatigue. 

Lost in the vast unknown surroundings, it seemed as though you were trapped in a never-ending loop. Uncertain of your location in Japan, the isolated landscape consisted only of a sprawling mansion, trees, and barren land devoid of any signs of human life. It felt as though you had been completely cut off from civilization.

As you continued running, tears streaming down your face, your mind were spinning and every hair on your body stood on end at the sound of his voice suddenly booming.

“Hm? Is that you that i see there, [Name]?”

You froze.

“What have I told you about leaving without my permission?”

The sound of Satoru's voice sent a shiver down your spine, freezing you in your tracks. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to keep moving, to escape his reach, but the fear of his wrath paralyzed you in place.

“S-satoru.. what are you doing here...?” 

You couldn’t comprehend how he had managed to be here when he was supposed to be on a mission. Your mind raced with confusion and disbelief.

“No, what are you doing here?” He asks, staring down at you coldly.

“Are you.. trying to run away?” He questioned you as he stepped closer to you.

Your breath hitched, throat constricting as you looked up at him with wide eyes, not knowing what to say.

“I-i..”

“I-i wasn’t i swear—”

You were left speechless as you were suddenly shoved you down, causing your head to hit the ground with a sickening thud. Blood trickled down your forehead as a cry of pain escaped your throat. 

His gaze bore down on you with a chilling intensity, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re trying to leave me..”

“I trusted you,” he whispered shakily.

“How could you? I made sure to go back as soon as possible after my mission was finished so that you won’t be in danger... And now you’re running away and putting yourself in danger?”

Out of nowhere, his hand tightly gripped your throat, squeezing with such force that it became difficult to breathe, leading to a sensation of suffocation and a blurred vision.

“S-satoru n-nnh! L-let go!”

Struggling to break free, you frantically attempted to pry his fingers off your neck, letting out choked screams in the process. Your body thrashed around violently, desperately trying to fend him off by kicking in all directions. 

“You’re really just like suguru... always trying to resist..” 

“I trusted you,” he whispered unsteadily, his voice cracking.

“But what have you done?” he asked shakily.

His pupils trembled like leaves in a fierce wind, his entire frame quivering with an unsettling intensity. Those piercing sapphire eyes bore into you, sending shivers down your spine in the dim, eerie stillness of the forest.

“L-let go p-please satoru!” You begged.

“P-please. A-ahn.. let g-go, ‘Toru, please,”

“T-toru, haaah, i-i c-can’t breathe”

He seemed to pause at that when you called him “Toru.” 

And slowly, his grasp slackened, leaving you gasping for precious breath as your lungs desperately clawed for every molecule of air.

You coughed, again and again and again, and he just watched you.

When you finally managed to catch your breath, you turned to look at him, your face contorted in anger abd fear.

“Y-you’re crazy satoru,” Your voice emerged hoarse and jagged.

“You’re crazy, i swear” You rasped as you dragged yourself away from him, only for him to close the distance.

 “Crazy?” he repeated.

“Yes, crazy for love.” His fervor seemed to border on mania.

“Yes I’m Enamored, Suguru.” he professed with an almost unsettling zeal, his voice now carrying a hauntingly romantic lilt as though the torment he inflicted on you was an act of devotion.

Your breath hitched.

“What...?” your eyes widened.

“I’m not... Suguru...” Your voice faltered, delicate lips quivering. Pain pulsed through every fiber of your being, urging you to run away, yet how could you escape from one so consumed by his own distorted reality? Satoru appeared to be in a haze, his eyes vacant and unseeing—He was in his delusional state.

“Suguru, let’s go home..” Satoru mumbled.

You swallowed thickly. You were about to make a dumb move, but fuck, he really needed to snap out of it.

Gently, you cupped his face between trembling hands, hoping your tender touch might pierce the delirium and make him snap out of it.

“Please, ‘Toru, focus on the sound of my voice. It’s not suguru, it’s me”

But he remained ensnared in his twisted visions, oblivious to reality.

“...Satoru... ‘Toru, listen to me. I’m not suguru.”

“I’m not him. I’m [Name], your girlfriend...”

Again, and again and again, you tried to convince him that you’re not suguru.

“I’m [Name], the one that you met at the bakery that you liked so much... And i’m not suguru ”

You phrased it in different words.

And yet...

He was still lost in it.

“What are you saying suguru?”

Dread constricted your heart, each moment bringing you closer to the brink. To flee would surely send him into a frenzy but to stay would probably result in suffering. 

“Don’t say things like that... Suguru”

he whispered.

“I still haven’t forgave you for running away.” He uttered, and a pit formed on your stomach.

“I’m [Name], not suguru—Toru... Please, fuck, snap out of it”

He ignored you as he gently caressed your cheek before guiding your head towards his for a kiss. Your heart pounded as your lips met, the sharp sting of his teeth on yours making you whimper.

“S’toru... Stop...”

When he didn’t stop, you reacted by biting his tongue hard, making it bleed. Surprisingly, this did not deter him; instead, he released a soft moan of pleasure. 

“Oh fuck... You’re still the same as always, suguru.”

You gasped as he finally pulled away from the kiss.

“Sa-Satoru... What the fuck..?” You shrieked. Why the hell did he said that? Does this meant that... He was in a previous relationship with Suguru? Did he used you as a rebound? No, fuck, he sees suguru in you.

You understand it now.

“I’ll make sure you don’t do it again,” He whispered.

“Huh?”

“Make sure that you don’t massacre a whole ass village again so that they won’t separate you from me...”

Slowly, deliberately, his other hand drifted downward toward your ankle. Your heart drops as you felt him do that.

Oh fuck, he’s not planning on snapping your ankles, is he?

“Satoru, no, no, no, no, no!”

You strained against his crushing hold, but could only witness in horror as his fist closed around the delicate bones.

“If you do that, i’ll never forgive you— AHHH!”

A strangled scream caught in your throat as you felt the unmistakable snap of your ankle splintering beneath his strength.

White-hot pain lanced up your leg and your vision blurred with tears of misery. Before you could process the pain of the first break, his hand was upon your other ankle. You knew what was coming yet were powerless to prevent it. Another sickening crack reverberated through your shattered nerves as satoru callously contorted the joint beyond its limits. Bone fragmented, muscle tore, and ligaments ripped apart, leaving your legs crippled and limp.

----𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍

His fingers pressed insistently beneath your chin, a mixture of gentle caress and firm control as he meticulously groomed your hair, each stroke designed to emulate the exact style of Suguru’s locks.

Tying it back partially, he sought to replicate every minute detail, ensuring you bore an eerie resemblance to his obsession—Suguru. But the true horror lay in his pervasive fixation upon you as Suguru incarnate. He paid face surgeons to sculpt and mold  your face until the reflection in the mirror bore a warped semblance to Suguru’s features, he would drape you in Suguru’s attire and bestowing upon you the very essence of his fucking bestfriend.

And the worst of it all? he managed to find suguru’s daughters and practically forced you to take care of them—like the way suguru would take care of them. Even suguru’s daughters were horrified — yet they were too scared to even refuse.

All of the horrors that he had made you go through broke you completely.

“Perfect,” he murmured with a self-satisfied hum, stepping back to survey his handiwork.

You just sat there, disoriented, and feeling hollow as an empty shell.

Stripped of your true identity and coerced into being someone else you weren’t. The drugs he administered clouded your mind, the brainwashing eroding your sense of self until you could no longer discern who you are. The only thing you knew is that you’re suguru.

It was a bad punishment, real, real bad punishment.

Your identity was snatched, and you were no longer yourself.

He furrows his brow, observing the silence that hangs between you.

“C’mon speak, suguru.” he urges, his gaze piercing into yours.

“Isn’t it perfect?”

Suddenly, a flicker of realization dances in his eyes as they narrow, scrutinizing the subtle yet noticable difference between your eyes and suguru. The shift is imperceptible to most, but to him, it is a glaring anomaly that demands attention.

A smirk curls onto his lips

“Seems like we need to adjust those eyes of yours as well, huh? Don’t you agree, suguru ?” 

Satoru sighed as his calloused fingers tangled themselves in thick ebony locks, pulling your motionless form taut against his chest. An ichor-cold sense of wrongness had settled itself deep in his marrow, its barbs tearing at his insides. 

His beloved Suguru was already here... But... Where is his [Name]?

“Nanako and Mimiko would be upset to see you like this suguru...”

​​​​​RING

RING

Satoru blinked at the sudden shrill clamor emanating from his phone—and he realized that someone was calling him, still cradling your form  against his chest with a singular hand. He took the device from his trousers one-handed, calloused fingers opening his phone.

When at last the lock screen dissolved into view, an icy shiver seized his marrowed bones. 

It was you—in your normal self, kissing him in the cheek, and you two looked very happy.

Why did suddenly felt wrong?

...

... It felt wrong...

So, so wrong.

Why did nostalgia for your genuine self now claw so vehemently at the fissures in his heart, when only Suguru had the right to reside there?  

[skyenish]

| Vil Schoenheit analysis and animatic: my interpretation on Vil’s character and overblot 👑 |

———

(I haven’t read the newest book 7 chapters yet since I play on EN)

I’ve always interpreted Vil’s story as one of validation. He may be confident, he knows his worth, and yet he can’t give himself the validation he wants/needs. Hes got tenacity and believes in working hard to be his perfect self, which is admirable, but one must wonder how much of that ‘perfect self’ is influenced by others. What really is ‘the fairest of them all’? He works so hard to achieve what he thinks it is, and even after all that hard work he’s still second best to Neige.

Vil isn’t dumb, he knows his worth, he knows that Neige works hard too, and yet it stings. Do others dont appreciate how much effort you put in? He chases validation and because of that can’t truly love himself, which is exactly what Rook meant with what he said to Vil after book 5’s ending, something how about when Vil is old and wrinkly, as long as he truly believes he’s the fairest of them all, he is.

When Vil tried to cheat, tried to poison Neige, his whole world collapsed. His overblot was a very internal issue, unlike the other Overblotters, because he wasn’t being tenacious, he took a shortcut, which he famously doesn’t like. He’s the monster he thinks others think he is, partly because of his typecasting and the bullying he endured when he was younger. He let other people affect him so much, it’s a huge part of his overblot.

This is just my interpertation of course, but I barely see anyone talk about Vil’s character and OB besides his surface level jealousy towards Neige, and I think we should talk more about him. He is already trying, working so hard, but it’ll never be enough for him for as long as he isn’t happy with it himself. His perfection is toxic. Its admirable how hard he works, and he’s an incredibly smart, talented and even confident person, but his desire for perfection, for validation, would’ve destroyed him. There’s a reason he overblotted, and its not just because ‘waaah waaah I always get typecasted as the villain and mu rival is gonna win a competition 🥺🥺’, its so, SO much more!

I want more discussions about Vil because he has so much more depth than people give him credit for. He teaches us the important lesson of loving yourself, though he’s not very good at it himself yet! I’m sorry if this analysis is all over the place, I just wanted to ramble, and I just so happened to have made a sort of corresponding animatic!

Uhh that was my ted talk about Vil. Falls of stage and breaks my neck

[featherwurm]

I'm going to get a lot more personal on here than I usually do:

Baulder's Gate 3, and especially Karlach, make me feel seen in a way no price of media I've ever engaged with before has. It's a big reason why I love it and why it's sticking with me like it is. I too am a big, loud, enthusiastic woman who says out of pocket shit. I have a heavy internal dialogue with myself. I have a temper, I'm bisexual, I love cute shit. I endured years of being utterly touch starved. I love sex and food and being alive...

I also have cancer; it's Follicular B-Cell Lymphoma. I was diagnosed in 2020 when it had reached stage 3A. It's currently under control after chemo* and I'm living my life normally. But while it's a very treatable kind of cancer, it's not fully curable**. There's nothing in me they can remove (it's my whole lymphatic system that's broken) and no drug currently that can wholly knock it out. It's cause is not known (genetically or environmentally), and its unusual for this type of cancer to affect someone as young as I am (I was diagnosed at 35 - it's much more common 65+***). So every three months I go into oncology and they check my blood and symptoms and see if I'm doing ok. I get imaging and biopsies occasionally too. This will go on until I'm not ok (hopefully a long time yet). I'll have to have still manageable but more invasive treatment the next time around. It's a well researched kind of cancer, and my oncologist hopes that in the next decade there may be some more permanent cure for it.

So you can see where I'm going with this. When you hit Karlach's monologue after killing Gortash, I've never felt better understood. I have no one to blame for my condition, no revenge arc of course, but the very same fear, frustration, grief, and anger are all things my husband has heard from me. I've never seen a more beautiful and moving and real exploration of the topic that resonates with me so meaningfully out of a piece of fiction that I love. Béart's performance is amazing - capturing a whole spectrum of emotion.

Karlach's story is absolutely not incomplete as written, confirmed by both the devs and Sam Béart - a terminal condition is just that. You don't get to fix or save her, you get to go with her through tremendous trial and difficulty. If you want to continue that story in your mind that's great (I know I'm eager to do so, for my own personal encouragement if nothing else) but on it's own it's a whole story about coming to terms with something that doesn't have a quick and easy little fetch-quest resolution.

So - every time I see another whinging post/essay/bitchfest about how her story feels "unfinished" or "incomplete" or "has too much cut content" you can see why I might take it a bit personally - knowing that the life I have, the easy solutions I don't get, and the frustration and grief I live with is seen as incorrect and wrong and bad writing makes me a little pissed off. If you think the story is incomplete as told and think a 'third engine upgrade' is missing you completely missed the point.

Karlach doesn't get a simple easy ending because people like me**** don't get that either. And like my husband and the others who love me you can choose to follow that story anyway. And that's fucking beautiful.

*Yeah dealing with cancer and undergoing chemo during a pandemic was really a peach.

**XKCD hits the nail on the head here and here.

***Current treatments have good decade long prognoses... but saying 'you'll probably be fine for the next 10 years' is a lot different at 35 than it is at 65.

****And believe me I've heard from a lot of chronic/terminally ill folks who love the game for the way it represents these things and feel the same, with her Gale, and Shadowheart too.

[meanbossart]

I finally thought of a question! What does your Astarion think of all that's happened to him, now that it's all Over, and what does Drow think about what he knows about Astarion? Does he ever contemplate and compare, does he have passing thoughts like "Oh yeah, he told me this" brought on by nothing in particular? If Drow or Shadowheart were to bring it up either when drinking, or after a heated moment, what would happen?

Thank you so much for your art and your words! Your handle on Drow made me really crack open my Tav like a nut

AND WHAT A GOOD QUESTION IT IS.

(I use some dialogue excerpts from for A Novel Experience here to illustrate my points that some might consider to be spoilery, I don't think it's stuff that would affect one's reading enjoyment too much. Still, just figured I would mention it for anyone who minds it.)

In regards to Astarion, it is understandably complicated. I think the way he's found to get by so far is by not dwelling at all in what has happened. He's tried to turn the symbolic new leaf that night in the cemetery and likes to think of himself as not only freed, but a new man open to what life has to offer him and unburdened by his past - when memories rush back, he pushes them away. When something bothers him for reasons that relate to his past experience, he tries to push past the discomfort because he doesn't want to be defined by it. He is fairly self-conscious of being seen as a weakling or a victim, especially when he's constantly confronted by DU drow's utter indifference to his own past.

He has, by all intends and purposes, done well. He understands that he's a grown man who's been given a second chance at un-life by an exceptionally lucky turn of events, he absolutely does not want to waste a second more of his own time by being sullen, broken, or guilt-striken. He thrives for as long as his past doesn't directly confront him - but when it does, the avoidance catches up and he very easily loses his cool.

His feelings regarding the decisions he made underneath Cazador's palace are mostly rigid. He's happy to not have Ascended and content that the spawn were set free, but he does not like to dwell on what their lives may be like moving forward and, if ever discussing it, does so with callousness and indifference, shutting down the conversation before it can begin. While he doesn't bask in the feeling, he does take the smallest bit of pride in the fact that he has sacrificed eternal power for the freedom of thousands - when doubt arises and he's haunted with the could-have-beens, he soothes himself with the fact that his sacrifice had a purpose.

DU drow has no moral quandries with what Astarion did while under Cazador's control or regard for the people he victimized at all, but he dwells constantly on the suffering he's endured. He flip-flops between thinking of Astarion as a perfectly capable individual and someone who is overly sensitive and finicky the moment something upsets him - someone who needs protection. He has a grand hero's complex about him and at times difficulty trusting Astarion's capacity to make his own choices - since he didn't have the opportunity for such a long time. He isn't controlling, but Astarion knows him well enough to read the doubt in his face even when he's quiet about it.

Interestingly enough, this seems to mostly apply to when Astarion's ideas go against his own, or make him feel powerless or unneeded in some way or another. He's perfectly happy to go along with his impulses otherwise - even when they seem to be made in bad judgement.

It also applies to intimacy for a while, with DU drow proceeding to avoid sex even after he's rid of his urge - not only because he's still afraid of his own desires, but also because he doesn't trust Astarion to express his agency during the act.

But that's an issue that they solve fairly quickly (well, ten-chapters-in quickly. sixteen if you only count when they first have sex since the events of the game) , especially as Astarion asserts himself as the more dominant half of the relationship.

I don't think either DU drow or Shadowheart have the nerve to use Astarion's actions while enthralled against him. DU drow because he doesn't care or thinks he's held accountable in any way, and Shadowheart because she knows better. That said, things do come up between him and other characters and then - well. He doesn't deal well with it at all:

[jade-jini]

YOU BETTER WRITE VIRGIN LOSER G!P MINJEONG WHERE SHES LIKE

“y/n i have no idea where your clit is can you help me out :((??”

and then once she shoves her cock inside she’s like “damn its so… tight um nngh” and then she cums bc shes such a loser

OMG my first ask is one of my fave writers🙊 Imma flex yes bdjdndk 😎

OK BUT all this starting because I was bullying minjeong in the chat so you know I have to make it virgin loser g!p jeongie x bully (but not really) reader.

Going from daily annoying her; taking her books and stretching so she won’t be able to reach for them, pushing her out of the way, stealing her dessert knowing damn well she was excited to eat it :( “Thank you Jeongie I was hungry byeee” and you would kiss her on the cheek, making her shy and buying you enough time to run away with the food “y/n wait! That’s unfair :(” like poor puppy 🥺

To constantly teasing her. Trapping her against her locker every morning, saying “good morning Jeongie” right on top of her lips making her sigh and completely blanks out, teasing her every time she talked with a girl and looked shy or nervous (minjeong didn’t know this was out of jealousy ‘cause why is anybody talking to YOUR loser?), calling her out and telling her she was such a virgin, Sitting on her lap before the class starts and she just gasps because you keep moving. Why are you doing this to her??? when you have a perfect chair right next to her (yes, she was your seat mate, how unlucky for her huh?) And she just doesn’t have the courage to tell you to move (plus even tho it was wrong it felt too good). You’re so busy saying how she’s such a nerd because of her little Pokemon stickers and plushies that mind you were a gift from her other nerdy friends (yes the other Aespa girlies), that you don’t notice how you’re affecting her 😭 until you feel something hard against your ass and when you instinctively were to get up she automatically grabs your hips to stop you fbdkdn

“Oh someone is enjoying herself a little too much huh little pervert? You’ve probably never had a girl on your lap before.” you whisper in her ear with such a mean smirk and she just whimpers because it’s so embarrassing that is true:((( she got hard in class and right in front of her crush bully. She was gonna panic and then you just “Don’t worry puppy, I’ll help you after class. Just behave until we’re out.”

AND MINJEONG IS ABOUT TO LOSE IT ‘CAUSE NOBODY HAS EVER SAID SOMETHING LIKE THAT TO HER???? but she’s an obedient puppy so she does as you say. She was trying to distract herself from the literal fear she was feeling thinking about what you were gonna do to her. She has never done shit with nobody so she was genuinely nervous 😭 until she felt your hand under her desk, teasing her over her pants. Minjeong looked at you almost begging you to stop because that poor creature felt like she could come right there in that classroom, but you simply told her to stay quiet with your finger, so she had to endure the rest of the lecture with her boxers wet with her precum 💀. After class she got up super fast, covering herself with her bag actually considering running away feeling too scared of pussy but you grabbed her arm firmly.

“Your car or mine?” You asked her. She gulped, catching herself unable to escape you. “wait you don’t have one I remember. You’re always walking home. Lame. C’mon.” Why are you so mean 😭

“A-are you sure that’s a good idea? I thought you were joking…” she said with her little shy voice 🥺 she’s so pathetic and cute. The reason you loved annoying the sht outta her was because of how endearing you found her! She was such a cute little loser who just needed to get ruined.

You rolled your eyes and simply dragged her to your car. Once you got to your place you lost no time and pushed her to your bed, straddling her and kissing her and when I tell you Minjeong can’t stay still 😭 she doesn’t know how to act or what to do she just knows 1. She needs to get her pants out of the way NOW and 2. You were the only one who could help her right now. “Y/n.. please” she’d moan, feeling you moving on top of her again, this time with much more intension. She kept pushing her hips up trying to get more friction. “God you’re so desperate, can’t even let me have my fun before we start” you’d scold but bro fvck you you were just as desperate, you just knew how to hide it better. But it became too hard to hide the way your mouth was almost drooling once you put minjeong’s pants and boxers down because this girl is BIG. And not only big but also idk her dick is just so.. pretty?! Knfkfj like it just looks so amazing, size aside Idk-

So you wasted no time and put her dick inside your mouth, as deep as possible and goshhh minjeong’s eyes went completely to the back of her head. She’s never felt such sensation. Getting deepthroated during your first blowjob is an experience not a lot of people get so she was lucky af “aghh.. y/n.. oh my..~” she’d moan your name so softly it was almost heart melting. That if it wasn’t ‘cause she was literally balls deep inside your throat- anyway. She did sound both so hot but so cute, moaning and whimpering and grabbing your hair a little bit with her shaky hands Aww. You thought she was just a sensitive one but oh stupid you how didn’t you notice it was more than just that??

Once you could feel her breathing a little too irregular, knowing she was close, you got up not wanting her to come yet. You heard her groaning and laughed at her. “Shut up, you’re not the only one who gets to feel good here are you?” You teased her while getting completely naked and Omg 😳 minjeong’s face got sooo red ‘cause she has never seen a girl naked before. So she quickly covered her eyes and you thought she was just a shy loser bsdjfn “I literally just had your cock in my mouth what are you so shy about” “y/n! Hmmm…”. But she said nothing else and once she took her hands off her face you were lying down right in front of her, looking like a goddess and Omg 😵‍💫 her brain stopped working. She’s trying to learn so the best next step would be to get closer and kiss you right? Yes. So that she does, getting in between your legs trying to do it as confident as possible. “Fuck me, jeongie~” you whispered in her ear and gosh she was so ready for it but also so naive about how that was gonna happen 😭 the few videos her useless pervert friends have shown her are those where you can’t see Wtf is going on between the couple’s legs. Her cock was right against your clit (but she didn’t know that lmao) so when she moved and you moaned ‘cause of the friction, she connected it with her doing something right, so she continued but since the contact was also making her feel good, she started moving faster and a little.. abrupt 😭

her cock moved up a little too much. She was too shy to look so the tip literally ended up resting on your bellybutton BSKSNSKS. Minjeong didn’t notice it but you did. She rubbed it against your body a little bit and for the first couple seconds you thought she was just trying to tease you in her own weird nerd way but you grew both tired of that and desperate to feel her deep inside you already so you told her to stop playing and fuck you already. Poor thing panicked again 😭 she grabbed her cock and stared at it and then at your pussy, not knowing how was she supposed to do this 💀but you were always teasing her about being a virgin so at least you knew and it wouldn’t be so weird if she asked for help right? Right?

“Umm.. y/n?” She’d start, clearly confused and nervous. Which made YOU confused ‘cause why the fuck wasn’t she inside you yet?? “It’s just I’m not sure how.. you know.” And Omg that’s when it hit you. “I don’t wanna do something wrong or hurt you or-”

“Hold on. Minjeong.. have you done this before??”

“Hmm? No? I-I thought you knew. You’re always calling me a virgin!” She answered in a defensive tone lol but that’s ‘cause wdym you didn’t know 😨 now she was even more nervous and embarrassed!

“It was just to tease you! How would I know that? But gosh you are pathetic.”

“And you’re so mean :(” Dbdkfn Aww leave her aloneee🥺🥺 “could you ugh.. help me out please? I wanna make you feel good :(” and Aww how could you be mean to her when she was saying those things and asking for help with such a cute face 🥺 you just sighed and rolled your eyes before smiling at her softly.

“Here.” You started, grabbing her cock, making her groan and bite her lip (that woman is hot 🫵🏼). “So right here is the clit, pay attention to this ‘cause the more you stimulate it the better I’ll feel.” You explained to her, teasing yourself with the tip of her cock. And she just went ohhh :o with those puppy eyes she has dndnfk fvckin loser melts my heart istg. You started guiding her a little lower, so she could finally get inside your hole. You decided to move and get the tip inside yourself which with how big she was, was already your own little challenge “g-god.. now you just push it more.. a-and fuck me already.” You told her, already needing more of her. And so she slowly started pushing her cock deeper and deeper inside your pussy, mumbling about how good you felt, her head already in the clouds. Once she was fully in, you let out a big trembling sigh trying to get used to such a big thing inside you. Minjeong was trying her best to stay in a slow tempo at first, worried she might hurt you because you had a painful expression 🥺 but baby didn’t know that it was both hurting but feeling so fucking good. Until you basically ordered her to go faster, while your nails went to her back.

So she started fucking you deep and fast, making you moan so loud which only motivated her to go faster and faster “God you’re so tight.. so warm… hmmgn feels too good y/n… y/n!” She’d cry with a string of voice. She was pounding you so good, grabbing your legs and sucking on your nipple like a fucking baby. It was all way too good. Before you were even closer to your own climax tho she was already coming inside you 💀 poor loser barely lasted but cmon cut her some slack she is a virgin anyway. Plus you can always train her so she’ll get better with time 😌(and when I add cockwarming her in the future then what). She came so much inside you it was dripping down your thighs once she pulled out and it looked so fucking hot… but poor baby felt embarrassed :c

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to finish so fast, you just feel too good..” she said out of breath with a pout :( Aww she thought y’all were done silly puppy.

“It’s ok, it’s not like we’re done anyway” you told her and she just tilted her head looking at you, until you turned her around and started riding her 😭 you hadn’t come yet >:( you didn’t care if it was her first time or not, you were gonna teach her how to make you come with her cock from day one. And that’s how you spent the whole night milking that girl until she actually passed out ‘cause of the overstimulation bdidnds. Needless to say her cock was still inside you as you both fell asleep <3

Y’all’s morning routine barely changes dnndkf. Just that now you drive her to school whenever you spend the night together and take her home after class. You keep teasing her every morning against her locker, but now before saying good morning (like you didn’t see her literally the moment you woke up) you actually kiss her, always pulling her lip making her lose her train of thought and she just sighs and follows you to the classroom with the silliest dreamy expression in her face 😭 she’s such a cutie.

(puppy! minjeong agenda preacher here as you noticed)

[tremendum]

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Me and the Devil; iv

(not my gif)

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previous next series masterlist

word count: 9.5k i think

summary:  "We've always known what the Harkonnens are. And yet, they sent me, happily, to marry the devil. To become one."

warnings: canon-typical violence, blood, incorrect lore probably, brief allusion to blood kink (blink and you miss it), reader has some mommy issues and also some daddy issues, reader is also a bit of a diva buttttt thats ok shes grieving, height difference mention (Paul is taller than reader).

notes: back with chapter four! Thanks so much again you guys for all of the feedback, it's so so appreciated. I'm happy you're liking it!! this is very unedited. lmk what you think :)

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My Dear Niece,

I hope this message finds you in good health and spirits, despite the trying times you have endured. It has been far too long since we last spoke, and I have often found myself thinking of you and wondering how you are faring - but I am hopeful that Caladan will be more forgiving with message deliveries.

First and foremost, allow me to offer my condolences. I cannot begin to imagine the pain and sorrow you must have experienced in the wake of the tragedy that befell your family at the hands of those beasts. To have been thrust into the midst of such turmoil and danger, surrounded by those who brought about such devastation, must have been unimaginably difficult.

I write to you also with a sincere and heartfelt congratulations on your recent betrothal to Paul Atreides. While I understand that this union may have come as a surprise, I have every confidence that you will make a splendid bride and wife. Duke Leto is a noble and honorable man, and I have no doubt that his son is the very same. I know that he will cherish and protect you with all his heart.

Please know that you are not alone in your sorrow, my dear niece. Though distance may separate us, if ever you feel the need for comfort or companionship, know that our home is always open to you. You are welcome to visit whenever you please, and I would be honored to meet your new husband and welcome him into our family.

In the meantime, I hope this message finds you well and brings some small measure of comfort to your troubled heart. You are a strong and resilient woman, my dear, and I have every confidence that you will emerge from this darkness stronger than ever before.

With all my love and affection,

Lady Ginaz

- Message sent to Lady Bourbon from the Lady Ginaz. 10191. Caladan.

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For the second time in his life, Paul is roused by his mother in the dead of the night.

When she insists he follow her, she wears a similarly grave face to the first time - spooked, uneasy. He was not given the grace to even find shoes this time before she grasped his bicep, pulling him along to her own quarters and through a hallway lit only by the full moon outside; Too tired to protest and still yawning at the curling tendrils of slumber, he drags his bare feet along the stone floor. Still blinking sleep from his eyes, a sense of dread fills him when he crosses into the dimly lit chamber at the end of the hall; an ornate chair placed in the center, and on sitting atop it is the imposing figure of the Reverend Mother.

Paul's heart clenches; his eyes are alert immediately.

Their previous encounter; searing pain, the Gom Jabbar - a test of his humanity. He struggles to conceal the rage that simmers beneath the surface, a bitter reminder of what he'd endured - and for no reason.

He should never have told his mother about the dreams.

Already knowing, but needing the affirmation, he clenches his jaw. "What's this?" He turns to ask his mother, whose stare is icy and less fearful than it was those years before. She doesn't respond, only nudges him forward, towards the woman in the center of the room.

As the Reverend Mother's piercing gaze meets his own, Paul squares his shoulders, steeling himself for what is to come; He'll have to tread carefully, lest he betray the depth of his emotions - or the truth about his dreams.

The Reverend Mother speaks, her voice a low, commanding tone that fills the room. "Tell me of your dreams, Paul Atreides," her eyes bore into his own. Paul hesitates for a moment, glaring to his mother- Lady Jessica nods subtly, her expression urging him to speak the truth; Anger courses through him, but he knows there is no choice for him now.

Summoning his courage, Paul begins to recount the vivid images that have haunted his nights.

Leaving out the details he suspects are less...important, he instead focuses on the more foreboding parts; The eerie familiarity of the clearing, the ceremonial sheet spread like a shroud. Ash falling from the sky, the missile streaks in the sky and the burning of the large pine; a shiver runs down his spine - the visions feel like a portent of doom, and it brings him to a hushed quiet.

"I've tried to make sense of them," His voice comes out just as frustrated as he feels, "But they're elusive. Fragmented. She's always there."

It seems he doesn't have to elaborate on who he's talking about - the woman's eyes flash before him from under her thick veil. She says nothing, but a sharp glance from his mother makes him clear his throat, confessing the dream his mother had woke him from not minutes ago.

"And in the last dream," Paul's jaw tightens, the memory of the vision burning bright in his mind, "I saw someone... stabbing me," he confesses, his voice barely above a whisper. "A black-hilted knife, with an engraved blade."

The words hang heavy in the air, sending a ripple of unease through the chamber. Paul can feel the weight of the Reverend Mother's scrutiny, her eyes boring into his soul as if searching for the truth buried within. He's not sure if his mother is making the connection; you've brought that knife with you nearly everywhere since you got it back. To him, it's inevitable.

The Reverend Mother's expression is unreadable as she absorbs his words. Paul braces himself for her response, knowing that what he's revealed may have far-reaching consequences; He cannot afford to hide the visions that plague his mind—not if what you said about Sabberon is true. The Reverend Mother regards him with a penetrating stare. "Interesting," she murmurs. "Your dreams hold great significance, Paul Atreides."

Paul's frustration boils to the surface as he listens to the Reverend Mother's cryptic response; He knows what she is capable of, he knows how powerful the Bene Gesserit are in the galaxy - yet his resentment grows and boils within him. Resisting a snarl, he glares sharply, trying to quell the anger, confusion.

"Significance?" Paul retorts, his voice laced with bitterness. "I will not be a pawn in your schemes," he declares, his voice ringing with conviction. "I am the heir to House Atreides. I will not allow my fate to be dictated by prophecy or visions."

His words echo in the chamber; Lady Jessica places a sharp hand on his shoulder, her sharp inhale bristling the hair on Paul's neck.

"Silence."

Whatever words of anger he was about to say halt on his tongue. Prickles of anger wash over him when he comes out of the quick haze; she dares use the Voice on him, yet again.

Her voice is harsh when it comes, eyes sharp as tiny beads behind the black of her dressing. "You are the heir to a great legacy, but with that inheritance comes duty. Tread carefully, Paul Atreides. The choices you make will shape the fate of many." These words are extremely discomforting; Once again he is filled with the spoilt disdain of their fanatic manipulations.

The Reverend Mother continues, her gaze steady and unwavering. "You possess a strength within you, a strength born of both blood and spirit; but true strength lies not in the wielding of power, but in the mastery of oneself. Trust in your instincts, but do not let them blind you."

He refuses to speak.

His mother is fearful behind him; he can feel it radiating off of her, and it fills him with even more indignation. His eyes pierce through her veil, waiting for her to finish. "You may go." She dismisses, and he has no problem turning heel, walking briskly to the door.

"Not you, Jessica."

Jaw clenching at the tone of disrespect the woman uses towards his mother, he almost turns around; but somewhere in his mind is a hazy insistence from his mother- urging him to leave them. He does, lingering to listen to the hushed whispers behind the closed door for only a moment.

"-with the girl, too.You must ensure they go down the right path."

He doesn't bother to stay and hear the rest of it.

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The clashing of blades chimes in your ears with surprise when you arrive for training in the late morning.

It's more common than not to find Duncan sitting, cleaning blades or stretching when you arrive for lessons, but today, it seems he and Paul are thoroughly engrossed in sparring and don't notice when you enter.

They move with that dance-like rhythm you grew up learning; one then the other - legs lunging, arms parrying and striking. They circle each other with cautious precision; Paul's movements are fluid and graceful, calculated - his proficiency comes as somewhat of a shock to you. With such a lithe, deft body, you'd assumed him little match for someone like Duncan. Perhaps, in your own vain perception, you'd expected him to have been meagerly gifted in the art of fighting, having been so well-endowed in the areas of strategy, politics, governance. Of course, you sigh. He's grown up here on Caladan - a Duke's son, trained to become a fair and mighty ruler one day. You suppose you shouldn't be so surprised, he's trained for it all his whole life.

You're sourly impressed as Paul matches him blow for blow, cheeks dusted with pink, barely a glean of sweat across his furrowed brow. A strike against Duncan hits unblocked; The older man, in turn, lets out a huff of laughter - pride flickers in his eyes as he watches Paul strike again.

It turns your blood to acid as you lean against the doorframe; waiting is becoming quite a drag. Duncan, watching Paul as if he were his own son; anger bites at your heels, pushing down the resentment you harbor. He couldn't have done anything when you were sent to Giedi Prime; rationally, you understand that, but the bitterness lingers, a reminder of the betrayal you felt at being abandoned to your fate years ago. There was a time years ago where you would spar with him like this in the weapons arena on Sabberon during the Harvest season- leaves falling red and yellow from their branches, the smell of roast and cider rising into the air.

Duncan's blade presses to Paul's side in a sudden move. Grunting, Paul can't seem to parry, and the blade is moments away from penetrating the shield and breaking through; God forbid he hurts that precious porcelain skin, You think. Briefly, as you watch the shield flicker red, you wonder how dark Paul's blood would flow. Feyd-Rautha's blood was so dark it was nearly black - a crimson color when it smeared across his skin; a tangy, sharp metallic taste when he'd pressed his bloodied fingers to your lips. You blink your eyes hard, pressing away the urge with a furrowed brow.

Your patience is gone, but luckily, Duncan seems to notice you first.

A spare glance in your direction as you linger in the entryway and he's fumbling - Paul takes the moment to strike, knocking Duncan to the ground with his blade pressed against his throat. Your brows raise.

With a wipe of sweat from his brow, Duncan's eyes skirt to the clock and he huffs, "Sorry, we must've lost track of the time." He mutters, taking Paul's extended hand. Paul nods at you in greeting; you nod back just as terse, ignoring the shocked look on Duncan's face at your appearance.

"It's fine. I believe I'm early." You reason, turning to walk towards the mat, avoiding eye contact. You can feel Duncan's stare on you; since you refused the veil from Hestia this morning, each person has looked at you the same - surprise, intrigue. You have to resist a snarl.

Paul, whose eyes flick to you then towards the weapons table, seems to be the only person this morning who hasn't stared at you as if you'd grown another head - but you're not fooled by his capacity to regard you simply as yourself this morning. Yesterday, he promised to never disrespect you; you suppose in turn, you will never disrespect him. That much will be given. But respecting someone is not the same as enjoying someone's company, and a moment of camaraderie is just a moment of weakness; You know he doesn't want this as much as you don't, but you will have to use this marriage as leverage if you ever want to make sure the Harkonnens stay off of Sabberon. And that means building trust.

Paul looks at you from the corner of his eyes for a moment before beginning to disinfect the blade he'd been using; Reaching to hold it out for you to take, you decline the offer.

Instead, your hand finds the hilt of your own blade, "No, thank you. I prefer to use my own."

Paul's eyes catch and linger on the blade; He blinks those long lashes a few times, as if deep in thought, before nodding. "Of course." He says, voice quiet as he turns. Duncan watches with disinterest, sipping on a cup of water as Paul brushes past you, giving you a tight-lipped, emotionless smile.

It's not until he's gone that you turn your stare to Duncan Idaho.

"He fights like you," You observe, beginning to stretch; if it's instigative, let it be.

Duncan's brow raises, "That's a good thing." He retorts, running a finger over the blade Paul had set down. You roll your eyes, concealing it by unsheathing your blade to begin sharpening it.

You can feel his stare. you know Duncan - he's not going to come out and say it, given how you've received his presence since arriving on Caladan; Instead, you beat him to it, turning to meet his eyes. "Did you expect me to be bald under the veil?" You ask, lifting a brow, "I lived there long enough, didn't I?"

He holds his hands up defensively, "I didn't say anything." He's right; you're acting up. Acting out. Probably both. You send him a look, "You didn't have to." You feel a defensive streak kick in yourself, considering what you'd learned about your own heritage by Paul yesterday. You'd been embarrassed in front of him - not knowing your own House's marriage traditions, or even the correct mourning phases? You looked like a fool.

He shakes his head. "You just... you've gotten older. You look like your mother." A pain that you've been holding down surfaces, striking you in the small gap your wall had built around your heart; guilt of survival, anger at your mother and all she'd done, everything shatters. You glare, throwing your knife onto the table in front of you.

"Don't speak to me of any of them, Duncan Idaho." You snap, eyes burning with emotion. "I was never prepared to be the last Bourbon alive, but now there's nobody left to witness my traditions being broken but myself." You say coldly, "I'm done with the veils and the gowns; I'm barely a Bourbon at all anymore. I didn't even know there were traditions until my betrothed informed me of them." Your voice is venomous; You can tell Duncan is preparing himself for a fight of words and not blades as he walks towards you.

"You've always been a fighter, my lady," Duncan chooses, his tone filled with respect; you can't help but hear the voice of someone who is approaching a cornered hound. "But you don't have to face it all alone."

Astounded, you almost laugh. "Really?" You snap, "Then where were you?"

You knew it would boil over at some point; By the look on his face, he knew it too.

Hands shaking, you take a shaky breath, "I was there with them - with him - for four years. Four years." You say, heart thundering, "Not one single fucking check-in, no visit, nothing. Nobody batted an eye when my messages stopped delivering, when there was never a wedding?"

You're not finished; the floodgates open, you're at your own mercy to stop and you can't help but continue. "-They had to have known what kind of monsters they'd shipped me off to, right? We were allies with the Atreides for centuries; we've always known what the Harkonnens are."

You laugh mirthlessly, "And yet, they sent me, happily, to marry the devil. To become one." You're breathing hard, hands shaking - the room feels hot and you can't seem to catch your breath. "-And I know, Duncan. I know that your hands were tied." You sigh, pressing your hands to your cheeks to soothe the heat. Thankfully, no tears fall. "I don't blame you, really, but- you're the only person left to be angry towards." Your voice cracks as you look down, shame burning on your face.

Duncan's expression softens, his gaze filled with regret and remorse. "I'm sorry for everything you lost, my lady." he says, his voice heavy; You resist the urge to pull him into an embrace, to feel the warmth of someone else and feel safe for the first time in so long. Instead you stand, barren and alone, in the middle of the floor.

"I should have been there for you - they should have, too."

It strikes a bout of guilt in you to make him admit something so ugly when you know he is grieving their loss just as you are. "They should have done something to help you. It's okay to still be angry with them, what they did to you, even if you're mourning them."

His words cut through the haze of anger and pain and you're stuck with an exhaustion - one that comes from the years of neglect and abandonment. You look down at the ground; perhaps it won't hurt to have someone on your side, someone you trust. It's been a dangerous and lonely several years, and you're tired of always trying to watch your own back. Clearing your throat, you nod. "I'm sorry, Duncan." You utter, looking up at him squarely. "I shouldn't have treated you coldly. I haven't been taking this change well at all." You confess.

He gives you a look, shaking his head, "There is nothing for you to apologize for, Little Bourbon." At the shadow of a smile on your face, he grins; He's always known what will cheer you up - tossing you your blade from where it sat on the table, he squares himself. You catch it deftly, rolling your neck and squaring yourself, thankful for the end of such a vulnerable moment.

The sound of footsteps disrupts you. You crane your neck behind you; A soldier walks through the room, but instead of addressing Duncan after bowing to you, he speaks to you.

"My lady." He starts. You raise a brow in question. "The Lady Jessica wishes to speak with you over lunch in her quarters now, if you have a moment."

You grit your teeth, a shot of uncertainty flooding you. You've yet to dine with her on your own yet - something about her sets you on edge, and you'd really prefer to spar to take your mind off of everything.

But you know better than to refuse the lady of the house's wishes.

"And spoil my fun here?" You ask, voice dry. "Alright."

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Lunch is barely picked at before Lady Jessica brings it up.

When she speaks, your eyes meet hers - less stony than usual, she regards you with an interest in her eyes that you've yet to see before. "You were once on the path of the Bene Gesserit," Lady Jessica starts, her voice tinged with empathy; You try to hide the set of your jaw, looking away briefly.

"Circumstances may have led you away, but your training has not been forgotten." She adds. You suspected this would be one of the reasons she called you in. "Yes, my lady," You affirm, setting down your fork; you send her a tight-lipped smile. "I trained when I was younger."

She nods, "Have you considered continuing this path? Honing your skills once more—to strengthen your voice, your intuition, your presence."

You take the moment she gives you to consider it; of course, you've thought of it now and then. But you have, to put it lightly, a very conflicted past with the Sisterhood, one that you prefer not to relive; Your mother's stern visage, relentless training regimens appear in your mind. Countless hours in rigorous physical and mental exercises - pressure to conform to their strict teachings weighing too heavily upon you and all three of your sisters' shoulders.

There's a part of you that can't help the twinge of curiosity that sparks through you; The allure of such an ancient order, unlocking hidden potential, the possibility of power and mastery of certain skills. It sounds glamorous, but you know better- you saw what kind of mistrust it sewed in your own house; The crack between your father and his court on behalf of your mother and the sisterhood, the loss of thousands of years of tradition.

Your lips open, and they feel suddenly very chapped. "I'm... not sure, my lady." You say honestly, blinking down at the unappetizing food below you.

"I understand your hesitations," she continues, voice earnest, "but given the current circumstances, it may be wise to strengthen all of your skills, including those you learned with the Bene Gesserit. It's imperative to ere on the side of caution."

"Circumstances?" You parrot, tilting your head. You know what she's implying; it doesn't ease the suspicion that rises, the feeling that the strings which tie themselves to Lady Jessica's limbs and lips are being pulled from much higher above your head; high enough to have actual, galactic implications. It is keenly upsetting.

"Yes, my dear." She begins, taking a sip of water, back straight; she doesn't bother to elaborate for you, and a tinge of irritation courses through you. "Tell me," She says, stirring the tea in front of her, "Even after your time with the sisterhood, did you ever experience visions? Dreams that stayed with you long after you woke?"

Your throat dries so quick you almost cough. Cheeks heating up, your eyes lock with hers; so it was a look of importance at the strategy council yesterday. It seems Lady Jessica has been keeping close tabs on you, after all. You hope she cannot read your mind thoroughly, for she would likely not enjoy what your dreams entail.

"You seem to already know my answer." You say, voice chilly in the warm room. Lady Jessica's lips press together. "Indeed," she affirms; gentle, yet probing. "But I need to hear it from you."

You pause, grappling with the memories that surge forth at Lady Jessica's inquiry; The dreams, the visions—they haunt you, asleep or awake - and despite your reluctance to acknowledge them, they have persisted, lingering like a shadow upon your consciousness. Swallowing against the dryness of your throat, you gather your thoughts before speaking.

"Yes," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I have."

Lady Jessica nods. "I suspected as much," she murmurs, her eyes reflecting a depth that is distinctly familiar. "These dreams may hold greater significance than you realize, dear. They may be the key to understanding the path that lies before you."

Her words hang in the air, pregnant with meaning and yet still exasperatingly cryptic; You are, in your silence, forced to acknowledge for the first times that these dreams - they are a calling, a beckoning towards something that you cannot ignore. You feel the soreness of your jaw and will your teeth to unclench.

Lady Jessica continues, murmuring your name firmly, "I urge you to consider resuming your training with the Bene Gesserit. Not out of obligation, but out of necessity. In times of uncertainty, it is essential to be prepared."

You meet Lady Jessica's gaze; despite your reservations, despite the ghosts of the past, you know that finding your studies again might be effective; the potential you will have with the skills and power of the Bene Gesserit are undeniable, but the pause you feel is very strong. There is something bizarre about the timing, about the whole interaction. To use raw power is to make yourself infinitely vulnerable to greater powers, you remember your mother saying years ago.

With a nod of affirmation, you square your shoulders. "I will consider it, my lady," you respond, meeting her gaze, "Thank you for your guidance."

Lady Jessica offers you a reassuring smile, one which does little to quell the raging in your stomach.

"You're stronger than you realize, my lady."

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It is past dark when Paul finally exits his mother's quarters.

Exhausted and overwhelmed, he lets his feet drag across the floor on his way back, thinking quite fondly of his bed and pillow, of the warmth of his sheets.

His stomach growls - his normally ravenous appetite has eluded him all day since this morning; The visit from the Reverend Mother earlier in the day had left him teetering on the edge. Admittedly, she is as commanding as she is disfavored by Paul; yet it was his mother's reaction that troubles him the most.

The last few hours, sparring on knife skills, were spent tense; He, upon entering the room, had asked nearly immediately what the Reverend Mother had told her when he was dismissed earlier in the morning, yet she remained silent and instructed him not to question it. Whispering, quiet and serious: He would find out in due time.

Lost in thought, Paul quickens his pace, his footsteps echoing down the dimly lit hallway; The weight of dual weapons training today has set his muscles to ache and groan with each step, mind not too far behind body - the sooner he is in bed, the better.

But as he rounds a corner, Paul nearly hits someone - you, in fact.

Blinking in shock, for a moment your eyes meet; nothing happens. You've stepped back slightly, seemingly just as startled as he - you're just perfectly positioned in the hall that the dim lights reflect on your clothes and you look warm, comfortable; So unlike yourself in the daylight.

"Apologies, my lady," Paul offers, his voice tight with tension as he inclines his head in a respectful nod, gaze flickering down the hall you both seemingly planned on walking down. Truthfully, he is not in the mood to speak to anyone, in particular you after the uneasy sight of your knife, hilt catching the reflection of the lights beside you.

You return the gesture, expression signaturely guarded as you mutter, "No harm done, my lord."

He clears his throat; Though your hair looks nice and your skin healthy, you look quite tired - he's not sure when he'll get used to seeing your face.

"I was just heading-" He gestures down the hall, and you nod stiffly, "So was I."

And so you fall into stride alongside him, watching the walls pass as you both take a slower pace than either of you would likely prefer. Perhaps, in an ordinary world, he would feel giddy to walk his prospective wife to her quarters after a long day; but this world is not ordinary, and he's still getting used to treating you as less as a threat and more of an ally.

A large window passes on his right, illuminating your figure in silvery light before hushing you back into the shadows again. He wonders what the moons are like on Sabberon.

He doesn't expect you to speak; in fact, he himself has no plans to. Yet after a few minutes your voice comes hesitantly and with the tranquility of a sleeping cat.

"I had lunch with your mother today."

Alarm bells sound in his head; He certainly did not expect that. When he turns to look at you, he finds you already staring up at him; perhaps you're gaging his reaction to this information - he doesn't try hard to hide his displeasure.

"What did she tell you?" He asks before he can stop himself.

You give him an inquisitive look, lifting a brow. "Why do you assume she had things to tell?" You rebut. His shoulders relax ever so slightly as he sighs, slowing his pace as you near his door.

He doesn't respond, yet something in his features must convince you to start again, to be less facetious in your words; You set your jaw as you look away and back to him.

"She wants me to take up Bene Gesserit training again." You say, eyes narrow as you gaze at him - cold, scrutinizing - perhaps to once again see his reaction. His nostrils flare; This must be what the Reverend Mother instructed his mother to do - to ensure you are going down the right paths. Why though, he is still unsure.

"She asked about your dreams, didn't she?" He asks; this time, it's Paul who watches your face for a reaction - and he gets one. Your eyes blink in shock as you nod stiffly. "Yes, she- how do you know this?" You ask, hand grabbing his elbow as you both slow to a stop.

There's a bout of silence, in which he debates nearly everything; muscles aching, he wishes to just go to sleep - but your eyes hold an alarm in them that makes him hesitate.

Opening his mouth to speak, Paul stares down at you; If what the Reverend Mother was saying is true, then you might truly be as dangerous as he'd thought. But he knows what their order is like - all in the way of maintaining power. A faint echo down the hall of someone makes his eyes snap away from your heavy stare; Perhaps the hallway is not an appropriate place for such a conversation. "We shouldn't be speaking of this here," He glances at you, "Would you come in?" He asks. He opens the door that leads to his quarters. You stare at him for a moment, as if surprised - but with a glance around, it seems you decide the coast is clear, and you slip in past where he holds to door ajar with his arm.

You walk less assured than usual in the unfamiliar territory; he knows you've been active in your time here in the castle, but this is certainly one part of the fort you have not yet seen. A guiding hand presses your back as he quickens his pace, hoping to get this over with swiftly as he leads you to his bed chamber; though your back tenses, you do not push him away.

You repose on the chair but Paul is restless, standing in front of your expectant gaze.

"Paul," You start, leaning forward; It's with a startle that he registers your use of his first name - a tone which provides no warmth but a hint of anxiety as you look up at him. "If we are to do this together, we need to build trust." You start, and he knows you're right. This - marriage, ruling Caladan, representing the House Atreides - and whatever else is to come.

"Just tell me. How concerned do I need to be?" You ask; this was not what he'd thought you would say, and it takes him a second to think of anything to respond with. The truth is a thousand pieces scattered through dust and sand, and he cannot stop slipping through it.

"I don't know." He says, candor dripping through his exasperation. "I was visited by the Reverend Mother this morning." He admits, relief finding his shoulders. If you are to be by his side in the upcoming months, you'll surely learn of all of this sooner or later; It's better to come from him than elsewhere.

Your face darkens slightly at the mention and you raise a brow.

"What did she want with you?" You ask.

"I've been having dreams." He admits to yet another person he'd rather not; "Dreams about... Sabberon. In them, I feel like..." He exhales, "I feel like I have to go there. I'm meant to." He finishes, not wishing to delve any further into what the dreams entail. You look completely shocked, though; ghostly, uneasy.

He has no answers and so instead he tells you most of what he knows; Your expression turns more grim as he continues, describing his interaction with the Reverend Mother that morning. Your eyes flick to his in shock when he mentions the previous meeting with her years prior.

"The Gom Jabbar?" You say suddenly, sitting up straighter. He nods, "Yes. It was a test-"

"-No, I know what it is. I also received it." you swallow, brows furrowing. "But I don't understand why she would give it to you."

A deep, pregnant pause in the room, where Paul debates what he's about to say. Knowledge is a weapon and a burden.

"My mother has trained me in the ways of the Bene Gesserit too."

Your face morphs for only a moment as you stare at him in disbelief. Schooling yourself, you're quieted by this revelation; Paul waits patiently for you to respond. You gather your thoughts within a few moments.

"She warned me," You say, eyes swimming through his; he feels scrutinized under your intense stare. "She said that continuing as Bene Gesserit is not out of obligation but necessity." You add, "That continuing is the key to understanding the path that lies before me. That dreams could have more meaning than we think."

His stomach drops that the phrasing. You must ensure they go down the right path. That manipulative crone; playing you, his mother, and him all as she wants for the benefit of her sisterhood. Fury boils within him, but he knows what you need is an explanation. "There's a prophecy that my mother mentioned to my father once. I was young, eavesdropping-" He shakes off the sly look you give him at this, his cheeks heating up, "- and I didn't hear all of it, but I heard parts."

He's not sure how else to piece it together than to just tell you everything he's thinking. "When the Reverend Mother administered the Gom Jabbar, she told my mother there would be two candidates for something. That I may be one of them. Today, she told me to trust my dreams, that they may be the key to unlocking something important. Which is... troubling."

The bitter laugh you let out surprises him, and he lowers himself to sit on the chaise longue beside yours. "Troubling." You mutter, shaking your head. It's the exact thing Lady Jessica implied with you.

"I'm not sure if it means anything," Your tone suggests otherwise, "but I have also been having dreams about Sabberon." You admit - his eyes snake to yours, hands clenched together; stomach dropping, dread fills him. He worried this, too; having the same dreams, however alike or different they may be, are foreboding.

"-On a mountain I do not recognize. My house has a sacred Pine, you know? It represents the Harvest. I dream that I'm there... with you." You let out a sigh, and Paul swears he hears it shake. "I haven't told anybody, not even your mother." Your eyes are sharp - fearful, he realizes.

For a beat, he feels less alone. Another soul, trapped in this web of visions and politics and power; He's sympathizing with you, a foreign and unexpected emotion. Paul is starting to nurse a sharp headache; closing his eyes, he exhales and nods, "You're there in my dreams, too." He admits.

The two of you sit, then; Paul, slumped with consternation and you, back rigid with stress.

A moment of silence in which Paul is overthinking and you likely are too.

"Do you trust her?" You ask; A foolish thing to ask one of one's mother - yet his hesitation shocks not just you, but himself as well.

He starts hesitantly. "I believe that she loves me and my father, and by extension, she cares for you." He is well-aware of the vagueness behind his words. He licks his lips, "I know that the sisterhood instructed her to have a daughter. But instead, for my father, she bore him a son. The Reverend Mother is still unhappy about it."

You stare, but you say nothing. Uneasy with the intensity of your attention, he plays with a spare thread poking from the chaise longue. "This morning, I overheard the Reverend Mother telling my mother to ensure we are on the right path. Both of us."

You, sharp as ever, nod thoughtfully, "Which is why she decided so abruptly to offer for me to train again."

He nods in affirmation, biting his lip; a bad stress habit, one he got from his father. Your voice is almost dreamy as it comes out, his eyes staring off at the small bull figurine that sits on his table. You ask, "How do we know which path is the right one?"

He laughs bitterly, shaking his head as he stares ahead. He has no clue. "I wish I had an answer," he admits, his voice tinged with frustration. "All we can do is trust our instincts, but even then, there are no guarantees. Not if we don't believe them."

You nod in understanding, a solemn but signature expression painting your features. "It's a heavy burden to bear," you remark softly, your voice echoing his sentiments; Heavy, yes. But you seem used to burdens. "All things are known because we want to believe in them." You say. He perks up, looking at you; That's something his mother has said during skills training training before - but in your voice, now, next to him - it sounds much different.

Weary and exhausted, Paul sighs. "Perhaps if I'd had a sister, this wouldn't be happening."

You snort softly from your nose, a gentle exhale that is becoming quite familiar to his ears. "I had three. They were a handful." You say, hugging yourself.

He hums. For a moment, he can almost picture it; You, ten years smaller, just a young teen - fighting in a snow field with three sisters, a little boy chasing after you. He almost hears your screams when your younger sister jumps into a half-frozen lake, the water green as emeralds against the white fields and evergreens in the distance. The laughter that leaves you as you plunge, dress and all, into the icy depths besides her and pull your sisters with you; Handmaids wearing furs and soldiers boasting roaring wolf armor run to fish you out. They almost feel real. "What was it like, growing up with siblings?" he asks, seeking to reciprocate the gesture of openness that you've surrendered in the dark.

Your demeanor shifts slightly, your guard momentarily lowering as you reflect on your upbringing. "It was...complicated," your voice is contemplative, small. "We were close in some ways, but distant in others. There was always a sense of competition between us even when we were young, especially between me and my sisters. My mother was Bene Gesserit and was very strict."

He's studied so much about Sabberon, learned about your House's old customs and traditions - but yet, he realizes how little he truly knows about you; A pang of guilt washes over him for his previous assumptions and judgments.

Your boots look foreign against the rug on his bed chamber floor as you drag the tip of one. "They were like having built-in friends." You acquiesce, "They made me laugh all the time."

It's hard for Paul to picture you joking or laughing at all. "I don't have siblings," He states - obviously - "but I've always wanted to be a brother."

He knows the bittersweet territory he's crossed, and does not wish to upset you or remind you of all you have lost. But instead, you just send him a kind smile; one that's almost shy. "You'd be a good one." Your eyes are nostalgic and sincere; he has to look away.

Clearing his throat, he notices your hands as they sit in your lap. "It looks better," He says, nodding to your hand, where the sting had been reduced to a mere blemish. You smile, a sheepish thing, but it still brightens Paul's dark room. "I thought you'd been tricking me." You admit, face flushed as he lifts a brow, "Trying to make me look foolish."

He hums at this, tilting his head. "I assumed you'd thought I was trying to poison you." He admits, smiling just as sheepishly. Speaking with you feels surprisingly relieving - perhaps he is more tired than he thought.

"The possibility did cross my mind." Your voice, keenly serious, makes him chuckle slightly. He shakes his head, "I wouldn't have tricked you. I know how bad those crabs sting." He recalls one day lathering the chewed root onto his toe, fighting tears as his father watched with an amused sternness. If you disrespect them, he'd said, they'll disrespect you.

"I was considering amputating my hand before you showed up." Another attempt at a joke, from you? You're opening up; despite himself, he grins. Your eyes are deep - under the dim lighting, they shine in a way he hadn't expected; staring, he loses his track of thought. You seem to have as well, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"Is this your book?" You ask suddenly, rising to pad over towards his bedside, tilting your head to run your spine over the book that sits, embarrassingly, on his bedside table. The Noble Lineage: Exploring the Customs and Cultures of the Houses Major of Landsraad: House Bourbon. He nods, "If you'd like to read it, help yourself."

Craning your neck back you look at him, lifting a brow, "Is it interesting?"

For a second, he stares, unsure what to say - it dawns on him that you're teasing, and he cracks a small smile. Odd as it is to see a woman who was a mere shell open up, he's glad to have the priviledge of your trust, no matter how small or weak it may be.

"Haven't decided yet." He retorts, the feeling foreign.

"Maybe I will borrow it, then." You muse, "Perhaps it'll finally be the thing to lull me to sleep."

He stands to meet you; three steps over and he stands before you, taking in - not for the first time - your height and how your neck moves to look into his eyes. "You should get some rest if you can tonight." He agrees, "We've got to be at the Strategy Council tomorrow morning."

You nod, clearing your throat, "Oh- Yes, apologies." You sigh, "It's been a long day."

He hadn't meant to insinuate you should leave, but as he escorts you to the main hall, his eyes are drooping. Mercifully, though he tries to, you insist he need not walk you to your room.

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Alone back in his room, he stares at the book; Despite the barriers that still exist between he and you, there's a shared humanity that binds you together— funny enough that fear and reluctance is the thing that has made him realize such an obvious sentiment. He falls asleep and dreams within minutes.

You return to your chambers, the warmth of the last few minutes wearing off of you slower than molasses.

Alone, you are left with haunting thoughts; What do the Bene Gesserit have in store for you if you do choose to continue? Looming further is the prospect of galactic war should the Harkonnens leverage their petroleum reserves. The implications of you and Paul's shared visions; despite yourself, your cheeks flush with heat - how similar are these dreams of yours...?

And Paul - his eyes are very green.

He keeps his room neater than you'd thought - and with a bit of shock you'd seen all of the books on planets, flora and fauna, biology, culture. You secretly wished you could have observed them all closer - there were ones you've never heard of, and even one that had struck you right in the chest - Giedi Prime. Their culture was horror, after all.

You shake off the warm feeling of conversation - though the subject had left you on edge, it was terribly reassuring to have someone who not only you could speak freely with about your dreams and the Bene Gesserit, but who seems to hold similar opinions as you. Emotional whiplash has given you a staunch headache - you still believe that respecting someone is not the same as enjoying someone's company... but perhaps it doesn't always have to be mutually exclusive.

You sigh, rubbing your eyes; you can't get the smell of his bedroom off your clothes. You change into your robe. Before drifting to sleep, you catch sight of your bureau, the daunting metal that stares at you gleaming from across the room.

Yawning, you pad over to it.

The message remains on your desk, where it's been since being delivered a few days ago. You'd read it already, yes - read, cried, raged, and accepted it. Now, you suppose, it is time to respond. And in due time, it's finished.

My Dearest Aunt Ginaz,

Your letter arrived at a very uncertain time for me and for that, I am profoundly grateful. I apologize for the delayed response, it has been quite an adjustment for me after leaving Giedi Prime; Before that, as you've suspected, my keepers preferred I did not receive or send messages. There wasn't a day that passed where I didn't wish to read them.

For my betrothal to Paul Atreides, your kind words of congratulations reassure me; Truthfully, the prospect of marrying into such a noble family is daunting, yet they have been quick to assure I have felt welcomed. It is a sharp change from my previous engagement.

The loss of my family continues to weigh heavily upon my heart, and there are days when the pain feels unbearable. Yet, every day I am learning to live again. I can walk to the sea - the sea, which I have never before seen in my life. I spend my days educating, training with Swordmaster and your old friend Duncan Idaho, and have begun to sit in on the Duke's Strategy Councils. I believe I will live well here.

The final arraignment at the referendum is nearing, and I wonder if you will be attending alongside Lord Ginaz - Even if you are not able to attend, I will face the challenges that lie ahead knowing I have you on my side.

Your offer of sanctuary is a gift beyond measure, and I cannot express how much it means to me. I long for the day when we can be reunited and I might hear more of your life. In the meantime, know that I am safe and well, and that I carry your love and affection with me always.

With all my gratitude,

Your loving Niece

You almost feel guilty for the lies you've woven through your message - though not explicit, they are little and white and still deceiving. Your mother's bastarded sister, who succeeded your mother's parents when they died, inherited the noble last name as one of her father's dying wishes. They'd had several daughters - all married off to other houses, like your mother - and she had been left to learn to run the Swordmaster School. She now rules over their house with her husband, who took the name Ginaz when they wed.

You smirk, thinking of this: Paul Bourbon - it has a poor ring to it, you decide, wiping away the thought before it can blossom. You blink deliriously, knowing you are in acute need of sleep, and sigh.

You'll have Hestia send the message out in the morning; for now, all you can do is try not to dream as you curl up on your bed, eyes heavy with the weight of the day.

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You know you're dreaming this time.

The clouds are too fluffy, sounds muted as if you'd stuffed cotton into your ear canals. The hands that are on you are Paul's, you know this. But you're not embracing, no - there is no pleasure; his hands are slippery against your flesh and you're gasping in pain, gasping for breath. You are bleeding.

Or, is that his blood?

You squint, trying to find the ground, but all you see is the hilt of your nameday blade glinting in the sun, blood dripping from the tip. Who wields it? You let out a short groan, filled with pain - Paul leans against you, his weight heavy. The air is heavy with snow - no, not snow, ash. Ash that rains from the sky in flurries, fighter ships booming above your heads.

Another flash of your knife, this time in a hand. Gasping,Your hand comes away from your own abdomen, tainted black - black as the sun you once lived under.

"Hello?" A fuzzy voice, laced with pain, but you could pick it out of millions. You look into his eyes and see green; hands cup your cheeks, staining handprints over your trembling skin. An explosion somewhere in the distance -

"Paul." You breathe, fear lacing every fiber of you. You're dreaming, you're dreaming. You can't breathe.

But then, Paul's face changes - a sickening recognition flickers over his features when you speak, and something shifts. There is something wrong; He says your name as if he's surprised to see you, as if... as if you were in the wrong dream.

He looks down, as if expecting to see something between the two of you. But with his head tilted down, you squint, just barely making out the glint of another figure; glowing skin, sickeningly pale. A black smile.

There is someone behind Paul, and he is holding your knife.

It has the blood of your husband on it.

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follow @tremendumnotifs for updates.

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[lookinghalfacorpse]

hello

In what way do you think Dream is disabled/affected post-prison and if he does, what do you think he does to hide it?

permission to yap granted

this is what i do in most of my fics, so i have a good amount of content to go through. i could keep yapping, honestly, but i wanted to include the main things that cause my brainrot. gross pictures under the cut.

muscle atrophy. this happens quickly as the body enters starvation mode and begins to burn proteins. there would be a visible decrease in muscle mass, he would feel very weak and his limbs might tingle. recovery is possible, but isn't as easy as i think many people portray. the body is smart and will reduce its basal metabolic rate to adjust for a long period of starvation, and even after leaving the prison, his body would be primed and ready for another period of starvation. his body has learned that his environment doesn't provide consistent food. the body cannot 'reset' after a normal calorie intact resumes. the body keeps the score, or whatever they say. (i looked at a lot of pictures from 'the starvation experiment'. it lasted a little less than a year and was a setting where participants were carefully kept alive. most men lost 25% of their weight and only returned to their pre-study weight after 2 years of extensive treatment and therapy. u know cdream ain't seein a therapist. pictures under the cut)

quickened mouth decay / mouth dryness. on the topic of starvation, the mouth is actually one of the first places affected during a period of starvation. we don't make the saliva that we should when we aren't eating, and without saliva, the mouth begins to rot. this, along with fasting headaches, would be one of the first things he notices in the prison. it would be fixed pretty quickly upon eating normally.

seizures. many things can cause seizures to begin in someone who wasn't born with an epileptic condition, and dream's experienced most of them: starvation, head trauma, nerve damage, severe vitamin d deficiency, severe sodium deficiency, severe stress. these may decrease in frequency as he heals, but he'll be at greater risk if he fasts for any amount of time or if he's stressed. low-level muscle spasms are also going to be common.

impaired night vision/ decreased overall visual acuity. malnutrition does a ton of funky things, including to the eyes. he'd probably have a harder time adjusting to nighttime; i imagine returning to the prison is comfortable for this reason because he can control the brightness. hazy, eroded corneas are also common and might be visible to others. i put a picture under the cut. notice the green hue.

weakened immunity. like many others have mentioned, he will emerge from that cell with a paper-thin immune system. he'll be particularly weak to pneumonia and other respiratory diseases-- muscle atrophy also effects the muscles of the lungs.

essential tremors. just a fancy word for constant shaking. these could be psychological in nature, given the, you know, torture, but there are some links between malnutrition and tremors as well. he might try to hide it with weighted gloves.

improper amputation. "improper" is certainly a word for it, i know, but i want to emphasize that the kind of chop c!quackity would perform is nowhere near the level of a professional, surgical amputation. wearing a prosthetic would be very painful to say the least, especially if it isn't hand-crafted to suit his residual limb. i think cdream would probably try to endure that pain for the sake of hiding a major amputation, ie leg or arm, but i'm not sure he'd worry much about something like a finger. losing fingers doesn't affect grip strength as much as you might think, and i feel like thats all he'd really care about.

panic attacks, ptsd, memory loss, depression, hallucinations. just being locked in a single room for that long, let alone being tortured in it, would be enough for any of these symptoms. we have canon evidence for many of these, of course.

whatever other symptoms his injuries caused. depending on what tendons/muscles/bones quackity targeted, we might be looking at some different symptoms. i'm a big fan of concussion headcanons, and stiffness/immobility around scar tissue.

ultimately, i think the best bets for cdream as far as HIDING these effects are thick clothing, ill-fitting prosthetics, weighted gloves, moving in daylight, and avoiding confrontation. he'd probably want to prioritize mobility training to regain some dexterity and coordination, and to ensure that he can run away even if he can't fight.

^ eroded cornea

^ the starvation experiment

[poisonlove]

Sorry... | j.o

It's a story set in a high school and revolves around Y/n, a lesbian student who has faced bullying and discrimination because of her sexuality. Her life takes an unexpected turn when Jenna, a popular and cruel girl, approaches her unexpectedly.

Summer vacation had just ended, and it was time to return to school. The sense of freedom and carefreeness I had enjoyed during the summer was fading, giving way to anxiety and worry about what awaited me in the new and fortunately final school year.

I walked to school, headphones in my ears playing the sweet sound of "Daylight" by David Kushner. The music enveloped me, trying to make me forget the impending start of a new school year, which I anticipated to be as disastrous as the previous ones.

I paused for a moment, taking in my surroundings. Leaves were slowly falling onto the grass, a sign that summer was gradually giving way to autumn. The temperatures were dropping, and the bus stop was as crowded as ever, with familiar faces. Looking around the neighborhood, I noticed subtle differences. The air was quieter than usual, with many people still asleep at this hour. Gray clouds covered the sky, giving the atmosphere a more melancholic feel.

I walked almost like a shadow, lost in my thoughts. A sigh of frustration escaped my lips as I thought about why I should endure this daily torture. Why should I endure the bruises from the taunts inflicted by the popular kids?

The truth is, there is a reason, even though there shouldn't be. I'm a lesbian. It's surprising how something so personal can become an issue for others, especially considering we're in the 21st century. I often wonder how my sexuality could affect anyone's life other than my own. It should be a personal matter, a part of who I am, but it seems that some people are obsessed with the idea that they should judge me for it. I didn't choose to be a lesbian; it's simply who I am, and it feels unfair that I have to bear the weight of others' prejudice and ignorance.

There's a sense of frustration in seeing the world move forward in many other areas but still having to face discrimination and bullying because of my identity. But despite it all, I'll continue to be myself and hope that one day the world can accept anyone, regardless of who we love.

I sigh deeply and shake my head, instinctively biting my lower lip as I walk. Confusion and frustration surround me, but I try to keep them at bay. My eyes turn towards the house in front of me, and a spontaneous smile spreads across my face when I see my best friend, Sofia Carson, coming out of her house with her backpack. It's a relief to see her, especially in moments like this.

Sofia is a girl with black hair and lively eyes that radiate enviable confidence. Her contagious smile and friendly personality make her a special person. As I get a little closer, I see Sofia running toward me with a radiant smile on her lips. Her black hair flows behind her as she approaches, almost as if her positive energy could brighten the whole day. She's my rock in this chaotic world, and her presence makes me feel stronger and less alone.

I remove my headphones and turn my attention to Sofia. "Hey, Sof. How was the trip?" I ask with a smile, trying to momentarily push away the thoughts that were tormenting me.

Sofia wraps an arm around my neck and leans her weight against my body.

"I missed you so much, you know?" she says, looking at me with bright eyes.

"We haven't seen each other for just two weeks," I murmur, amused.

"True... but the trip to Europe was great... I went to Italy!" she exclaims with enthusiasm.

"Is it true that everyone in Italy is beautiful?" I ask with curiosity, and Sofia huffs, nodding several times. Her reaction makes me laugh.

"Yes, it's true..." Sofia seems a bit embarrassed as she bites her lower lip, and I can't help but laugh again.

"And what have you been up to these past two weeks while I was gone?" Sofia asks timidly, and a shiver runs slightly down my spine. During that time, I experienced a panic attack and escalating depression, succumbing to the temptation of the razor blade. Unconsciously, I pull the sleeve of my leather jacket down to hide the scars.

"Oh, nothing special, you know," I reply, trying to smile. I don't want to worry Sofia with my problems, at least not right now.

Sofia looks at me out of the corner of her eye, seeming to doubt my words. My attempt to conceal what I've been through in the past two weeks doesn't seem convincing. Without even realizing it, we had already reached the gates of LA High School. We look at the imposing building, aware that another school year awaits us.

"Oh, did you hear? The new album by The Weeknd just came out!" Sofia exclaims with excitement. "Really? I didn't know!" I respond, surprised and relieved by the change of topic. "I'll have to listen to it when I get home."

A few steps ahead, as we gaze at the school panorama, Sofia returns to the subject. "I bet it's fantastic; his last album was amazing."

"I hope so," I say with a smile. "I like his music."

We exchange a few more words, but soon Sofia is called over by some of her friends in the distance. "Hey, y/n/n, want to come with me?" she asks, but I shake my head, feeling embarrassed. I don't want to add my discomfort to her social interactions, so I watch her walk away, hoping that my best friend can enjoy her day without the burdens I carry with me.

I put my headphones back on, and my smile quickly fades, replaced by the sadness that seems to inevitably return. As I pass through the school doors, anxiety grows within me.

But before I can take a step, two arms enter my field of vision, and I find myself quickly with my back against the lockers. The force of the impact makes me grit my teeth and hold back the tears, clenching my jaw to prevent a whimper from escaping my lips.

The perpetrator of my pain is Asher Spenser, the brown-haired guy and captain of the basketball team. "Look who we have here! And I was hoping not to see you until at least the last year," he says with a contemptuous smile.

"But at least I'll have something to take my frustration out on, you disgusting freak," he hisses through his teeth, his tone filled with hatred and ridicule. As I face yet another challenge in my day, I know I must find the strength to endure these cruel words and ongoing torment.

Asher sadistically laughs. "Without your little friend Sofia? She was always there to solve your problems."

His laughter is like a knife stabbing into my heart, and I feel increasingly isolated.

Then, with a boundless malevolence, he continues to whisper, "Even your best friend got tired of you... do everyone a favor... kill yourself."

His words are like daggers in the dark, hurting more than his physical actions. My jaw clenches as I try to hold back the tears, and humiliation and anger merge into a storm within me. But I know I can't let him see how much he's hurt me. I have to endure.

"What do you want, Asher?" I murmur weakly, hoping he'll go away.

"The disgusting lesbian suddenly found some courage!" he says sarcastically, and before I can react, he pushes me against the lockers again.

A female voice intervenes from a distance.

"Let her go, Ash." But Asher seems to ignore her. He presses my face against the locker, forcing me to turn my attention to the instigator of my torment, Jenna Ortega. She's the captain of the cheerleading squad and the leader of the popular group. Next to her is Cassie, her best friend, who's sipping on a smoothie.

"Stop looking at Cassie, a freak like you can't ogle my girlfriend," Asher slams my body against the lockers again, making me slide to the ground. His violence is palpable as I stand there, unable to react or defend myself. Anger and shame blend together as I feel the gazes of curious onlookers.

"Let her go, Ash," Jenna repeats, giving me a quick glance. Her request seems surprising given her involvement in my troubles. "Suddenly you're being nice to her?" Asher asks, looking puzzled. Jenna opens her mouth in indignation. "I can't stand her, you know that," she justifies herself, "it's just that some teachers are roaming the school, and if they catch you, you'll get detention."

Before I can get up from the ground, a liquid spills over my head. I feel completely dirty from what seemed to be a strawberry smoothie. With tear-blurred eyes, I look towards Cassie.

She then throws the empty cup at me, always wearing a smirk on her lips. Her laughter is malicious and cold, while Asher laughs heartily by her side. Jenna, on the other hand, has a strange look on her face, as if she's reflecting on what's happening.

Without thinking, I run to the bathroom, utterly embarrassed, just wishing to get rid of the sticky smoothie. My day has turned into a nightmare, and the only comfort I can find is in the privacy of the bathroom, where I can try to recover and hide my humiliation.

I dash towards the bathrooms with my head down, earning chuckles and looks of pity from some students who have stopped to witness the scene. My desperate run draws the attention and sympathy of those who see my condition.

I know a place where I can seek refuge. It's a bathroom located on the fifth floor, long abandoned by the school. The walls are faded and peeling, the floor is covered in dust. Mirrors are often cracked or scratched, and the air is filled with a gloomy and neglected atmosphere. It's a place where no one would bother to look for me, an isolated corner where I can hide my shame and try to regain a semblance of dignity. It's my secret sanctuary, away from prying eyes and the torment of bullies.

The first thing I do when I enter the bathroom is take off my leather jacket, leaving just the hoodie and top. I look at myself in the mirror, and my reflection fills me with disgust. Tears silently stream down my cheeks. Amidst the sobs, I turn on the faucet, letting the water flow. I bite my lower lip as I lean down, tilting my head to wet my hair, desperately trying to remove the sticky smoothie.

The cold water runs through my hair and down my skin, refreshing my flushed face. As I continue to rinse my hair, I hear a voice coming from the entrance of the bathroom.

"So, you were here when we couldn't find you," the voice says. I glance at myself in the mirror again, wondering why Jenna can't just leave me alone.

"What do you want, Jenna? You want to pull my hair? You want to dunk my head in the toilet?" I ask in frustration, challenging her. I've reached a point where I can't bear her cruelties without defending myself.

Jenna blinks in surprise, seemingly not expecting my reaction. Her expression, however, quickly turns into a disdainful sneer. Her skin is impeccably fair, and her black hair falls in soft waves. She's wearing a short skirt and a pink crop top that showcases her well-maintained figure. Despite her attractive appearance, her ruthless and cruel demeanor makes it hard to ignore how toxic she can be.

"I just wanted to know how you were," Jenna defends herself with what seems like a gentle tone, although her eyes betray a hint of sarcasm.

At that moment, I smile sarcastically too, unable to believe her words. I know all too well that behind this sudden concern lies another form of manipulation. Jenna excels at making her actions appear kind, only to strike even harder afterward. I won't be fooled by her.

"What do you want, Jenna?" I ask again, trying to understand her true intentions. Her eyes move along my wet body, following the path of water droplets running from my hair down my shoulders and down my body to my abdomen. It's an embarrassing sensation, feeling scrutinized like this.

"I told you, I wanted to know how you were," Jenna replies again, but this time, she seems to say it without sarcasm. Her sudden sincerity surprises me, but I remain cautious. I'm not sure if I can really trust her words, considering her history of cruelty.

"Come on, Jenna... we both know you're no saint," I say with a hint of venom in my voice.Jenna huffs with anger, evidently irritated by my challenge.

The tension between us is palpable, and even though it seems like she wants to be kind now, I can't forget all the pain she has inflicted on me in the past.

I'm cautious, but at least for now, it seems like she wants to stop tormenting me. Her eyes move along my body again, but this time, they linger on my arm. I shudder, realizing that someone has discovered my scars. My breathing becomes irregular as Jenna looks at me with confusion and panic.

"Do... do you hurt yourself?" Jenna asks, swallowing nervously. Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. I had never thought that someone would discover my darkest secret. Instinctively, I grab my jacket and put it on, wanting to cover my scars. At that moment, I don't care that I'm only wearing a top, as I have no intention of going to class, and I'll likely go home early.

Jenna approaches me, looking at my wrist covered by the jacket's sleeve. Her expression is hard to decipher, a mix of concern and confusion. I'm not sure what to make of this situation. I had never imagined having such a conversation with Jenna.

"Show me..." Jenna mutters and, without waiting for my response, takes my hand. Her nails delicately trace my skin before she lifts the jacket's sleeve. It's surprising how gentle she is in this moment. She places her hand around my scars, feeling their texture.

"Why do you cut yourself?" Jenna timidly asks.

"Isn't it obvious?" I respond with venom, anger boiling inside me.

"Listen..." Jenna starts, but I immediately cut her off. I have no desire to listen to her or explain my reasons.

"Sorry okay?" She say.

Consumed by anger, I approach her, and surprisingly, she doesn't move, almost challenging me with her gaze. "I don't need your pity... not after you've shown me your true colors all these years," I say with a whisper, my voice filled with anger.

I don't want her pity now, after everything I've been through. Jenna looks at me with tearful, shining eyes, but my heart is too full of pain and anger to accept her apologies so easily. "It was my only way..." Jenna mutters, her voice breaking, "...it was my only way to get close to you." Her confession surprises me deeply.

I had never imagined that her actions could be an attempt to get closer to me, even if it was in a strange and destructive way. My anger and pain mix with confusion as I try to understand her motivations.

"But what the hell..." I mutter instinctively, unable to believe what I'm hearing.

Jenna continues to speak, confessing her true motivations. "I was... I was so jealous of how you could be yourself without fear of others' reactions... You seemed happy... you were happy even though others looked at you strangely, knowing your sexual orientation..."

Jenna swallows nervously, visibly anxious but continues. "I... really like you, Y/n," she confesses, her words filling the air between us.

I'm taken aback by this revelation. I had never imagined that Jenna could have romantic feelings for me after everything she had done.

"Don't mock me..." I say with anger, my confusion and pain turning into rage. "If you really like me, you wouldn't have treated me that way."

Her past actions, her bullying, and her cruelties had been so damaging to me that it's hard to accept her words now. I'm not sure if I can trust Jenna, even though she seems to have opened up to me.

"Do I seem like an idiot to you?" I ask, watching Jenna shake her head.

"I saw how people looked at you... I was afraid that someone like me would be treated the same," she confesses sincerely.

"Just because you're a popular girl doesn't mean you can't fall for someone like me," I say sarcastically, my anger and frustration still palpable. Her admission is creating a mix of emotions in me, but I can't help but be skeptical of her intentions.

The situation is incredibly complicated.

"I'm really in love with you..." Jenna murmurs softly, placing her hand on my cheek. I close my eyes at her touch, feeling her nails on my skin. But Jenna's touch shakes me, and I quickly remove her hand from my face.

"You could have just been my friend... like Sofia..." I mutter, smiling sarcastically. "Now I need to leave; this situation is really unpleasant."

Without saying another word, I leave the room, leaving Jenna Ortega confused and alone.

And certainly, such a confession wasn't enough to erase what she had done.

[lvrdrafts]

Hi, could you please write a happier ending for it is just a joke, cause that was so sad

Joke Taken Too Far

★ Summary: You hear Bucky compare you to Natasha and it makes you question if Bucky ever really loved you, but can Bucky fix what he has done before it is too late

★ Pairing: Bucky x f!Reader

★ Warnings: Being compared

★ A/N: FUNNY ENOUGH UR NOT THE ONLY PERSON WHO REQUESTED THIS LOL

★ Word Count: 2,000+

★ Genre: Angst/ Fluff

Angst Version

GIF by tfatwsdaily

You had a past filled with heartbreak, as you had encountered one boyfriend after another who cheated on you, citing your looks as the reason for their breakup or abusing you physically. Your self-esteem suffered immensely, leaving you feeling unworthy of love and affection.

However, everything changed when you became an Avenger and met Bucky Barnes, the man who made you feel cherished and appreciated in ways you had never experienced before. You were still going to therapy from the trauma they left you but Bucky helped you get through it and you depression even if he didn't know that.

Your shared experiences as Avengers brought you two closer together. Bucky understood the pain you had endured, and you connected on a deep level. He saw the beauty within you, which went far beyond your physical appearance. Your love grew strong, and you became inseparable.

One day, you happened to overhear Bucky talking to Steve and you wanted to surprise him with an attack full of kisses but you stopped in your tracks as you heard Bucky say, "Steve, you've seen Natasha's body, right? She's incredible. I sometimes wish she was my girlfriend."

“I know I see you staring at her all the time," Steve says chuckling "You really should stop staring before you make it obvious, you are dating someone punk”

Your heart shattered into pieces as you felt the old wounds of insecurity resurface. You couldn't bear to hear the man you loved longing for someone else, especially someone as stunning as Natasha.

"I care about her a lot, Steve, but sometimes I can't help but think about Natasha and how much better it would be with her," Bucky says and you felt as if your heart is being ripped out.

Steve frowned, sensing where this was going. "Bucky, you know it's not fair to compare Y/N to Natasha or anyone else? Everyone's different."

“Y/N’s pretty I know but she just doesn’t compare to Nat,” that was all it took for your heart to completely obliterate into a trillion pieces. You were no longer the only one that thought you were nothing compared to her. You didn't want Bucky to leave you for someone else, you didn't want him to leave you like how they all did.

In the solitude of your room, tears streamed down your face as the weight of Bucky's words crushed your spirit. All the progress you had made in feeling loved and cherished was unraveling before your eyes. The old wounds of heartbreak and insecurity resurfaced with a vengeance, enveloping you in suffocating darkness.

Questions plagued your mind. Were you not enough for Bucky? Would he eventually leave you for Natasha or someone else? Did he only settle for you because he couldn't have her? The demons of self-doubt tormented you, and you felt utterly inadequate, unable to compete with the image of perfection you held in your mind of Natasha.



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You couldn't bear seeing Bucky, it felt as if you were gonna burst into tears every time you saw him. You tried avoiding him as best as you could for a few weeks but being in the same building together 24/7 was harder than you expected.

Each time he tried to reach out or spend time with you, you made excuses, declining his invitations and pushing him away.

"Bucky, I'm really busy right now," you replied one day when he asked if you wanted to grab a coffee. "Maybe some other time."

His face fell, but he tried to hide his disappointment. "Sure, Y/N," he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Just let me know when you're free."

In an attempt to bridge the growing distance, Bucky decided to reach out to you. "Hey, baby want to hang out later? Maybe we can grab a bite or train together?" Bucky says with a huge grin.

"Sorry, Bucky, I have a lot of work to catch up on. Rain check?" you say making up another excuse to be away from him.

He sighed, knowing he couldn't push you. "Sure, no problem. Just let me know when you're free," he replied, trying to hide his disappointment.

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Over the next few days, he tried again, asking if you wanted to join him for a movie night or go for a walk, but each time, you declined, always with an excuse. He couldn't help but feel like you were purposely keeping your distance, and it hurt more than he wanted to admit.

One evening, Bucky found you in the common area, sitting by yourself and looking lost in thought. He decided that enough was enough; he needed answers.

"Y/N, we need to talk," he said, approaching you cautiously.

You sighed, knowing this conversation was inevitable. "Sure," you replied, trying to keep your emotions in check.

Bucky hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I've noticed that you've been avoiding me," he began cautiously. "Is there something wrong? Did I do something?"

You looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. "It's just... things have been a bit busy lately," you said, your voice lacking conviction.

Bucky frowned, sensing that you were holding something back. "Y/N, please, I can tell something's bothering you. You can talk to me, you know."

He reached out to touch your hand, but you pulled away, and he felt the rejection like a physical blow. "I get that, Y/N, but it feels like you're shutting me out completely," he said, his voice tinged with hurt. "I thought we were in this together, no matter what."

You took a deep breath, knowing that it was time to address the elephant in the room. You didn't want to bear the pain anymore "I overheard you, Bucky," you admitted, your voice wavering. "You were talking to Steve, and you said... you said I wasn't as pretty as Natasha."

Bucky's face paled, and he looked like he had been punched in the gut. "Y/N, I..." he stammered, searching for the right words.

"Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. It was just a joke, I didn't mean for you to take it to heart," he said. He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize, unable to confront his own emotions.

"I thought jokes were supposed to be funny" you snapped back at Bucky. "Do you see me laughing?"

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. "I didn't think you'd take it so seriously, and it was a private conversation," he said, trying to justify himself.

"You were in the fucking common room a public area and maybe you should think before you speak" you shot back, feeling the tension escalating.

As the argument continued, the pain and hurt seemed to escalate, and both you and Bucky were on the verge of tears. But amidst the tension and hurtful words, Bucky suddenly stopped and took a deep breath.

"Y/N, I messed up," he said, his voice filled with regret. "I shouldn't have said those things."

You looked at him, tears streaming down your face. "But why did you say them, Bucky?" you asked, your voice still trembling with emotion.

"At the moment, I don't know, talking shit about you made me feel better about myself," Bucky says. Bucky took a step closer to you, gently reaching out to cup your face in his hands.

"I don't have any excuse for what I said," he said, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I was being selfish I know but you make me a better person and after all the shit I have done I don't deserve to be happy!" Bucky yelled and his eyes widened, he stepped back realizing what he had said. He had never told anyone this before, he tried keeping the demons all for himself.

Your heart sank as you listened to him. You had no idea that Bucky had been struggling with such deep-seated insecurities. You reached out and gently held his hand, trying to convey that you were there for him.

"Bucky, you're not a monster anymore," you said softly. "You're a good person, and you've been through so much. But you don't need to tear someone else down to feel better about yourself. What you said did not make you a monster, it made you an asshole"

"I-I really am sorry, please don't leave me I will change I will do anything," Bucky says as his eyes were filled with tears as he looked up at you, his voice breaking with emotion.

But you were too hurt, too broken, to respond. You turned away from him, unable to bear the sight of him in such pain. The silence in the room was deafening, and you could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on both of you.

"I thought we had something special, Y/N before I fucked up," Bucky said, his voice desperate. "I love you more than anything, and I messed up, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make it right. Please, just give me another chance." Bucky's pleas fell on deaf ears, and you couldn't bear to see him on his knees, begging for forgiveness.

Your heart ached at his words, but you couldn't ignore the pain he had caused you. "I need time, Bucky," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I need time to process all of this."

Bucky nodded, his tears flowing freely now. "I'll give you all the time you need," he said, his voice choked with emotion. "But please, don't shut me out completely. I'll be here when you're ready."

With that, Bucky slowly got up from his knees and walked away, leaving you standing there, your heart torn between love and pain.

In the days that followed, Bucky gave you the space you needed, but he also made sure to show you how much he cared. He would leave little notes for you, reminding you of the good times you shared and how much he loved you. He would send you flowers and gifts, trying to show you that he was truly sorry for his actions.

But no matter what he did, you couldn't shake off the pain and betrayal you felt. Every time you saw him, you were reminded of his hurtful words, and it made it hard for you to see the man you had fallen in love with.

⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿���⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹⁀➷ ‿➹



Weeks passed, and despite Bucky's efforts, the pain between you remained palpable. You were still hurting, unable to let go of the hurtful words he had spoken. The team had noticed the tension between you, and everyone was hoping for a resolution.

One day, a mission came up that required you and Bucky to work closely together. It involved infiltrating a highly guarded facility run by a dangerous organization. The stakes were high, and the success of the mission depended on your teamwork.

You both suited up in your tactical gear, preparing for the intense mission ahead. As the two of you boarded the Quinjet, you tried to maintain a professional demeanor, despite the lingering emotions.

Once inside the facility, things got intense quickly. The enemy was not easy to subdue, and you found yourself in a tight spot, surrounded by hostile forces. In a moment of desperation, you got separated from the rest of the team.

Bucky's heart pounded in his chest as he realized the danger you were in. Without a second thought, he put himself in harm's way, using his skills and combat expertise to fight through the enemies and reach you.

You were cornered, and just when it seemed like there was no way out, you heard a familiar sound – the whirring of Bucky's metal arm. In an instant, he swooped in, taking out the threats with swift precision. But in the midst of the fighting, a sniper had tried to get a clean shot on you but Bucky saw it coming and pushed you aside taking the shot instead.

"Bucky," you gasped, you quickly threw a smoke bomb giving you time to escape while holding Bucky over you. As the smoke filled the air, you grabbed Bucky and pulled him towards the exit. Your heart was pounding in your chest as you tried to get both of you to safety.

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Once you were back on the Quinjet, you laid Bucky down gently, fear and concern evident in your eyes."Bucky, why did you do that?" you yelled at him, your voice trembling with emotion. "You could have been killed!"

He winced in pain but managed to give you a weak smile. "I couldn't let anything happen to you," he replied, his voice strained. "I love you, and I would do anything to protect you."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you saw the sincerity in his words. Despite the hurt between you, he still cared about you deeply and was willing to put his life on the line for you.

"Bucky, I love you too," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion. "But, you didn't have to do that," you said, your voice wavering.

He looked at you, his eyes full of affection. "I would do it again in a heartbeat," he replied, his voice filled with emotion.

The tension between you seemed to melt away in that moment, replaced by a deep sense of connection and love. You realized that despite the mistakes and pain, Bucky loved you with all his heart, and you couldn't deny your own feelings for him.

"I love you, Y/N," Bucky said, his voice steady and genuine. "I know I messed up, and I'm sorry for hurting you. But you mean everything to me, and I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you finally let go of the pain and fear that had been holding you back. You knew deep down that you still loved Bucky, and you couldn't deny the pull between you.

"I love you too, Bucky," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

Bucky pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. "I promise I'll never hurt you like that again," he said, his voice sincere. "You're the most important person in my life, and I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy."

As the Quinjet soared through the sky, you both knew that there were still challenges ahead. Healing would take time, and you would have to work through the pain together. But for now, in each other's arms, you found solace and comfort.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Twitter Troubles

Summary - Kai has a Twitter problem and it’s just got worse.. (0.6k)

Warnings - Kai having a Twitter problem ^^, kai being a lil drama queen, mentions of murder, not much else tbh

kai parker masterlist other tvd works main masterlist

“No!” You could hear Kai’s bellow from the floor above, and before you knew it and you were on your feet and rushing down the stairs.

He was usually quite composed in your home despite the copious amounts of trauma that he endured, and his reaction to god knows what clearly illustrated that something was not right.

As you came to the kitchen where he had demanded that he was going to cook the both of you an evening supper that you would enjoy, he was stood there, by himself, with nothing but his phone in his hand.

But the heretic appeared outraged, he was screwing his nose up and chewing frustratedly on his bottom lip as he glared hatefully at the screen.

Perhaps he had added the wrong ingredient in the recipe, however it was already heating in the oven, and so you decided to inspect the man closer as you walked towards him, your concern slowly decreasing.

“Is everything okay baby?” You cautiously asked him, brushing your fingertips across his cheek as to avert his gaze to your face. His pupils rolled around in a distorted fashion as he fumbled with his words, uncertain how to put his problem into a sentence, his knuckles tightening around the cellular device, but not hard enough to crush it in his grasp.

“No, uh, it’s really not.” He nonchalantly answered, scoffing when he looked back in his phone, before smacking it down upon the counter beside him and shaking his head.

He was undoubtedly irritated, but despite that fact he made sure to show affection towards you, bringing both of his siphoning hands to your hips, rubbing circles in the flesh he had exposed by slightly rising your shirt.

“You can talk to me Kai, I want to listen. Whatever it is, it can be fixed.” You attempts of reassuring him were futile however, as he brought his head to rest in the crook of your neck as he whispered in your ear.

“It’s not baby. It’s ruined.”

“We can order in if it’s messed up that bad, or I can help you make something else. Or we could go to that new Italian place a few blocks down…” you suggested, however Kai pulled back to look at your face, a confused expression pulling at his features.

“What are you talking about?” He enquired, wanting to ensure that you were both focused on the same subject. It was as though you couldn’t configure how dire the situation was, and he had to make you understand.

“Dinner. What are you talking about?” You replied as though it was there could be no other reason for his annoyed outburst.

“Twitter.” He stated as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, grasping his phone and allowing you unlock it, bringing up the updated page, as he pointed harshly at the screen. “It’s now called X, like it’s so stupidly modern! Why can’t they just leave things the way they are?”

“So… dinners all good?” You wearily enquired, cocking your head to the side as you tried to gouge what the heretic was thinking. However you were no mind reader, but considering Kai’s murderous past, you should have anticipated what he was going to say next.

“I think we should find out where Elon Musk lives and compel him to change it back. I can’t think straight, he’s ruined my life!”

“You want to compel Elon Musk?” You couldn’t help but laugh, to which Kai dedicated an emotionless, stone cold glare in your direction this time. “Okay good luck with that, let me know when dinner is ready, and get on with… avenging Twitter I guess.”

[poomphuripan]

what do you think of the comments on mdl of my stand in calling ming a cheater?

hi nonnie []~(￣▽￣)~* that's actually something i've been thinking to write about because i saw those remarks as well but it is such a controversial thing to discuss. if you don't mind, this discussion post will be filled with mild spoilers of the novel.

!!!!!! novel spoilers warning !!!!!!

alright so first of all, @ineffable-opinions wrote an excellent post about the danmei tropes in my stand-in (which i highly recommend everyone to read). this is a great post as they discussed the white moonlight trope presented in my stand-in.

i don't consider ming, a cheater because as i see it, tong was simply ming's white moonlight. ming never established a physical nor emotional connection with tong, throughout his time knowing joe. tong was always an idealised fantasy, he's mistaken it for it to be love. in other words, i see it as ming looking up tong like a delulu fanboy with an idol crush than him actually having any substantive feelings for tong ever. i mean if you had a partner that looked like a kpop idol, and sex with your partner makes you feel like you're achieving your sexual fantasy, are you cheating on your partner? maybe? maybe not? probably controversial and debatable question but for me, i don't consider it 'cheating'. i do think ming took for granted joe's genuine feelings and did not fully appreciate joe's affection (ming you ungrateful bish, repent).

during their time together playing pseudo 'not boyfriends', ming showed that he could be an okay partner. whether it's caring about joe's day at work, how hard joe's job as a stuntman, accepting joe's invitation to accompany him to his wrapped filming party.

i mean it's really bare minimum but that's already quite a lot coming from the dude who's afraid as hell once joe started mentioning the 'faen' word, triggering his self-defense mechanism, depreciating himself trying to claim that joe wouldn't be able to stand him.

i think one of the most obvious example of how afraid ming was to lose this relationship, was him using the word 'faen' in the last breakup fight with joe. this line was very ironic of him to say, because i'm sure even ming knows this line applies more to himself (how in this life, ming won't be able to find a better boyfriend than joe).

i absolutely love ming's emotion progression in ep 4 because it encapsulates perfectly his 21 year old spoiled brat attitude. he was confused when broken up over the phone, then mad and started throwing tantrum trying to get joe to coax him (like joe always does), until he realized it wouldn't work this time and he started frantically begging for joe to stay so they could go back to playing house and being happy.

personally, i don't consider it cheating because by around ep3/4, you can already started seeing ming settling down with the option that makes him "happy". some may even argued that by this point, he has 'recognized' his feelings (not me though, i think he just wanted his simple happiness/domestic bliss back, i still think it's during the period he lost joe 1.0 that he learned what love truly is).

now the most important question of all: is ming cheating on joe 1.0 with joe 2.0 or vice versa?

to quote chapter 63 of Professional Body Double (My Stand-In novel), i think the author puts it best how ming views joe 2.0.

He has fallen to the point of looking for the shadow of that person in a substitute. This is his punishment. When he thought that he was using [Joe] as [Tong]’s substitute, he was not aware of the actual person who had entered his heart. He had failed miserably with this method but still could not help himself from wanting to try. There are no other reasons. Just that he was in too much pain. He can’t endure anymore. He was adamant that [Joe] is not dead but no one could confirm it. That little doubtful voice in his heart is getting louder and louder, but is roughly suppressed by him time and time again. To continually be persistent with this thought, he needed a lot of willpower. He knew better than anyone else. Even if this [Joe] could bring him a little comfort, he wanted to be close to him, just like a long frozen person wanting to be close to a matchstick. This can’t save him… but he couldn’t stop himself from taking that little warmth.

i LOVE this metaphor and this little inner thought of ming we got because we can see how he's very much aware that he's falling right back into the bad habit that got him into trouble in the first place but... he's a fucking fool... who resorts to spiritual shamans for hope...

but also the familiarity he got from joe 2.0 is way too strong to joe 1.0. so for me, i'm seeing it as ming is using joe 2.0 as a means for comfort and relief as well as keeping him close to observe the similarities between him and joe 1.0, rather than viewing joe 2.0 as a replacement for joe 1.0 (because keep in mind, at this point he doesn't know they're the same person yet).

so !!!!!!!!! BIG WARNING of spoilers from the novel !!!!!!!!! if joe had considered joe 2.0 to be a direct replacement of joe 1.0, i don't think he would have had this conversation with joe 2.0 about joe 1.0.

Ming spoke right at this time. His voice sounded very faint and very soft, “Joe, are you hiding something from me?” Joe didn’t know what Ming meant by this. He asked cautiously, “I don’t understand what Khun Ming means.” Ming, “The feelings you give me is too familiar. It’s as if I’ve known you and have lived with you before. Why is this?” Joe forced himself to responded, “Maybe this is fate.” If it wasn’t because they are fated, they would not be in the predicament of today…with a relationship that is so unclear in both past and current lifetimes. “Joe. Tell me….If a person had been missing for more than two years, do you think he may still be alive?” Joe’s tensed up and smiled, “Most likely impossible. If still alive, he would have come back already.” “Why can’t he be alive? It could be that he didn’t come back because he doesn’t want to come back.” Joe is silent for a moment, “Khun Ming, are you talking about the other Joe?” Joe clearly felt Ming’s body stiffened. Then Ming asked, “How much do you know about him?” “I don’t know anything at all. I just heard from what others have said.” Ming quietly asked, “Then do you know what relationship I have with him?” Joe’s heart tightened, What relationship? You say, what relationship? He clenched his teeth in the dark, “I don’t know.” Ming’s voice is like the rising of the quiet abyss, cold and empty, “I feel that he’s not dead. He just doesn’t want to come back.” Joe heard his own voice dissociated from his thoughts and automatically asked, “Why won’t he want to come back?” Ming didn’t respond to his question, instead he tightened his arms around Joe.

i like that in the 2.0 timeline, we got ming learning but also not learning his dumbass mistakes at all. ming learned that he should be upfront about his feelings and be straightforward with his sexual partner, but at the same time he's still impatient, hot tempered and say hurtful things easily.

so i think through and through the second half of the series, you'll see his fidelity to joe (the soul) only. while perhaps it was the shadow of a back that mesmerized ming in the first place, but it's the kindhearted soul of joe that ming truly fell in love with, the person that showed him what love means, the only period in his life where he felt happiness.

© gif courtesy of the talented @alienwlw

you can also check out @befuddledcinnamonroll and @ineffable-opinions discussion on matters of transmigration, attachment of the soul with the body in their excellent posts, here and here. to sum it up, i think up kinda succintly puts it here in this interview.

of course, this is not to excuse dating/fucking anyone who resembles your missing ex but then treating them like they're your object ;_; like i'm just saying i don't think what ming is doing with joe 2.0 can be categorized as cheating (for me). it's something scummy, foolish, dumb, really stupid but... not cheating ┗( T﹏T )┛.

also if you notice, ming doesn't sleep around. surely he could have slept with dozen of nice looking man with similar physique to joe 1.0 to "keep the warmth" if he was that type of dude... but he doesn't... so for me, i see this proposal he has for joe 2.0 is not simply because of a physical attraction/similarity to joe, but it's the vibe/the aura/the ✨energy✨ that joe 2.0 radiates that is too similar to joe 1.0, drawing ming to him again.

tldr: ming is a lot of things but for me, i would never characterize him as a cheater. ming is a scummy, spoiled, arrogant, entitled, hot tempered hi-so brat but also a foolish little crying bag with zero wife-chasing skills. his only tactic is begging and getting his waterworks flowing.

ps: i'm not sure if this ask actually answers your question at all but hopefully some of my thoughts made sense ಥ_ಥ