#which gives me some hope for future titles

[vaokses]

Never enough for both (Pirtir, Ch.4)

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Pairing: Aegon x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Both sides of the family are reunited in King's Landing to formally announce the betrothal and start the celebrations leading up to the wedding.

Word Count: 7.7k (sorry, if long chapters like this bother you, I can try to make future ones shorter or divide them in parts, let me know)

Warnings: Topic of arranged/forced marriage. Usual Targaryen incest stuff. Hints at alcohol consumption in unhealthy manners. I love Maris Baratheon, so she's here, though not in all her glory as she's not taunting a man into kinslaying, sadly. ✨Childhood Companions✨. Both sides of this family are messy and annoying, and I hope I showed that properly here.

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I think I'll change uploads for this story to Sundays instead of Saturdays. Hope you enjoy!

This chapter includes some stuff also mentioned/explained in How long this love can hold its breath, a prequel oneshot in Aegon's perspective.

Title is from "So, here you are, too foreign for home, too foreign for here. Never enough for both." By Ljeoma Umebinyuo.

Your morning tea with the Queen is followed by the announcement that the Velaryon fleet -and by extension your family- can be seen quickly approaching the city, with six dragons flying alongside the boats. 

You got to meet the Velaryons that arrive on the port, which are the ones sailing from Driftmark, as your mother and the rest have decided to enter the city through the Dragonpit. To your surprise, Corlys is there to greet you, after a long absence at sea. 

Baela makes very unsubtle attempts to return to the Keep on your carriage with you alone, so after a quick greeting of Princess Rhaenys and the Sea Snake, you promise to meet with them later and enter the carriage with Baela. 

Sitting across from her, you keep silent as you watch her, as you notice her uncharacteristically falter, lowering her eyes to her fidgeting hands.  

“Corlys and Rhaenys aren’t getting along, for obvious reasons. They aren’t the only ones,” She informs you. “Daemon and your mother are…at odds with one another.” 

“And you know this how, exactly?” 

“I can hear the shouting all the way from Driftmark,” She jests, the glint of defiant humor shining in her dark eyes. A breath, and she explains, “Rhaena sent a raven, told me that father was furious that this was allowed to go on.” 

“‘This’?” 

“Your marriage to Aegon.” 

“But it has been months in the planning.” 

“Perhaps Daemon hoped for an…alternate solution to present itself,” She shrugs, “We both know Father would have sent you here to kill him, not marry him.” 

You chuckle humorlessly, “I shall be on the lookout for new orders, then.” 

Instead of joking along, Baela turns to you then, dark eyes slightly narrowed. 

“Would you follow such orders?” 

You offer a smile again, but you know better than to expect her to fold. 

Still, you attempt, “Did Daemon give you orders to ask this?” 

“No, I’m just…curious. If he had ordered you to kill them, any of them, of your…childhood companions, would you have?” 

“It is a bit late to send Vermithor and I against Sunfyre and Aegon, or Dreamfyre and Helaena. We’d win, though.” 

“Undoubtedly. But that wasn’t what I asked.” 

“Daemon has issued no orders.” 

She is more alike her father than she knows, especially when she’s on a hunt. They track weakness like bloodhounds, and they don’t cease on their chase once they’ve caught a scent. 

She presses, “Perhaps because he knows you wouldn’t obey.” 

“I have always done as was asked of me.” 

“Have you?” Baela asks. While you admire her spirit, you do not intend to entertain accusations, and you turn to her with a glare that she smiles at. Bowing her head slightly, she amends, “I am not implying disloyalty, I just…I think you believe yourself less…unyielding than you actually are. I think you don’t like to admit you have ambitions of your own.” 

It is difficult for you, even now, to push back the voice that reminds you that you have been too careless, too trusting, and you have allowed Baela to see more than she should have, more than it was useful for her to see. To lie well you must never be defined or remembered, Lady Mysaria told you years ago, an ordinary face is lost in a crowd. 

And despite Baela being one of the only people you’ve been able to count on as a constant, despite the fact that by blood and love you are bound to one another, despite knowing deep in your bones that you can count on her to have your back come what may; you resent the realization that she sees in you something you didn’t intend for her to, something that isn’t useful for her to see. You do not know what to do, at the threat that she might have seen you, and might have remembered you. 

“My ambitions are to support my House and my mother. I have done only what was asked of me.” 

“Were you asked to promise love to Alasdair Tyrell in order to have him sail to the Shield Islands and turn them to your cause? Were you asked to use Cragan Stark’s…friendship with Jacaerys to force his hand when he refused to offer a proposal of marriage?”  

If Alasdair Tyrell hadn’t sailed to the Shield Islands with the Redwyne fleet and turned them to your cause, you would have no solid argument against Lady Mysaria and her wish to marry you to him. If Cregan Stark hadn’t issued a proposal of marriage you would have had to trust only in your mother’s choices to keep the North. Either alternative would mean relinquishing control, would mean uncertainty, powerlessness, and you were unwilling to even entertain the possibility. 

“I did not lie to Alasdair, my affections were honest,” At her look, you concede, “I care for him, even if I do not love him. And I merely…discussed with Cregan the realities of our expectations of one another, which he found agreeable enough to issue a proposal.” 

“Hm,” There’s a smile on her lips that she learned neither from her father or her mother, but from her grandmother. The smile of a spider with an insect caught on its web. “How convenient, then, that in your honesty you earned yourself the Reach and the North.” 

“I don’t appreciate accusations,” You dismiss, rolling your eyes at her answering chuckle. “When Vaemond plotted with Oldtown to challenge my brother’s claim to the Salt Throne, it was you who asked me to deal with it, it was you who told Daeron Velaryon I was to entertain his proposal of marriage to get him to share his father’s secrets.” 

“You choose to embody a weapon, and you mind being wielded?” She asks, hints of laughter still clinging to her tone. Baela shrugs one shoulder. “I am not judging you, so you can stop glaring at me. If anything, I admire it.” 

“Do you?” 

“While Vhagar lives, you are not yet the greatest power in the Realm. Daemon would have you kill the hoary old bitch, and I might agree with his strategy, but…I commend you for yours.” 

“Hm.” 

She chuckles again, “Don’t do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Pout when I remind you of a truth you mislike hearing,” She says, “Gods, you and your brother are more alike than you like to admit, did you know?” 

All too eager to put an end to this conversation, you divert it towards Jace, and say, 

“My mother should be arriving soon with Daemon, Rhaena, and my brothers. The Queen said they are to…start the celebrations today, if the King is well enough.” 

“Is it too much to ask that they don’t arrive at all? None of your brothers should be coming here, not to mention our sister.” 

“Your s-…” 

Baela dismisses your words with a gesture of her hand, “Don’t bother.” 

You decide not to fight this unending battle today at least, and lean your head back against the seat, regarding her quietly for a few moments.  

“They have no choice but to be here, it would send the wrong message if my family fails to attend my wedding,” You say, but she presses her lips together, answering with nothing but a short grunt. “What troubles you, Baela?” 

“There are too many of us together in the same place,” She tells you, as if it is obvious. She looks out at the passing streets. “I doubt an eye is all someone will lose this time.” 

Your brow furrows. 

“You worry me.” 

She offers only a smile in return, confident and sly. 

“I assure you it is mutual, sister.” 

“Stop that.” 

“Make me.” 

 ___ 

Your mother and brothers -and you assume Daemon alongside them, you haven’t seen him as of yet- choose to spend the better part of the morning and noon with your grandsire. They remain by him as the gathering of members of the Great and Noble Houses of Westeros on the Keep grows, the highborn within the Keep and the lowborn outside of it waiting for their King to announce his son’s wedding celebrations, to write in stone the union they have known or suspected about for months now. 

Your eye catches on Mina Redwyne, second eldest of House Redwyne, as she talks with two of the Four Storms. Well, your eye doesn’t catch on her, but on the deep emerald dress she has chosen to wear. 

She notices your eyes on her, and turns to you with the clear intent to approach you. 

Turning to accept the servants offered glass of wine, you look at Baela, Rhaena, and Rhaenys and mouth save me. Before they can answer with anything other than the laugh Baela hides behind her hand, the ladies reach you. 

“Princess,” Mina greets, echoed by Maris and Cassandra Baratheon. “My congratulations on your betrothal. May the Seven bless you both.” 

You nod with a little hum, taking a sip of wine to try and dislodge the knot in your throat. It hasn’t gotten any easier to hear people speak of your betrothal, even now, just shy of having the King announce seven days of festivities before the wedding is to take place. 

“Thank you, my Lady,” You agree, smile in place, “It seems the both of us meet only for wedding celebrations as of late. First your brother’s in the Arbor, and now mine.” 

“How could I forget?” She replies. “In a sea of green and burgundy, there you were, wearing red. I can’t say I recall you ever wearing something that wasn’t red. Or black.” 

Of course she hasn’t, there was a reason for your tour and everything about it, from the servants that accompanied you to the clothes you were, were planned in order to send a message. And she knows that. 

Doing your best to mask the tiredness at the game she has only just started, you smile and say, 

“I am proud to wear my House’s colors. As any Lady should.” 

“Not all of us can afford to, Princess,” Maris Baratheon reminds you, sly smile curving at her lips, eyes trailing over Lady Mina’s green dress. “What with the mad race to be married off like cattle and all that.” 

“Hey.” You complain, gesturing with your free hand. 

Maris merely laughs, quite close to a witch’s cackle, and clinks her glass of wine against yours. 

“Congratulations, by the way,” She mocks. Her brow furrows, and her eyes divert to somewhere over your shoulder as she pretends to look for someone. “Though I believe it is your betrothed I am to extend my congratulations to? The man won a race he wasn’t even participating on, after all.” 

“You shouldn’t scorn the ways of court. You will soon be searching for a husband, sister.” Lady Cassandra, Borros Baratheon’s eldest, points out. 

“Or I could do as you do, and sulk for the rest of my days, mourning a rejection even a blind man could have seen coming,” Maris quips in response, and you share a look at the blatant insult with Lady Mina, for a moment your own quarrel forgotten. “Mother does always say I should follow your example.” 

“I’d dare say it takes more than a shared name for you to be equal to your sister, Lady Maris,” Mina quips, coming to Cassandra’s defense without a second thought. “Your House’s name was not enough to warrant you the proposals Lady Cassandra has received, was it?” 

You care much more about keeping Maris Baratheon, the cleverest of the Four Stroms and the daughter who currently holds Lord Borros’ ear, on your side than appeasing a daughter of House Redwyne. Mina has spent her life on the shadow of the Hightower, you know her alliances won’t change. 

So, making sure to keep your tone civil, but firm, you point out, 

“Some aspire to more than marriage, my Lady,” You say. “Lady Maris has much to offer her House, she can be more than a vessel for an alliance.” 

“Unlike others.” Maris bites out, cold gaze set on the other woman. Each time you spend time with her in court you realize why her mother threatens to cut off her tongue so often. 

“All women eventually have no choice but to bend, Princess,” Mina reminds you. Her gaze drops to the rubies on your dress and she adds, “Even women like you.” 

If your smile betrays something more honest, something closer to poison, then so be it. 

“There are no women like me.” 

Maris barks a short laugh, improper and unladylike, “You still believe humility to be a wasted effort, I take it?” 

“On the contrary, I find it admirable,” You lie, sharing a smile with the second eldest of House Baratheon. She returns a smile in kind, a little crooked but honest. You continue with yet another lie, “I just believe honesty is paramount when speaking amongst friends.” 

Lady Redwyne loses none of the edge, and the way her shoulders are drawn up in tension, ruffling the fabric of her dress, reminds you of a puffed-up bird. 

“We are to speak honestly, then?” 

“I dare say that sounds like a threat, Lady Mina.” Maris taunts, lifting the cup of wine to her lips and looking at the daughter of House Redwyne over the rim of her glass. 

“Of course,” You answer Mina’s question. With a small shrug, you prompt, “Speak with honesty, I wish t-…” 

You are interrupted by a hand resting on the small of your back, startling you into silence. You turn with wide eyes towards Aegon, now standing by your side, hand brazenly on you. 

“My Ladies,” He greets, brazenly false charm on display. He turns to you and bows his head slightly in greeting, “Princess.” 

“My Prince.” Lady Mina is the first to greet, and your appalment at his lack of care for manners is forgotten at the sight of her attempt at charm. Your eyes narrow towards her, but you say nothing. 

“You wouldn’t mind if I stole my betrothed from you for a while, would you?” 

The ladies acquiesce with mumbled goodbyes and promises to speak with you again after the King’s speech is delivered. You sincerely hope they cannot find you. 

Aegon leads you away from them and towards another part of the vast hall where the nobles gather, hand still boldly resting on your back. You make a point to take a step to the left, away from him, and point out,  

“It isn’t appropriate to touch me in public. We aren’t yet married.” 

“Would you prefer that I touch you in private? Because th-…” 

“It isn’t appropriate to ask that.” You interrupt, but a smile is foolishly tugging at the corners of your lips, and he notices, because his own smile widens. You look away. 

“No one expects me to behave appropriately.” 

You frown, very pointedly avoiding the eyes of the Queen and her brother as you pass them by. 

“And if I did?” 

“Then I’d disappoint you sooner than I intend to.” 

As you walk into the gardens, you stop in your pace and turn on your side to face him. hands joined behind your back, your head tilted to the side, you ask,  

“Do you intend to disappoint me?” 

He shrugs slightly, a downward curve of his mouth as he considers your question. 

“An inevitability,” He retorts. A breath, and Aegon offers an arm for you to take. An appropriate gesture, followed by an appropriate title, “Princess.” 

It shouldn’t endear you, it really shouldn’t. And yet you furrow your lips to hide a smile as you take the offered arm and let him guide you through the inner gardens of the Keep. 

“Was there something you wanted to discuss?” You ask, “You did ‘borrow’ me from the delightful company of those ladies.” 

“Not…exactly.” 

Gods, he is such a terrible liar. You mull over is answer, his actions, for a few breaths, as you walk through the busy room towards the gates to the gardens. 

“How many of those women have you fucked, that it worries you that I speak with them?” You blurt out, careful to keep your voice low, almost a whisper. You will tell yourself that the strange edge in your tone, what sounds even to you like jealousy, was part of a game, was intentional. “I know of the…activities you partake in. Court gossip may not speak about my indiscretions, but it does speak about yours.” 

“None of them,” He answers plainly. A breath, a moment of hesitation, a restless movement stalled by the weight of your hand on the crook of his arm, and Aegon turns to look at you. There’s something raw, in his slightly widened eyes, in the expectant expression. “Do you believe me?” 

You cannot help but think back on the previous night, and the careless way he gave away secrets he should have kept guarded, the way he seemed not to care that he is baring vulnerabilities with each breath, with each look. And you have this irrational and sudden anger at him for it, for this stupid bravery, this weakness, this rough honesty. 

More than anything, you are angry at the part of you that envies him for it, for being unable to wear anything but his true face. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You answer without thinking. You aren’t sure if you’re lying or not. 

“I can think of many reasons.” Aegon retorts, wry smile curving at his lips. 

He doesn’t say anything else, and his attention returns to the gardens around you. It seems only then he notices the unsubtle way the lords and ladies scattered about keep staring at the both of you. 

“No one of noble blood is happy with this union,” You point out before he can say anything, “Every young knight and lord in the Seven Kingdoms is cursing your name, most likely. They wanted…well, it varied, but ultimately they all wanted their blood on the Iron Throne. In marrying me, you denied them of that chance.” 

“I know about being denied what I want most, but I doubt they would care about my sympathy.” 

“Do you?” You ask, the beginning of a smile curving at your lips. “What, as eldest son of a King, as a Targaryen Prince, have you been denied?” 

“You.” 

He answers so bluntly, as if the truth is without its weight, as if it is obvious, as if it isn’t dangerous to admit such a thing, that you are stunned into silence for a breath. 

“You never told me,” You say, “Before I left, you never told me of what you had attempted.” 

“Why does it matter? It wasn’t enough, it didn’t change anything,” You have the errant thought that it might have changed things, it might have changed you, if you had known, if he had told you. You say nothing though, and Aegon continues, thoughts spilling past his lips with no need for wine to loosen his tongue, truths being shared like grains of sand escaping from closed fists, “Refusing them all this time didn’t change anything either, you were still-…But I did it anyways. I was always slow to learn, wasn’t I?” 

A knot forms somewhere in your throat, something unnamed lodged in your chest. Because he is implying more than having merely asked to marry you. 

“What do you mean?” 

“My mother and Otto attempted to make arrangements, to betroth me to some lady or another, many times. I always refused them,” He shrugs, as if any of this can be easily dismissed, as if it doesn’t matter. An act, a mask of carelessness, but you notice the tension in his frame, the way his free arm is moving as if he’s fidgeting, hand opening and closing in nervous movements. “They refused to let me marry you, so I refused to marry anyone. 

“I-I didn’t…I didn’t know.” 

“You never asked.” 

“Why?” You ask, because you might have never asked before, but you have to ask now. 

“I didn’t think it would change anything, I just…I couldn’t imagine it, a-a future beside anyone but you.” 

Your chest pulls tight, and it is once again that overwhelming feeling of the night before, when he admitted to having asked for your hand before you left for Dragonstone. That feeling of flying on dragon back and falling, and landing harshly, and nearly missing a cliff. 

And the words, the accusation, to him or to yourself, you aren’t sure, rush past your lips,  

“You didn’t think of saying any of this sooner? Send a letter, something?” 

“And say what, exactly?” Aegon retorts, “That I asked to marry you, for a-a way to keep you, and was refused as if I were nothing but a boy asking for the impossible? That while you were away, forgetting me, I was still-…that I couldn’t forget? That’s all there is to it, I couldn’t forget.” 

Your eyes flicker between his, and he doesn’t bother hiding an old anger, an older hurt, and they both shine so clearly in his gaze now. Your breath stutters past your lips before any words an attempt to. 

“It wasn’t-…” 

“I told you, I wasn’t expecting it to change anything. I knew-…I know it changes nothing.” 

“And yet we are less than an hour away from our betrothal being announced.” 

“Your doing, not mine.” He retorts without missing a beat, and your short laugh does make a smile almost curve at his lips. It shouldn’t make you proud, the sight shouldn’t make you feel this strange yet welcomed nervousness. 

“If those ladies aren’t scorned lovers of yours, why the unsubtle attempt at keeping me from their company?” You ask, but more than ever it feels as if you’re playing a part. It is a familiar strategy to you, keeping a conversation going while you try to get a hold of yourself again. For the first time since you were sent away, you doubt you can. 

“The court isn’t…fond of me. Ladies like them, anyone here really, they’ll say things about me, things that are…true, even if I don’t want them to be,” He admits. Now it is you who is left looking at him while Aegon intently looks ahead. “If I can, I’d like to speak first. I just…I don’t want this to change.” 

The world has changed, long ago, for you. When you were forced to open your eyes to the truth of your and your brothers’ parentages, when you were promised your very life was at risk if your mother’s claim was not secured, when you were ordered into the Chamber of the Painted Table and instructed on what your use would be going forward and sent off to tour Westeros. 

The world changed, irrevocably, devastatingly, long ago, and it is no longer the world where you followed Helaena and Dreamfyre into the skies or the world where Aegon managed to make you laugh until you cried. The world has changed. 

The world has changed, and yet in your mind only lingers the recent knowledge that he refused to marry unless it was you, that you dedicated all you are and more to forget the foolish promises you made and he so carelessly held on to them, chose to remember them. Remember you. 

The world has changed, and yet he still feels familiar, he still seems to you the man you once knew, who could not keep a secret to save his life, who drank wine like it was a medicine drought, who managed to care deeply and not care at all in the same breath. 

And perhaps that is why you speak so carelessly now, so honestly now, 

“It doesn’t have to.” 

Silence lingers, and you are desperate for a way to fill it, to purge from your mind the thoughts that race in your head and the pointless feelings bubbling in your chest at Aegon’s admission that he refused to marry anyone else after he was denied a chance to marry you. But once again you find yourself uncertain on how to go on, on how to play. 

If Aegon is to say anything at all, it is stopped by a call from the Kingsguard for all to return inside the Keep, as the King is to join you all soon. 

The Kingsguard that made the announcement -you recognize him, he is the one sworn to Queen Alicent- bows once, but remains there, expectant, demanding. 

You and Aegon share a look, reminiscent of both that look as he took you to fly on Sunfyre for the first time, and of that last look as you mounted Vermithor and set to fly away to Dragonstone. 

___ 

You barely hear your grandsire’s words, though you do notice the way his voice is stronger, his frame standing taller, than the nights before. He welcomes the Houses to the Keep, he talks about years of strife in the House of the Dragon being put to rest, he announces your marriage to his eldest son, and yet you can only think about what Aegon so recklessly revealed to you. About what it means, about how he felt, about how he remembers you, about how he feels.

A part of you reminds you that when Lady Mysaria pushed you to marry Alasdair Tyrell, you constructed a lie and sent him off to conquer the Shield Islands in your name, to prove to her that you needn’t marry while at peace. That part of you reminds you that your threat to feed to Vermithor whoever they tried marrying you off to wasn’t a lie, that you meant it with everything that was left in you. 

The King collapses back into his seat, and even at the sight of his frailty the crowds continue in their cheer. Lady Mysaria explained to you long ago about the weight a full belly will have on the opinions of both noble and commoner, and how Viserys’ reign is but proof of that very fact. It is the reason she wanted you to marry a Tyrell, to secure the Reach, the most fertile region of the Realm. 

“I am no longer a young man, and it is no news to anyone that the years have weighed on me,” He admits, voice still somehow carrying in the cavernous room. A pale, bruised hand reaches for your mother’s, and he squeezes her hand in his before adding, “It will be Princess Rhaenyra, my daughter and heir, who will preside over the festivities to come in my stead.” 

The intention behind putting your mother, and not his wife or his Hand, as the one to act in his stead during the days to come is not lost on you, the support he once again reinstates over your mother and her claim impossible to ignore. 

You venture a glance at the Queen, and though you will admit she is not a bad player, she does not easily hide her emotions as well as other ladies of the court do. Yet now, neither surprise nor offense sour her expression, and you could swear there’s calm in the deep breath that rises and drops her shoulders. 

“I’ll endeavor to live up to your example, father.” 

“I shall hope these celebrations are only the beginning of a new age of joy and prosperity for us all,” He says, smile wide and kind. He turns to you and Aegon, and you stare back with wide eyes, because in your head resonates like a war drum, I couldn’t forget. “And I shall hope for a long and happy marriage for you both.” 

___ 

The Grand Maester sent word that the King would not be well enough to join you all at the dinner to welcome your family to the Keep, and though you truly wanted to ask what was the point of such dinner if your grandsire -the only one to wish for such a reunion- was not to be in attendance, you bit your tongue and let the handmaidens ready you for it. 

It is a striking difference, that of tonight and your first night here. Where before everyone was stiffly held to their seats by the presence of the King alone, now you walk into the room and find small clusters of people talking and joking with one another. It is a tad cruel, that the one so intent on uniting them has done nothing but create further division. 

Though, the division remains. Alicent and her father sit by one another and speak in hushed whispers, while your mother stands by the other end of the table with Rhaena and Princess Rhaenys. The rest are equally divided, with your father and Baela standing by a corner and observing them all carefully, your brothers sitting together and speaking with Vaemond and Corlys, and Alicent’s children standing together on the other end of the table. 

But at least now they look like people. Dreadful people, who make it horribly hard to tolerate them, much less love them, but people. Not figurines, as unmovable and as easily cracked as Viserys’ marble ones. 

At the errant thought that lingers on your grandsire’s model of Old Valyria, you find yourself eyeing the table, and you find, unsurprisingly, a napkin folded into the shape of a dragon. 

It seems you were the last to arrive, as they all move to sit now. You let the servants guide you to the middle of the long table, sitting you right in front of your mother and Queen Alicent.  

Baela takes the seat at your right, and you are grateful, for you are certain she knows as well as you that you will be sitting across from two women at war. 

Jacaerys approaches your left side, but Aegon is faster, and when your brother pulls back the chair, your betrothed sits on it before he can. 

Aegon turns to your brother with a mocking smile, and lifts his cup in a mock toast. 

“Thank you, nephew.” 

The taunt is childish, but it is enough to irritate Jace regardless. He shares a look with Baela, and moves to sit beside Aegon, while Helaena takes the last seat of this side of the table, sitting between Jace and Aemond, who sits at the head of the table. 

You watch as your mother and Alicent engage in yet another verbal battle, speaking in the language only those who once loved one another can speak; keeping you all a captive audience. 

She shouldn’t have come here, so far from the wedding. It was a mistake to come here, not to mention bringing Daemon and your brothers with her. 

Lucerys eyes the roasted pig brought to the table and then looks at Aemond with cruel mirth shining in his dark eyes. Thankfully your grandsire, the Sea Snake, has the good sense to smack him on the back of his head and snap him out of any foolish ideas about taunting your uncle before you see yourself in need to do the same. 

You are starting to think no one in this family has been capable of an intelligent choice or has formulated a coherent plan since your mother had you flee King’s Landing and left her father’s court to the Hightowers. And for the first time, you are glad you were sent away for those two years instead of being made to stay and try and manage this madness as Jace has been forced to do, the eldest in your absence. 

“I defy my own father’s counsel in permitting this union, Rhaenyra. Do not confuse my faults with those of the men of my blood, or I will extend the same courtesy to you.” 

Dark eyes flicker to Daemon, who answers to her implication with a mocking little giggle, leaning back on his chair and crossing his hands over his stomach. 

“It is not your father’s faults that make me wary, Your Grace,” Your mother argues, the title a reminder, and it is only then that you notice Alicent referred to her by her name. She continues, “But the cruelty and injustice you imposed on my children, for years on end.” 

Alicent’s brow furrows, eyes wide with the frenzied affront of that night in Driftmark. 

“You dare speak of cruelty, when your savage sons took Aemond’s eye?” 

“I do wish they would give me some credit. I did land a few good hits on him.” Baela, sitting by your side, mutters, quiet enough that only you hear. Still, you move your foot under the table and stomp on hers in reprimand.  

She answers with a little laugh that is entirely a mirror of her father’s, and you hiss a command for her to be quiet, but she grabs your hand in hers and, with laughter still clinging to her tone, issues quietly the High Valyrian for be calm, lykirī. 

Unaware of the small exchange between you and Baela, unaware, it seems, to the entire world beyond one another, your mother and Alicent go on in their argument, in their battle of words and of silences only themselves understand. 

Your mother’s smile is a lie, a mockery, as she shakes her head, dismissing, or perhaps refusing, whatever it is the Queen has said. Rhaenyra lifts the cup to her lips and takes a slow sip of wine, putting the cup down and only then speaking again, voice calm and yet cold. 

“You do not trust me, or my family. I understand this. It is why you wouldn’t marry Helaena to Jacaerys when I proposed it,” She turns to her oldest friend then, and a part of you wishes to berate her, to hide her then, because in your mother’s gaze there’s too much truth revealed. “Can you blame me for holding the same reservations as you did, now that I must entrust my daughter, my only daughter, to your care?” 

Alicent answers with the faintest shake of her head, as if the mere idea of what your mother fear is unthinkable. She adjusts her posture, unmoving again. Though not in the way a stone statue is unmoving, but in the way thin ice is.  

“A mother’s sins are not her daughter’s.” 

Whatever it is your mother is to answer with, if anything at all, is interrupted by Daemon’s laughter, cold and mocking. 

“How easily you change your tune, now that the noose tightens around your neck.”  

Alicent’s expression sours in disgust at the mere sound of Daemon’s voice, and she refuses to entertain his accusation with a response. Her eyes, warm and sad, linger on your mother for a few breaths, before she abandons the fight and straightens in her seat. 

Your mother shouldn’t have come here, not when she longs for peace yet the man at her side dreams of bloodied hands placing a crown upon her brow; not when her sons and Alicent’s long for violence and chaos as young men are allowed to; not when all she has done, all any of them have done, is pull you in warring directions, demanding and demanding and demanding. 

You down the last of your wine, resting your empty cup on the table and drumming your nails restlessly on the glass. 

Leaning closer to Laena’s oldest who sits at your left, you gesture with your chin at an open window. 

“If I were to fling myself from that window, you gather Vermithor is fast enough to catch me before I reach the ground?” You ask Baela, who hides a smile behind her cup as she lifts it to take a sip from her wine. 

Your jest with your sister is interrupted as someone leans closer to you. You turn to watch as Aegon, sitting beside you and pitcher of wine in hand, refills your cup. 

“No, but Sunfyre might be,” He answers, as if it were him you asked that question to. At your look, he shrugs, though a smile plays at his lips. “Just say the word.” 

Stupidly, more carelessly than you should allow yourself, you find yourself smiling back as you watch him lean back in his chair. 

Your smile falls when you turn to see the expectant face of your half-sister, who stares with wide eyes and raised brows. Baela demands an explanation without even parting her lips, and you merely shrug in response. 

Uncomfortable silence falls upon you all once again as your mother’s and Alicent’s quarrel comes to an end for now. You lean closer to Baela again and whisper, 

“What does it say of me, that I am considering the offer?” 

“I know not what it says about you, but it says quite a lot about this horrid evening.” 

You lean back in your seat, eyeing the people in the room, forced together by the wishes and fantasies of a dying man, bound together more so by the shared wounds that the shared love or blood. 

“First of many.” 

“Could I convince you to marry Aegon in the ways of our House and save us all from this circus?” Baela prompts. Dark eyes divert over your shoulder, and apparently deeming it safe enough, she adds, quieter, “Or to kill him? Either way, I can gift you the dragonglass for the deed.” 

She draws a short laugh from you. 

“It concerns me that you have come armed.” 

Your half-sister turns to you, a truly affronted look in her eyes, and whispers, “It concerns me that you haven’t. If I am to leave you here, I would do so knowing you have the means to protect yourself.” 

You shrug, “I have Vermithor.” 

“He doesn’t fit in a dining room.” 

“And I need no protection when breaking bread, cousin.” 

Baela’s smile makes her eyes narrow, and she clinks her glass against yours as she advices,  

“You should ease on the wine. Usually you can lie better than that.” 

“Shouldn’t you be tormenting my brother about trade in Spicetown? Or about those dignitaries from Asshai you mentioned?” You ask with a tired sigh, but still a slow smile curves at your own lips. 

“Shouldn’t you be walking about, charming hosts and guests alike? Almost two years of one diplomatic visit after another, I doubt you spent them like this.” 

“There was something I wanted from those Lords and Ladies. All I want from our family is an uneventful evening.” 

She scoffs, “You’ll sooner bring The Cannibal to heel.” 

The tension between your mother and Alicent seems to lessen, or at the very least become more manageable, as the dinner goes on. The room is filled with the murmur of ongoing conversations, and you are enjoying some pastry with what tastes like candied figs within it when Baela leans closer again and talks by your ear. 

“Speaking of tormenting your brother,” Baela motions with her chin towards your left side. “I gather he’s much better at it than I.” 

You turn to follow her gaze, and find Aegon leaning closer to your brother, who sits straight, frame coiled with tension. Aegon mutters something only your brother can hear, gesturing with his hand, elbow resting on the table. 

“You will hold your tongue when speaking of my sister, or I will cut it off.” Jace threatens, but it seems to fall flat, for Aegon doesn’t even move away, and the sly smile on his lips only grows. 

“I’ll still have my fingers,” Aegon replies with a shrug that only makes your brother further enraged. “Not to mention my c-…” 

“Please stop talking.” Helaena interrupts, nose furrowed in disgust. 

To your surprise, Otto Hightower laughs at his granddaughter’s words, with more warmth you ever believed him capable off. You don’t think you ever remember hearing him laugh before. 

Your disbelief only grows when the Lord Hand move his chair slightly closer to his daughter’s to make room for Helaena to sit beside him and opposite of Aegon and Jace, an offer the Princess takes without a moment of hesitation. 

Jace keeps his eyes on the table before him, both hands on the table and curled into fists, “Cease playing the jester, Aegon. All here know that the mere idea that a man like you is to wed my sister is enough of a joke.” 

“Jace.” Your mother attempts, but you doubt even she believes her attempt at chastising your brother. 

“Our family has wed us to one another for generations. To keep our bloodline pure,” Prince Aemond points out, eye sharp as it focuses on your brother. “I don’t expect you to understand, nephew, but-…” 

“What is it you are implying?” 

“Hm,” He muses, gaze piercing, calculating. “I mean only to point out that you and your sister weren’t married, as Baelon and Alyssa, as Jaehaerys and Alysanne were. It is quite apparent to me why, is it not to you?”

Jace moves to stand, and Aemond refuses to let the challenge go unanswered, returning the cup to the table to welcome your brother’s advance with empty hands.  

Looking across the table at your father, you silently beg him to interfere, but Daemon is entirely too preoccupied with Aemond, assessing him as who looks at a cyvasse table to plan their next move. 

“Speak these falsehoods at your peril, uncle.” 

“What falsehoods, hm?” He taunts, his cruelty sharp and honed like a sword, “We are family, both by bonds of blood and of marriage now. Isn’t it time we stop pretending?” 

A chair screeches against the wooden floor as Luke moves to stand as well, to defend himself as well, to answer to insult with violence. With a moment of hesitation with trepidation widening her dark eyes, Rhaena stands as well. 

“Sit.” Baela hisses the command, and to your surprise both of them obey without question. You’ve seen soldiers follow orders slower. 

It is only when he sits back down that you notice Aegon too was moving to stand, no doubt to defend his brother. You look at him with raised brows, and he answers to your unspoken question as to why he obeyed your Baela’s command with a gesture of his hands as if to say what else he is supposed to do. 

Amidst the tension and the madness, you find yourself resisting the urge to laugh, and shake your head, looking away from him. You notice the smile on his lips, though, even as he too turns his attention back to Baela. 

With one last glance spared at Rhaena and Luke, it is then that Baela turns her attention to Aemond. 

She has mastered the mocking and belittling look her father directs at his children whenever they defy him, and the slight smirk curving at her lips only manages to add insult to injury. 

Aemond shifts in his place, but refuses to give any ground. Instead of recognizing her challenge, her taunt, he turns his attention to your brother again. 

“Now your brother and stepsisters fight to defend you, nephew?” 

“It does your skill a disservice, My Prince, if you believe this a fight at all,” Baela retorts, the grace of her mother and the venom of her father. The way her eyes remain relentlessly trained on Aemond reminds you of a bird of prey on a hunt. “And a disservice to your family, if you mean to imply it is dishonorable that we defend our own.” 

A mocking little hm leaves Aemond’s lips, one-eyed gaze flickering between your brother and Baela. 

“You might wish to reconsider who you consider your own, My Lady,” He taunts. A breath, two, and then his sharp gaze turns to you, before he adds, “As your sister did.” 

“Excuse me?” You ask, but neither care for an argument about your true parentage, and to be honest, neither do you. It is only a few moments later that you understand the implication in his words, that you hear the certainty that your marriage to Aegon will earn them your loyalty. 

Baela scoffs, “You are more of an imbecile than I thought if you believe that.” 

“Baela!” Princess Rhaenys chastises, but she cares not for it. 

Aemond answers with mocking laugh that only enrages her further. 

The Queen reaches over the table and grasps for her son, fingers digging like claws into his arm as she hisses some words you do not hear. It seems he doesn’t either, for he shakes off his mother’s grip and turns to face your half-sister. 

“I see you do not deny it your shared blood with the Princess. Good for you, My Lady,” Aemond’s gaze turns from Baela to your brother, and a cruel twist of his lips aids the venom to drip from his words, “My dear nephew here could stand to learn to be prouder of his family.” 

What feels like a dozen voices start speaking at once then, accusations and insults from both sides, the elder voices -the voices at fault for this madness, attempting to bring hounds to heel long after they’ve tasted blood- attempting in vain to speak over the chaos. 

And in that moment, you are five and ten once again, Luke’s nose has been broken and Aemond’s eye taken, the smell of blood lingers in the air and shrill little voices argue, shouting over one another; and the King calls for silence but they don’t listen, bloodthirsty little beasts, what is left of children after a lifetime of licking their inherited wounds.  

But it has been years since then, and the wounds are now their own, made by their own hands and adorning their own bodies, in some more evidently than in others. They remain, however, as bloodthirsty as before. 

A passing comment by Otto Hightower is enough to make Daemon’s fist hit the table, and the two engage one another, trading verbal blows with a practice older than any of their children; while Vaemond Velaryon’s reaction to Aemond’s accusations make Corlys chastise his brother, starting yet another argument. 

A low call of your name draws your attention from the chaos erupting on every corner of this room, and you turn to your left to find Aegon has stood from the table, and is offering a hand to you. 

“Huh?” Your eyes dart between his hand and his eyes. He smiles, expectant and daring. 

He motions with his head to a small door the servants have used to come and go, an invitation. 

You only realized you have made your choice, that you let your hand slip into the offered hold of is, when you are being pulled into standing, when you are fighting back laughter as amidst the chaos you let him guide you out of the room and into the servant halls that run through the Keep. 

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright, and at least worth the wait!

Also, to make this shorter I had to cut the “reunion” between Reader and Rhaenyra and Jace. If you’d like to read that, drop an ask or something and I’ll post it.

Next Chapter >>

Taglist: @21-princess @mrs-starkgaryen @nymeriiiia @akari-rioan @dottie-witch

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Could I request Aemond x a civilian reader that’s more or less been adopted into Rhaenyra’s family? Like she originally grew up on a farm of some sorts so she still has a lot to learn, a quick talker and often somethings blurting out things that she should think about before saying.

She’s with Jace and Luke when the family comes back for the lil “family reunion,” and ends up seeing Aemond for the first time during his training. She’s already been made aware of who he is, but she certainly isn’t expecting a hot blonde. Which prompts her to blurt out “you didn’t tell me your uncle was hot” during that tense little stare down. Everyone is mortified, but instead of being irrated, Aemond finds her boldness amusing, and her innocent oblivious quite cute. And having there own little dance alongside Hal and Jace during that rare moment of peace.

I just think Aemond deserves some love

The farm princess and the rough sapphire

Aemond x civilian reader warning : fluff, kiss, comfort, dysfunctional family, no use of Y/n Summary : In the entire Targaryen dynasty history, there has only been one record of an adoption from outside the family, a former civilian child now grown into the mockingly named Farm Princess finds herself with her adoptive sibling at the royal court and is not ashamed to admit her admiration and especially feelings for a certain one-eyed prince...where will this lead?

info : I'm so sorry that you had to wait so long dear anon i hope you like the story, it was really really fun to write and others too have fun reading and thank you for the request :)

ps : Aemond deserves every love and Jace+Hel were so cute

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The dnyaste of the dragonrider family of the house of targaren was no millennia old, starting with Daenerys the dreamer, the woman who would change a whole continent in the future with their reign and the dragons the family brought with her.

From the initial three conquerors, the battles began within their own family and continued for more or less a century after Ageon's conquest until the reign of King Viserys, the first of his name, and his second wife Alicent.

Slowly they began to fporm themselves there, but this was a matter for the future, whereas his daughter, the jewel of the realm, had problems of her own in love and at court. The former friendship long forgotten, her kind heart had found feelings and emotions in motherhood when she gave birth to her first son Jacaerys, only a few years younger than his uncle Aegon, her half-brother.

But shortly thereafter, as the princess established her own lineage, uprisings began outside King's Landing, uprisings of renegades of savages ravaging the inhabitants, matters the crown would settle with common soldiers, except that they were not common people.

Wild dragons ravaged the land, and village after village came to claim their people, ,,We want compensation! Someone must do something!" cried the crowds of commoners and for the first time in history, the king was stricken by his illness, Rhaenyra turned away from her former friend, now queen, and her stepmother, the Targayren princess and heiress to the throne won the hearts of all as she flew to the burning remains on her golden dragon Syrax and took from them the one survivor.

Her adopted daughter, the third princess of the realm after Helaena, the farm princess, was given the title of a girl of the same young age as her son, but a child who had had different beginnings.

A girl who had looked at her with wide eyes and had given orders to Syrax to give to the dragon and Rhaenyra couldn't help but laugh, ,,You are quite a dragon" she is said to have said when she had put the child on her dragon and had gnawed the streets of King's Landing.

The people loved her new princess and treated her not only with love but also with hope for better times...but all this was a long time ago seconds, days, months and years turned into another decade and after a long time the naughty child grew into a pretty but not quite noble young woman.

,,Who needs dragons when you have the people and a pitchfork?" she had once said as she watched her brothers tame Vermax and Arrax and Aegon and Helaena also got their dragons, her mother had Syrax and her uncle had Caraxes even the princess Rhaenys had Meylys and her adoptive father had Seasmoke only she didn't have a dragon but somehow she didn't want one either.

She didn't have dragon blood, she wasn't even a bastard child she was adopted through her body so she knew the blood flowed from farmers who had been there for generations and were in the service of the crown she was the highest of the people on the streets but a dragon no.

,,Remember brothers, one should never underestimate the population like the ravens and the grain" she had said to Jace and Luce who were training the komandos with their dragons in Valyrian which she understood but hardly cared about how? She realized that she loved her family above all and was grateful to them.

Rhaenyra had saved her life, but politically or even family-wise she was worthless, ,,You are my daughter, my flame, my pretty dragon, don't you dare think otherwise" her mother always instructed her and gave her small gifts in the form of dragon or flame embroidered clothes and as much as she wore them for her family she also accepted the simpler clothes or those on which grain, wagons and other simple things were embroidered.

But as much as this life was beautiful, it was different when they went back to the city that had been the greatest for her since she could remember, ,,King's Landing! A disgusting city but my home!" she exclaimed as she clung to Rhaenyra's back as she flew towards the city with her mother she usually rode with the heiress to the throne her mother wanted to make her feel like a dragon at least and she enjoyed this with cheers and thankful hugs.

,,There's our home," Rhaenyra murmured and had to smile slightly when they flew over the dragon pit a few months later and landed there, but this was also quickly resolved and before the Targayren could pay attention to her daughter, the young woman had already disappeared on a horse she had been given as compensation for a dragon.

,,I'm in the inner courtyard, mother, don't worry!" she had shouted before the black horse had left and Rhaenyra could only shake her head slightly and face her family while her daughter searched for her brothers Jace and Luce.

It took a few minutes to get from the dragon pit to the inner courtyard, but on the way she was recognized by some of the inhabitants, who greeted her and enjoyed a little of the city's interior. It was really good to see familiar simplicity again and not always just Dragonstone, the castle of "her" ancestors, at least the ancestors who made everything possible for her.

With a grateful thought to her loving mother, however, she reached the courtyard and stopped her horse which was taken from her by a stable boy, but looking around she soon saw the crowd gathered around someone and she caught sight of two dark heads of hair, ,,Dragon tamer brothers! I've missed you!" she shouted stormily.

She hurried to the weapons display where she embraced her brothers, they had all grown older since the days of toys and wooden swords, they each carried real steel and she also preferred to have at least one bread knife hidden in her pencil, an old habit.

,,How nice that you're here, dear sister," Jace said and Lucerys nodded in agreement, the girl was thrilled to have someone else here, an adopted princess and three bastard children was a daring combination but they had somehow managed to keep the rumors at bay so far.

Just as she was about to vent about Jace's hair, she heard the clapping and tense murmuring and turned to the crowd standing around the two fighting, ,,Say, who's fighting there? " she asked and pointed with her finger, which was immediately taken down by Jace who tried to make them all look good, ,,Ser Criston Cole from the Kingsguard and our uncle Aemond" Luce said, who must have been watching the situation closely while his older brother was still at arms.

,,Aemond, you say," she murmured to her thoughts, vaguely remembering the quiet boy with whom she had spoken and played from time to time until they chased each other with earthworms and other crawling things and Alicent the queen stopped them because a peasant daughter should not play with a prince, but she did not stop her from going up and watching with her brothers. And what she saw amazed her.

Gone was the little boy, a young man stood there with long straight Targaryen light hair, a dark eye patch that hid the injury he had received from his brother. Fine sharp features and a lean but muscular body she could frame where the fabric allowed.

He was a god in her eyes, ,,You didn't tell me your uncle was hot," she simply spoke her thoughts openly as Aemond twirled the sword around as she was commanded to do so but his gaze, the gaze of his violet eyes was clear on her and the smile seemed almost pleased and amused at the same time.

A few of the crowd snapped indignantly at such vulgarity while Jace made himself small and Luce tried to hide slightly under his coat. So much for not doing anything.

But this seemed to be just the beginning when they were invited to a family dinner a few hours after the "incident" in the courtyard. Everyone was supposed to be on their best behavior, a time of peace in what was probably the last few months for her adoptive grandfather, her king, whom she never called her grandfather even though he had always insisted on it.

Viserys always had a smile for her, no matter when she told him about simple farm things or excitedly about armor, he liked his adoptive princess and did not despise her, ,,I am glad to see my family, my whole family here, living and happy like this, an old man who cares a lot," he finished his speech and even if he seemed to be in pain, it was something that made her smile, she was glad that Viserys thought he appreciated it and she held out a goblet to her king for the symbolic toast, which Aegon answered with an almost mocking laugh.

The prince had probably already poured too much into the cup anyway, she smelled his alcoholic fumes at several hundred meters and her comment, ,,Maybe you should be in a barrel instead of just the cup" only seemed to have pissed him off more and he gave her a warning look and tried her other family members instead.

While she had initially chatted with Baela and Rhaena about fishing and ships, she had given Lucerys courage as they drank and Jace had teased her about his hairstyle, she barely noticed the looks from the Queen, the Hand and Aegon. Looks of distaste, looks of no acceptance, ,,A truly exceptional round, Lord Husband," the brown-haired woman muttered, earning a warning look from Rhaenyra, who was about to stand up for her daughter when Jace slammed on the table over Aegon's comment.

The circle seemed to fall silent and again they didn't quite know what was going to happen next, ,,A round of peasant blood," Aegon muttered into his goblet, rolling his eyes and looking a lot more like his mother.

However, only seconds later he choked on it as the said farm princess threw a piece of bread at him and he looked like he was about to walk over to her when Aemond stood in his way and pushed his brother aside to get closer to the princess. She gave Aegon one last scowl of surprise before looking to Aemond in wonder, ,,Would my dear princesses dance with me?" he asked, seeming to want to join his sister and her nephews who were dancing.

Accepting his offer with a nod, ,,I'd love to, Aemond," she smiled at him dnakably and let herself be pulled out onto the open floor, about to start something wilder when she suddenly felt his other hand on her hip, paused, looked at him a little uncertainly and leaned towards him, ,,I can't do the Targaryen dance" she whispered and heard him smirk a little, seeing that he was no longer wearing an eye cap the darkness of his sapphire eye fascinated her and only made him look even more beautiful ,,Don't worry let me be your leading chariot" he said with a nod and seemed at least relieved that she didn't find him ugly like other ladies-in-waiting at the castle.

Relaxing, he began to move slightly, his own steps a veritable dragon dance as she guided the fire that seemed to be the sword he gently wielded around her, her dress making the movements look more fluid. ,,The sapphire suits you, Aemond," she murmured softly, feeling the brief twitch of his hand, his eye glancing briefly to the ground and lingering briefly on her lips before he thanked her as he spun her around and the two of them attempted a little dragon dance of their own, somewhat like Jace and Helaena.

Aemond with his polite dragon dance and she with her wild twirls and wide arm movements as they all danced together at the village festivals it was funny and their laughter could be heard over and over again as they touched hands and completely ignored the looks of the others that went from fascination to pride until the piece was over.

They both found each other one last time and held each other as the music became a little quieter again and they looked at each other, Aemond bowed and placed a kiss on the back of her hand, a gesture that made her heart beat faster and she stifled a giggle.

Before she simply responded, ,,Thank you my rough sapphire," she whispered and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek before sitting back down and taking a large sip from her goblet to calm her nerves but at least she had behaved in her own way.

And who knows, maybe the farm princess would end up with a dragon after all, a rough dragon from Saphier who appreciated her wares and together they could form a kingdom of outsiders together in love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — TEEN DAD! GOJO x FEM READER

Gojo realizes that adopting Megumi doesn’t just entail calling himself a DILF as a joke. It has responsibility. He doesn’t know how to live with that.

wc — 1k

tags — hurt/comfort, coping with recent chapters/leaks, spoilers for anime onlys, title from Runaway by Aurora, somewhere in the timeline of teen dad gojoverse, in which you and Gojo raise Megumi together  

Gojo doesn’t see the point of road trips. He can get there and back in an instant, so there’s no point. 

But you like commutes, and Megumi likes what you like, so it’s two to one. Gojo tries to angle for his vote counting as three, being the savior of the Jujutsu world and all, but Megumi is already climbing in the car without him. If there’s anything Gojo hates more in the world than being ignored, it’s being left out, so he’s climbing in too, acting as if it was his plan all along. 

Halfway in, Gojo cracks like you knew he would. Somehow, road trips are just the perfect vehicle for heart-to-heart conversations. The monotony of the highways create an itch for vulnerable conversations. That, and Gojo has a bad habit of blurting out whatever’s on his mind anyway. He’s never learned the meaning of the word filter. 

“I don’t know how to be a dad,” Gojo admits. “I don’t even know if I want to be one.”

You turn to double check that Megumi’s actually asleep before you give him an admonishing look. He should’ve checked first. 

“See,” he says. “This is what I mean.” 

“It’s okay, Satoru,” you say. “We’re still learning. This is new.”

“I’m not ready. I don’t think I’ll ever be.” 

“Me neither,” you admit. “I’m so scared I’m going to mess this up.” 

Gojo laughs. “And here I thought you knew everything.” 

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you. It stretches for a few miles as you turn the conversation over in your head, trying to think through the answer. 

“How do we do this?” Gojo whispers. “This is a kid. I can’t- what I usually do isn’t going to work. If we fuck up, we fuck him up.”

You know what he means. Every mistake feels irreversible. Some days, you want nothing more than to take Megumi back to campus and demand Yaga do something about it, even though you feel guilty immediately afterwards. This responsibility weighs heavy on your shoulders. 

“I don’t know, Satoru. We just have to try. The other option-“ 

“There’s no other option,” he says, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m not giving him to the Zenins. He deserves to be a kid.” 

“I agree with you.” 

“Sorry. I know you wouldn’t. I just- Sorry.” 

Without looking, you reach over and pat his knee lightly, accepting his apology. It’s alright. You understand. 

He’s silent for a while. Then he says, “You missed the exit.” 

It throws off your calculations for estimated arrival by nearly thirty whole minutes, but somehow Gojo finds that he doesn’t mind, even though this is the perfect opportunity for him to say I told you so. 

Megumi is still sleeping in the back when you stop. Gojo opens the passenger door just in time to catch him as he slumps forward, having been leaning against it. He stirs a little, but goes right back to sleep after twitching like a puppy. 

“Come on,” he coaxes, “time to get up. We’re here.” 

Megumi snuffles a little. He must still be half asleep, because he raises his head just enough to place himself over Gojo’s shoulder and wrap his arms around his neck. Megumi’s still young. He still remembers what it’s like to be carried by his father, especially when he’s dreaming. 

Gojo freezes, caught in this awkward hug that Megumi would never willingly be giving while awake. You laugh at the face he’s making. Carefully, gently, one hand goes to Megumi’s back. He scoops him up to carry him out of his seat, holding him as you lock the car. 

Somewhere in the future, Gojo Satoru steps onto the battlefield and knows he’s going to have to kill his boy. He only hopes to bring his body home for Yuuji, for the woman he loves, and for himself. Megumi deserves at least that much from him. 

Here, in the present, Gojo cradles this little body in his arms, more fragile than anything he’s ever been allowed to hold before, and feels his heart swell with an emotion he can’t quite name. All he can do is hold on, gripping your hand as he gives himself over to a force greater than himself for the first time. 

There’s a rising sense of panic in his throat. He’s never been in charge of something so small. It feels as if he’s holding the world in the palm of his hands and it terrifies him. He looks at you, pleading. Asking you to take it from him. It’s too much. 

He’s the strongest, but his heart feels stretched to its limits. It’s hard to breathe with how much he feels in this moment, overwhelming love and a desire to protect. He wants to keep this thing safe from everything in the world that could hurt it. He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling - it hurts. 

It hurts so good. 

This pain is the most beautiful thing he’s ever felt in his whole life. It’s a holy kind of hurt. It feels like Toji sticking the knife through his throat if he had willingly lowered his head and let it happen. He’s so scared of it, drowning in a riptide he can’t control. He wants you to save him from himself. 

He needs you to take this away from him. 

This is something he would ruin himself for. He can’t bear it. 

You press closer, laying your head on his other shoulder as you wrap your arms around them both. He’s breathing shallowly, trying not to disturb the quiet dreamer in his arms. The burden is enormous, but you don’t take it from him. You shoulder it with him, letting yourself fall into the current too. 

It’s humbling to be trapped by a force that Gojo had always thought he would be free from. The first time was bad enough. He had never wanted to experience it again, especially not like this. He made himself strong so he wouldn’t have to feel that vulnerability ever again. 

Even the strongest makes mistakes. This feeling is inescapable.

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 1

Title: Same coin, different faces

PAIRING: Bang Chan x Reader

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: Despite not being together with Chan anymore, you somehow end up in the back of his car...fogging up the windows.

TAGS: pre-established breakup trope, swearing, a dash of angst but also a hint of resolve, mentions of alcohol (neither the reader nor Chan is drunk), a bit of manhandling by both parties, oral sex (reader receiving), car sex, unprotected, sort of hate/rough sex. 

MASTERLIST - KINKTOBER LIST

(This is currently unedited but I will be proofing it later on)

It wasn’t as fun as you had hoped it to be, a party that is. Given it was the end of the semester, people usually prefer to go all out - which they did, but you weren’t feeling it. There were far too many people off of their faces, including your entire friend group that you showed up with.

Two of them were playing drinking games in the kitchen, one of them - Minho, who had completely disappeared for the past few hours, and another one who had found himself someone to hook up with. 

In the end, you were on your own for the remainder of the party. After having found a way into the lounge through the masses of people attending and remained on the couch, watching those around you for a while, you decided to get back up and grab a drink. There wasn’t an entire selection to choose from; either warm beer or cheap wine, which you grab from the latter and pour some in a plastic cup to try and fit in with everyone else. 

The briny taste of the wine was enough to make you think that maybe it was time to go home. It wasn’t fun, interesting, nor a good way to spend your time on a Friday night. Before being able to make the decision to leave, you find yourself planted on the ground when your eyes catch onto a familiar figure amongst the people. 

Chan. Your ex-boyfriend - your ex-best friend at that too. 

It was a surprise to see him given that he isn’t really a party goer, but also a surprise to see him in general after the pair of you went through such a tumultuous breakup a month ago. Things just didn’t work out the way they were supposed to which was unfortunate because Chan is one of a kind.

There isn’t anybody like him that exists in this world. He’s gentle, caring, and has a bottomless well of love to give. Now that you’re not together anymore, you know that whoever he ends up with in the future is well taken care of. 

“Hi,” Chan says, walking up to you. 

“Hey,” you respond back, unsure of how to actually talk to him now. “What are you doing here?” 

Chan sighs, looking at the screen of his phone momentarily then turning his attention back to you, “trying to find Minho. I’m here to pick him up, but I can’t find him. Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him for the past couple of hours,” you answer. “I highly doubt he’s actually here still.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, “course he’s not.”

“He probably went to Jisung’s at some point,” you add.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he replies before his eyes peer down at the plastic cup. “Drinking? That’s not like you.” 

“It’s the end of the semester,” you say in your own defence. “I was trying to finish off strong.”

“Right. Have you got a ride home then?” 

Your eyes dart beyond Chan to ‘your ride home’ who has probably now consumed half of his body weight in alcohol. Chan catches your gaze, turns around and sees Seungmin throwing back another shot with a couple of strangers, presumably his classmates.

Chan sighs once more and faces you again, “don’t tell me he was supposed to sober drive.” 

“He won’t be now,” you respond. 

“Okay well, I can drop you off. Minho’s not replying and he’s probably not here, plus I’m getting tired,” he offers. 

You ponder for a moment. Since Chan had come up to you, you hadn’t felt that sting of pain that a breakup usually induces. Not since the day you both called it quits on the relationship. But that’s only because things were never awkward with him. It’s only until now that you realise how depleting life has been without him. It’s not colourful anymore. 

It’s an issue because you don’t want to be reminded of what you don’t have anymore. Sometimes, the best things can be the worst for us. 

“It’s okay, thank you though,” you decline respectfully. “I might tell the others to get ready to head off.” 

“And who’s going to drive them? You?” He asks with a brow raised then shakes his head with disapproval. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Not that much,” you retort. “I’m not even tipsy, plus I don’t want to leave them behind.”

“Seems like they left you behind,” Chan points out a very good point which you find hard to not be in denial about. 

He takes the plastic cup out of your hand and places it on the nearest surface cluttered with other discarded items. He then returns back to you to gently take hold of your wrist and leads you out of the lounge full of people. 

“Wait-”

“I’m not letting you drive under the influence, end of story,” he decides. 

With that matter in hand, you’re quickly reminded that Chan has always had a strong head on his shoulders and his morals are very clear cut. He held reasonably strong opinions on doing unnecessarily dangerous things, particularly when it comes to you. It happened to be one of the poisonous factors that pierced the final dagger into the relationship. 

The cold air then hits you when you both make it out into the front yard. 

“I can walk thank you,” you say to Chan who forgets that he’s still holding your wrist. He looks down at his hand and releases. 

“Sorry,” he apologises. “Car’s this way.”

He leads you once more just across the street to the vehicle while you think about the fact that you never actually agreed you were going to accept his offer to take you home. In saying that, there was no other alternative other than walking which Chan wouldn’t have put up with anyway. 

The pair of you hop in his car, finally able to catch a break from the blaring music that was blasting throughout the house. After both of your seatbelts are on, Chan starts the car and drives away down the street. 

It’s not long until silence falls quickly. Things had never been this terribly awkward between you both, but there had been pockets of quietness which used to be comfortable to sit in. Now you can see that it’s not as nice. 

“So what have you been up to these days?” Chan asks out of the blue, breaking that silence. 

“Nothing interesting I guess,” you answer blandly. “Just studies and that’s it.” 

He nods, “how’s that going so far?”

“Fine, I suppose.”

Chan lets out a small huff, “you know, it’s still okay for us to talk right? We don’t need to be so hostile.”

The glow of your phone from your lap catches your attention away from his comment. You blink down at the screen and read a text from Felix. 

Lix: ‘Saw you leave with Chan. Please tell me you’re both back on.’ 

You roll your eyes. You love Felix, but sometimes he can be too optimistic. There wasn’t any way you and Chan were going to find your way back to each other. If anything, it wouldn’t be the same anymore. 

“I wasn’t being hostile, plus there’s not much to my answer anyway unless you want me to lie?” You respond back.

“No, I don’t want you to lie,” Chan adjusts his tight grip on the steering wheel. “But you speaking just proves my point on why we shouldn’t act like that.” 

You turn your head, shooting him a well-deserved glare. This isn’t usually how Chan acts. He never says backhanded things as such even though he can be relatively blunt. Whatever subtle malice was behind his words obviously came from the same place that helped the relationship tear apart. 

“This is why we never worked out because you always had to have some degree of control,” you scoff, ignoring the fact that you’ve now doused the flicker of the argument with petrol.

“I was only doing what I though was safest for you,” Chan argues back strongly. “It was never about having any type of control, it was because you couldn’t see what the consequences were.” 

“Then why couldn’t you have let me figure it out for myself? How else am I supposed to learn, when you’re not here anymore?” 

“You, driving drunk isn’t something that you just learn not to do. You don’t do it, full stop. Anyone with common sense knows that,” Chan bites back. 

“I’m not even talking about that! When have I ever driven drunk? Now you’re just fucking reaching for things! All I’m saying is that it didn’t matter how much time I spent with you, I never got to be my own person. It was like I was turning into another ‘you’.”

Chan shrugs, “in comparison to what you can be like sometimes, I honestly don’t think that’s so much of a bad thing.” 

The last nerve inside you, had been struck.

“Stop the car, I’m getting out.” 

“No, we’re nearly at your h-”

“I don’t care Chris, I seriously don’t want to be anywhere near you right now,” you cut him off sharply, not wanting to hear another word come out of his mouth. 

Chan looks over at you, absorbing how painfully angry you look right now and the fact that your hand is on the door handle, ready to bolt as soon as he pulls over. It was fairly obvious because once he did, you were out of the vehicle before he could say anything more. But as fast as you are out the door, Chan is already on the other side to meet you. 

“Don’t go home angry,” he says urgently. 

You shoot him a dirty look, thinking who the hell is he to tell you what to do, “or what?”

“Well can we at least talk then?” He questions, trying to grasp onto some common ground here. 

With as much force as you can muster, your arms come up to shove Chan by the chest, “fuck you.”

He stumbles back a few steps and is not as nearly as surprised as you are by your own behaviour. Never has anyone elicited as much of a reaction from you until now. The shock has you to the point where you can barely assemble an apology to Chan. Even so when he comes back forward, grabbing you by the sides of your arms, and shoving you right back against his own car. 

Before either of you say another word, his mouth crashes straight against yours. His swift hands are quickly groping and roaming in every place around your body that he can reach while you submit to his moves. You’ve forgotten how electrifying Chan can be at times when it comes to intimacy, that you really start to feel it when he slides his knee in between your thighs. 

You gasp against his lips, yelping almost when his hands reach behind you to squeeze your ass and to try to bring your body as impossibly close to his as he can. For a split second, you break away to consolidate what is happening. Chan remains latched onto you, his mouth now working its way to your jaw and down to your throat, sucking and biting into your skin. 

Neither of you care about whether or not he’s going to mark you up. All you care about at this point in time, is the hope that he’s going to fuck you. 

“The door…open the door,” you mumble to him, even though you’re trying to find the handle yourself. 

Even with the unshakeable frame of mind that he’s in right now, Chan listens to you. He pulls you forward with him so that he can yank the backdoor open. You hop onto the seat, pushing yourself backwards to the other side of the car to create room for him to join you. But Chan had his own idea planted already. 

He grabs you by the ankles and pulls you right back to the edge of the seat closest to him. His hands take pride in reaching underneath your skirt and tearing your underwear down your legs. 

He doesn’t even get the opportunity to fully take them off as they dangle on one leg. In saying that, it doesn’t take you very long to click onto what he wants to do. So you help him by doing your best to hike your skirt further up your thighs. Chan decides to take a few seconds to appreciate being able to relive this moment once more by using his thumb to swipe over your wet slit, collecting your juices only to bring it up to his mouth and suck it right off. 

“Fucking missed this,” he speaks for the first time in about five minutes before lifting both of your legs and separating them for his head to slot in perfectly between. 

The fan of his hot breath washes over your skin, already making your squirm forward towards his mouth. It’s been a long time since someone had touched you and Chan could tell. He knows how needy you can be, but not when you’re like this. Not when you’re straining to reach for the back of his head to pull him closer to your pussy. Not when you’re already moaning when he’s barely touched you.

Not when you’re wetter than what he usually thinks you are.

“Y-Yes…right there,” you sigh out and lie back down, waiting eagerly. 

One of your hands threads through his dark hair and tugs every time he sucks on your clit. Shivers of pleasure reverberate throughout your body, already making your legs tremble on his shoulders. If anyone were to drive past, you know you and Chan would get done for public indecency. Except that devious consequence became an elicit far away thought drowned out by your own moans the more Chan continued to eat you out. 

The best thing about it is that he’s not going easy on you. He’s being deceptively rough by digging his nails into your thighs and showing zero remorse when he relentlessly licks over that same sweet spot. The more work he puts into trying to make you cum, the harder he gets in his pants, straining at this point.

“P-Please Chan, hurry,” you cry out, trying to sit up and slide down further into his mouth. “Need to cum, please.”

When your begging and moaning become increasingly louder and more frequent, Chan knows you’re on the cusp of an orgasm. However, as much as he used to enjoy you cumming on his face, the idea of you cumming on his cock is just as good, if not better. So just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Chan pulls back. 

You blink in amongst the haziness of what was about to be a mind shattering orgasm to see Chan who’s head had lifted up from in between your legs. His mouth and chin were covered in your juices, and is completely unashamed about it. 

“You can just fucking wait,” he snaps and begins to adjust your legs so that he makes sure they cage his body at his sides, that way he can grab onto your thighs and fuck you hard and steady. 

Although you can barely see, you hear the zipper to his pants open before he takes out his cock, hard and ready to put it to use on you. You bite down on your bottom lip when Chan uses his tip to tease your entrance. He pushes his hips forward, enough to make his cock slide up and in between your pussy. 

Chan’s shaky hand manages to get a proper hold around his dick, aligning it with your wet hole, and slowly pushes in as the heat begins to encapsulate around his length. The top half of his body nearly falters forward if it weren’t for his hips that thrust forward first. 

“Chris…” you mutter in an aspirated voice, feeling the fullness of his cock stretch you out.  

There is no forewarning for the strength he has behind each buck of his hips. It takes you back to times before during your relationship and how deliciously memorable the sex always was. Chan’s main priority was to always make you cum first and regardless of his own needs and pleasure. Whether you misbehaved or were being an outright undeserving brat in bed, even then he would still let you cum. That’s how much he loved you. 

“Nobody can ever fuck you the way I do,” Chan grits his teeth, his eyes watching his cock disappear inside of you each time he rams forward, hard and fast. 

Every second that goes by, you’re grappling more and more onto your last threads of sanity. It’s hard to keep up and absorb Chris’s stamina and pace - a relentless and unapologetic pace that hits the same spot inside you over and over again until that build up of pleasure starts spreading around your lower abdomen. 

“Make me feel…so good,” you mumble incoherently. “Gonna make me cum.” 

It’s been a long time since Chan has heard you say those words - hell, even heard you moan at the very least. It’s enough to keep his pace steady but he’s very wary of the fact that he himself is already near the edge of an orgasm too. Nonetheless, he’s determined to get you there first once more. 

So Chan lets go of one of your legs at his side so that he can use his thumb to now rub fast circles over your clit. Your hands grip at the hem of your skirt, back arching as you start submitting to the crest of intense pleasure Chan has built up for you. Then within seconds, Chan has you cumming hard around his cock, shuddering, and straining his name out of your mouth as it rings throughout his car. 

“Fuck, baby…” he groans as his head tips back before he starts spilling white inside of you. 

His hips stutter finally, gently slowing down to a leisurely pace while he drowns in the afterglow from one of the most transcendent orgasms he’s ever had. He gives you both time to come down before he carefully slides out of you. It takes you a while to fully fathom what just happened, but you allow yourself to think about it. Whatever it is, it’s not regret. There’s a longing feeling there, a borderline sense of relief. 

Once Chan is decent, he helps you slide your underwear back on even though you’re both fully aware of the fact that he just came inside you. It’s not like either of you were prepared for this to happen. In saying that, Chan gently takes hold of both your hands and gets you to sit up.

“You okay?” he questions, using his finger to hook some of your messed hair out of your face. 

You nod, “yes. You?” 

“I’ve been worse,” he answers, making you smile. “I’m really sorry for what I said earlier.” 

You shake your head, “I’m sorry as well for being so stubborn. I figured that the more hostile I am towards you, the more I push myself away so that I don’t have to deal with any feelings from before.” 

Chan completely gets it, “I know. I thought I could do the same, but it seems that I’m too nice.”

You roll your eyes, “you’ve had your moments.” 

“I definitely have,” he replies. “Anyway, we should go in case anybody just saw that.” 

A bashful sense of embarrassment washes over you. It’s been minutes before you realised that you just fucked your ex. But even so, it doesn’t really feel that way. It’s just Chan, someone who you still have a lot of love for. 

“You can stay at mine, it’s late,” you suggest to him. 

Chan smiles softly, “as if I’m going to say no.”

-

A/N: Yes, I am a day late already to Kinktober - I just realised bc my dumb ass was trying to figure out time zones and when would be the best time to upload for people bc I’m quite some hours ahead from other countries. So I’ll just stick to my time zone, that way you’ll get my works a few hours earlier x

KINKTOBER TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @lizzetmv @luneskies 🩷🩷

[weirdkpopgirl]

A Little Help | Jaemin Imagine #14

Title: A Little Help

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: mentions of kissing -- light makeout session, suggestive dialogue (but nothing crazy)

Word Count: ~1k

Author's Note: This imagine was an idea I had for a very long time, but I just never got to writing it. For awhile, I went back and forth as to which member to give this story to. Ultimately, I'm weak for Na Jaemin, so I chose him. I know you guys like this sort of stuff too, so I hope you enjoy it (not too much though lol). Please look forward to my future works as well. Thank you for reading ^ ^

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Jaemin made his way into your cozy living room with a steaming mug of lemon tea in hand. His eyes quickly found you seated on the floor near the coffee table. Despite the dim lighting in the room, your face was illuminated by the soft glow of the laptop in front of you. Jaemin started to smile, observing how focused you were on writing the story you’d been working on for months. However, his smile froze when he noticed you nibbling your lower lip and sighing in frustration.

Quietly, he shuffled over to sit beside you on the carpet and carefully set down the drink on the table. You picked up on his presence immediately and glanced up at him with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you said, curling your fingers around the handle of the mug before taking a long sip of the warm beverage.

He instinctively reached a hand to tenderly brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Everything okay?” he asked in the calm, low-toned voice he typically used during late-night conversations with you.

You hummed in response, holding back from sighing again. “Yeah. I’m just stuck on this certain part of my story.”

“What’s it supposed to be?” Jaemin tilted his head, his dark brown eyes filled with a blend of curiosity and concern. His innocent question unintentionally made you hesitate, your eyes flickering back to the screen before meeting his gaze once more. 

“Well, this is when my main characters are supposed to have their first kiss,” you explained, already feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks. “And for some reason, I’m struggling with the technicalities of it. It’s just frustrating because usually I don’t have much of a problem with these scenes.”

Although you felt silly admitting this to your boyfriend (of all people), your frustration outweighed your embarrassment. Jaemin was the type of person who never seemed fazed by anything, but you still expected him to tease you.

Instead, Jaemin wore a thoughtful expression, arms crossed over his knees. “Why don’t you try acting out the kiss with me? It might help you get a better feel for it.”

Eyes widening in surprise at his suggestion, you began to protest. “I-I don’t know, Nana. I mean, that’s a bit…” you trailed off, shyness instinctively taking over. 

But then you paused, considering his idea for a moment. It wasn’t actually that bad and might help you with this little dilemma. After all, he was your boyfriend, so being close to each other wasn’t out of the norm. Certainly when you were dating Na Jaemin, possibly the most affectionate man you knew.

“Hm, I guess it can’t hurt to try,” you conceded, moving your hands away from your laptop. 

Taking a deep breath, you turned to face Jaemin properly and he scooted closer with a warm smile. “You said it’s their first kiss, right?” he asked, recalling the brief context you gave him earlier.

You nodded. “Yeah…um. It’s supposed to start off slow and hesitant. But it becomes more passionate since the characters have been pining for each other practically forever.”

“Okay. Show me what you’re thinking, princess,” he said. Both the pet name and his soothing voice sent a shiver down your spine.

At first, you hesitated, before tentatively reaching out to take his hand, bringing it to your cheek. “Maybe it could start with him cupping her face like this,” you spoke in almost a whisper. “And then her hands could just be on his shoulders?”

Your initial unease wore off fairly quickly, and Jaemin felt his heart skip a beat as you continued to test different hand placements with him. He couldn’t help but find how your brows furrowed in concentration and the way you quietly mumbled to yourself, incredibly endearing.

“Then when things start to get more intense, his hands should go here,” you murmured, guiding his other hand to your waist. He suppressed a laugh, noticing how you were too focused to be flustered by the intimacy of the gesture.

Yet, as minutes passed without your lips coming in contact with his, Jaemin’s frustration simmered. He couldn’t stop his eyes from being drawn to your soft, pink lips. Though your touches remained innocent, they only made the temptation increasingly difficult to resist. Growing tired of waiting, he gave into the impulse and leaned into capture your lips with his own. 

Immediately caught off guard, a soft gasp escaped you from the sudden kiss. You felt his hand on your back, pressing possessively, while his lips moved hungrily against yours. Midway into the kiss, you realize how unintentionally teasing you must have been when you were trying to work out the characters’ kiss in your mind. But before you could fully process what was happening, he pulled away. Seeing the light shade of red painted across your cheeks, Jaemin smiled in satisfaction.

“You need to know how the kiss feels so you can describe it in your story,” he reasoned, his voice teasing but earnest.

Despite being a blushy mess, you understood what he meant and smiled back. “You’re right. But I think we should do it again…you know, so I can be more prepared this time.” 

Your words made his grin widen as your arms wrapped around his neck. His lips met yours in a passionate dance, the story temporarily forgotten. Jaemin pulled you closer, his fingers delicately tracing your jawline. He could taste a hint of lemon tea on your lips, and a smile formed as you lightly tugged at his hair. It took all his self-control not to get too carried away, savoring the moment while keeping his desire in check.

 Even though Jaemin has kissed you dozens of times, each one reminded you of how insanely in love you were with one another. And in that moment, the characters and their story faded into the background, leaving only the warmth and connection between you two.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[elbiotipo]

Worldbuilding: Galactic Empires

My only complaint about the Prequels is that they needed MORE politics

If you've watched Dune recently, you must have noticed the whole Emperor and space noble families thing. And yes, it's likely you heard that in WH40k too… and I HOPE you know that's where the God Emperor came from, since WH40k took "inspiration" from everywhere from Dune to Star Wars. Which also has a Galactic Empire. Like so many other science fiction franchises.

In fact, if you're a science fiction fan, it's very likely that you're familiar with space or galactic empires, they seem to be common as dragons in fantasy. Despite the fact that an empire doesn't sound very futuristic, does it?

Where did all these Galactic Empires come from? Are they just a narrative tool or are they an actual possibility? How would states and societies work in space? Let's find out, and maybe I can give you some ideas on how to write fun galactic "empires" from both a narrative and plausibility perspective.

This is going be a long post. Perhaps my longest yet. But I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Click down to continue.

First of all, where did these space emperors come from? In another post, I've talked about the influence of the idea of the rise and fall of the Roman Empire in English-language fiction. However, in science fiction, I would say the influence is more direct. The Foundation trilogy of Isaac Asimov, one of the foundational (lol) works of science fiction, was intended by the author, very explicitly, as a retelling of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon in a science fiction setting. He probably wasn't the first to think about a space empire, I'm very sure the term is older, but he certainly popularized it as a staple of science fiction. Now, if your contact with science fiction comes from movies, when you hear Galactic Empire you're of course thinking about Star Wars. But yes, Star Wars is also the same retelling, because Lucas was inspired in both Asimov AND Gibbon, even though I think we should appreciate Lucas' ability to bring it to life in the screen. Certainly, Isaac Asimov wasn't the first or the last to take inspiration in history to tell stories about the future.

The most influential science fiction work of all time.

At this point you're probably telling me (or not, I don't know you) about all other sorts of science fiction works that DON'T have galactic empires, or better yet, those that don't just transpose historical societies into the far future and imagine something entirely new (my personal recommendations on this area are Banks and LeGuin). And you'd be right. But the concept of a space empire seems popular and long-lived, much like feudalism in the fantasy genre, everyone has a picture of a sorts when a videogame or a book talks about a "galactic empire" or "galactic republic" or a "federation", an "empire" much like a shorthand name for "a country In Space", regardless of the presence of an actual Emperor or not. And so, it's worth exploring how this trope could, or not, work, so we can see the possible alternatives or more fun ways to approach it.

Besides, that's the title of the post. Galactic Empires.

So, let's approach this from the perspectives of Space, Time (or to keep with the theme, Spacetime) and Technology, and lastly, the most fun part, we'll explore some fun variations on this idea of galactic empires and societies.

Space:

Space is big, and I won't quote the Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy here, it would be groanworthy at this point. Let's do a quick exercise instead. Let's image a "modest" space empire, not even galactic, 2000 light-years across. Sounds quite big, it encompasses most of the visible stars we can see from Earth… however, if you project it into a galactic map, it's actually a very small piece of sky, actually 2% of the entire galaxy which is about 100.000 ly across. Now, according to the Atlas of the Universe, there are 600 million stars in a 5000 ly radius from the Sun. Jesus Christ. This is actually hard to estimate accurately as the true number of red dwarfs and brown dwarfs, the dimmest stars, are hard to count, but we already know those have planetary systems as complex as our own Solar System, even planets that could bear life. Let's scale back to our 2000 ly across space empire, again, just a small cozy corner of the Milky Way Galaxy, something that would look like a small, even tiny, nation in any setting of a galactic scale. This gives us 240 million stars (from the estimated 200 billion stars of the galaxy) in this space, which is still completely insane but let's work with that.

From Atlas of the Universe, so you can compare and contrast, the stars 2000 ly from the sun (ONLY the brightest ones), and the entire Milky Way. Notice how small 2000 light years truly are at that scale.

Even if I just told you that all of those systems might be as complex and rich as the Solar System, let's rather arbitrarily say only 5% of those 240 million are worth of note. Not necessarily having life (no way I'm getting into that yet), just worth visiting or living in for the resources or the views or the cantinas… whatever. That's 12 million star systems. Okay, let's refine this further. Let's say of those 12 million, most of them are the equivalent of gas stations or farmsteads, a couple thousand people at most. The REAL places where the action happens are the systems or worlds where millions of people live, and those are few and far between (this makes both common and narrative sense, as people tend to cluster in population centers where trade, resources, etc. are). Let's say, and let's refine this further so I don't get outrageous numbers, the average population of those systems is 100 million (about the size of Mexico, Vietnam or Japan. Many sci-fi works throw worlds of billions like Earth like nothing). And those systems are… uh, like 2% of THOSE 5% 'systems of note' (a flimsly concept already but play along). That's 2% of 12 million. We got 240.000 systems or worlds the population size of entire countries, with all that implies (economy, culture, politics). Of course, 240.000 multiplied 100 million gives this speculative fictional empire a total population of… (Jesus Christ, not the scientific notations), 2.4e+13, or TWENTY FOUR TRILLION PEOPLE.

Let's wind back and remember I tried my best to make a "small" empire for a galactic-sized setting, 2000 light-years across, that's just from here to Orion's Nebula for Gagarin's sake! A trillion people is just outside the realm of my imagination, or pretty much anyone's. Can you imagine any kind of goverment system that would be enough to provide any kind of meaningful governance to 24 trillion people? In the case of a space empire, can you imagine a single space emperor, a single person, deciding over them? Keep in mind that emperors don't rule on their own (we'll talk about that), they need bureacrats to make their will done, and vassals to govern their territories in their stead. This would apply even in democratic systems, you need representatives and civil servants and more.

Let's scale back a bit before I go insane. Instead of assuming territory, let's go with population. Assume a spherical cow space empire of… 40 billion people, that's reasonable right? You can picture that in your head? Five times the population of current Earth, no biggie, we can work with that, it's all cool. Now, how big would a goverment for such a population would have to be? We actually have reasonable answers. China has about 10 million civil servants for a population of 1.4 billion people, but that's only the administrators, not including all the teachers, healthcare workers, security forces, laborers, etc. employed by the state. India has 6.4 million for about the same population. Okay, so easy math, let's say that this space empire has 6 million bureacrats for 1 billion people, for our empire of 40 billion people, that gives us a total of 240 million… just bureacrats, nothing else. Yes, you could reduce that with technology by say, half. It still means an entire Mexico-sized country of bureacrats. Imagine.

Entire worlds of this.

NOW I WILL STOP THROWING NUMBERS AT YOU, and let's just think about what this means. If we assume a space empire like the ones common in science fiction, or just any kind of… goverment at all, we're talking about, at the lowest estimates, entire countries worth of state employees, if not whole EARTHS of bureacrats. You can guess how things can get really weird fast. Current goverments as we know them just won't work at all it even if technology gets more powerful. Leaving aside, for now, things like god-like AI adminstration (yeah, have you seen what they are like now?)… to exhert ANY kind of control, FTL or not (more on that below) you would need a very, very autonomous empire, to the point it might as well not exist at all. Why take orders from A Guy who is not only far away but also has no hope at all of actually enforcing them in any meaningful sense? Why call yourself part of his "empire" that not only cannot enforce anything upon you, but also cannot benefit you in any way? Big question, of course, the benefit of a galactic or even smaller empire, but we'll discuss that later.

What could work, however, is that instead of a centralized state like we concieve it today, or even a loose confederation, even loose alliances, even pretty much anything… 'empires' (as in 'countries') In Space could be "united" by common ideas and culture instead of any institution. Perhaps not even a written delcration or constitution, but shared ideas: a culture, a religion, an ideology. Lots of different strong mini-states (that might mean billions of people…) that all claim to be part of the same "civilization", but share no goverment at all at all, just the same 'idea', in a looser way that even the most decentralized goverments you can think of. You can say "well all countries are made up" but these would barely qualify as even that. Not even the Holy Roman Empire was this fake.

Perhaps even a single person as a symbolic focus point of unity? Which would be actually a score for the proponents of galactic empires in the most literal sense. But at the same time, such an Emperor would be completely powerless to interact with the entire galaxy. His plans for, I don't fucking know, education reform or tax breaks, would have to be filtered by literal millions of bureaucrats and vassals that at that point might do whatever the hell on his name. Military-wise, his armies would count as nations of their own. However, the overall guidance of a single person (or constitution…) as a symbol might make otherwise disparate worlds to collaborate on the same causes, being part of the same greater whole no matter the distance. So maybe, instead of a Galactic Emperor, a Space Pope?

OH MY GOD-EMPEROR WAS THE IMPERIUM REALISTIC ALL ALONG? Probably not, but also yes, let's keep talking.

By the way, I'm sure you're tired of big numbers now, but I did one possible calculation for the whole galaxy, a true Galactic Empire. Asuming just 0.2% (400 million) of the 200 billion stars are populated, with an average population of one million, the size of the smallest countries that aren't micronations. The total galactic population would be 40 trillion, or 40,000,000,000,000. Five thousand Earth populations.

Time:

Or rather, space-time. We'll talk about both, because what concern us is the speed of information and trade, and that also limits the size of our empires.

I'm sure you know by now faster-than-light travel is impossible. Most of space based science fiction has it, of course, for narrative purposes. We don't want Our Heroes to spend two thousand years to get to the lair of the Evil Space Tyrant, I don't either, and I'll discuss FTL soon. But let's start with no-FTL here, just like in real life, and a smaller "empire", much, much smaller than my previous examples. A mere 250 light years across. Let's not even calculate population now.

This, quite logically, means that the fastest your communications would flow is at light speed. So if your emperor issues orders to a nearby world, say, 5 ly away, you will get an answer 5 years later. For a more reasonable distance of 60 ly, you would know the results 60 years from the descendants of those who recieved the order (now, assume however they keep in constant conversation, just with a 60 year delay), and by then, things there would have changed 60 years from the capital. You get the idea, Einstein sucks, don't need to elaborate more. At first glance, this might be another point for old-style feudal star empires, though. What better way to guarantee your empire is working well over centuries than by having an hereditary class of nobles loyal to you, no matter how much time passes (results may vary). Of course, how would you even enforce that? Rebels might overthrow them and you'll learn about it a century later, and you'll have to send ships to quash the rebellion… or would you?

Is there a point to send ships to conquer other worlds in such a situation? What kind of resources (ah, the lifeblood of empires) could you control with such an empire where transport takes decades and industry is so developed you could, theoretically, make manufactured goods yourself? I'm assuming you can, because you can build spaceships to get there in the first place (not unreasonable), but what would justify creating an interstellar goverment controlling people, trade, resources, over light-decades? Normally, it's at this point where sci-fi authors make up Something (what Atomic Rockets calls "McGuffinite") to justify interstellar trade. In Dune, for example, it's Spice, which is kind of like, to steal a joke, petroleum mixed with cocaine. But otherwise, in a no-FTL setting (so, real life as far as we know) there isn't really the incentive to conquer or even form a goverment of any but the looser kind with other worlds. Trade, maybe, but those are long-term investments, it's difficult to think what kind of good or service would be so in demand would justify it. Especially when you consider that light-speed is your upper limit, and ships might be actually way slower than that. And I'm not even gonna begin to touch relativistic effects.

I was going to make a joke about blowing a quarter of your GDP in Star Destroyers, but have you heard of the South American Dreadnought Race? One of our dumbest moments down here, surely.

Add FTL, and things change, of course. Even very slow ships, that would take months to transverse a dozen light years, would be able to justify trade in luxury goods and passengers, for instance. This is not too far from real-life either, after all, European colonial empires had travel times in the months, and they had to install local administrations such as viceroys because of this, yet rhose places they were considered part of the same empire (most European empires could be rather considered a collection of "countries" and colonies, look at all the divisions of the Spanish Empire for instance). Faster and cheaper ships would of course, mean even more trade (here, I'm using 'trade' as 'communication between worlds', not necessarily implying capitalism, it could be mercantilism or even a command economy) between worlds, even perhaps the classic trope of agrarian and mining worlds feeding the rich core worlds. The Open Veins of Latin America In Space. Fun.

The speed of your ships and communications not only determines trade, but the power projection of your state (we can discuss 'stateless' societies too, there's plenty of fun to be had). If, again, your Galactic Emperor makes a Galactic Proclamation from the Galactic Palace near the Galactic Core (let's roll with that) and he has no FTL communications of any kind, it means that his commanding voice would reach the outer edges of the galaxy 100.000 years after, that is, almost ten times the history of agriculture on Earth. If he, however, has access to ships that can cross the galaxy in say, months, yes, perhaps he can have a series of vassals all over the stars (perhaps, we'll see…), and the faster things are, the closer they resemble our current fast-paced society, but not quite, given the available resources and space in… SPACE and the possible population, as we discussed above. As you can see, the speed of your FTL or lack of it determines everything.

There is another, more *realistic* option. Instead of individual FTL ships, you could have wormhole portals connecting worlds. This is more realistic in the sense that it's theoretically possible (though we have no idea on how to make one), but it also has some interesting implications. First of all, there is an implication that such a wormhole network would be expensive to build and maintain, requiring highly complex technology, material (I'm not sure what the hell exotic matter really is) and production methods, well, more high than what you'd expect from the usual. Second, it would be something preferably fixed, with hubs, planned routes and regular transit (and for writers, it easily allows you to map your universe). Such networks would be vital pieces of infrastructure, built and maintained by central authorities, drawing routes and transport hubs in space. Yes, indeed, almost like… space railroads.

OH MY ASTRAL EXPRESS WAS HONKAI STAR RAIL REALISTIC ALL ALONG? (last joke I promise)

There is also a very strange effect about wormhole networks. Time is relative, as you know, and this is not a metaphor, it literally "flows" differently on how fast you're moving. The "universal" "speed" of "time" "seems" to be the speed at which matter moves in an expanding universe (red-shift and blue shift) as I understand it, but as you approach light-speed, time flows differently in your frame of reference. Wormholes are strange in the sense that they connect space AND time, the observable time in both sides of a wormhole would be the same, and as such, places connected by a wormhole network will "be" at the same "time". This has been talked about by some authors who have considered about wormholes in the context of space civilizations, and it's called (STOP!) Empire Time. So a space empire might not only imply a state ruling over a population and a territory, but also over a time. I have no idea how this works and it frankly makes my head hurt, but here is an analysis of transversable wormholes if you want to indulge or hit your head against a wall.

Technology:

As an extension from the previous section: Of course there is no working FTL method known in real life, as far as we know, light-speed is the upper limit for everything. Instead of constraining you as a writer, this can be one of your biggest assets.

Because if you're doing a space setting, the existence of faster-than-light travel and its speed is the most important decision you can take about it.

Got that? Did I emphasize that enough? You don't need to actually explain HOW your FTL system works, you can do some research and invent something, but you need to be clear, in your head, what it can DO: How far and how fast it can take you. A FTL system that takes months to go from star to star will be very different to one that takes hours to span the Galaxy like the hyperdrive of the Millenium Falcon. A FTL system that is cheap and can be installed in any tiny ship like in the Elite videogame would be different from the ones in Dune where interstellar travel requires enormous motherships and lots of drugs, or a wormhole network that needs massive infrastructure maintainment and probably a railway starway worker's union, or the case of no FTL at all. This is, again, the most important decision you could make for your setting, bar none. Got that? Let's continue.

FTL is perhaps the only place in science fiction where I don't care about how it works, only about how fast it goes

Now, technology. Space empires, are of course, not possible without space travel being cheap enough (not talking about FTL, just regular space travel): shipping stuff to space should be about the same as shipping stuff by airliner or, well, ships. This is not unreasonable. Efforts are being made right now to lower the cost to access space, and while space agencies like NASA might look expensive, they are not NEARLY as expensive as the money wasted in say, stealth jet fighters or fucking advertising (people who say 'why spend so much money in space when we could fix our problems on Earth' seem to forget about that all the time. But I digress.). A technologically advanced, wealthy (as in production, not literal dollars) society could easily afford as much space exploration as they wish with no real effect at all in their quality of life, indeed, it would improve it. Space isn't as expensive as it seems. At its very, very core, a spaceship is just steel and propellant.

And steel and propellant are very, very easy (once you got the technical research to do it) to get in space. Asteroids are MADE of iron and metals, a single asteroid is richer than all of Earth's mines combined. Hydrogen is literally the most abundant element in the universe, and water is on plentiful supply (no need to steal planets for water) on comets and icy asteroids and moons. Carbon is apparently widely available in carbonaceous asteroids, and in our own Solar System, Titan, the moon of Saturn, is basically covered in hydrocarbons (yes, OIL IN SPACE). All those resources could be very much in demand for manufacturing on a planet like for example, a future Earth that has taken its industry up to space. What's more, it's only bringing stuff up from Earth/an Earth-like or more massive planet (fun sci-fi term for you: "down the gravity well") that's really expensive. Once you get there, you can get anywhere with enough acceleration and propellant. Once there is space infrastructure and industry (and I get a feeling that it might get up fast, given that space technology would need to be very autonomous and reliable), it can sustain itself without a mother planet. In fact, if there's something I imagine would be considered a luxury in spacer life, it would be truly organic things; plants, wood, meat, wool, and so much more.

i am average astronaut man i work 15 hours in the asteroid mines to buy one burger

Which brings us to the big question; what kind of life would be out there? After all, I gave you numbers of millions and millions of worlds, it's hard to imagine at least a few of those don't have alien life. This is the biggest outstanding question in astrobiology currently and so I won't pretend to even try to answer it (my personal opinion, if you must, is that complex Earth life is extremely rare, but by sheer number of planets, it might exist by hundreds of thousands in our galaxy alone). Instead, let's try to see how science fiction looks at it.

Heinlein, another of the foundational writers of science fiction as a genre, saw alien worlds as just another frontier to be settled. Rich alien fruit, fertile arable lands, and huntable or tameable creatures just waiting to be exploited, and alien species to trade exotic goods with (or conquer). While Heinlein was not the only and probably not the first to write this subgenre, he certainly got it popular, and lots of works on his same vein follow this "frontier spirit" kind of writing, where space is seen as the last frontier to be tamed by hardy colonists in a very yeehaw cowboy western setting, and you can actually see this replicated in many modern science fiction like Firefly and the more cowboy-ish parts of Star Wars. And yes, this is balantly an expression of the 'manifest destiny' Usamerican imperialist worldview.

lots of Politics all over this Science Fiction Adventure

And yes, this idea of 'habitable' planets ready to be colonized like in a 4X videogame is also not very realistic either. We haven't found any alien ecosystems yet, but as a biologist I can tell you they would be very different from us in ways you probably won't expect. We can discuss how convergent evolution could be, a world with oceans would probably have equivalents of 'fish', 'algae' and 'worms' (I can GUARANTEE there will be A LOT of worms), we could even find very, very similar life to our own down to the body plan. However, we most probably could not eat them at all (which might sound silly at first glance but is needed to have you know. agriculture.), or perhaps even live in the same planet as them. We live in a society planet where most of the plants and animals which evolved with us can't be eaten, and many of them are toxic. It's possible, entirely likely, that the alien equivalents of carbohydrates (ever heard of L- and D-Glucose?), proteins and other substances would be indigestible to us, allergenics, or outright toxic, probably in ways we can't even think off. It's likely we won't catch alien diseases, but that's because our cells (if they even have cells) are completely incompatible with their diseases, just look at how different animal, plant and fungi cells are, now imagine whatever the fuck might evolve in a completely different biochemistry from us. There would be no farmsteads and cowboys like Heinlein wrote, living in Mars would probably be more pleasant that living in a world where everything might be toxic, not because life evolved to be toxic, just because it didn't evolve with you. If anything, these' habitable' worlds would be treated like giant nature preserves instead, you can look but don't touch.

(In one of my own settings, I sidestep this by proposing panspermia, that is, the idea that life spreads across the universe by means such as comets (or aliens) and thus shares similaritites and can eat the same stuff. A bit of a cop-out, but it does allow one to get with similar kinds of life.)

NOOO ANAKIN DON'T EAT THAT PEAR IT EVOLVED HIGHLY TOXIC ALKALOIDS IN A DIFFERENT EVOLUTIONARY CONTEXT NOOOO

But humans, if the biophilia hypothesis is right, will need nature in their lives. This is where orbital habitats come in. You know, like the ones in Gundam? Orbitals such as O'Neill Cylinders, Standford Torii (yeah, that's the plural for Torus) as well as bigger and more complex thingmajings I will write their own post about someday, have been proposed since the 1970s with technology available then, and there is no reason why a civilization with an advanced space infrastructure wouldn't try building them and even be better at it. What's very nifty about orbitals is that you can really make them your own personal custom miniworlds. Designs like the O'Neill cylinder are big, able to house hundreds of thousands, even millions of people if build to the top, but why do that? Mess with the lightining, the rotation, or the interior to make them a winter wonderland or a tropical paradise. I expect that they would be built to feed space communities at first with food that isn't imported from Earth or grown in hydroponics, and later as places to live and customize however you wish; perhaps a community would pool resources together and say, hey, we want to make an habitat that looks like a Colombian cloud forest, or the Okinawan Islands. Once they get cheap enough, and given how abundant resources are in space they might be not even as expensive as most engineering projects here on Earth, I expect actually many, many people would want to live in them, and it could be probably be very affordable, and just natural for the people who are born and raised and live and die in them. Another thing about habitats is that they are mobile. Like I said, as long as you got enough propellant and propulsion, you can move anything anywhere in space. Even whole habitats could move and cluster together depending on the local politics. Perhaps, much like city-states were the basic building block for countries in antiquity, in the future, the basic organization bloc would be the Orbital. You could have alliances of orbitals forming complex political intrigue inside a single solar system (yes, like in Gundam).

OH MY PLASTIC MODELS WAS GUNDAM REALISTIC ALL ALONG? (I lied)

This all might make space empires pretty much an unnecessary anachronism. Habitats can grow their own food and resources are plentiful once you have the right technology. They can also be mobile, so they could act like migrating cities at will, choosing to stay with like-minded "constellations" or strike out on their own without the dictates of a central state. It almost looks like an ideal anarchist society.

Or does it?

There is something very important to keep in mind about life in space. The technology, that is, habitats needed for life in space will require lots of maintainance and resource management, which implies there must be strong coordinating bodies with very, very strict rules so that shit doesn't blow up and you lose all your air into space, or the resources of an habitat are mismanaged and you end up with a food or water or even oxygen crisis. There is a reason why space exploration is done by state agencies or corporations with huge state backing. Another of Heinleins's favorite tropes, Libertarians in Space, would be impossible in such a situation. Actually, in ANY space situation, and this is why this section is in technology. Living in space requires you to be able to maintain complex technology and manage resources. None of this can be done ad-hoc or be left to individualism, you have to have Rules and follow them to the letter. And also, the effect of living in your 'own little world' would probably mean people have a strong indentity sense towards their home habitat. This will mean a more communitarian attitude. But before you think I'm waxing poetic about utopian habitat cultures, keep in mind that this also can mean an authoritarian mindset. After all, cults and authoritarian regimes do have "strong communities" too. An habitat could be everything from a well-managed place with responsible citizens who look for the welfare of all, to a closed society where everybody does as they're told as long as the tech works. On the other hand, I doubt habitats in a single star system would stay isolated. They'll probably trade and communicate with other habitats, forming constellations and power groups, that would prevent this 'closed system'. However, I doubt they would be too amenable to interstellar authority. Who the hell do those people from another freaking star think they are to tell us what to do in our habitat?

To be serious for a moment, habitats can be really cool places in science fiction. Especially if you imagine they could host all sorts of enviroments, from the tropical to the polar.

As an addenum… what if you really want to live in a planet? In places such as Mars or the Moon, things would be… pretty similar to orbitals actually. Habitats separated by vast expanses of barren nothingness, only now a planet instead of space (better for maps, at least). But that isn't what you're thinking, right? What if you wanted to feel the open wind and sky instead of a canned world? Well, this is where terraforming comes in. Transforming whole planets is something theoretically possible, but that would require massive investments of resources, more massive than anything we can imagine, and time, centuries at the very, very least. So stupid ideas like "terraform Mars to escape Earth", which as far as I know is only held by dumbasses like Musk, just don't make sense. It doesn't mean that terraforming itself is a worthless idea, it is a very appealing one. No matter how cool you can make your habitat, it won't ever be Earth. It won't ever be a self-sustaining biosphere with its own ecosystem that could last millions of years. For that reason, terraforming is attractive, it's something way more than an artificial "can" orbital, it's a new living world. There is a certain mystique into bringing lifeless worlds to life, but I expect that instead of the dumb Musk "ESCAPE EARTH" idea, the motivation for terraforming would be to recreate Earth, perhaps for conservation reasons (you could have whole planets as natural reserves), perhaps for tourist reasons, perhaps for spiritual reasons or even artistic reasons. On the other hand, the methods you can use to terraform a lifeless planet can also be used to 'terraform' living planets, as we've long seen in our own world… this could be done with hostile purposes. I would expect us to be better than that, but we simply don't know.

To close this section and give this post an conclusion, I think that, since there are no real borders in space, then empires, countries, polities, whatever you wish to call them, will be formed by stacking building blocs in loose alliances or confederations. The most basic would be habitats, then constellations of habitats, then inhabited planets (though I doubt any but the most populated ones would qualify), and then star systems, but little above that, and I expect up to a certain, difficult to calculate limit of population and area (though way, way below even a fraction of a speculated galaxy), things would be just impossible to manage. The effort in bureacracy, infrastructure and state control needed to project power out of a star system and the sheer scale of space probably won't ever justify empires, much less galactic empires, but you could have very interesting variations on the theme.

Fun Stuff!

So, let's play a little with what I've told you. I'm going to write a few short scenarios that might be fun takes on the "Galactic Empire" or "Space Empires" you might be familiar with already:

The Poleis Model

When the Greeks established their colonies around the Mediterranean, they didn't do it with the expectation they would be part of the same state or empire. They founded new poleis, new city-states, based on the constitution of the mother city (hence metropolis) but fully independent. The Phoenicians were much the same, with some of the daughter cities (Carthage means literally "new city") eventually becoming new cultures far from their home cities. Similarily, why should interstellar exploration mean the spread of a united state with a capital and all? Imagine that when interstellar ships depart, they do with the idea that they are going to create a completely new home, a new poleis, not an extension of the nations or organizations that sponsored them but rather more of a 'child' culture light years away from their motherland. As they develop in mostly isolation from each other, they will become new cultures on their own, while retaining ties to the ones most similar to them. This is, in my opinion, the most realistic scenario without FTL. With FTL, however, things get more interesting, as of course, Greek and Phoenician and other poleis didn't remain isolated light-years from each other, they had permanent contact. With FTL they could organize in leagues, perhaps even alliances for the ocassional military campaigns, trade and exchange of ideas, tourism and industry, and of course the Olympics.

The Wormholes Always Run In Time Model

As I've said, wormholes are pretty much like space railroads. Railroads, like other big infrastructure projects, need a centralized authority to be built and maintained. And once you are the central authority that does so, you're already in charge of the biggest arteries of trade and communication. Which makes you basically an empire, officially or not. In fact, this is the closest I imagine a space society would resemble the states we're familiar with here on Earth. If you have control over transport and the hubs of trade and politics, and that transport and communication network allows you to implent your policies, your rule might go very far indeed, and indeed, your main hub might be a great capital, the main station of known space. Now, perhaps you might be imagining a literal space empire with nobles and all that. Why not instead something else? The Socialist Interstellar, connecting the many worlds of the galaxy through a five hundred year plan of railroad wormhole construction in the path to communism... However, this would mean that people outside of the wormhole network might develop in different ways, perhaps the equivalent of nomads to the great settled empires of antiquity. And given what I've briefly touched on Empire Time (*breakdances*), the expression "the portals always run in time" might imply even more than just an aphorism.

The Civilization Cluster Model

I'll admit this is taken from Poul Anderson, as quoted in Atomic Rockets, to which I owe an inmense debt for this post and so much more. The idea is this; space is big, as is well established. Even with FTL to shorten the distances, even if you could cross the galaxy in a few weeks, the sheer number of stars is still insanely massive. Why should any civilization 'colonize' those stars dot by dot, what value is there in invading or colonizing planets with incompatible biochemistries? And how could even begin to think how to administer a thousand different worlds, each one as complex as Earth itself, let alone an entire galaxy? In this case, civilizations, instead of spreading across the galaxy, would mostly remain in their own 'civilization clusters'; even with FTL, there are so many issues closer to home that the idea of projecting power outside is ridiculous. There would be trade, exchange of ideas, and so much more between these clusters, but never constant enough and never with the authority necessary to create a "Galactic Empire"… the worlds are too many, too diverse, too populated and too far away for that. An interstellar traveller could roam the Galaxy for years exploring these clusters spread away from each other, with their own unique idiosyncracies and civilizations inside, and then a vast expanse of mostly nothing outside them. Basically, space is too big. I like to see them as constellations among the dark sky, hence the artwork.

The No Man's Sky Model

To live in space, you need complex technology, but also resilient and durable technology ready for any kind of situation, easy to repair and replace. So eventually, I believe designs would be standarized so much that every astronaut will carry or own a collection of standarized tools (somehow this reminds me of prehistoric tool cultures). Now, even with FTL, there's perhaps little material incentive for people to leave their comfortable homeworld or habitat to live in cold space. But some will, perhaps because of the sheer thrill of it, perhaps very small bands of families or friends. With a standarized tool kit for any ocassion, these small bands would spread across space, much like ancient humans spread across the world. But instead of creating space empires, without a fixed industrial base, they would be nomads. Which doesn't mean they would roam aimlessly, they would be seeking new biospheres, new resources and new cultures, and gathering in temporary or permanent market places, festivals and pilgrimages. Perhaps they could even be the majority of humans in space, while most others stay cozy on Earth.

...

This was a very long post and it took a lot work to make, so I hope you had as much fun reading it as it was for me to write it. If you did, and if you would like to see more, I would be very, very grateful if you donated to my Ko-Fi below. Anything helps a lot especially since my country is not doing great at this time governed by a libertarian idiot (not even the fun space kind), and even a little tip encourages me to post more, I'm always working on your suggestions! You can also contact me by DM or asks if you need any help with your worldbuilding or just want to rant with me a bit! See you next time, and thanks for reading.

[wenellyb]

How I feel about Buddie...

You guys have been warned, this is a long post.

I've always liked 911 and was a casual viewer but never got involved in the fandom or anything. Of course I knew about Buddie, but I personally never saw it. Buck and Eddie have always acted like best friends and do stuff best friends do. I have never seen any scene that could be interpreted as romantic, except maybe for the "you want to go for the title" scene. But to me it wasn't enough to ship them, especially since it was the only scenes in their hundreds of scenes together that could be seen as romantic.

That being said, I've always thought the ship was cute, and I understand it because who doesn't like a good friends to lovers storyline?

I just never got involved in the fandom because their behavior reminded me of the Stucky and Destiel fandom, which were chaotic experiences for me. Some people just don't know how to handle non canon ships and act entitled, complain to the showrunners and harrass the cast. I've always tried to avoid fandoms like that, but wasn't against the idea of Buddie as a ship.

The 911 Lone Star crossover episode for me was the confirmation that Buck was into men. To me, it was obvious they confirmed he was into men but hadn't set up a storyline yet. So naturally I thought... if they set up a storyline it will be with Eddie. There was no doubt it my mind.

So fast forward, a few years, I wasn't really watching season 7 and then I see all the fuss from Buddie shippers I follow, and it makes me watch the sneak peek video from 7x04 and I'm like....For sure Buck is being jealous right? (it was the scene where Eddie interrupted Tommy giving Buck a tour)

So I decided to watch the episode convinced this was going to be the episode where they confirmed Buddie, but I was also very cautious because Buddie shippers had cried wolf too many times before.

So I was careful, but I was also convinced that this was it: "Buck was going to get jealous of Eddie hanging out with Tommy and then confess his feelings or the other way around".

And that's actually what was happening until the end of the episode, we saw Buck get jealous, and most of us assumed he was being jealous about Eddie.

We didn't figure out until the end of the episode that it was all about Tommy.

And that's the beauty of that episode because you think you're watching something when in fact you're watching something else and when you rewatch some scenes you understand it, and that plot twist was written so beautifully.

So we have Buck and Tommy have a heart to heart in Buck's kitchen and they kiss. And what a kiss... the kiss itself was Nice but the look Buck gave Tommy after the kiss was breathtaking.

From that moment on, I was rooting for them.

But I still had Buddie at the back of my mind because I was thinking, what if this is all temporary and they're planning to break them up to set up a buddie storyline? So I shipped it but didn't want to get my hopes up.

This feeling got bigger when I started watching 7x05 and I saw the way their first date ended. I thought... this is it, we might not see Tommy again, what a shame. But then Buck talked to Maddie about his date and confessed it was with Tommy. And Maddie asked: "so tell me about the hot pilot", and I thought this isn't how they'd talk about a character we never see again. But I didn't know for sure.

Maybe they were setting up a Buck x Eddie storyline....

I changed my mind when I saw Buck's coming out scene to Eddie, the scene was beautiful and at that point I still was thinking Buddie was a possibility. But one line made me think that Buddie wasn't happening: "I can't stop thinking about him".

No writer would put a line like that and have Oliver say it like that with that look, if they were thinking Buck and Eddie would have a romantic scene in the future. And if you do write that, you would get a jealous reaction from the other character, not a "You should call Tommy".

And then I was conforted in my feelings when the writers doubled down and had Buck invite Tommy to Maddie's wedding. Buck could have just apologized and asked Tommy on antoher date, but no, he invited him to his sister's wedding.

There has been absolutely no hint of a romantic relationship between Buck and Eddie throughout the season. There has never been a sign of jealousy from Buck or Eddie's side when they were dating Tommy, Marisol. If they had been setting up that storyline, the writers would put some hints here and there. Instead, they shared meaningful scenes like best friends do.

I never had anything againdt Buddie as a ship, I was even open to it, but all the times I thought Buddie was going to happen, it was because of the fandom, not because of something I saw in the saw...To me Buddie is and will stay a fanon ship.

TL:DR: I don't hate the ship, I find it cute but the behavior of some shippers has made me want to stay away from the fandom. And when I thought Buddie might be happening, the writers showed us they had long term plans for Bucktommy.

[thelightsandtheroses]

when the rain washes you clean, you'll know

Javier Peña x female reader

Summary: Secrets can’t stay hidden forever, not with these rainy days anyway … Warnings: 18+ blog, MDNI, secret relationship vibes, sexual tension, passing mentions of sexism and work, flangst (is it a lolabee fic without this?), copious references to rainy seasons and rain, poor communication, elements of rivalry if you squint maybe? Notes: This is my entry for the very lovely @undercoverpena’s April Showers challenge and I would like to thank this event for giving me some Javi P inspo. The fic title is from the brilliant Fleetwood Mac Dreams. Word Count: 2.7k

April brings the rain in Bogotá. You hear that in Cartagena, they get an extra month of dryness, but you’ve never minded water. You’re used to it.

If you were at your apartment now; with rain pitter pattering against glass windows, steaming coffee in your cup and a whole evening away from the office ahead of you, it would be better, you’d enjoy this moment. Instead, you’re desperately searching your handbag in the vain hope that this time around you will find an umbrella.

The embassy has a few umbrellas near the entrances and exits, but these have already been purloined by people leaving work before you. That will teach you to work late, to try and impress Messina again in vain.

This job isn’t what you expected. You wanted to expand your horizons, to do something wild and reckless with your life while you could. It seemed sensible to do this now, before mortgages and future commitments and expectations made it too difficult to be spontaneous.

The post in Colombia, working for Claudia Messina, seemed like a perfect opportunity. When you were told about it, all you could think was how it would certainly be a change from your small-town world and to learn from a woman rising in a male-dominated field was a dream, as well as a chance to stop the bad guys? You said yes almost automatically.

The reality is different to the images you’d let run wild in your mind. You’re not an active agent, you’re mostly doing translations, paperwork and shadowing Messina. The DEA’s office is dark and dank, illuminated by artificial bulbs and full of cigarette smoke. Your apartment is small and loud. Work takes so much of your time that you feel like you never explore this beautiful country or city and now it’s the wet season.

You feel like your adventure hasn’t yet started. It’s been weeks since you moved here and despite your best intentions, this isn’t what you had hoped for.

“Where are you parked?” a voice asks softly behind you. You turn around and see Agent Javier Peña - the source of most of your late nights of work as you try and untangle his messes or work on a better case for Messina to present.

When you had first joined the DEA office, one of the women in the office had taken you under her wing and shared the gossip and news about all of your new colleagues. She told you that Agent Peña has been in Colombia for years though, longer than most of the other active DEA agents.

He has a reputation. It’s all she’s needed to say to you about him.

Your few conversations with Javier have been professional, concise and fine. You’ve tried to notice his smile, the way he slightly changes his voice when he speaks to you, or any women. You refuse to be a notch in an already impressive bedpost, or to be the woman people talk about.

He might have a reputation, but from what you’ve heard, he’s one of the ‘good guys’. It lowers your guard; lets you point vaguely in the direction of your car. Javier smiles.

It’s a good smile. You can understand the rumours with a smile like that.

“We haven’t met, have we? I’m Javi” Five words. It takes only five words for Javier Peña to ruin everything. “I’d definitely remember seeing someone like you. Which uh, office are you in?”

You stand stonily silent, listening to the water running off the umbrella. Javier looks at you, brow furrowed as you extend the silence.

The rain does sound beautiful.

You open your car door and get in. Part of you wants to leave Javier right there, standing dumbfounded in the rain, his clothes getting damper by the second, the rain pouring over his stupid umbrella.

“I work for Messina, Peña, in the same damn office,” you say finally before slamming the door shut and starting your car engine.

“You changed your hair,” he says, hands on his hips defensively as he stands over your desk. “What’s your problem, Agent Peña?” “You changed your hair, that’s why I didn’t recognise you.” “Right.” You’re proud you manage to avoid physically rolling your eyes at his excuses. “It’s true,” he argues, shifting his position slightly. “Uh huh.” You remember that Colleen has boasted about him noticing her damn nail varnish so this feels weak at best so this hardly feels plausible, but as you look up you notice that Javi appears genuinely disturbed at your reaction. You take in his appearance further, now he’s not at the end of another busy day, isn’t fighting away rain in a damp suit and shirt, with curls peeking through his hair. Today he’s wearing a white shirt with a black pattern on it, his hair slightly scruffy, but moustache carefully sculpted. He smells like cologne and cigarettes. Sweet, woody notes trying to mask smoke and drawing you in like a siren’s song. “Look, this has been … delightful, but do excuse me, Agent Peña,” you say coolly, focusing on each syllable of his surname because you at least remember his name, at least you remember meeting him before yesterday. “I need to get back to work.” “Oh, well, please don’t let me keep you,” Javi replies with a sardonic tone, one eyebrow raised and his arms folded. “I shan’t.” You don’t move. “Must be very important work,” he says pleasantly, a slight smirk at your lack of movement. “Well, someone has to actually work around here,” you reply sweetly.

You don’t need to be a special agent to know that everybody has secrets. It’s a fact of life. There will always be things we keep from others, especially at work. Most of them will be mild and harmless, but some of them won’t be. It’s a constant.

There’s a reliability to this idea that perhaps you’re never getting the true person in front of you; just the shiny version that they want to project, the one that masks all the little secrets like they can’t quit smoking, or they drink milk straight from the carton.

It’s you too. You have a secret.

Your secret is wearing a light blue shirt today. Your secret is walking down the hallway arguing with his colleague. Your secret is the smell of cigarette smoke, whispered words and so much heat.

Your secret now is Agent Javier Peña.

He’s been your secret for weeks; weeks since the teasing banter developed into something else, to lingering touches, to kisses that you need like breathing and hands that map your body in a way you can hardly describe. You spent the month break from rainstorms in between yours and Javi’s apartments under the cover of night and cloud. Now it’s raining again, the wet season truly living up to its name.

Down in the DEA office, you can’t hear or see the rain outside. The windowless, dimly lit basement is a world away from the bustle of Bogota’s streets, yet somehow still is damp. Colombia’s wetness permeates through poorly maintained vents, through wet umbrellas in the bucket by the office door that hint at a world outside.

Steve and Javier are arguing. It’s not subtle, not a quiet disagreement between colleagues. It’s hands on hips, hands in the air, shaking heads and barely concealed curse words.

Maybe you should say something.

Or maybe not.

You try and return to your paperwork and the steaming mug of coffee you’ve been anticipating ever since your morning cup. There’s a coffee shop a few steps from your apartment building and you’ve finally convinced them to sell you some of their coffee blend. It’s not quite the same, but it’s close.

You think of breakfast this morning. The ghost of Javi’s lips on yours.

There’s a noise, a clearing of a throat and you look up to see Steve and Javi standing in front of your desk.

“Messina’s in meetings until five.”

“I know,” Javi says.

“It’s you, we want to speak to.”

You raise an eyebrow. Whatever this is between you and Javi relies on the two of you barely acknowledging one another in the office.

“You’re fluent in Spanish, right?” Steve asks directly.

You nod, still perplexed at how Steve’s Spanish is . “Why?”

“Firearm trained? You’re not just a desk jockey, right? You’re qualified?”

“Came third in my class.” You may have been a little higher if not for a terrible argument with your parents two days before your final exam. It hadn’t been your finest hour. You still carry it with you in every awkward phone call, every stilted letter home.

“Okay. That’s good. So, I don’t see the problem, Javi.”

“She came third. Who came first?’

“Really?” you ask incredulously, hurt and anger raging. How fucking dare he? You’ve told him about how hard it is to be taken seriously in the department, how the sexist roots prevail even with Messina in charge. Institutions can’t change overnight - they need people like you to fight them. Javi had emphasised, talked about his own barriers, the presumptions people had from his surname, his heritage.

He has the decency to look away, eyes abashed and fixated on the floor. Good, you think, that’s the very least he could do.

“I can get one of my informants -” No, you think, no, not one of Javi’s informants. You’ll do it, whatever Steve needs, surely you can do it instead?

“What do you need, Steve?”

This morning feels a world away now, but you let the memory take you away from this moment, from Javi’s inscrutable look when you said yes to Steve, from the fact you’re doing something this brave, this dangerous. You remember the coffee on the stove, its rich aroma seeping through the room as you wander out of Javi’s bedroom. Hands behind, wrapping around your wait and turning you around to meet his kiss. His hands move down your nightdress, teasing at the lacy hem as he moves them underneath. Laughing between kisses. “It’s raining,” you say. “I noticed,” he teases, tracing kisses down to your neck and then back up your jaw. “I think of you when it rains.” “Oh, yeah?” Javi stops for a second and looks at you quizzically. “Of how we got talking, of how we got from there, in that moment to here.” “Well ,I’ve never been more grateful to be caught in the rain.”

You’re starting to wonder if there was ever a time in Colombia that it wasn’t raining. The stormy clouds add to the greyness and foreboding of the street you’re currently parked in.

“Don’t,” Javi says quietly, the rain hitting the car windows and roof, echoing loudly around you. “Please don’t do this.”

You chance a look at him. “Do you not believe I can do this?” you ask, the concealed firearm heavy on your side, the wire Javi had put on feeling all to visible to you. He’d swallowed as he did it, featherlight fingers trying not to linger, you wondered if he was also trying not to default to the usual way he’d touch you.

“Oh, baby, I know you can.” Javi swallows. “But I want to be selfish and tell you not to do this. This isn’t a game, it’s not a drill -”

“I know that. I’ve been through the same training -”

“It’s different. You’ve not seen what I’ve seen.”

“I can handle it,” you reply simply.

“I don’t want you to.”

“Don’t be a sexist.”

“Don’t be so naive then, goddammit!”

“I’ve read the reports, studied the intel. I am not some naive ingenue here, Javi, fuck you for saying that. You made out I was stupid earlier, like I was some -”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear the apology is genuine.

You don’t reply, letting the rain speak for you instead. If you’re honest, you are nervous. This is your first undercover assignment and is so beyond the comfort and safety provided by your windowless desk.

It’s the job though, it’s what is needed.

“I’ve got this, Javi, whether or not you believe in me,”

“I do believe in you. I am sorry. I just - I don’t like it out here. I don’t like me out here, I don’t like who I am or who I become and I don’t - you’re still you. That’s part of what I love about you.”

You raise an eyebrow, meet Javi’s gaze. “Love, huh?”

You expect him to walk his words back, to huff or not say a word. He just shrugs.

“You ready?” Steve asks through the walkie talkie.

You nod before catching yourself, pressing the button and saying, “Yes, yeah, I’m ready and in position.”

“Okay, keep it to what we agreed, nothing else and keep it quick.”

Next to you, Javi looks at you pointedly, reinforcing Steve’s words.

“Understood,” you say and you can’t help but chance a smile at Javi as you unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of the car.

Rain hitting your skin.

Your heart’s racing, it’s so loud you can feel it in your ears. The incessant beating and drumming of adrenaline coursing through your body.

You should be cold, but you’re not. Not as they load them into the van, as Steve pats you on the back to congratulate you on a job well done.

You wish your undercover persona was the type of woman who wore a coat on a rainy night. You wrap your arms around yourself.

You can still hear the gunshot. The shouts.

There’s a weight on your shoulder, the scent of cologne, cigarettes … Javi permeating through your haze.

He stands next to you, leaning against the wall, a lit cigarette between his fingers.

“I’m fine,” you say urgently.

“I know.”

“It’s just … a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought they had made me towards the end.”

Javi pauses, taking a long drag of his cigarette before offering you it. You accept it with surprisingly shaky hands.

“I did too,” he admits in a low voice.

“But they didn’t.”

“They didn’t.” Javi pauses. “You did great.”

“You haven’t.”

“I haven’t, what?” he asks playfully, turning to face you. In the dim streetlight, you notice each feature of his face, how it’s illuminated in yellow light and how deep brown his eyes really are. His brow is furrowed, hair slightly dishevelled in the way you normally associate with a good night, but you know from his bad days in the office is from running his hand through his hair too many times.

“Changed,” you say. “You said you don’t like who you become, but you’re you, Javi. I like you. All of you.”

“You say shit like that, I’m going to end up kissing you right here.”

“Dare you,” you tease.

He smirks. “I would,” he replies in a low voice.

“It’d be romantic, with the rain and all. Maybe less so with our colleagues around though. ”

“Is that what you want?”

“Do you?” It’s the first time the two of you have broached this subject. For months, you’ve existed in peace with the parts of Javi he can give you out of an assumption that was all that he could offer. Today seems to have changed things though.

Javi swallows.

“Take away the job, or who you’re hunting, take it all away for a moment. Would you want - would you want to be with me like that?”

“If we were in Texas, if none of this was going on, then nothing would stop me.”

“I’ve never been to Texas,” you muse.

“When this is over, we can go,” Javi says and the vulnerability in his eyes is so alien.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Looks like it’s still raining,” Javi says, noticing your attention at the view outside.

“Yep,” you say, “I suppose we should head back to everyone else, right? Finish the paperwork?”

“I didn’t say it this morning, but I think of you too. When it rains, I always think of you.”

Tag List

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[m1d-45]

Alright let me try this again.

What if Reader vented to Birb Xiao, not knowing that it was actually him?

They talk about their fears and frustrations, letting out all the words they've wanted to tell a person, but they have to settle for their pretty bird because no one will listen.

So Xiao is just sitting there, resting in the True Creator's hands, listening as he gets a glimpse of how they truly feel.

They say the milileth is like a raging stampede with their spears and swords. They say how the Qixing all seem so cold and unfeeling. They talk about how Zhongli genuinely terrifies them, because he acted so kind to others but was borderline cruel when hunting them.

They talk about Xiao, too, but they don't seem to have many complaints. They haven't seen him in a while, and the last time they crossed paths with him, he just... let them run. The adeptus had looked angry, but also a bit startled (and perhaps, a bit guilty?) at the sight of them. They even once overheard him leading milileth soldiers astray ("by mistake" says the creator, but Xiao knows the truth) by saying the creator had left a while ago, when really, they were still very nearby. While they say they are still a bit scared of him, they don't fear him as much as they fear the others.

All the while, Xiao sits, still as a stone. He takes in every word, every shaky breath and darting glance. He nuzzles into their hand, hoping to offer even the slightest bit of comfort.

He hopes that they continue to be unafraid of him in the future.

-Sibling Anon

he who is without sin

a/n: decided to make this one a full fic for no reason in particular (i don’t have an actual post shhhh)

word count: 1.1k

-> warnings: imposter sagau things, minor blood mention, spoilers for xiao lore, some spoilers for liyue (like names and titles of people/places)

-> gn!reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay

< masterlist > (has context for bird!xiao if you’re lost)

from the moment that xiao was saved, when his new name was bestowed upon him and he signed his contract with morax, xiao had made a promise. another contract, one without physical ink and paper, one bound to his soul.

one to you, his creator.

a pledge to stand by your side, a clause written in by the god that forged his original contract, releasing him from his duties to liyue to serve the one that had granted him life. a permanent extra sweep to his duties, always on the lookout for the highest god above all.

however, he was not the first to find… ‘you.’

‘you’ had landed in sumeru, nested in the large tree surrounding the akademiya. ‘you’ had climbed down, introduced ‘yourself’ to the sages with a smile. everybody was quick to give ‘you’ the glory rightly the creator’s, ushering ‘you’ atop a throne of silver and gold, offerings laid at ‘your’ feet with all the haste of those deprived of the divine.

xiao may have hung back at the beginning, unwilling to allow his karma to infect ‘your’ other worshippers, but he still did his duty. he still kept ‘your’ path clear of enemies, and was the first to pick up his blade when word broke of your imposter.

and yet, when he laid eyes upon the one he was supposed to hate, he was the first to repent.

xiao took a shaking breath, crossing his arms around himself. “morax?”

the elder god turned, amber eyes soft. “what is it, xiao?”

xiao marched through dihua marsh, polearm gripped tightly in his hand. a large hilichurl camp had been reported, which while not an issue normally, was the third in the last four days.

irritation was openly displayed on his face, the anemo around him simmering with his anger. why did the abyss have to act up now, when they were on a hunt? surely even they, as infected and riddled with darkness as they were, worshipped a god? or was that the source of their evil?

he kept marching north, only turning his head at the sound of a soft gasp.

“how will i know when the creator arrives?”

morax smiled, not upset like xiao had anticipated. “don’t worry about such things. when the time comes-“

you stood on the path branching west, eyes wide. you looked nearly exactly like the ’you’ on the throne, the same cool eyes that called for your death now wide and staring at him in fear.

“-you will know.”

you turned on your heel, your armful of sunsettias tumbling to the floor, but… xiao did not chase you.

instead he brought a hand to chest, under his necklace. he pressed, feeling the still-regular beat of his heart.

he pressed, searching for the place where his karma used to be.

from the moment that xiao realized the truth, when his new duty was bestowed upon him, he had made a promise. another contract, one without physical ink and paper, one bound to his soul.

one to you, his creator.

he flew down from the sky, landing in your outstretched hand. he chirped a greeting, body relaxing under your gentle touch.

“hello there, friend,” you cooed, sitting straighter under the tree. your tree, the one you kept coming back to, the one he always directed other adepti away from because it was for you, not them. not him.

you fed him as usual, but stayed strangely silent. no stories of the kindness mitachurls showed you, no update on how close or far the people searching for you had gotten, none of the usual things he looked forward to. you just… sat. watching him in your hand, an emotion he didn’t know the name of drawing your brows close.

maybe you just didn’t want to talk today? but if something was troubling you, he wanted you to share, to allow him some of the weight off your shoulders. then again, he was just a bird to you…

“do you know ganyu, pretty bird?”

xiao froze, thankful he was facing your palm so you couldn’t see his eyes widening.

“i thought i did.”

he looked up, carefully, daring to meet your eyes. this time, he could pin down what you were feeling: betrayal.

his finch heart burned.

your thumb pet over his wings, but he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it. not now.

“i thought she was kind.”

she was, he knew firsthand. how she worried over the tianquan, fretted over her skills both with a bow and with a pen, how her and the yuheng kept each other afloat in the sea of endless work assigned to the jade chamber.

you smiled. it was bitter. “i guess i should have known better regarding the adepti.”

xiao’s heartbeat raced in his ears, something hot burning a hole in his chest. he was an adeptus, he wanted to say, he could be trusted.

but you didn’t know him as an adeptus. you knew him as your little songbird, your friend, the one you continued to risk your life for, even if you didn’t know it.

he chirped once, somber. he wanted to apologize, to take up his blade against his own king on your behalf, to walk up to the fraud’s throne and watch them bleed red.

but you didn’t need that. so he sat in your hand, leaning into your fingers, and let you speak.

as it turned out, today had been a busy day for you. you had wandered into the path of a millelith patrol, which had happened before, but not with keqing at the head of it. not when she had darted forward in a flash of lighting, electro arcing along her sword. not when she’d pulled out and blew a special whistle even as you ran, one that you couldn’t hear but could feel under your skin, taunting you as you tried to navigate the maze of bishui plain.

when you told him of ganyu’s frostflake arrows, he wanted to cry. when you described the anger in zhongli’s eyes, he started to weep.

you didn’t deserve this pain. you didn’t deserve having to outrun planet befall, you didn’t deserve to fear your life being stolen by those who should protect you at all costs- he should have been there. he was south, too far south to hear the whistle, but he should have been called.

he should have protected you.

under the shifting leaves of a sandbearer tree, your songbird cried. and you, none the wiser, continued to spell out the cause of his torment.

.

[izicodes]

Hi, Hello! It’s me, Izzy and I am back from a very long break!

For those who don’t know who I am and just saw my post, I’m Isabelle but Izzy for short (and even shorter, Izi)! I run a Codeblr blog which I post about anything coding! I try to strictly only talk about coding, programming and computer science, but frankly, I ramble on about something else eventually! Hope you’re doing well!

Now, I know I said I wouldn't come back, but that was because I suddenly became stuck on what to post about and wanted to give myself a break and figure out how to do things on my blog and my online presence in general!

So, in summary, I am back from my break very inspired and eager to help more people get into programming / get better at programming! I will go on to talk about exactly what I have been doing during my break later on in this post, but wanted to say thank you to everyone who messaged me throughout the months and saw how I was! Very thought and extra blessings from God to you, please!

Working at my new-but-not-so-new job!

Yes! So, obviously, as a 21st Century girlie, I am working! Still at the music company that I started back in January! Now that I am 8 months into the job, I feel now I am fully immersed in the job and the projects and not feeling like an outsider! I went on multiple out-the-office events with the whole company and it was nice! Some I couldn’t attend because of religious reasons, but I still had fun! I got to meet a lot more girlies at my office that I don’t usually talk to (because I’m still the only girl in the frontend engineering team but there is a backend girlie but we don’t work close together so… distance)! Cheatingly, I am always ticking the box of “code every day”! However, work has made me do more UI/UX designing + frontend programming websites which I love! Always wanted to be both and not just one or the other! We are allowed to have 2 job titles, remember? (But make sure the salary is in accordance, of course, ~)

Learning new technologies! (for fun, obviously)

By “for fun” I mean personal reasons, the technologies I learnt on a whim were not for work but because I needed to learn them for personal projects I wanted to learn! I stress again; it’s more fun to learn something because you want to and not because you have to! So, I have been learning how to create desktop applications using ElectronJS and ReactJS (React has become my best friend!). Me now compared to me when I started my break is 10x smarter I feel like! My brain has definitely expanded somewhere…!

Latest project?!

Inspired by study productivity apps and wanting to track my Korean language progress, I am making a desktop application called ‘eStudySpace’! It would be my own personal app, but I want to see if I can actually pull something like this off! Right now I have not coded anything because I want to work on the design aspect first (which is smarter and a time saver in the future), so I have been on Figma for the last 2 weeks coming up with designs!

(It looks bad, I know this is like idea no.3287368 ugh...)

Miscs

I have been learning Korean for 4 months now. 

I have plans to move to a South-Eastern country, The Philippines? Singapore? Unsure!

I do have plans to switch to a new career but that’s more like 5 years into the future! But right now, I’m happy where I am at!

[hendersister]

cruel summer

summary: steve gives you a ride home after a late night working at the mall.

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!sister reader

title 🎵: cruel summer by bananarama

It’s summertime. While most of your friends are spending the season outside and relaxing under the sun, you’re stuck working inside all day at Starcourt Mall. You got a job at Waldenbooks because you’re trying to save up money to buy a car. You’re about to enter your senior year at Hawkins High and you want to be able to drive yourself to school instead of bumming rides off of friends.

At least you’re not completely alone at the mall. Steve Harrington works at Scoops Ahoy, which isn’t too far from Waldenbooks. Sometimes when things are slow at the bookstore, you go down to the ice cream parlor to hang out with Steve. 

You became friends with Steve last fall around the same time that your little brother, Dustin, started bonding with him. But you think that working at the mall has really brought you and Steve closer together. Over the past few weeks, you two have been seeing each other on a daily basis. Steve’s face lights up every time he sees you walk into Scoops Ahoy and it always makes your day when Steve visits you at Waldenbooks. You and Steve genuinely enjoy spending time together. 

Whenever you’re both working late, Steve offers to give you a ride home. The last bus always leaves as soon as the mall closes and most of the time you need to stay later. Tonight is one of those nights. You’re working OT, re-organizing a bookshelf after some kids moved several titles around, and Steve has to stay late waiting for a shipment. The delivery driver is running way behind schedule.

By the time you finish work, the mall is closed. You go downstairs to Scoops Ahoy. Just as you arrive, you see Steve walking out of the ice cream parlor. 

“You ready to go?” he asks you.

“Yeah,” you nod.

You watch him pull down the security gate and lock it. Then you two make your way to the exit. No one else is around and most of the lights are off except for the big neon signs outside of the stores. You love it when the mall is closed because it's so quiet and calm.

“You know, I think I prefer the mall like this,” you say.

“Me too,” Steve agrees.

You and Steve walk together across an almost empty parking lot until you reach his red BMW. He gets in the driver’s seat and you sit shotgun. You keep your eyes on the rearview mirror, watching Starcourt getting smaller and smaller as Steve drives away.

“I feel like I need to enjoy this time alone with you while I still can. Because when Dustin gets back from camp, you’re gonna want to spend all your time with him insead,” you joke.

Steve chuckles, shaking his head.

“That’s not true. I’ll still wanna hang out with you too...”

You look down at your lap, hoping Steve doesn’t see you blush.

“Truth is, hanging out with you these past few weeks has been the best part of my job. Scoops Ahoy totally sucks! The only reason I have this stupid job in the first place is because I couldn’t even get into Tech and my douchebag dad’s trying to teach me a lesson. I make like $3 an hour slinging ice cream and I have no future…” Steve vents.

You shake your head.

“Don’t say that! You have a future,” you try.

“I just don’t want to be stuck in Hawkins forever…” Steve shrugs.

You take a deep breath.

“Steve, I get it… Honestly I think part of me wants a car so badly because I’m afraid I’ll never get out of Hawkins. That car is like my last ditch exit plan. I don’t want to be stuck here either,” you quietly admit.

Steve sighs, understanding. It’s comfortably quiet for a moment. And then-

“I forget about all that shit when I'm with you though…” Steve says.

You bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from grinning ear to ear. Steve looks at you and sees you blushing. You couldn’t hide it from him this time. You shyly smile back him and then change the subject-

“You should lose the sailor’s hat. It’s hiding your best feature,” you suggest.

Steve nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I know! It completely screws up my game. But I have to wear it… company policy,” he complains.

You slowly reach towards Steve.

“Well you’re off the clock now-”

You take the hat off Steve's head and toss it in the back seat.

“Much better,” you smile.

Steve smiles back at you. You look into each other’s eyes. You both feel the electricity in this moment. After a beat, Steve turns his focus back to the road. The car is approaching your street.

“Ok so I’ll just turn right and take you home…. Or I could keep going straight and then we’ll just be driving around town for a while,” Steve tells you.

Steve is having a good time. He doesn’t want this night to end. And neither do you.

“Keep going straight,” you nod.

[drama-glob]

I've been seeing some theories pop up that Emberlynn's story is foreshadowing the season finale where we see Blitz defending Stolas.

Now, while although I'm still going to believe that this fight is between Andrealphus and them given the ice on the edges of the image, Satan could have been the one to give the approval for this confrontation and/or why Stolas needs protecting if he winds up being stripped of his power via Goetia/Sin ruling. O_O Satan was also calling someone a disgrace, so maybe he's referring to Stolas there, but I'm inclined to think he's actually addressing Ozzie just because of the whole him being in love type deal. :/ Either way, Satan is coming and he certainly seems to be on the antagonistic side of things in this story. O_O

Something that I really hope will happen is that when we see Blitz and Stolas about to be crushed, the possible person that might intervene is Ozzie because for one, we'll get the fire and ice confrontation, although if it is Satan they'll actually be facing it'll become love and war possibly; secondly, if the argument for Stolas possibly losing his title/power is because of him being in love with an imp, then what is to stop them from going after Ozzie and Fizz in the future which is already highly likely given Mammon's vendetta on the two of them, so it becomes him fighting for everyone's right to be with the one they love. :) Bee would likely side with them too given that she's with Vortex, so it has the potential to lead to a royal civil war, especially if Lucifer isn't going to intervene given he's occupied with either his ducks or with helping Charlie out. ;) (It'd be extra cool/sweet to see Fizz do a deus ex machina along with Ozzie and pull Blitz and Stolas to safety while Ozzie blocks whatever that's about to smash them ;) ).

Obviously, we'll just have to wait and see if this truly is what will happen, but ugh, just thinking about how epic this is going to be has me so excited! ^_^<3<3<3

[zumicho]

THE END OF MOUSETRAP! ← IWAIZUMI / AKAASHI SMAU

EPILOGUE: TAKE YOUR PICK — KEIJI ROUTE

before you continue: this was my first smau, depsite it being a huge chaotic mess, and how mismatched it is with my theme — it has a very special place in my heart & I hope it’s earned a place in yours! thank you for reading & keeping up with mousetrap ♥︎ .ᐟ.ᐟ

with love, ree.

｡･ﾟﾟ･ WRITTEN PORTION BELOW ✧･ﾟ: *

you wake up to soft, rhythmic clatter of keys being pressed, each tap like gentle rain on a tin roof in his quiet room. right, his room.

the lights are dimmed, illuminated by the faint blue glow of the television flickering in the corner. blinking away the remnants of sleep, you watch as your brother lives up to the title of ace & captain.

when did he turn the volley channel on? in the small nook by the window, you see a figure hunched over a laptop, the screen casting a cool light onto his scrunched-up face. keiji doesn’t notice you've woken, too absorbed in whatever he’s typing.

you shift under the covers, stretching and yawning. his sheets smell like new books and coffee. like him. as you stare at the volleyball plushie sitting next to you on the bed, the rustle of the bed seems to catch his (akaashi’s) notice. he tensed, but he’s still glued to his screen. probably thinking you’re still asleep. his glasses are pushed up above his forehead, his hair bunching messily behind them. it’s a good look, you note. “if you keep looking at me like that I’ll ambush you one day. when I catch you,” you threaten the plush.

it works. now he’s looking at you. “sorry. did I wake you?” the glasses slide down the tiniest bit at the tilt of his head.

you wiggle over to the end of the bed and smush your face onto his forearm. “mmyes. buht you can make it up to mmfe.” and he chuckles at the muffle in your voice. you could listen to that laugh forever. you look up at him, resting your chin on his arm now.

he’s wearing the navy blue cashmere sweater your mom gifted him last Christmas. it’s a v neck. god, do your parents adore him. red creeps up his arms like he notices you drooling over him. it’s like he’s immune to the years you’ve been together—not once has he normally received a compliment from you.

“when are you going to make her your fiance? what’s taking you so long? it’s been three decades.” your dad would scold. his stupid grin would give him away, though. he could never stay mad at his ‘future favorite son in law’. it’s one thing you and your father have in common. you have a soft spot for akaashi keiji.

keiji’s about to say something, but the man on the tv beats him to it. both of you look to see a bright-eyed iwaizumi, reporter shoving a mic at his face as he catches his breath. he answers a few questions, like “how did you become the adlers’ trainer?” and “did you think this was what you would be doing when you played for aoba johsai?”

“how does it feel?” the reporter demands. for some reason? akaashi looks to you at that question. what? your eyebrows ask him.

“how does it feel, that you’re here and not there?”

there’s another lull in the conversation, which you’ve gotten used to expecting.

you smile. “I wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else. maybe doing something else,” you tease, “but not anywhere else.”

“you’re disgusting.” he flicks your forehead.

“ow.” you swat his hand away. “you’re mean.”

“thanks.”

“and I hate you.”

now he’s smiling.

he plants a kiss on your forehead.

“hate you too.”

@needtoloveoutloud @rory-cakes @minaluvu @tenjikusstuff4 @cherrypieyourface @strawberrygloom1 @bows4life @dreamsofnaughtiness @suitstars @vivianne666 @this-is-me-lolol @kettlepop @giocriedpower @literaleftist @yuminako @kagtobis @wolffmaiden @gsyche @fllavviiaa @guitarstringed-scars @hibernatinghamster @ryuverse @muyyie @gra-eae @phoenix-eclipses @cnnmairoll @neuviloved @reneny @elliott0o0 @girlkissersco @aliensstolemyheart

akaashi driving to his job playing this in the car thinking of you

[pigfacedbitch]

Dating Hort of Bloodbrook

summary : general headcanons of dating Hort while being the princess of Camelot.

word count : 0.7k

type : headcanons

pairing/s involved : Hort x Reader, Sibling! Tedros x Reader

warning/s : discrimination against Nevers and Evers.

here is my masterlist!

Note : I know this is late but this has been on my unfinished works since the movie came out. I fell in love with Hort, he is so cute and loyal to Sophie 🥹. I haven't read the books but I might soon when I need to escape reality again.

You will likely be a year younger than Tedros.

Because of the heir and the spare™.

I know it sounds bad but some rulers actually do those.

Tedros is extremely overprotective over you, especially when Queen Guinevere ran away with Lancelot and King Arthur died.

He's like the typical older brother you see in movies; handsome, buff, (kind off) a meathead, and annoys you to know end.

Will also be the first one to come to your defense.

When you got to the School of Good, you were determined to destroy the image of being Tedros' little sister.

Which results to you preferring to be a hero in your own story than being a queen in someone else's.

As expected, you quickly became friends with Agatha.

Not afraid to stand up to those who think girls are inferior to boys.

While the other Evers found the Nevers horrible for being future villains, you have a neutral perspective towards them.

After all, the School of Good has many stuck up and vain students.

Meeting Hort was definitely a memory to remember. It was when Professor Dovey took the first years to the Wish Fish (Let's pretend Agatha didn't free them).

When you put your hand on the water and begin to think of a wish, you didn't feel the water swirling like Agatha told you she experienced,

Instead, it was hand that intertwines its finger with yours.

And it harshly pulled you down the water.

The girls' screams and the professor calling out your name in panic caught the boys and Tedros' attention, running to the 'rescue'.

Under the water, you see someone smiling at you, or at least that's what you hopes he's doing.

A Never named Hort, son of Captain Hook.

Tedros immediately pulled you out of the water, with Hort in tow.

The angry professor commands the nearby guards to bring him back to the School of Evil and how Lady Lesso will surely punish him.

"It seems like I'm your wish, my lady."

He expects you to be disgusted like the other Evers. To his surprise, you give him the sweetest smile he has ever seen in his life.

"That you are, Hort of Bloodbrook."

To say Hort is surprised was an understatement.

You didn't only smile at him but also knew his name.

Cupid's arrow struck him at that moment. His villainous smirk drops, staring at you with wide eyes as much as he could before they were out of sight.

Tedros, who saw the whole thing, was not pleased and gave you a warning on how Nevers can't be trusted.

After your encounter, Hort seeks you out more.

You didn't mind, he is an odd yet funny companion.

He also doesn't care for one's physical appearance like the girls do or how you're nothing but a pretty face with a royal title like most guys think.

He encourages you to be yourself, like Agatha does.

You two would get judgmental looks from both sides.

Sophie was pissed, not only because Hort was losing interest in her but being the princess of Camelot is everything she wants to be.

So is Tedros. And everyone else who sees you together.

Agatha is just worried and would remind you to keep your guard up.

But you enjoy each other's company, that's what matters.

Hort was in love with you the moment you met but it took you a longer time to realize your feelings for him.

You only told Agatha about it but Tedros overheard.

Believe me when I say that Tedros will demand you to be examined.

"She's not under any spells, my prince."

"Are you certain?"

"Oh my God, I love Hort and there's nothing you can do about it!"

Everyone in the hall heard you.

Silence before a giddy howl ensues.

Hort runs to you and gives the biggest hug you could ever receive.

Despite being initially embarrassed, you returned it.

Before he could kiss you like he always dreamed of, Tedros stops him.

He pulls out Excalibur and points its tip on Hort's neck. Your brother will mercilessly give the poor boy threats if he broke your heart or hurt you in any way. Agatha joined in without words, just sending a warning glare on his way.

Hort would be lowkey terrified but so happy at the same time.

I mean you love him back. He could take a fucking army if you command him to.

Lady Lesso and Professor Dovey would only look at each other in disbelief, worried for what happens next.

[wosoimagines]

Second Chance

part 2 of rivals

Jo's second camp with the team is nearly over and she gets news of her future.

2,367 words

previous part| |next part

“Hi, kid.”

I grinned at the familiar voice as I closed the door behind me.

“Hey, Becky.”

The woman smiled at me as I threw my bag onto the open bed. I hadn’t exactly expected Jill to room me with Becky again, but it was nice. Becky had helped to make sure that I actually got to bed at a responsible time and that I wasn’t late to any meetings or practices. After all, it had been quite easy for me to get distracted by everything else.

“Did you get to go to the lake?”

“Yeah, we went for a couple of days,” I admitted.

Becky nodded at that before she turned back to the book that she was reading. I tilted my head as I read the title.

“ The Portrait of Dorian Gray ,” I read off the spin. Becky looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve never read it.”

“I could read it out loud, if you’d like.”

I smiled at Becky as I nodded. Becky looked back down at the book as I kicked my shoes off. 

“‘I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then--but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.’”

I grinned as Becky read the words on the pages. I knew that we had at least an hour, if not two, until our meeting started since they were still waiting on quite a few players to get into the hotel. I didn’t give Becky time to start the next paragraph as I crawled into her bed before ducking my head under her left arm so I could look at the pages. Becky stayed silent for a moment as I got comfortable.

It wasn’t until I had settled down and stopped moving that Becky continued.

“‘Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade name of the firm. That is all.’

‘I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe you do either. However, whatever was my motive--and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud--I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. 'You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?' she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill voice?’”

Becky’s voice was definitely one of the most soothing voices I had ever heard. Maybe she could become a professional audiobook reader or something like that once she retired from playing. Or even just take it up during the off-season. I wouldn’t mind listening to Becky read me more books if her voice was always this soothing.

“‘Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,’ said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers.

‘I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.’”

I couldn’t find it in myself to fight off the sleep as Becky’s voice lulled me into darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

I looked at Hope who had sat down across from me. I titled my head at her sudden presence. I knew that she often sat at the table with Carli and Christie during our meals. But they were both seated at a table that was behind Hope.

“Hi, Hope.”

I looked over my shoulder where most of the team was still getting their food. Being small did come with advantages, such as being small enough to get around everyone so I could be one of the first to get my food. I spotted Becky and Alyssa who were just now grabbing their own plates to fill them up. I turned back to look at Hope.

“Look, I just came to say that maybe you aren’t that bad.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. Hope complimenting me had been the last thing I was expecting. After all, we still weren’t getting along that well. It seemed like we both tolerated each other just enough for a fight not to break out during practice, but that didn’t stop the two of us from exchanging words during practice.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Hope said as she kept her eyes trained on her plate as she stabbed some of the food with her fork. “You still aren’t better than I am. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t helping us out.”

I stayed silent, causing Hope to look up at me. She just stared back at me. I was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke or something.

“Who are you and what have you done with Hope Solo?”

Hope chuckled at that as she nodded.

“That’s cute, pipsqueak.”

“No seriously. Hope Solo would never compliment me. We go at each other’s throats,” I said as I shook my head. I turned my attention back to my plate. Hope had to be seriously sick if she was being nice to me all of a sudden. “Mine and Hope’s relationship does not consist of us being nice to each other. We’re like sweet potatoes and mustard. They don’t go together. I don’t give a shit what Mick says either. He’s a weirdo for eating sweet potatoes and mustard.”

“No, I’m serious, Jo,” Hope said. I paused at that before I looked up at Hope. “Can you just take the compliment?”

I shook my head. I really couldn’t.

At least not from Hope.

This was too weird. Hope wasn’t supposed to be nice to me. She wasn’t supposed to compliment me.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Hope and I both looked at Becky who took a seat next to me. I sent Becky a small smile before I turned back to Hope. I slowly nodded my head as I realized just what this was about.

“You’re being nice 'cause I saved your ass in the goal.”

“Jo! Language!”

I rolled my eyes at that. I already had a mom at home, I didn’t need Becky deciding to mother me while I was at camp too.

“No.”

“You said that way too fast for it to be true! This is about me saving you in the goal.” I grinned as I glanced at Alyssa who sat next to Becky. So it wasn’t because Hope actually wanted to get to know me. “You just feel bad that you tried acting all tough and like you could stop me and then you couldn’t back it up and I had to save the game against France so we didn’t draw again.”

“I don’t need help in the goal, pipsqueak .”

“Sure you don’t.”

It felt good knowing that Hope had felt bad after I saved her skin.

“You could have just said thank you.”

“Jo,” Becky said. I looked over at her as I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t too sure why she really cared what happened between Hope and me. “Just take the compliment.”

“But she’s only saying it because I made the stop on the goal line.”

“Jo. Take the compliment.”

My jaw slacked a bit at that. I couldn’t believe that Becky was actually taking Hope’s side.

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said once I eventually turned back to Hope. The goalie smirked at me as she stood up. I rolled my eyes as I lowered my voice. “Good thing you’re good at soccer. Cause the porch light’s on, but there ain’t no one home.”

It wasn’t until Hope was well out of earshot that I felt the hand connect with the back of my head.

“Ow!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t hear that comment,” Becky hissed quietly. I slumped back against my chair at that. I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. “I get it. You don’t get along with Hope and you might never get along with Hope, but she’s our goalie. You are going to have to stop trying to provoke her.”

“She doesn’t treat me fairly. Why should I be the one to have to extend the olive branch?” I asked as I leaned forward to get closer to Becky. “She’s the adult. I’m only fifteen.”

“Jo-”

“No, it’s bullshit.”

“Langauge.”

“And I don’t need another mom. I already have one.”

Becky sighed as she leaned back in her own chair. I looked away from her. 

“What if I talk to Hope?”

Becky and I both looked over at Alyssa. I had honestly forgotten that she was sitting at the table with us because of how quiet she had been. It was something that Becky told me I would have to get used to though. 

“As if that would make it any better.”

“That would be great. Thank you, Alyssa.”

I huffed as I pushed myself away from the table. I had already finished my plate and if it gave me an excuse to be away from Alyssa and Becky right now, I would take it. I didn’t need everyone else fighting my battles for me. It was part of the problem. If everyone else fought my battles for me then no one would ever take me seriously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, I heard that you and Hope got into it,” Jill said as I was wrapping my hand. I sighed as I looked up at her. “Is there a problem that I, as the coach, need to address between you two?”

“No.”

Jill nodded her head slowly as she still looked down at me as I finished wrapping my hand. I rubbed the bridge of my nose before looking back up at her.

“Is there anything else?”

“I really hoped that you and Hope would have gotten over this by now,” Jill said. I softly groaned as my shoulders slumped forward. “I’ll be honest with you, kid. I want to call you up for the August game and September-”

“I get it,” I assured her. I glanced at where the rest of the team was getting ready. Even though I had been friendly enough with Alyssa and Becky, the rest still seemed hesitant to get close to me. “Who wants a kid on their team when they’re the best in the world?”

“Jolene, that isn’t it.”

“Isn’t it?”

I looked away from Jill and down at my shoes. I knew that it was. It wasn’t the first time I had been left behind because I was the youngest one, and I doubted that it would be the last.

“Jo, you’re gonna be called to the U-20 team in just days,” Jill said as she bent down so that we were equal in height. “I encouraged them to do so. I think it would be a great opportunity.”

I looked back over to the rest of the team. But my eyes zeroed in on Hope. I knew what she would say when she found out that I wouldn’t be called to the team in August or September.

“The U-20 World Cup will be over before August. So what’s the point in keeping me out of the September camp?”

Hope would only boost and brag if I was gone longer than I needed to be. Plus, I didn’t want to lose the pace of play that came with the national team if I was gone for too long.

“Because you’re only fifteen, Jo. You will have to go to school and finish your education,” Jill said. I looked back at her. I didn’t care about that, I just cared about my future in soccer. “If your grades suffer too much, then I can’t call you up. You will be gone until late August if you guys make it to the finals.”

“So why have me go to the U-20 team instead of getting more practice with the senior team?”

“Because the U-20 team is going to a World Cup. It might not be the World Cup you were hoping for, but it will give you a taste of what it will be like next year,” Jill said as she sighed. I wondered if she would ever get tired of me and all my questions. “You’ll be expected to be a leader on the U-20 team as you’ve already been called up to the senior team. That will also be a good experience for you. I don’t expect that you’ll be seen as a leader on this team for years, maybe not until I’m gone even, but it will happen eventually, and leading a team at a World Cup, even a youth one, will be good for you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jill sighed as she patted my leg before standing up. If I had to prove myself to Jill at the youth level again, I was going to do it. Nothing would stop me from winning gold in August. Maybe then, the rest of the team would also start to see me as more than just some kid.

[bigbangclappin]

Baby Daddy Gangster 2

Summary: Ding Dong! Your baby daddy is back and wants in your life and your daughter’s. And with that smile you might as well shove the door wide open.

Paring: Nakamoto YutaXReader(1st Person POV!)

Warnings: Cursing! Baby Daddy themes, mentions of smut, toxic relationships, Mafia/Yakuza themes (It’s not glamorous in real life folks!) 

Word Count: 2,382

A/N: GUYS IT'S FINALLY HERE! PART TWO! I hope it's enjoyable! I loved writing it! Let me know if we want a part three!

Tag List: @iveivory @champagne-n-yachts @dilfjohhny @junglewoos

Part one

Unknown number: Is Yuki wearing a 3T or a 4T?

You: Who is this?

Unknown number: Really baby?

I shook my head in exasperation, throwing my phone into my back pocket.  The man was relentless to say the least, he did earn that title fair and square. 

What could I have possibly been thinking back then? 

Clearly sexual gratification was worth more to me than my hypothetical child’s future, because now here I am. Stuck with a gangster for a baby daddy who didn’t understand the phrase get lost. 

I shrugged my shoulders, well there was nothing I could do to change who Yuki’s dad is now. I just had to live with the consequences of my actions. 

Which wasn't all that bad considering my daughter was healthy and happy, I grinned as she played with her dolls on the floor. She did resemble her father, with her pretty smile and expressive eyes, she received all the best qualities of Yuta it seemed.

“Mommy?” Her sweet little voice asked from where she sat on the floor.

“Hmm?”

“Guess what?”

I giggled because she loved to play guessing games ever since she could speak in almost full sentences. I never had the heart to discourage her playful chatter despite her daycare teacher’s warning about how it was becoming disruptive in class. 

“What?” I replied casually, taking a sip from my drink.

“I met Daddy today.”

My entire mouthful of beverage was spewed across the room and on to my daughter who whines. 

“Mommy ew!” She cried, wiping her little arms in disgust.

“Oh Yuki I’m so sorry sugar,” I snagged some paper towels from the kitchen and began cleaning her off. 

“But what did you mean by you met Daddy?” I asked keeping my tone as even as possible. “You don’t have a Daddy, remember?”

She shook her head defiantly, her dark hair flying every which way, “I do have a Daddy mommy! And he’s pretty! And look he gived me a present!!”

My heart was racing as she flew to her small panda backpack. She rummaged through it for a moment before wobbling her way back to me with something in her tiny hand. 

When the gold glinted in the light I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, he really went behind my back. I shouldn’t have been surprised, I shouldn’t have felt hurt either. Yuta was resourceful and clearly he used those resources to his advantage to find Yuki’s school.

The tiger bracelet in my daughter’s hand mocked me; after everything I had done to keep that God damned insignia out of her life he literally just dropped it in her hand like nothing. 

Once a fucking bastard always a bastard. 

It took all I had in me to not snatch the piece of gaudy jewelry out of Yuki’s hand and melt it in my fireplace. I took a very, long and deep breath in. 

“Yuki, how did you get this?” 

“I told you Mama,” She exasperated, “Daddy gived it to me”

“It’s gave love,” I corrected, “Where did he give it to you?”

 She put her finger to her lips in thought, “Mr. Lee tooked us outside to play and dis really big car was dere. Den a big scary man got out, he was not nice Mommy, but den Daddy got out and yelled my name–”

“Yuki, that's dangerous, we've talked about not speaking to strangers!” I scolded her, literally stunned. My daughter was so trusting she basically ran into her father’s arms without question. 

She recoiled at my tone and began playing with the little trinket on the bracelet out of nervousness, “But Daddy isn’t a stranger…”

I didn’t mean to scoff at my child but she had never met her father once, I know Yuki was sweet and that she was young but I couldn’t understand why she went against what I taught her for a man who is a complete stranger to her. 

“Yuki,” I sighed, “You don’t have a daddy Sugar.”

Her cheeks turned red with a huff, “I do too!”

I put a hand to my forehead ready to end the man I had loved for most of my life. This is exactly why I wanted to keep him out of her life. 

“Where was Mr. Lee?” I decided to change my questioning to keep her from getting any more upset.

“He came over after Daddy gived-gave me my present.” 

“Did he say anything to…Daddy?” I literally had to swallow the bile rising in my throat.

It took Yuki a moment to respond before she said, “Mr. Lee picked me up and asked Daddy who he was.”

“Anything else?” I pushed knowing it was a little unfair to expect her to remember everything the men said or did but my three year old was my only witness.

“Ummmm yeah!” she said excitedly, “Daddy asked Mr. Lee why are you holding my daughter? And then Mr. Lee said dat I don’t have a daddy. But den Daddy showed Mr. Lee a piece of paper and Daddy told me that he would see me and mommy later and got in the big car again. ”

Oh Jesus Christ. He never changes. Over possessive asshole and what the hell did he show Yuki’s teacher? Such a jerk off move to use my kid as a way to exert some weirdo caveman claim on me. 

This was a mess I did not agree to and it was stressing me out. I had no immediate fix to remedy Yuta throwing himself into Yuki’s life. I didn’t even have a clue on where to begin to unravel everything my baby daddy put into her head.

“Thanks baby,” I patted her head, “Go wash your hands, dinner is almost ready.”

“Okay mommy.” she scooted off as I made off for the kitchen.

I never quite made it there because there was a knock on the front door. I sighed I didn’t want to deal with any door-to-door missionaries or salesmen. I went to check the peephole and saw my worst nightmare standing there.

Looking more delicious than the last time I had seen him. Tight ass tshirt hugging his pecs and abs. His organization’s tattoos were covered by the jacket he wore all but the ones on his neck. That same damn tiger he gave to Yuki was peeking over his shirt collar like a damn slap to my face.

Against my better judgment I opened the door. I had a bone to pick with him about going behind my back.

“So you’re a stalker now?” I asked with a strong bite.

He flashed his panty dropping smile at me as he smashed the cigarette he was smoking out under his fancy loafers.

“Only for you baby,” he poked at me with that cheeky tone, “And of course our beautiful Yuki.”

I frowned in anger instantly, “You had no right to go to her school Yuta.”

He tsked, “Why not? Because you said so? Last time I checked I never signed over my parental rights.”

“Are you serious right now?” I gasped in shock, “You abandoned us not an hour after she took her first breath! You never came out of the shadows to do anything with her! As far as I am concerned you did sign off on any kind of rights or relationship.”

His cheeks flushed red which meant he was starting to lose his temper. A real shocker.

“You have no idea the threats I was facing at work, I abandoned our family so that you and our daughter wouldn’t get hurt or worse.”

“Why weren’t you honest with me then? I would’ve understood if it came down to her safety—”

“You’re full of it babe you gave me a hard time whenever I uttered a single word about the family. If I had told you the truth at the time you would’ve ran and I would have never been able to keep tabs on you and Yuki like I’ve been able to since she was born. At least this way I could be with you during your pregnancy and keep you both safe even if that meant I couldn’t be with you after you gave birth to her.”

My head was spinning and I felt like I was being gaslighted, “When I told you I was pregnant you told me to get an abortion.”

He let out a hum, “And when you slapped me across my face that was the end of it. I knew how serious you were about wanting her. I never said another word about it.”

“You’re literally insane…” I mumbled running an entirely confused hand through my hair.

“No doubt about that babe you knew that when we got together back in school. Now that we’ve cleared the air may I please come in and see our daughter? I brought gifts…and since you chose to be petty and ignore me about what size she is I also brought gift receipts.”

I finally noticed the large men standing off to the side with armfuls of gift bags, large, small, medium, mostly girly in prints and pinks. Oh my god he’s bribing my kid, he’s seriously bribing my daughter. 

“Yuta do you realize how confusing this must be for her? Like you were nonexistent in her three years of life and just want to pop in with presents and pretend like you were always there? That’s not fair to her, just because you’re her biological father doesn't automatically mean you have a relationship with her. And while we’re on the subject, what the hell did you show to Mark?”

Yuta ticked his jaw to the side and licked his lips; he was angry for sure.

“Who the fuck is Mark?” He snapped at me some of his cool demeanor flying out the window. 

Jealous. Again. Over someone who watches Yuki. Utterly ridiculous.

“Yuki’s teacher, remember?” I bit back, “You shoved something in his face, what was it?”

“Her fucking birth certificate,” he said with a clenched jaw, “So you’re on a first name basis with all of her teachers then?”

“Nakamoto Yuta,” I spat, “Enough with your petty jealousy it’s irritating and irrational and also unwarranted.”

“Apparently it isn’t if you’re on a first name basis with her teacher.”

I was 1000% over his childish attitude. This wasn’t the first time we argued over his tendency to get jealous. 

“Have a lovely evening Yuta,” I started to close the door but one of the beefy men blocked me from slamming it in my baby daddy’s face.

Yuta snapped at the man in Japanese but looked back to me, “Let me in to see our daughter (Y/n).”

“I didn’t bow to you three years ago and I’m certainly not doing it now,” I growled at him, “You can’t snap your fingers and expect me to jump for you like a dog.”

He ran a hand through his dark shaggy hair in anger, “I expect you to let me have a relationship with our daughter.”

I folded my arms across my chest in means of frustration and protection, “What’s your endgame here Yuta?”

“There’s no endgame here (Y/n) but wanting a relationship with Yuki.”  

“Why now though Yuta?” I questioned him with my head tilted.

He opened his mouth to answer when a small cry came from behind me. “Daddy!”

I blocked my daughter’s view by placing my legs in front of the small slot made by the door, “Look what you’ve done. How am I supposed to explain to her that you left when you inevitably leave again?”

The look on his face was a mixture of anger and hurt with his jaw clenched he said, “What I did to keep you and Yuki safe should not be what you hold against me (Y/n), I’ve done a lot of things to warrant your resentment but this is not one of them I promise. You chose me too, you know? It takes two people to have a baby.”

“It’s not my fault the condom broke Yuta…” I growled quietly and my eyes shifted toward my elderly neighbor who was out walking her Poodle. Apparently I wasn’t quiet enough since she gave us an affronted look on her way by.

“It’s your fault you weren’t taking the pill babe,” he said just as angry, “We can point fingers all we want but it’s a little late for the blame game don’t you think? All I want is to see our daughter. Regardless of our past, Yuki has the right to a father.”

My daughter began swatting my legs so she could get to Yuta, “Mommy I wanna see Daddy. Move please!”

I scoffed at how rude my daughter was, “Yuki, that's not how we ask to get by, telling someone to move is impolite.”

“Sorry Mommy but Daddy’s here!”

“Sugar I’ve already told you that you do not have a–”

“(Y/n) don’t you dare finish that sentence. You’re the one that’s going to confuse her. Come here my baby girl, I brought you something!”

My blood boiled as I watched my baby daddy pick my little girl up and kiss her cheek while letting her peek into one of the large gift bags. I couldn’t resist the little smile that poked through at her excited squeal, her happiness was contagious.

My stomach may have done a flip when I noticed the soft look on my ex’s face as he helped Yuki rifle through the clothes he had bought her. It was probably just wishful thinking on my part, but seeing him hold my child just felt natural.

I awkwardly made eye contact with another neighbor who lived across the way and even with the distance I could see the judgmental look on his face. I sighed, finally relenting to let the men in. I didn’t want anyone to report me to the landlord on suspicious activity.

I pushed the door aside and motioned to Yuta, “Come inside, people are staring.”

He gave me that gorgeous smile that got me pregnant in the first place, “Thanks baby.”

As I allowed his guards inside I knew I was going to live to regret my decision but what could one visit hurt?

A lot.

It could hurt a lot.