#god. its just so fucked up. i wish i could change the past but what the fuck ever i guess

[dykeatello]

vei lorepost. (tldr at the end before the cat picture. also this is a huge vent about how being on the internet so young (i was seven) damaged me as a person in a way that i fear may never be truly fixable and also i hate myself)

when i was young (like seven. i was on the internet too young) it was the ship and let ship/dont like dont read era of the internet. being a small child with autism i wanted to consume as much content related to the things i liked as possible, and ended up stumbling upon spaces i should not have been in nor been able to access at my age.

most of them were pertaining to things that i know understand are problematic. it damaged me fundamentally, as i only exited those spaces and realized all the things that i thought were normal were wrong, when i was 13 years old. it was traumatizing for me. it desensitized me to things that i should not be desensitized to. things that are disgusting to me now. and it fucking sucks when people say that fiction doesn't affect reality, because it absolutely fucking does. i am literal proof of that.

when i was eleven, i got my friend into undertale. it was the early days of the fandom, and i liked it because i had watched a youtuber play the demo of the game a few years prior. certain ships were popular. because i was eleven, i thought certain things were normal, and i was in nsfw spaces despite being so young, because it was practically everywhere.

when my friend got into it, she also got into one of the most popular problematic ships. she gave me a nickname pertaining to it, and despite me not knowing why, i was ashamed and embarrassed when she would call me that.

i (obviously) am not pr*ship. i am not neutral, either. i resent pr*shippers because people like them normalized things for me and exposed me to things that i should not have seen, and that should not have been normalized. i still get intrusive thoughts about it. i still feel ashamed of who i used to be. i still feel disgusted with myself when i have said intrusive thoughts. i am in therapy, and it took me a while to realize that it was traumatizing. i didn't just see gross fictional content, i saw real gore, shock videos that made me nauseous, videos from depraved people that i watched on a dare, among other things.

my first anime was hetalia, which im very much NOT proud of. you can imagine the shit i saw in 2011/2012/2013. i also had homestuck as a special interest until i was around sixteen, and by then i had been actively trying to avoid it for about a year.

basically: fiction affects reality and i am legitimately traumatized because of it. to be real i havent told anyone this. im afraid of being judged. i dont want people to think im like the people who exposed me to traumatizing and damaging content when i was little. these things make me physically nauseous with shame. you obviously dont have to read this post because its long as hell but i know that some people my age have probably had similar experiences. i dont call myself an anti anymore because im nineteen years old, but i deeply DEEPLY resent and hate pr*shippers. i also know that some of them are coping in unhealthy ways. but it doesn't change the fact that they exposed me to things i shouldnt have seen when i was a young, impressionable child, and it doesn't change the fact that they're still doing it now.

i am in therapy. i avoid and block every pr*shipper i see and religiously scour blogs to make SURE they aren't one. anytime a blog i like gets exposed for being one in secret, i feel sick.

i was in those damaging spaces longer than ive been out of them and sometimes i think that ill be damaged like this forever. ive done things im not proud of. things that make me so ashamed that i throw up. sometimes i wish i could wipe my memory from up until i was 13. i dont think ill keep this post up very long because frankly i dont want people to think im some sort of freak or whatever, but ive been thinking about this recently and i need to say it to SOMEONE before i go fucking crazy.

tldr: i was in pr*ship spaces until i figured out that shit was wrong and by then i was already 13 (in eighth grade) and by then the damage was already done and now im left with trauma, intrusive thoughts that make me physically nauseous, and a fear that im actually secretly like the people who exposed me to those traumatizing things.

cat photo to thank you for reading.

#vent #god. its just so fucked up. i wish i could change the past but what the fuck ever i guess

[rhysnolastname]

Solas says I know a place and takes you to the middle of a swamp where he insults your culture, religious beliefs, and then dumps you.

#yeah im still thinking about this and its the next day #he might be telling the truth about the Vallaslin but my inquisitor did not let him remove it #I’ve played her as very proud to be dalish and believes in elven gods so it would be out of character even if solas says something else #maybe that’s what it represented then but it is not what it is now and she chooses to move forward #about the breakup … this is not the first time a man takes me on a date and dumps me 😭😭 but hey um wtf #honestly my lavellan does love him and is hurt but she has to be so many things to so many different people #there’s bigger things at stake and bigger problem to deal with at this time than whatever he's hiding or lying about #im pretty sure he was going to say something else not about the vallaslin #but his fear is dying alone becasue i saw it in the fade and yet !!!! he pushes everyone away he picks fights with everyone no matter whos #in the party he didnt come to the wicked grace game he never opens up beyond what he has seen in the fade. he is a fixed point #i wanna shake him by the shoulders and YELL WHATA RE YOU DOING you could have it all someone who loves you and a wonderf #a wonderful found family. he is kind and gentle but he is also so full of ANGER and he is so set on things being as he sees them. #Cole cant change because to Solas cole is always a spirit. the dalish are misguided and YOU Lavellan are just different YOURE special #the meaning of the vallaslin cant change because to him it represents slavery and it is in stone to him. things dont change with time they #are fixed. like things in the fade it what it was preserved. he is trying to hold on to a past that doesnt exist that has moved forward. #Solas says you cant change yourself by wishing. but i would say wishing for change is THE required prerequisite for change. a little though #a little idea a little wish that something was different better. but to #why cant you move forward Solas what the fuck are you holding onto so intesely #OKAY WHATEVER IM DONE WITH THIS ESSAY IM OVER IT ITS FINE ITS SO FINE

[myriadsystem]

.

#must not text him texting him is the growth killer #must not text him texting him would be bad because it will make us feel bad and its my fucking bday this weekend #im not letting me do that to us #but fucking god i miss him rn and a lot lately 😭😮‍💨 was there a traumaversary i didnt know about?? #the only him related traumaversary already happened in feb and we handled it pretty fairly well (mostly due to the ffected being dormant) #but still like. what did i do last year for my bday? what did we do the year before he was probably there then but i dont remember feeling #this way around last bday? which he prroobbabblyy wasnt there for? time is not easy for me #idk its driving me crazypants lately like i miss him so much i thought he was my everything forever he told me he would be #but hes not and he never was and hes done a lot to hurt me but none of it was on purpose he was never mean or violent #and looking at old pictures we look so fucking good together and old chats the way he talked to me was so sweet and but that doesnt change #the fact that at this point in time and probably never again is he actually here #fuck this noise man ive got a cute outfit ready im going to the local museum with my grandma for my bday day #and ive got weed and tunes planned for the evening there are so many things to look forward to coming soon why #why do i seem to be stuck in the past lately. like not in active ptsd mode im not triggered as the kids love to say but i just cant stop #thinking abt him and the whole relationship and wishing he was here. wishing he never left? or more like wishing hed come back #hoping that hes changed enough and that i have too to make it work. i keep having awful visions of him coming to my door after a life attemp #and im so mad at him but i cant leave him out here so of course i invite him in to care for him and make sure hes ok #and its awful because it feels like a whisper away from being reality. its too close to what could be real #and its awful not because its a dream but because the closeness to what could be reality hurts so much when logic kicks in #and i know its not reality no matter how dang close it seems #personal #i think im splitty lately. im losing more time than usual and i cant get this boy outta my head. #i hope hes a lingering thought and not a permanent resident oh that would fuck us up so so bad #idk. idk dude! everythings fucked up atm im doing a lot of personal growth but im also behind on so many other things #i just want him out of my brain. its my fucking goddamn birthday and im making this one a good one for fucking once #i can handle the other shit later but this one do be fucking me up in a major way lately the last few days. weeks? who knows

[slimeylee]

why have these last years fucking sucked ass

#slimey-vents #trigger warning below hi did you drink water today and eat something i hope u did ur so cool and amazing pls get some rest gives u a cookie #please scroll past if uninterested i also dont want u to feel obligated like u have to read n listen to me vent and ramble on abt dumb shit #like 2020 - 2024 . have just been ass . #we're not even halfway into 2024 and it already is just #garbage . like its fucking horrible #i dont see how this year could get . any worse ?? but i wouldnt want to get my hopes up on that itll get better ? #like god what has been happening . #covid came up technoblade got cancer and passed away israel's continuing their mass genocide #and a lot of things have happened in my personal life . such as my mother passing away . #and . its just been so fucking hard ?? #i wish i had lasting hope in humanity . but tbh i dont think its ever gonna get any better and that really fucks w me #ive been having suicidal thoughts and ive just been in a very shitty mental state recently #like social media #is honestly the only thing i have to live on #i have honestly boring friends n all my friends dont go to my school . my gf doesnt even go to my school #ive had to switch schools after having a fun time and doing a lot better . the only thing that im holding on by a thread to is social media #all my friends . my fandoms . etc . i talk to through my phone and through here #im so glad to have met everybody that i have on here #im sorry this is getting really long ive started going on a ramble but i just want everyone to know that i love yall /p #i appreciate everybody so much . all my moots and my close friends that ive made not only here but irl as well #and everybody that ive talked to throughout the time we've known each other . i really just want to think that everything will get better #everybody that ive met through my years of social media and school have really changed my life . and idk what i wouldve done #having never met any of them . especially my moots on here that ive grown close to #its just been stressful . but ive strived to get through it all . despite how hard it is #and how desperately i just want to let go from everything #but ending one thing doesnt end any pain it just gives it on to someone else #and i know that im way too pussy to end anything anyways . #but on another note . #please remember that you are amazing . talented . strong . and i appreciate and ily so much . /p

[hyewka]

can i suggest a fic where beomgyu is helping take the reader’s mind off a bad breakup…. by fucking the living SHIT out of her NDJDNDJDJDJ

while i fuck you straight | c.bg

warnings; hard dom best friend!gyu, sub!reader, unprotected + pullout method, breeding kink, a spank or two, praise + degradation (mostly praise), slut shaming, rough marking, a tinge of possessiveness, friends w/ benefits, no romantic feelings involved (or are there?), ruined orgasm, princess pet name, beomgyus an insatiable manwhore lol, needy perv gyu with a lot of spit play, fingering, titty sucking hehe, literal messy filth and also barely proofread on my end

a/n; have to thank jazmine with all my heart for proof reading and giving suggestions, i love you so much 😭 @heart2beom this shouldn’t be a big deal as it is, but it is my first time writing full on dom beomgyu so it is this mini celebration for me and all the dom!gyu enthusiasts (i hope) 😇 reblogs are appreciated, keeps me going

You held your phone above your face, scrolling mindlessly through your socials, though subconsciously, you were really just awaiting a call from your boyfriend. Well, now ex-boyfriend. It's already been a week since you got dumped but no matter what went down that day, you couldn't get over him.

It was pitiful every time you jumped up from your bed at a notification just to find it was in fact not your ex asking to take you back and ...just a random spam email.

Beomgyu had his back against your bed, legs sprawled on the floor, also on his phone. You guys had run out of things to talk about when every conversation spun its way back to your ex- Seen that new avengers movie? You wanted to watch it with your boyfriend. That professor just got fired! You remember your boyfriend used to complain about that class. Gosh, you don’t think you’ll ever get over him.

"You're miserable." Beomgyu suddenly brings up.

You groan, as you repeatedly refresh your feed. "Gee, thanks Beomgyu. That definitely doesn't make me ten times more miserable."

He lets his head fall back on your bed, looking up at you through an upside down lens, abandoning his phone. “No, like truly miserable. I’ve never seen you so up and dry and…sober. Be young, live a little.”

You narrow your eyes at him, looking past your phone for the past time in a while. “…You talk like you’re 80 years old, about to retire and wallow in self pity, having experienced all there is to life. Thanks Gyu but no thanks.”

“I’m an old soul Y/N.” He says patting his chest, and you roll your eyes. Not necessarily refuting it, it’s his entire personality. “Where’s the chick I used to know anyway. The old Y/N would’ve been over this in a day with a quick hookup rebound.”

You finally put your phone down, staring up your ceiling. He was totally right. Who else would be right about you if not Beomgyu? But you don’t want to think about your old self, or you’d start sobbing again. Not like you were a totally great person, but that person wouldn’t be so stuck on someone. Anything but being the lovesick, doting person you would’ve made fun of just a year ago. God, he really changed you hadn’t he?

You kick your feet, whining, falling into the abyss of treasured memories. “You don’t understand, he was different, he—he was the one, you know?”

He ponders for a bit, room silent, staring at you through his soft lashes, and you think that maybe he’ll give it you; sympathize and understand that grieving was the entire process of a first love. The silence is suffocating when finally, he lets out a light scoff, cutting through it. “No, no I don’t know. Bet you just got soft.”

“God, fuck you Beomgyu.”

He grins his stupid grin that the situation definitely doesn’t call for, “You wish.”

You think if he wasn’t with you through thick and thin for the past four years, you would’ve definitely developed some sort of hatred.

You could visibly notice a lightbulb spark above his head with the way he immediately sits up straight. “Hey, hey wait.”

You tentatively watch as he turns his back away from you, laying both his arms on the soft cushion of your mattress. “I think I might’ve just had the best idea ever. Of the century. The idea of the century.”

“I highly doubt that.” You say, blindly feeling the surface for your phone already.

“Just hear me out,” he whines noticing your eagerness to dismiss him. “But also don’t freak out or anything. Promise me.”

You stare at him, hesitant before you give in to his doe eyes. Sighing, you say: “Okay. I promise I won’t ‘freak’ out. What’s your groundbreaking idea?”

“We should like… fuck.”

Your brows are slow to raise, the rapidness of your blinking at what you think you just heard—no, not think, know. Beomgyu’s voice, loud and clear with his diction, your eyes widen at the final click of it all. Before you know it, you’re reaching for the pillow behind you, flinging it at him with all strength.

It’s like he predicted it prior, dodging one… and then another as you throw all remaining pillows on your bed. Instead of missing with your last one, you decide to hold on to it, and attack him with it. His smug demeanor of successfully dodging everything just a second ago, dissipates as he takes cover for protection. “Are you fucking—are you crazy?!” you yell exapserated, more than awake with your wide eyes.

“Ya! You—you promised you wouldn’t freak out!” When that doesn’t stop your mania with the damn pillow, he decides to lay it all out with as much speed as he can’t seem to escape your wrath. “You want to forget him don’t you? I mean, you should! He dumped you, it’s over! Sulking over him is—Ow! So out of character for you—fuck—I promise a one time fuck would get your mind off him.”

Your pillow is mid air, and Beomgyu opens an eye to peek, hands still in protection mode—you sigh, landing a weak hit on his head before loosening your grip. You do want to forget. You’d do anything to get rid of what you’re feeling. But…

“It—it wouldn’t change anything for me. If that’s a worry. You know that no matter what, you’re my best friend.” He finds his footing, collecting himself, looking at you with intensity you could date back to just a few times over the course of your very long friendship. “Someone I care about. I can’t stand seeing you hurt and not being able to do anything. You know that.”

You bite down on your lip, staring at the familiar boy with his familiar brown bed of hair, and his familiar eyes, lips…How fast did he get you to actually give this a thought? Probably a minute or two. Beomgyu had a way with convincing you to do …anything. “I…know. But what if, what if I’m still head over heels in love with him? What if it doesn’t change anything for me?”

A grin gradually takes over his face, one that is once again, not fitting for the situation. “Why—why are you smiling like an idiot? This is—”

“It’ll change.”

You knit your brows together. “What?”

You don’t notice the way Beomgyu’s hand slowly inched to yours but suddenly, his palm was over your hand, squeezing it just a bit. “Having sex with me is a once in a life time opportunity. You’ll forget him. I promise.”

If you weren’t so lost in his eyes, as cliché as it sounds, you would’ve been completely taken out—probably a joke on his sheer confidence because who just says that? But he’s so …hypnotizing as you don’t even take notice of the ‘okay’ that leaves your lips.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You exhale, “Okay. We’re adults. This won’t matter in a few weeks. Let’s do it.”

Beomgyu doesn’t hesitate for more than a few seconds before he was on your bed, crashing his lips on yours, a brief taste of strawberry lip balm, knocking a breath out of you until he slows down, testing the waters, then he stops, noses brushing against each other as he searches for something in your eyes, breathing already heavy, “Is this weird? Was that weird?”

You gulp looking down on his already glistening lips, and you nod. “The—the situation, not …the kiss. Fucking your best friend is an odd situation. The kiss…the kiss was good.” You ramble, your voice barely a whisper but he catches it anyway as you take notice of a small smile before he’s kissing you again, hands once cupping your cheeks already moving down to your tits, ministrating gently—every bit of his action seemed careful, too careful for what you know of the things your friends had told you in heated rants and swoons.

Half of the dictionary could be used to describe Beomgyu, and promiscuous was not an exclusion. You could probably say you already fucked him with the headache inducing details about what being with him in bed was like. Which is why you’re nervous as hell right now. From what you know, Beomgyu was… a lot. More than you could handle now, after an entire year of keeping yourself to one man.

“Jaehyun was worried about you. Was worried about what you’d do to me.” You blurt out randomly when Beomgyus’ moved to peppering feathery kisses along your jawline. He hums against your skin, then stops for a second to whisper, “He was?”

You could feel the smirk on his lips, opening his mouth a tiny amount to slightly suck on your neck at the process of your words—of course Beomgyu would get an ego boost from this. “Why?”

Beomgyu is practically suffocating with how little space he’s giving you, body flush against flush, your chest heaving the rougher he increasingly gets with his marking, his sly hand down to rub between your thighs, right at your core.

“Said you only wanted to get into my pants—h-ha shit, slow down, slow down Gyu.” You were getting teary eyed by his increased speed, friction against your sweats getting you wetter by the second whenever the pad of his finger teased your slit. “You know he—he asked me to stop hanging around you b-because—”

None of this was new to Beomgyu, your past boyfriends have always been worried about him for the exact reason—that he’d convince you to let him fuck you, because apparently women can’t have male best friends without it being more than platonic. But …you guess you aren’t really proving them any wrong now with the way you were letting him have his way, marking messy purple splotches all over, in hungry predatory manner, getting rougher and rougher by the second. You gasp when he abuses the same spot he just visited a few seconds ago, “Beomgyu!”

“Because?”

He presses on your aching core, pending you with the question. He didn’t seem as happy as he was with his smugness prior. “Because he thinks you’re a sleaze.”

An incredulous— mean chuckle from the back of his throat and suddenly his hand was down your panties, abandoning the long game of teasing in matter of seconds. He doesn’t touch you though, which only proves to make you more insane. “That’s dumb. Do you think I’m a sleaze?” You shiver, his deep voice so close to your ears, breath fanning against your cool skin—your eyes could go sore from how hard you’re shutting them closed.

You refuse to give it all to him, it makes you feel embarrassed and small. A new, foreign feeling you never thought you’d experience with Beomgyu of all people. “I-in some ways, yes.”

Not a satisfying response from you, he clicks his tongue like you were a misbehaving child, “You’re really annoying, you know that?”

You don’t get a chance to retort before you feel the pad of his finger prodding your pussy, then moving to gather your wetness.

Suddenly, he freezes his movement, pulling back from your neck, looking at you with an amused glint to his dark eyes. “Shit, you’re fucking drenched. And I barely did anything—”

You think he’s making fun of you so your cheeks quickly flush red, already putting up walls of defence but then he kisses you in the heat of the moment, wiping your frown away and you’re finding yourself reciprocating without a second thought—the kiss so sloppy and messy, string of saliva connecting your lips when he pulls away out of breath. “Fuck, that’s so hot princess. You’re so hot.” He breathes in awe of the spit—he truly is the biggest perv.

“Spread your legs for me.” he groans, trying to get better access to your pussy. You obey, admittedly a little slow, but who can blame you? It feels embarrassing regardless of who, but it’s ten folds with your best friend. “Moreee.” he whines, and god you wish you could slap him—can he not see that you’re trying?

“Beomgyu—“

Your voice gets cut off, gasping when he takes it upon himself to pull down your sweatpants with a quick swift motion, taking it off completely, revealing your patterned underwear—and god, now you’re hiding your face…everything was so embarrassing. He takes a second to examine the wet dark spot right in the middle, proof to what he felt earlier, but then you kick your feet. “Stop staring freak!” you shriek.

You can see through the cracks of your fingers the smirk he has on, looking at you with so much intensity you think you’d melt. He reaches out to grab your hand and put it down, even through your resistance, you couldn’t match his strength to your dismay. “I wanna see your face. Have to let me see you fall apart on my fingers like a little slut.”

You’re scandalized at his wording, your cheeks once again quickly heating up. But you let him part your timid legs anyway, big hands gripping the softness of your thighs, spreading your legs as much as he possibly could, to the point you felt yourself cramp up. But even with whines of protest he doesn’t ease up—bunching your panties to the side, impatient when finally he inserts a digit—experimental with his movement before you hear him groan out a curse. “You’re so tight holy shit, did he even fuck you?”

“Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t wanna know.”

Your senses are already overflowing, you could feel his hard on, his erection pressed on your bare skin, you’re hyper aware of the finger inside you—slender and slow with expertise as he pushes in and out, talking to you as if you could respond with anything more than restrained mewls. “Maybe dating him was good, then you had to be monogamous and not whore around with every guy you laid eyes on like you used to.”

“I-I never whored around—shit.” He suddenly speeds up, a merciless grin spread on his face—did he find messing with you funny?

“Yes you did. It was a new guy every…it was weekly, wasn’t it?”

You shake your head at his accusations, tears brimming when his mouth finds it use, suckling harshly on your nipples through your flimsy top—your body extra sensitive with the way you spasm on a singular finger. He pumps in two without warning and you yelp, hand reaching out to grab at his hair. You swear you could cum just from the stretch. “Stop denying it, you’d do anything for dick. I’m surprised you stayed so long with that bitch. Was he any good?”

One thing you won’t do is tell Beomgyu details of your sex life with your ex. You refuse. But Beomgyu is stubborn, and he isn’t one to give up so easily. Especially if he feels like you’re withholding information from him. “Tell me.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

He raises his eyebrows in mocking shock, “No way. He never made you cum?”

Your nostrils flair from pure embarrassment and shock. How’d he know? You quickly try to control your expressions, masking it to not give him a hint that his guess was right, but he knew you too well. You hate that. Especially now.

“Can’t believe you’re hung up on a man—fuck, baby are you close? Hung up on a man that never made you orgasm—shit,” He breathes, rubbing his clothed dick on your thigh, getting off at the sight of your face. You really are falling apart. “Don’t worry princess, I’ll take care of you.”

You tighten your hold on his hair, feeling yourself get close as you grind down on his fingers, chasing your high, choosing for your sanity to ignore all his sweet talkings.

“Gyu, gyu I-I’m gonna—No—no-why? God, fuck you, you’re such a—such a dickhead!”

Beomgyu just ruined your orgasm by completely taking out his fingers, you could practically cry out of frustration and yet he didn’t seem the least bit sorry. Instead, he makes a show of licking his fingers, the ones he just had in you, swirling his tongue and sucking them clean while making direct eye contact. You cower a little but still keep your eyes on him. Now you aren’t sure if you could stay as bitter.

You blink rapidly to collect yourself, because holy shit, you’re getting weak for…Beomgyu. “Why’d you do that? I was close Gyu.” you say exasperated.

He unbuckles his jeans, “I said I’d take care of you, just trust me.” Zipping down his pants, he’s quick to drop it down to his knees before completely abandoning them on the floor.

He flings his cock out of the restrictions of his boxers and you’re practically drooling at the pretty sight. He isn’t the biggest you’ve seen but he definitely has the girth—his tip leaking pre cum down his length, hands trying to lube it with his spit. “Beomgyu, condom.”

“I don’t have one.” He breathes, already on you as he lays wet kisses down your collarbones before he gets irritated with your shirt and takes it off, revealing your bare tits. “God, you’re so sexy.” He drawls, sucking hickeys all over your chest in hunger.

You wish you didn’t have to, but you resist his touch and in turn he lets out an annoyed whine, his voice vibrating against your exposed skin. “Beomgyu, we can’t—we need a condom.”

He sticks out his bottom lip in a pout, the cutest you’ve seen him this entire day. “I’ll pull out, I promise. Please, I need you right now.”

In that moment of weakness, his tone so needy, as if he really did need you made you feel some sort of power—like you were the hottest, sexiest woman in the world. And so you bite your tongue, and trust Beomgyu to not ruin your life. You’ve done that quite a few times.

“Swear you’ll pull out.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I do.” You say with conviction. “I do, obviously. It’s just-”

“I know. Take a breather for me. Said I’ll take care of you, didn’t I?”

You could feel him lining up to your entrance, his tip prodding your hole, and you’re already getting desperate. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes.” you breathe.

“Stick your tongue out.”

You do, not sure what to expect until Beomgyu spits, letting his saliva slowly fall down in your mouth. “Swallow.” he demands, his low voice making you shiver—dark eyes watching every twitch of your face intensely.

You gulp his saliva down your throat, obeying and suddenly his expression morphs into lust you’ve never been met with before. You don’t even get to process it for longer, bask in the attention you’re getting before he’s pressing your thighs to your body, pushing into you with a deep groan—filling you up to the brim, your cunt not prepared for the aching stretch. You can feel each vein against your walls, you can feel his slight twitching, you can feel everything. “Fuck, fuck you’re made for me. You’re perfect—shit, you’re perfect princess.”

“Gyu—” you cry out, gripping the sheets under you. It was too much, too much for him to already start slamming his hips. “Gyu what—” you’re cut off by your own moan the moment he hits your g-spot, your face scrunched up, hot as you let out lewd sounds with no control of your own, throat strained already. It's not a surprise he manages to find it on his first try, despite it catching you off guard with the sudden wave of pleasure.

“Should’ve fucked you sooner. Get your little pussy molded just for my dick. You would’ve liked that, right princess?” He breathes out in a long winded babble, his hips unrelenting with each thrust, already quickly building up to be in erratic speed. Through your blurry vision you could see his eyes focusing down on the jiggle of your breasts lewdly, drool trickling down the edge of his lips, the brutal slapping sounds of them from his roughness getting his head light with ecstasy. You’re more than aware of what he wanted to do when he lets your legs rest from the ache of angling them so high. Dirty pervert.

You can’t handle him playing with your tits again, you were too sensitive for anything more than you’re getting but you can’t find it in your throat to say anything before Beomgyu gives in to his lust, leaning down to attach his mouth to your sore nipple. Abusing it as he suckles harshly, muffled moans against your breasts.

His pace getting quicker, clearly getting off from sucking your nipples like a dumb baby. It was getting you embarrassingly close, your pussy clenching around his dick. “Princess. My princess is so—mmf—so perfect.”

“Stop calling me that.” You manage to squeak out. Hes been using that nickname the entire time, and though it was easy to ignore everything else, the nickname was affecting you more than you’d like to admit.

He detaches from your tits, slowing his movement, looking up at you with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh? Princess? Why?”

“He—he used to.”

He blinks a few times before his lips draw into a sneer, clearly irritated and you’re about to backtrack, but it’s too late. Your eyes fly wide open, breath stricken when he, with no mercy, picks up his speed again, drilling his dick so far into you, you think there’s probably a bulge showing through your stomach—its when you let the tears stream down, let yourself go as he fucks you dumb with each sharp thrust serving as a punishment. But for what exactly? For mentioning your ex? Did he hate him that much?

“You can replace your memories of him with me princess. I know you can do that, I’ll make sure you do. You’re my princess, and I’m the only one who can call you that. Remember that, yea?”

You nod up and down, and he leans down to give your lips a peck, one then two then three until he loses it and it starts getting heated, tongue messily intertwining, spit exchanged in desperate action. Drilling his dick in and out your sopping pussy, squelching pornographic like sounds filling the room—you think you’re screaming at this point, mind too clouded to be fully present. You’ll definitely hear a word or two from your neighbors.

“Fuck princess, are you close?” he hisses, “I’m close too, so close. Tell me when you get there baby, okay?”

You manage to nod, pressure quickly building up

Suddenly you feel him force in a finger in your pussy, stretching you out to unimaginable degrees. “B-beomgyu—I’m cumming, I’m—” your panicked hands at the intense feeling reach out to grab at his chest, crumbling his shirt’s fabric, using the last bit of your strained voice to moan his name, your orgasm so overwhelming you genuinely start seeing white, body shaking as you try to calm yourself down. “F-fuck.” you breathe out.

The way you still clutch onto his arms pushes Beomgyu to his high too, quick to pull out of your gushing pussy before a mistake happened. It takes only two strokes before he’s spurting his seed all over your tummy, biting down a groan, obsessively taking in each inch of your body’s ruined state.

He did this. He ruined you.

The only thing filling the room being the heavy breaths of you both, Beomgyu’s hair plastered onto his forehead from sweat, yours disheveled, a complete mess. Suddenly, a notification ding goes off, and your attention’s snapped to your side. “It’s my phone.” You awkwardly point out, noticing the light before reaching your arm to get it to you.

He doesn’t move from his position, still practically hovering over you. But you try not to focus too much on it, instead taking a quick look at your notification.

Your brows twitch in surprise at seeing the message on your lock screen. Fuck, it’s your ex! Did he want you back? So miraculously? After fucking your best friend?

Without any thought, you unlock your phone, trying to skim where the ellipses left off. It was a long message and—

“We just fucked. Can’t you wait a few minutes before going on your phone— Are you texting Jaehyun?” His warm smile turning to utter rage gets you stuttering.

“No I—well—yes, but—” you fumble on your words, not knowing how to explain—not knowing why you feel like you should explain, but Beomgyu isn’t one to play around clearly, as he snatches your phone from your hand and throws it to god knows where before your body’s turned around like it was nothing to Beomgyu, like you were some ragdoll. Pushing your hips up to have your ass up in the air with your face pushed into the sheets. “B-beomgyu wha..—”

Slap. Your whole body jerks at the impact of his hand, feeling yourself get teary eyed again. “Beomgyu what the hell?” You shriek, trying to squirm from your position, your ass burning. Then you get another slap, and your legs start to shake, bottom lip wobbling at the painful feeling of his rings.

“I promised you I’d make you forget him. Clearly one fuck wasn’t enough to get your mind off that asshole.”

Your panic only lasts a millisecond at feeling his tip for a second time before you’re abusing your throat again at the oversensitivity of having Beomgyu’s dick slam into your pussy, fucking your juices back in. He’s rougher now, ten times rougher. Maybe this was what all your girlfriends were describing to you, the feeling of having Beomgyu’s dick rut into you like wild feverish dog, fucking you like all you are is a pair of limbs, just for him to hound.

You can’t think straight, not a single word coming out of your mouth is intelligible, all slurred together dumbly as he ruthlessly digs his fingers in your hips, helping you find rhythm, your body reacting on its own as it syncs with his thrusts, moving your hips enough for him to let a hand go to the back of your head, further pushing you into the mattress, drool messy staining your white sheets, loud muffled wails filling the room.

“Fuck, you like this don’t you? Getting fucked like a bitch?” your hear him growl. You don’t know what comes out of your mouth, you don’t know anything right now, because you are being fucked like a bitch while thinking like one too, your nose running with your tongue uselessly out like something out of a porno. “Should I breed you like a bitch too? Huh? Will that make your pretty little head forget?”

At that, you cum again, and he sneers, a mean laugh at noticing your orgasm, “You want me to breed you princess? Make you round with my seed?” he drawls each vowel mockingly like you were a dumb kitten and he had to explain a really simple concept—still ramming your cunt, not giving you a fair chance of responding.

That’s how it goes for you’re not sure how long, Beomgyu switching positions to have your leg draped over his shoulder as he fucks you to oblivion, making you orgasm over and over again, before you really feel like you had blacken out at some point only to find yourself waking up to him still going at it—your entire body sore, down to every inch, your nipples especially swollen from all his sucking. He never cums inside you, instead emptying his load all over your body, making you basically a show of his dried semen.

You trust him, even when his tendency to go far never died down no matter how much he got older. “You awake?”

You flutter your eyes open, a dark room, and Beomgyu. His face is abnormally close to yours. “What happened?” your voice comes out very strained, your throat hard to use. Great, you entirely lost your voice.

“Think I might’ve had my balls in…too deep.”

Even a chuckle hurts every bone in your body, holy shit, how were you going to go to work tomorrow?! “Hey, don’t move around too much, I already cleaned you up. Just try to go back to sleep.”

“I don’t feel sleepy. I can’t.”

Beomgyu suddenly giggles, you could make out the cute small thing he does with his lips when he does. “What?” you ask.

“Your voice sounds funny.”

You groan, rolling your eyes. Of course he’d find it funny. Maybe next time you should peg his ass and see how he’d like to not speak for an entire week.

You feel his all too familiar hand laying on your cheek, and you subtly gulp. You don’t know if he heard. He probably did with how close you guys are, noses practically brushing against each other, his breathing all your hearing can pick up. “You know I’m always here for you, right?”

You nod, until you realize he might not be able to see you properly. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He takes his hand off your cheek, then turns on his back, folding his arms over his chest, staring up the ceiling. So the room won’t fall into an awkward silence, you say: “I have a question.”

He shuffles a little on the bed, letting out a hum in acknowledgment. “What was the I’m perfect for you thing about? We’re definitely not like, compatible or anything.”

He laughs before he turns his head to you in disbelief. “Are you serious? Is that a serious question?”

You nod, “Do I not sound serious?”

“No, you sound like you just had the best fuck of your life.” You roll your eyes in good nature, though exasperated, you were exposed to too much of his ego in one day. If you had the strength and will to come up with something to level his ego down, you would. “It’s called dirty talk if you must know the term fair maiden.”

“God, you’re so silly, I’m going to sleep.” You withstand your pain to turn your back to him, groaning with each movement. But you can’t escape his wrath it seems, because he almost immediately snakes his arm around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, his heartbeat all you can here against your back. “Can’t I find you perfect? You know, like…my dream girl. My princess.”

You rapidly blink a few times trying to process—past the deep rasp of his tired voice that you found yourself incredibly attracted to— his words and how it brewed big unfamiliar emotions, knowing now you won’t be able to get a blink of sleep after this.

“Can I keep calling you that by the way? It really sticks.”

Oh god, the last thing you’re going to do is self sabotage yourself even more and get yourself in a stickier situation than you already put yourself in. “No, that’s definitely staying in the bedroom.”

a/n: i have no idea how this reads, its basically bare of any editing so if the flow is a little choppy i sincerely apologize, i write at the golden time of 10pm-2am 😭

#txt smut #txt hard hours #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu smut #dom!beomgyu #txt hard thoughts

[theoddest1]

Let's Actually Talk About The Issues With Vivziepop

Okay, first off, hello you beautiful people! Sorry about this foreboding title, but I needed to catch y'all attention on this so I can break down the issues that I and many have with "Hazbin Hotel" and "Helluva Boss" creator, Vivienne Medrano. Now I am sure you all on here are already aware of at least a couple of the controversies that revolve around this particular creator and if you have seen my posts floating around already, some have been greeted with the problems surrounding her social media presence and just her overall as a person. I know seeing another callout on her seems very very tiring at this point, but I felt that a lot of the current callouts missed key details that were not at all addressed or properly delved on. I plan on shedding light on my issues with her and I hope you get where I am coming from when I say that she sucks.

BULLYING

Okay, I am starting off with Vivienne's blatant use of bully mentality, her agreeing or encouraging her fans to call people who see flaws in her works sub-humans or harass those who find issue or simply jest about her works trademark cussing and and overcrowded designs. She has had this issue for YEARS and refuses to grow up and act her age despite many telling her, even her own fans at times, that she shouldn't be acting so unprofessionally. Clearly, she doesn't care and thanks to her fanbase caring more about her feelings than her being better she feels as though she doesn't need to change or do better. This goes for her friend group as well, who defend her tremendously and act as though she is never in the wrong. Name one time a friend of hers called her out for acting childish, I'll wait.

Now, you're probably wondering, "Wtf could they have done to warrant such a response?"

Criticism...That's all they did. (White Text is random peeps they would speak with or maybe mutuals)

Keep in mind...they used to be a fan as well. They were also a minor at this point

But, Viv doesn't care, this person's critical yet harmless tweets about her shows is what lead to her painting them in a horrible light and making them out to be someone who has attacked her personally and as "nasty".

Rich coming from Viv since she is completely fine doing exactly that for "Ava's Demon". Not only does she criticize it, she takes a shot at the creator as well, but GOD FORBID others do the same towards her.

And according to someone who knew her well, it's all cause they felt creeped out by her.

Her hatred for criticism is so prominent that Ima makes that a section of its own. But let's get back on the topic of bullying.

Vivienne has a fanbase filled to the brim with pushy and overall annoying individuals who have harassed, threatened, disrespected, and wished harm on many people, all cause someone had a negative thing to say about Vivziepop's mid af show. One of the earlier known instances is the one revolving around a MEME of all things.

This was what started it all, and it led to both parties blocking each other and people being mad pushy and calling them an idiot and the like over their opinions. Now look, their take and you're opinion on said take is fine so long as you stay respectful and humane about it all, but don't dogpike someone all cause they think HH sucks. And while Viv can not control her fanbase, for they are not a hivemind (some of y'all act it tho, ima keep it real) she is seen here ENCOURAGING the behavior. Tell me how someone who doesn't even like your trash ass show has the sense to tell people not to harass others, someone with a smaller following, but not your grown damn near 30 year old ass?

Oh, but people wanna act like she can handle criticism, is a sweet person, and grew from her past experiences. Fam, she was 27 in this screenshot [December 16, 2019] and has shown no change from 2013 to fucking 2024. Over a decade of the same petty ass behavior, and keep in mind, according to several of her old friends and workers, she is worse behind close doors. WORSE. She's already acting like she got no damn sense out in the open, imagine behind closed doors.

Last but not least, a glimpse into her outright blatant slander towards Dollcreep, a once good friend of hers that she even visited and spoke with frequently!

She stated that they fetishized pedophilia yet according to the victim and friends of the victim who were once friends with Viv as well, Viv actually threatened to end their friendship if he hadn't drawn NSFW art of her character and his character having sex [Addi was 15 at the time this was drawn]

On top of that, she liked the post, something she didn't need to do. The art also depicted things she had regularly drawn on her own. Addi being tied up forcefully, being sexualized, being harmed to some degree through bondage, etc. The claim that she forced DC to draw this out is backed up by her own art depicting similar elements. Also, if my memory serves me well, Viv and Doll were 17-18 years old [Doll was 17 Viv 18] and have a 1-year age gap. The way Viv frames things here is as if DC was way older and imposed some sort of power over DC, which sources say otherwise. If anything, Viv had a LOT of control throughout all of this drama, which deserves its own section.

I'll be making posts that talk about the different issues regarding Viv, so one post isn't too long (this one is already lengthy enough) and that you can just pick at one post targeting certain issues around this creator.

#vivziepop critical #vivziepop criticism #vivienne medrano #vivziepop critique #anti spindlehorse #anti vivziepop #viv get a grip #vivziepop #hazbin #hazbin hotel #call out post #analysis #creator analysis #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #hazbin critical #hazbin critique

[i8ickygrl]

（⭒ ˘˘）ᵎ🖋️➞﹕ready player one 🪷

featuring: streamer!gojo satoru x fem reader warnings: dubcon, mention of spit, a bit of exhibitionism, blowjob proofread(?): i think so authors note: thank you guys soooo much for the support on my last two fics! this one is a little rushed so i'm not sure if i'll keep it up but my brain was itching to write this concept. don't forget to like, reblog or leave a comment if you can! hope you enjoy! thank you for reading, lovey <3

streamer!gojo who spends so much time around that desk. you know how much he enjoys being a streamer, interacting with his followers and basically getting paid to hang out with his friends all day. but you can’t help but whine when his attention isn’t on you.

“yes, love?” he’d pull one side of his headphones off of his ear and raise an eyebrow. 

“what time do you think you’ll be off?” your plump lips formed into a pout.

“soon, baby. i promise.” he’d take one of your hands and rub his thumb over your knuckles loving before turning back to his screen.

it was the same every time. you really didn’t mean to be annoying, you just missed him so much… so how could he blame you for crawling under his desk and seating yourself in between his legs?

streamer!gojo who’s still so caught up in his little game, yelling at someone to revive him. not to worry though. his attention would be all on you soon enough. you smooth your hair behind your shoulders and lick your lips before sliding your hands over his knees. 

streamer!gojo jumps slightly at the feeling, stopping his sentence mid way and looking down at you. you smile sweetly and bring your finger up to your lips, silently shushing him. 

streamer!gojo who plays off his sudden change in demeanor, making up some dumb excuse. his eyes are wide as he tries to refocus his attention, feeling you palm him through his shorts.

you feel his cock twitch under your grip, looking up at him through your lashes and smiling wickedly. feeling him close to being fully hard, you tug at the waistband of his shorts signaling him to lift his hips. 

streamer!gojo glances anxiously at the chat, noticing a few “you good?”s but nothing too alarming yet. he didn’t know how far you’d take it but he was sure he could play it off. 

he was in his boxers now and you smiled further before sliding your hand into the slip and pulling his cock out. you hummed happily at the sight and began slow strokes around the tip, watching his length grow in your hands.

you hear his breath hitch above you and it only encourages you to go further. you place your other hand around the base and stroke faster, giving him kitten licks every now and then as his pink tint began to swell from the stimulation. 

streamer!gojo who’s face is starting to contort is pleasure. he attempts to clench his jaw to hide it but its a bit too far gone now. he looks down at you, seeing you begin blissfully sucking his cock. your head bobbed in rhythm with the hand you twisted at the base as you happily and hummed around him.

“uhhmmm… is he okay?”

“bro does your stomach hurt or something?”

“gojo??”

he glances at the chat and curses under his breath before hearing a loud voice blare through his headphones.

“LOCK THE FUCK IN SATORU!” 

“i’m sorry, ma- fuuck.”

streamer!gojo who looks down at you, your shirt off now and his cock wet with your spit. your mouth was opened slightly as you looked up at him, panting and silently encouraging him to cum for you. god, he wished he could take a picture. you looked so damn perfect. 

streamer!gojo is close to his limit now, barely trying to hide the way he lovingly looks down into your eyes and sighs in pleasure. 

suddenly you push your breasts up against his cock and he swears he could cum right there. you pump his length, still keeping eye contact, and your lips moves to say something barely above a whisper. 

“come play with me gojo.” a moan slipping past your lips as you speak.

streamer!gojo is immediately ripping off his headphones, spewing apologies to his chat while whoever he was playing with screams through his headphones. he frantically closes various screens and waves bye to his chat before hurriedly guiding you towards him by your chin, surprising you with a deep, heated kiss.

“let’s go finished what you started.”

#💌! lanis drabbles #jujutsukaisensmut #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk gojo #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu gojo #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x black reader #gojo x black y/n

[howaboutcastiel]

How Do I Ask? (Marc Spector x F!Reader)

[18+] VERY NSFW PLEASE GO AWAY CHILDREN [18+]

Summary: Marc is usually the one to initiate sex. At this point, the reader doesn’t even know how to seduce him (it usually doesn’t require any effort). When the reader wants a change of pace from him, though, she must deal with the conundrum of being the one to make the first move. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Based on an anon request! Lots of love to that mystery person <3 I took some… liberties with the plot. Reader is my body type so sorry skinny gals and NB/FTM babes.

Content: Smut, Like a lot of smut, porn-IS-the-plot kinda smut. Protected sex (we’re not getting pregnant in THIS economy). Oral (M), roughness, a little bit of angst but it's horny angst. Oops there's 2k words of foreplay you can skip that if you want.

You loved the way that your boyfriend Marc made love to you. His gentleness, his selflessness, and even his patience was completely unmatched. Whenever the two of you found yourself in his bed—or his couch, or his shower, or the backseat of his car, or even his kitchen table—you knew that he was there to take care of you. It was such a warm, wholesome feeling that you never wanted to live without. 

That being said…

Sometimes you longed for something… rougher. Sure, you enjoyed yourself when you had sex with Marc. Hell, he made sure that you always enjoyed yourself, often putting your needs before his own. That’s just the kind of man that he is. But there was only so much gentleness you could take. Only so much of Marc holding himself back. You knew the kind of man he was when he was out in the world. The brutal, cunning, ruthless, deranged warrior that he tried too hard to shake off when he came through your door each night. 

Sometimes you wanted that man. 

You wanted him to fuck you into the mattress so hard you couldn’t walk the next day. For him to grab you by the throat and use your body for whatever his liking. You longed for the roughness, for you to know that he’s not holding anything back. You knew of his secret, raw, semi-sadistic darker desires. You could see them in his eyes when he looked at you sometimes. God, how you wanted to fulfill those needs. In many ways, you would be fulfilling your own at the same time. 

But you didn’t know how to ask. Marc was very averse to the idea of hurting you. Of taking advantage of you. Of scaring you. You didn’t know how to explain to him that that was exactly what you wanted from him. You longed for every single part of him, including the part that wished to treat you like a piece of meat after a long day of doing Khonshu’s bidding. You were just as attracted to his cold vigilante power complex as you were to his undying need to protect you from it. 

You didn’t know how to say that, though. 

It was just past 7:30 when Marc walked through the door to your now-shared apartment. This was the first time you’d ever moved in with a boyfriend. Marc was a lot of firsts for you, in fact. You could tell as soon as he entered the room that he was too tired to go prowl the streets in his Moon Knight suit. He was practically already turned in for the night as he drew in a breath and smelled your delicious cooking waft from the stove. 

“Hey, honey,” His voice was husky and low, indicating that he was hiding a bit of stress from his day. You knew him this well by now. You didn’t turn to face him as he approached you from behind, wrapping his arms around your back and planting his chin on your shoulder. A gentle kiss found its way to your cheek, followed by a soft groan from him. “What you cooking? It smells delicious.”

“Bolognese.” You turned your head so that his second kiss found your lips, only a tiny bit stronger than the first. He held you like you were a fragile thing, delicate and priceless. You wanted to ask him to hug you tighter; you wanted to feel his strength against you. “Go wash up, baby. It’ll be ready pretty soon.”

He hummed into your ear as he dropped his hands, stopping to pinch your ass on his way toward the guest bathroom. That was about as much teasing as Marc was willing to do. Respecting your boundaries was his number one priority when it came to your love. He would never do anything to risk running you off; he couldn’t bear to lose you. Sure, he would initiate sex just about every time you had it, but he would never, ever touch you without explicit consent. 

You knew that made him a wonderful man that you were lucky to have. But sometimes you wanted the other side of him. The so-called monster. The killer. 

“Do you want me to set the table?” His voice startled you from your thoughts. You were feeling particularly racy tonight; you couldn’t put your finger on why. But you knew, the more his voice trickled into your ears, gruff and sultry as ever, that you were practically in heat. You were going to have to ask him to do something. You needed him. The other side of him. 

You needed him bad. But God, how could you ask?

“That would be great, babe.” If only you could just make it through dinner. Just ten or fifteen minutes of small-talk. You could use the time to rack your brain for some way to convince him. To make him lose himself in you. He looked like he could be in the perfect mood. He was just slightly stressed, maybe a bit unhinged, but ever-so-slightly too tired to use what was pent up to do any real violence tonight. He wouldn’t go out and break anything tonight. Maybe you could convince him to break you. 

Just get through dinner first.  

He planted another kiss on your cheek as he slid behind you to the cupboard where your good china was kept. Marc had an unspoken rule about eating your home-cooked meals; he would never cheapen the experience with cheap dinnerware. He appreciated the wholesome domesticity that you helped cultivate for him. It was something he hadn’t experienced in nearly three decades. There was no way in hell he wasn’t going to do everything in his power to let you know how much it meant to him. 

You had to restrain yourself from scarfing down your meal in record time. Marc raised his eyebrow at the way you held your fork. He couldn’t decide if you were scared of it or if you were so ravenous that you couldn’t fathom the meal. He made little noises as he ate from his own bowl. Partly to show you how much he enjoyed the food, partly to drive you crazy with his teasing moans and grunts. You looked so cute when you blushed at him, he couldn’t help himself. 

But once dinner was finally over, the teasing halted where it normally would move forward. Marc would usually start by being just a bit too handsy with you, testing the waters to see if you were okay with moving forward at that moment. He would plant tiny kisses on your exposed skin, not even anywhere too cheeky. He would kiss the back of your hand, or your cheek, or even your forehead before he got the indication that you were in a sexual mood, but he always made it clear that he was asking.

Not tonight. 

Tonight you watched as he plopped down on the creaky old sofa, clicking the TV to some rugby game between two teams you barely knew the names of. He seemingly took no notice as you sat down beside him, still unsure of how to communicate to him your burning need. And by now, burning was quite literal as you felt the familiar heat pooling under your belly. You ran a hand through his hair and he absentmindedly leaned into your touch. He wrapped an arm around your torso, holding you to his side as his eyes never moved from the screen. 

Is something wrong? He almost always wants sex. Especially when you have so much free time in one night. He must be feeling really exhausted. Hell, could he be sick or something? Maybe you were wrong about the signals he was sending before. 

You planted a hesitant kiss on his neck, feeling to make sure he wasn’t feverish. It was silly, but he never paid so little attention to you. Or at least it felt that way. In reality, he wasn’t acting much different than normal, but your overdriven senses couldn’t function when all they perceived was that he wasn’t worked up for you. You were going to have to get him hot and bothered on your own. 

Your face nuzzled into his neck, you couldn’t see the cunning smile creep across his face. He’d known, to some extent at least, what was up with you the moment he came home. He had felt you leaning into his touch as you cooked dinner, had watched you blush and space out as you all but ignored the dinner you had worked so hard to make for him. It certainly wasn’t that he didn’t want you tonight; he wanted you now more than he ever did. But he couldn’t keep himself from playing dumb, intrigued by your unusual desire for him painted so plainly on your pitiful face. He wanted to see how you would try to initiate this. 

Of course, he didn’t know everything. You still would need to tell him exactly what you wanted, how differently you wanted him tonight. 

You were getting frustrated now. He made no movement against you as you ran your fingers through the curly locks of his hair. His hand was still against your side, barely touching your skin even as your lips began to ravage his neck. Marc had to stifle a chuckle as you made a near-silent noise of discontent. You were gonna have to do better than that. 

Impatient, you finally took his chin in your hand, lightly jerking his head over so that he was facing you. You pushed your lips against his, aggressively working them open with your tongue. God, what had gotten into you? 

He smiled against you as he turned his body to you, running his hands up and down your arms as you lightly tugged on his hair. A choked moan escaped his lips as you pulled at a particularly sensitive spot on his scalp, and he swallowed hard before pulling his mouth away from yours.

“Why so excited?” You chased his lips as they parted from you. The growing impatience you felt was enough to help you express your need. You snaked one hand down to his chest, lightly squeezing the skin as he pulled his arm loosely up around your neck.

“I need… something.” The words could barely make it out of your mouth. You were breathless, blinded by your own ambition and the fucking sexy man in front of you. As you looked at him, you saw the darkness that you craved so desperately. You also saw the familiar gentleness threatening to creep over him, ruining what you had planned. 

“Okay. You’ve gotta be more specific than that.” There was still that hint of the unhinged man. The one who operated on instinct. On anger. You had to hold onto that man. But you could hardly feel your hands.

“I need you, Marc. So bad. Need you right now.”

“Honey, you always have me. You know that.” A smile crept across his face. His eyes were growing softer, pushing anger through your body. You had to force the gentleness away.

“No.”

“Hmm? I’m right here for you. I’ll take good care of you.”

“I don’t want that!” The words spilled out of your mouth in a petulant whine. Marc’s eyes widened, confused and maybe a little offended. He swallowed hard before he chose his next words. You felt yourself blush, ashamed by your impatience and lack of communication.

“What do you want, then?” You took a deep breath, trying to hold your head up so that you were looking down at him. Your attempt at domineering wasn’t working too well, but you were going to get your point across. You were all but soaking through your pants, he was going to give everything you needed from him. 

“The other you. The one you try to hide from me, Marc. I want it rough. You’re always so scared of hurting me. I want you feel you hold me down.”

“Oh… wow. Honey—” God, those fucking soft eyes again. You couldn’t have that. You’d made it too far for that. 

“Let me finish. I know you’re scared to hurt me. I know you think you’re gonna scare me away. Listen to me. I want you to be rough with me. I don’t want you to hold anything back. I need this. And you need it to. You’ve got to let yourself go for me, please.”

You watched it all flash across his face. Surprise, then worry, then confusion. Then contemplation, then fear, then intrigue. Finally, you saw what was unmistakably a look of decision. Then you watched as that softness melted away, replaced by something else entirely.

And it looked so fucking good. 

In one neat motion, Marc swept you up off of the couch, carrying you bridal-style to the bedroom and wasting no time. You breathed a silent sigh of victory, enamored by the way he looked like part of him had been waiting for your request since the moment you met. He didn’t care that his hair had fallen into his face as he moved you effortlessly onto your silk queen-size sheets. It was so easy for him, and you weren’t exactly a small woman. How much of his strength was he really holding back?

“You’re so beautiful.” He purred, pulling himself on top of you. He took in the sight of you, hair sprawled out against the mattress and face already delirious with lust. Your breath hitched at the way he held over you, his Magen David necklace dangling but an inch from your lips. The softness still lingered; he looked at you with such gentleness. He wasn’t letting go all the way.

“C’mon baby. Don’t get all lovey-dovey on me. Take your frustrations out.” You tried to pull him down onto you, but he was steady in his balance. He didn’t budge as you took a fistful of his shirt, hesitant to take your words at face value. Marc didn’t want to break you. “I’ll be okay. I promise. Please, Marc. Let it all out.”

Nothing. He didn’t move. You were beyond impatient now. 

You wrapped both arms around his neck, pulling him down with the full force of your weight. He sucked in a breath as his balance was broken by your endeavor, forced to re-situate himself on his forearm as the bed braced your frame once again. He seemed annoyed by your show of force, but he was starting to take your begging for what it was. You wanted him to break you apart. To use you up until there hardly was anything left. What kind of man would he be if he wouldn’t indulge your one deepest desire?

“If you’re sure that this is what you want…” He studied your face as he trailed off, hoping desperately that he wasn’t making a big mistake. There was no sign of hesitence; your mind was made up. You wanted it. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Enough talk.” You trailed your hand down his chest. His eyes were darkening again. “If you don’t touch me right now I’m gonna go fucking insane.”

With that, he pressed his weight down into you, his lips melting into yours as he braced the side of your head with one of his calloused hands. You wrapped your arms around his chest, digging your nails into the thin cotton between his shoulder blades. Something in his body language shifted as you tried to grind up against him. Something you’d never felt before washed over him. 

He pulled away just far enough for you to tug his shirt up. There was an almost feral look in his eyes and the mere sight of him brought a moan deep from your chest. He smiled at the sound, satisfied at how easy you were to rile up. 

“Turn around.” The order was far unlike anything he’d ever said to you. He didn’t coo, didn’t coax you to turn over with gentle massages and pecks to your throat. Marc looked mad with delight as you felt yourself blush at the tone of his voice. You complied without a second thought, heat rushing somewhere else besides the flush across your cheeks. 

You sat with your back to him as he leaned off of you, wondering why he chose this position when you felt more than fine under him before. You stared at the headboard as you heard him shuffling behind you, not daring to move from where he’d ordered you to be. 

Marc wrapped his arms around your torso, pressing your back against his chest and groping your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. He sucked a few spots down your neck, much more distant and hungry than the way he normally worshipped your throat. He guided your arms up with his hands, not using much force but domineering nonetheless. In less than a second, your shirt was off of your body, tossed aside to where his own laid in the corner of the room. 

The clasp of your bra took even less time to unhook. He was good at that; better than you were sometimes. You stifled a gasp as the cool air hit your chest, but he replaced his hand in time to save a chill from running up your front. 

“Be good for me.” It wasn’t until the mattress creaked as he stepped off the bed that you realized why he’d asked you to sit like this. You barely had time to process it before a feverish hand found it’s way to the back of your head. Marc grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling hard enough that you could gather he was leading you to lie down. 

When you were barely an inch from making contact with the bed, he wrapped his hands around the tops of your arms, pulling you hard so that your head dropped off the foot of the bed. You sucked in a hiss at the strength of his grasp on your skin, instinctively pulling your own hands up to cup the back of his palms. He looked at you with just a tinge of concern. 

“Too much?”

“Oh. God, no.” This was exactly what you meant. Use me. Till there’s nothing left. 

Marc was wearing nothing but his boxers now, his erection more than evident through the thin layer of cotton. He ran his hand along your bare chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps as you tried to grasp at him with your upside-down view. Too disoriented to find his skin with any accuracy, you dropped your hands back down to your sides, defeated. He removed one of his hands, using it to pull his length out from the fabric. 

Oh, fuck. You didn’t know what you were in for. 

He started off slow as he pushed into your mouth. Your neck felt stiff from the awkward angle, and your obstructive view made you uncomfortable. It didn’t matter, though, because his initiative was driving you fucking wild. You couldn’t help yourself from moving one hand to the band of your pants, pushing up under the fabric to rub at your clit. 

You didn’t make it there, though. A firm grasp found its way around your wrist, forcing your hand back down to your side. You couldn’t see the look on Marc’s face, but you could hear the scoff that fell from his mouth as he held your arm flat against the sheets. 

“Not yet.” He murmured, giving you an unspoken warning. He forced himself deeper into your throat. You tried your hardest to relax your jaw and steady your breath. All you wanted was to see the drunken look on his face. To watch his mouth fall open as he felt your throat stretch around him. That would make the struggle for breath more worthwhile. 

You could only hear as a filthy groan spilled from his lips. His grip tightened on your breast, sending a wave of pain through you and causing your breath to hitch against your will. He gasped at the tightening of your throat, his hips stilling for one excruciating moment. You expected him to pull out when a choked sputtering forced its way through your lips, but he only persisted in his previous rhythm. 

Use me. You couldn’t make yourself regret the request. 

“That pretty mouth.” There was nothing for you to do but lay still as he slowly, deeply fucked your mouth. As much as this wasn’t what you’d had in mind for tonight, your arousal only grew with each groan and low whine from his lips. You took your lack of vision as an opportunity to lose yourself in the noise, finding a rhythm in your breathing to effortlessly match his thrusts. 

After a few minutes, Marc pulled away. It surprised you, lulling you from your trance and drawing attention to your other senses. You lifted your head tentatively, massaging your neck to soothe the roughness in your throat. You rolled over enough to face right-side up again, taking in the image of him struggling for breath. 

“So fucking good.” He scrunched his eyes shut in an attempt to steady himself. You allowed the blood to rush down from your head as you let him sort himself out. He still seemed like he was holding something back. 

He leaned forward to kiss you, kneeing his way onto the bed. Marc was savoring the way his cock had ravaged your mouth, leaving your lips cracked and dry and reminding him of who your body really belonged to right now. You didn’t fight him as he forced your lips apart, licking the taste of himself off of your poor, abused mouth. 

You were trying so hard to be patient. Every move he made just made you wetter and more delirious. All you wanted was some friction, some sweet relief from the tension building up inside you. This was where you hoped the roughness would work in your favor. 

“So good.” He kept repeating the phrase. More unhinged moans found their way up from his chest. You knew he could be much colder than this, but he cared too much about you to give it his all. At the end of the day, his pleasure was dependent on yours. You still hadn’t convinced him that you truly wanted everything he had to offer, cold or not. 

“Please, baby,” You heard the words exit your mouth before they even made it through your brain. Pressing into him harder, you desperately tried to grind your aching cunt against his knee. You just needed friction. You needed force. You needed him. 

A guttural moan was his response to your cry. You wanted him so bad. He was finally starting to get the picture. Marc leaned back off of the bed, just enough to pull his boxers off completely. You hated the fact that your bottom half was still fully clothed. Marc was starting to hate that fact just as much, desperate to bury himself inside you. 

“Take them off.” He only gestured at your pants with his eyes, but there was no mistaking what he meant. You scrambled to pull the tight denim down from your thighs, cursing your curvy hips though they drove your boyfriend insane. Finally you forced the fabric down past your calves, frustratedly adding the jeans to the pile in the corner. Marc had moved from the foot of the bed, now scrambling through the bedside table for a condom. That thought gave you some relief, because you knew what it meant was going to be happening next. 

“Can you lay on your stomach?” He asked as he rolled the latex down over his length. Contrary to his words, there was no asking in his tone. It was casual, borderline cold. The way a bartender might ‘ask’ to see your ID. You turned to lay on your front, craning your neck to watch his movements until he left your line of sight. 

You felt the dip of the mattress as he crawled on top of you, snaking two fingers under the hand of your panties and yanking them down. The show of force sent another wave of heat to your practically dripping core. Your eyes squeezed shut and you gasped sharply as his hand came down roughly on your skin. 

He grabbed a proper fistful of your ass, pinching the skin with no regard for the pain that shot through you. God, this was exactly what you wanted. A choked groan erupted from your lips, scratching against the inside of your hoarse throat. 

“So wet for me.” You heard the sly grin in his voice as he slid his index finger up your core. He stopped just short of your clit, causing you to grind down into the sheets in a silent beg for more. The beating of your heart rang in your ears, juxtaposed by his devious noises of pleasure. 

Pulling you up by your thighs, he pushed into you without any further warning. You held onto the sheets for dear life, squeezing the silk in your fists as he bottomed out forcefully. Again, you wished that you could watch his face, see him beading with sweat as expletives fell from his mouth with no forethought. You could see his calloused hand on the mattress beside you, veins pulsing as he too abused the sheets with his fist. 

He set an average pace as he made a pattern of his movements, thrusting into deep before pulling out nearly all the way. You needed more from him. 

“God! Babe—” You couldn’t get the words out of your mouth. Pressing your forehead into the sheets, you racked your brain for some kind of way to tell him you needed more. His hips sputtered at your little pet name. He moved his hand over the back of yours, interlocking your fingers and effectively holding you still. 

“C’mon.” Words were lost in your jumbled brain. 

“What’s that?” Marc spoke with clarity despite the ecstasy that his body was feeling. You clenched around him as he squeezed your hand, causing him to falter in his rhythm for just one small moment. There, you finally gathered a single clear thought. 

“Faster.” The word took his breath from him. Part of Marc already thought that he was being too rough with you. Hysterical whimpers escaped your lips as he stilled his hips. You pushed backward into him as forcefully as you could, maddened by the absence of his movements. 

“You sure?” The hesitation was still there. That god-forsaken softness, that fear that he would shatter you, leave you destroyed. You were sick and tired of that caring little voice. That gentleness that polluted his soul, restrained his movements, and forced him away. 

“Yes. Now!” You cursed the strength of his that held you back from grinding up into him. Why couldn’t he use all that force to ruin you? Why couldn’t he get it through his head? “Fucking—please!”

It finally clicked. The lightbulb turned on in his head. 

You were desperate for him. For him. Not for pleasure, not for care. For him. All of him. The very deepest parts of him. The ones that hurt, the ones that caused hurt, the ones that didn’t care either way. You needed every part of him. You needed them to ruin you. 

Your desperate moan was nearly a scream as he finally resumed his pace. Obliging your request, he set his rhythm faster than before, still just slow enough to use all the force he started with, bottoming out perfectly with each thrust. 

You could feel that he’d finally snapped. There was no holding him back as he rammed into you with brute force. The room was filled with the most filthy of sounds, skin slapping skin and unhinged moans and gasps riddling the air. Most everything from your lips came out in broken, indiscernible sobs. Music to your ears, Marc was much better at voicing his thoughts. 

“God, baby. So fucking tight. Feels so—fucking—good.” The words sounded like praise, and you guessed that they were in some way, but they spilled from his mouth without any deliberation or restraint. He wasn’t saying those things for your sake. He was feeling them. A prettier sound couldn’t befall your ears, as none existed. 

Your orgasm grew in your gut at an unmatchable speed. You always finished when you had sex with Marc, but this was primal, out of both of your controls. The pleasure forced itself through your core, sending electricity up and down your body, paralyzing you. Your moans grew in frequency, emphasized by each of his thrusts. You pulsed around him, uncontrollably chasing the high. 

He wasn’t far behind you. Marc’s rhythm began to falter as you tightened and relaxed repeatedly. You reached your peak with a whimpering cry, his name mashed between expletives as pleasure ripped through your spine. Within seconds, he was spilling his load. His hand was tight enough on yours to leave a bruise or two. 

Air struggled to reach your lungs as he slowly pulled away. You collapsed forward, not bothering to stop the drool pooling at your mouth. As the stars began to fade from your vision, you became blissfully aware of every nerve in your body. 

You were fucking destroyed. Your lips, your throat, your hands, your ass. Your legs were sore from holding you at the awkward angle, forced to brace the weight of Marc’s thrusts. You doubted you would be able to walk or sit comfortably when morning came. Oddly enough, the thought brought you more amusement than turmoil and you swallowed your pride, feeling the raw pain catch in your throat. You hoped the bruises would be visible tomorrow. 

“Fuck.” Marc’s voice was all but ravaged. You turned your head to finally take in his own ruined form. His hair was wet with sweat and stuck to his face, curls framing his eyes with a captivating shape. His chest rose and fell with spent exhaustion, rapidly trying to coax him back to his resting heart rate. You watched in delight as the sweat fell from his neck, glistening against his flushed olive-toned skin. You ran a lazy hand over the peck closest to you, relishing the sound of his breath hitching at the contact. 

This was what letting go looked like. 

When Marc finally opened his eyes, he met your gaze without a second thought. All the gentleness had returned to his face, but you couldn’t be upset by that now. Everything was perfect. You could let him care for you now. 

“I love you.” You couldn’t hear the words come from your mouth, but you knew from the look on his face that Marc had received them. He seemed confused, the phrase very much out of place after what he’d just done to you. 

“Did I hurt you?” There was worry dripping from his gaze. 

“Oh… of course.” A smile grew on your lips. His brow furrowed as you gave a soft, broken laugh. “And I’m fucking glad that you did.”

“You’re insane.” He rolled his eyes, leaning into your touch. The tug of sleep began to threaten your sight. 

“That makes two of us.”

“Hey!” He couldn’t argue with you. His own smile revealed his beautiful teeth. Elation took him over, making him almost giddy. “I guess that’s fair.”

“Hmm.”

“I love you, too.”

-

Not adding my normal tag list but I AM tagging @rmoonstoner <3

Thanks to beta readers @buttercuppatea @moonmoonboys

#moon knight #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #moon knight x you #moon knight x reader #marc spector smut #marc spector x you #marc spector imagine #masterlist

[lightvixxen]

Eddie munson x insecure!bestfriend!reader

A/n:This is purely self-indulgent bc I needed some comfort lolz, also major vent post and its kinda personal bc this is actual stuff from my own vents lol, but I just needed to write Eddie comfort and ik there’s some plus sized ppl who feel the same<3

Warnings: degrading language(not the fun kind), insecurity, reader calls themselves names in their diary, negative self-talk,reader willing gets into a toxic arrangement, fluff…so much fluff, best friends to lovers, small angst but its hurt/comfort, small mentions of violence, Eddie just wants to harm the ppl that hurt you.

Summary: Eddie reads ur diary and need to show just how fucking wrong u are abt yourself.

Eddie had been in your room countless times, though this time, he was on a fucking mission. He had managed to convince you to go downstairs alone to grab some drinks, and he prayed it kept you occupied long enough for him to snoop.

You had been down the past few days and he needed to know why, unfortunately for him, you kept your mouth shut on your feelings, opting to change the subject every time he asked. Luckily for him though, you wrote down everything in a small blue notebook. Eddie grabbed the notebook out of its hiding place, flipping through its pages, he knew this was an invasion of privacy but damn it he was worried, sue him.

He stopped, finally coming to the most recent page, which had everything he needed to know.

September 19, 1987.

So, I went back to him…and I know what your thinking “why would you go back to someone who uses you?!”

Eddie already knew who and what you were talking about, had spent countless nights staying up with you as you sobbed into his shoulder about the boy who would never return your feelings and played you consistently. And spent countless nights fighting the urge to grab a fucking bat to go kill the son of a bitch. But he reads on.

Well, I’ll tell you, it’s because its what I think I deserve. I’ve kinda accepted my fate to the “fuckable but not datable” Role of my life. After all no one wants a fat ugly whore hanging off their arm.

God- Eddie wanted to both punch and hug you, you were absolutely perfect and beautiful, words couldn’t describe how much he wanted you. How much he wanted you hanging off his arm, contrary to your belief- you weren’t ugly, sure you were bigger than all the other girls, but that just meant more to love! He wanted to worship every part of your body. To show you off, show all the fuckers who said those nasty things to you what they were missing. And for fucks sake, you saw yourself as a whore?! You barely slept with anyone, and the people you did sleep with you had known for years!

I just- I just want someone to actually care, want someone to tell me they love me and mean it.

Eddie loved you, He loved you so fucking much even he, himself couldn’t believe it. He looked at you with so much adoration and love it was unbelievable how oblivious you were to him.

Nobody wants a nerd, no one wants a plus sized- or well fat, Plus size is only for the pretty ones, that of which I am not. Also no one wants baggage, or someone who’s clingy if they say they do they’re lying. Or i would have someone, pretty sure no one in this school would touch me with a 10ft pole. Lol jealous of the people who are wanted.

The entry ends and Eddie wants to cry, he hated the fact you talked about yourself like that. He wanted everything about you, he was fucking crazy over you. He wished he could make you see yourself the way he saw you. Because fuck- you were a goddess to him. He worships the fucking ground you walk on. He wanted to take you out on sappy dates, and treat you the way you deserve to be treated. Not the way you’ve been treated by your exes, he hated how they treated you like a fucking toy.

Eddie heard your heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs, he didn’t bother putting your diary away. He was going to shoot his fucking shot because damn it if that’s how you’ve been feeling he wanted to show you how fucking wrong you were.

“Okay I finally got- Eds…what the fuck?!” You almost dropped the two cans, seeing your best friend with your diary. It’s obvious he had read it, so fucking obvious in the way he was staring at you.

Eddie didn’t say anything as he gently closed the notebook. Didn’t say anything as he slowly got up from your bed. You thought he was going to run out, tell you everything you had thought was true, that this was the end to your friendship with Eddie. Instead, he crossed the room, walking towards you and before you knew it he was pulling you into a bone crushing hug.

“E-Eddie?!” You squeaked, arms hanging loosely at your sides. “God- your so fucking stupid you know that?! You talk so fucking negatively about yourself, while your oblivious to the way I look at you!” You were stunned, you couldn’t tell if he was comforting you or not.

But he continued, “you’re so fucking beautiful, and pretty and so fucking amazing, I want you to be the one hanging off my arm. Fuck- sweetheart I want everything about you.” Your face fell, more than it already could. You had heard that phrase so many times, and it only landed you being stranded in your sheets.

“Eddie- c’mon don’t play like that.” You murmured, even with the way he was hugging you, you couldn’t believe someone could ever want you outside of sex. “I’m not fucking playing!” He pulled back from you, a firm grip on your shoulders, he wanted to shake you until you realized he was telling the truth. “Sweetheart, I love you genuinely, every time- every single fucking time, you mention someone hurt you, or someone used you. I’ve had to fight the urge to kill a motherfucker for making you think like that.”

Tears slowly well up in your eyes. You knew Eddie, he didn’t joke about that kind of shit. Not after what happened last year. “Sweetheart-“ Eddie wiped your tears, “you don’t know how much I love you, I worship the fucking ground you walk on, I’ve written stupid love songs about how much I want you.” His eyes are locked on yours, letting you know just how serious he is about this. “You literally consume my every thought, all I think about is what your doing, what you feel, The way you laugh, the way you smile-“ Eddie hugged you once again. “God if I knew that’s what you were feeling I would’ve told you this ages ago, but…I’m absolutely crazy about you.”

And with that he kissed you, it was slow, passionate, letting you know just how much he meant every word. Every-time you tried to make it heated, tried to deepen the kiss he would pull away. He wasn’t gonna let your stupid insecurities and thoughts ruin the image you have of him.

#eddie munson #eddie x female reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #small angst #purely self indulgent #eddie munson x you #best friend! eddie #best friend! eddie munson #kinda protective!Eddie #protective!Eddie

[lemon-natalia]

Harrow the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 37

hmm yeah it is suspicious that the Emperor has to be locked away during the attacks. he gives an explanation, but we really only have his word for it

the Lyctors seem perfectly (and very convieniently) made to be able to enter the River while still defending themselves, which makes me wonder if that was the original purpose of creating Lyctorhood, and the Emperor maybe has some kind of plan revolving around it?

now this guy is quoting fucking Psalms 26 in Latin?? thats different to the quotes from before, the fact that its religious is interesting given this guy is apparently ‘God’ now, but he’s quoting a biblical text. also given Harrow can’t possibly know what he’s quoting 90% of the time, he’s awfully pretentious

Harrow’s eighteen, i’m pretty sure she knows how babies are made dude. at least she definitely knows after you guys nearly had a threesome in front of her on the dining room table

he’s been thinking Harrow and Ianthe are a thing omfg

the mysterious A.L.! somehow i was right that the Annabel Lee poem connected to her. and her having another name, and being dead for ten thousand years, i feel like thats a pretty good candidate for the good old Locked Tomb body. at least, thats my current theory.

‘She was my Adam’ again with the biblical stuff, this guy is seemingly religious, but also thinks he’s God??

and apparently the First House was destroyed via climate change and nuclear explosions. if i needed any other confirmation that its Earth (or some equivalent) then i’ve got it here i think

also he was just a normal person before the world ended, and he was the only one who survived and somehow became an incredibly powerful necromancer. i mentioned waaay back at the beginning of this liveblog that i knew there was a guy named John who had something to do with an apocalypse, but i didn't know if i was misremembering him being actually responsible for it, or if i was mixing it up with the Magnus Archives. and i, uh, still have no clue if that is the case or not from this convo, though i do feel like there's more he's not saying about this anyway (please no spoilers about this, i really appreciate everyone explaining things to me in the notes but i'd like to find out whats actually going on with this specifically while reading)

and A.L. was not a ‘normal human being’ whatever that mean, and the Lyctors are ‘in a very real way’ A.L.’s children … what on earth does that mean? she discovered the secret of Lyctorhood maybe?

well that whole conversation both answered a whole bunch of questions and absolutely nothing at the same time 😂

well okay the dude’s gone past playing parent and just outright told Harrow he sometimes wishes she was his daughter. i really don’t know how much of that affection is genuine

imagine telling someone you view them as a surrogate daughter and they fucking. smash a glass table in response lol. and yeah if its been ten thousand years and you haven’t developed emotional intelligence yet, then i don’t think its happening mate

ohhhh shit she’s telling him about the Locked Tomb. and i suppose there are worse ways this could have ended than him not believing her at all, but i really don’t think she’s wrong, especially since Gideon said she saw her do so/saw the door open in the last book, i think she did get in there somehow

wait i was working under the assumption that it was the Emperor who’d messed up her memories, but its not! did she do it to herself then after writing the letters?

#lemon natalia reads the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #harrow the ninth

[the-kirbe-anon]

MANIFESTIMONY (1/???)

Lately, I’ve been trying to block out all outside influences from my personal relationship with god, but here’s the difficult thing about that: I’m still looking for answers. The Bible on its own isn’t enough for me, it’s just not. It’s vague as fuck, and there’s a lot of unanswered questions that I need properly answered if you expect me to understand any of it at all. But when most Christians/Pastors tell me their answers, I add those answers into the equation and it just makes me feel even worse, leaving me with even more questions, depression, paranoia, and overall confusion than before. I know that you probably think I shouldn’t let other Christians influence my relationship with God, as if it’s not already bad just being God, The Bible, and me. I try to picture God how you all want me to picture him (a loving father), but then thoughts of all the things he did in the bible come to mind, and I start to feel as if it's all just a facade. It all crumbles away, and I start to feel sick. I just can’t feel safe in him. It feels better viewing Christ as a being entirely separate from God, a being that came to sacrificed himself to save us from his father’s wrath. If Jesus is God, the same god that did all of those things, then I feel like he deserved everything they did to him. Why should I feel bad for him? He’s the all-powerful ruler of existence, he has everything he could ever want and infinitely more. He CHOSE to become human, he KNEW he would be killed in the way he was. He WANTED to be killed in the way he was. In fact, why should I feel bad for him anyway? He’s the son of God, that makes him one of the most privileged people in existence by default. He didn’t even stay dead, so what exactly did he sacrifice? Even ignoring all of that, why did God feel he had to die in one of the most violent and horrific ways imaginable just so he can save us from himself? Is God not powerful enough against sin to avoid bloodshed? Or is he just that bloodthirsty? Why did God have to kill so many people? Is God not all-powerful against the devil? Can God not just come up with a way to fix the issue without killing his children? Did he know he would have to do this to them? If he did, then why did he create them in the first place? Are we all just disposable toys for him? Things he can play with for a while and then discard when we don’t serve the purpose he wanted us to have? Does he even really consider us humans his children? Or just the ones that mindlessly obey him? God never changes apparently, so he’s still the same bloodthirsty, apathetic tyrant he was when he did all those things. Why should I trust him? Because he created me? Look at what he HIMSELF did to the things he’s created in the past. I know God hates me asking all these questions and is probably contemplating the right time to kill me right now, but I’ve tried to stop thinking about all of this, and I just can’t. I wish God never gave humans free will. He had no reason to give humans free will whatsoever. He knew ALL of the risks, knowing that he would have to kill so many of his own creations, ones that he supposedly “loved”, and knowing that most of those creations wouldn’t come back to him, and he STILL gave us free will. WHY? Does he just love seeing us fuck up all the time so he can justify punishing us? Otherwise, I can’t see a reason. Think about how much better everything would be if we didn’t have free will, how much happier we all would be, and most importantly, how much happier God would be. There would be no sin, because we’d be unable to. We would still be in the garden. God wouldn’t have to have killed any of us and none of us would go to hell. The more Christians I talk to, the less christians I’m able to talk to, and the more I feel like, maybe this is God’s way of telling me I deserve to be alone.

Hello Anon, sorry this answer took a bit, but I'll try to answer this to the best of my ability and if I miss something/ say something wrong I hope my fellow Christian mutuals chime in as needed.

1. Jesus is God. There are many Bible verses that point to this.

John 10:30 (ESV)

30 I and the Father are one.”

John 8:58

Jesus said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, before Abraham was, I am.”

John 1:1

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

There are more verses that show that The Father and The Son and The Holy Spirit are one God, the same God.

Now, Why did God kill people?

Well God, being fully good, cannot tolerate sin. The punishment for sin is death and hell. God is fully justice as well, so while He can decide who dies and who doesn't, and even uses the government (not citizens such as vigilantes) as a tool for justice (death penalty, prison, ECT.

(better explained in these articles)

Why did God give us free will, knowing that we would sin?

He did that because He wanted us to have a relationship with Him, and if we were like machines or puppets, we wouldn't be able to have a relationship with Him.

We wouldn't get to know His incredible mercy, His grace or truly understand what His love is. More on that here

(GotQuestions teen site, put it there because they explain it in an easy to understand way while remaining true to the Bible.)

Also God doesn't want to punish us and He's not waiting for you to mess up so He could kill or punish you, that's not who He is and I'm sorry if someone made you think He is like that. God does hate sin and wants us to repent but he's not sitting there waiting to kill or punish you. Yes continuous unrepentant sin leads to Hell, but Jesus (as I said, also God) did everything necessary for you to repent and be saved.

God sent His Son so that anyone who accepts Him as their Lord and Savior can be saved, including you.

We ALL have sinned, and deserve punishment, especially me. I'm no better than anyone else and struggle with sin daily. BUT Jesus, who had never sinned, died on the cross to pay for our sins, and resurrected three days later. He didn't sin, so He didn't deserve the punishment He got, but willingly accepted the punishment we deserve so that He could save us.

If you accept Jesus, you don't ever need to worry about being punished, because He already paid for that punishment.

#christian kirbo hours #poyo

[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Fourteen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

no tag list. please follow @emkald-fic and turn on post notifications for updates or subscribe on AO3

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen

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Author's Notes: Back from hiatus on April 26th! (Chapter 16 is just about polished and I finally made progress for chapter 17). I'm sending huge, huge thank you to my beloved beta and co-pilot, @vampire-exgirlfriend for all her love and support and kindness. There's been a lot of times that I've thought about stopping, about not continuing this story, about maybe just keeping it to myself. It's been her love and very aggressive 'that is DUMB' affection that has brought us close to the end of Arc I.

And a huge thank you to the people who have liked this story. I genuinely would love LOVE LOVE to hear your thoughts. In inbox is open, reblog and tag me, however you want to let me know that you're here <3

we are now entering the 'oh my god these too are so fucking into each other they want to fuck so bad it makes them look stupid' era

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - Love the World Like I Should

Grandfather Rodrik shows up with love and gifts, and there's some smooching on the dance floor at Aegon's nameday feast. Also some political anxiety.

King’s Landing was filled to bursting in the days approaching Aegon’s nameday celebrations. Never had Abby seen so many people crush themselves into the Red Keep. ‘More will be at Harrenhal for the wedding’, Helaena had said, their small group seeking solace away from the gaggle of the court for a while. Baela had come with them, overwhelmed with the crush of noise herself, even if she did not admit it. The Princesses Targaryen, Abby, Wylla, little Floris, and Baela’s two ladies had all sought the quietest part of the gardens to hide from the increasingly aggressive attentions.

Now, though, Abby could not hide from the crush of people.

The Reyne retinue arrived in the early afternoon, and while an ancient and powerful house as theirs deserved their pomp, the familial presentation was for Rodrik Reyne, uncle to the Queen Alicent Hightower, and grandfather to the future Princess Abrogail Strong.

Grandfather to the potential future queen, as the whispers and rumors flew around the Red Keep with the coming celebrations. Rumors that Abby wasn’t sure would come to pass, but could not deny that the king’s wishes still might change. That was a future she wasn’t sure what to think about.

His hair was more gray than auburn, thick and wavy as if he were a man of twenty instead of near seventy. Lord Rodrik was tall and broad, an imposing figure on his gray and white courser, its fine white mane braided into little knots along the elegant arch of its neck. To see him and the king that was only feet away from her had a curl of unease snaking through her belly. To look at the king was to see a man wasting away, a man at death’s door. To see Rodrik Reyne dismount with fluid ease was to see a man who, while past the prime of life, clearly had so much left in him.

“Your Grace.” Lord Rodrik mounted the steps, arm clapped to his shoulder in the Westerland sign of fealty as he bowed. “It is good to see you in fine spirits, my king.”

“No finer time than to celebrate such a joyous occasion, Lord Rodrik,” the king said with a smile. Rodrik clasped Uncle Otto’s arm in a firm grip, pleasantries exchanged and his smile broadened as he bowed lower before Queen Alicent.

“You are the light of the seven, aren’t you, my dearest,” he complimented her, genuine to the core. The queen’s cheeks pinkened at the praise and she readily embraced her uncle, fingers grasping his arms.

“We are so glad you are here to celebrate, uncle,” she said. “I am pleased to see you in such fine health and I’m so sorry Aunt Dalla could not come.”

“It is a long journey and she is not as quick as she used to be. She was quite happy to stay back with Daerion and enjoy the children. I am their favorite, after all. It’s only fair that I give everyone else the opportunity to receive some attention.” Alicent blinked as she registered the joke, a chuckle spilling from her as her uncle pressed a kiss to her hand.

Aegon stood between his mother and Abby, and she felt more than saw him straighten up as Lord Rodrik turned his cool blue eyes on him. Age had not shrunk the man, and Lord Rodrik stood as tall as Uncle Otto, and though there was a far less threatening air to him, it made him no less intimidating. Aegon’s chin tilted up to meet the man’s eye and he inclined his head.

“It is good to see you, Lord Rodrik,” Aegon greeted, his voice polite and steady, when not two hours before, he’d been with her in the alcove behind the tapestry of Jonquil Drake frantic with nerves at meeting her grandfather. It seemed like the kisses she’d given him, as well as the growing bruise that was barely visible above the collar of his deep green damask doublet had not eased his worries. “I hope your travels were easy and without issue.”

The last time they’d seen any of the Reynes had been near a decade ago, at her mother’s funeral. They had spent time with her and her father at Harrenhal before coming down to King’s Landing to spend time with the queen and her children, and that event was entirely different than now.

“Good tidings on your nameday, nephew,” he returned with all the formality as if he were addressing him by princely title. “Our travels were well, and it’ll be good to be off the road for some time.” An expression of mischief danced in the pale gray-blue eyes of Rodrik as he assessed the prince before him, eyes catching on the bruise on Aegon’s neck and then glancing at Abby and the arm she had laced through his own. He raised a brow. “It would appear that your betrothal has made a man of you yet, my prince. I might even say you’ve grown an inch or two since I last saw you.”

Heat flushed through Abby’s face and Aegon’s own, his sputter brief and confused as the Lord gave him an amused look, as if he might ruffle his hair had Aegon been a decade younger. Instead, he gave another incline of his head before coming before Abby.

“You are most certainly taller than I last saw you,” he said, cupping her face in his gloved hands, the scent of horse and spice clinging to him as he kissed her forehead. Her hand slipped from Aegon’s arm to clutch at her grandfather’s crimson sleeves beneath his brown leather jerkin, warmth spreading through her chest at the gentle affection.

“Not much taller than this, I’m afraid,” she said, a light, awkward laugh. Her grandfather reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, where the rest of her hair hung in a long, simple braid down to the small of her back. He cupped her cheek, and she caught a shine in his eyes, a slow exhale as the familiar look of grief she knew well crossed his features, aging him in the moment. “I’m very glad to see you, grandfather.”

Rodrik Reyne nodded, pushing past the emotion before moving on to greet the rest of his nephews and niece, and she felt Aegon’s hand slide around her waist, fingers bunching slightly against the crimson and silver damask against her hip. She hid her hands in the belled sleeves, knotting them together and taking comfort from Aegon’s touch. Her chest ached painfully but she gave him a smile when he murmured her name.

“I am well,” she assured him, leaning into him momentarily before their party went inside, her grandfather speaking of the gifts he had brought for all of them.

Over the past days, it had been a bustle and flurry of becoming reacquainted with her grandfather, of suffering through her sister’s company. The apartments that she technically shared with her brother had served as the hub for the activity of their family. Houses Strong, Reyne, and Lannister moved in and out of the modestly decorated space. It had been overwhelming, but with the arrival of her grandfather, Cory’s acerbic tongue and judgmental looks had been averted, and Abby wondered if there was jealousy hidden beneath all that venom. She had fallen into her own acquaintance with the Queen, whom she had known when she’d served as one of Rhaenyra’s ladies when they were young.

Abby also had to organize the gifts brought from the Westerlands that would be sent back with Uncle Simon. Bolts of fine cloth of gold and silver from the expansive Reyne mines, a peregrine falcon, lovely cream and gray with black specks and bright black eyes she’d named Caelus. There’d been books too. A small chest carved with mountains and flowers contained five books, mostly from Myr, and some from Braavos, including what looked to be an interesting treatise from a Volantine woman who advocated for the importance of women’s contributions, and another on teaching woman to cultivate what she had determined as useful qualities, to achieve worthy acts in their lives.

‘A woman’s success,’ it read, ‘depends on the ability to manage and mediate by speaking and writing eloquently and effectively, for men so easily dismiss the thoughts of women, especially when their power is threatened by them.’

Perhaps she should look to promoting more copies of the sumptuously illustrated work. Perhaps she might even try her hand at replicating some of the images therein. There’s been a box of paints and new charcoal among the gifts, as well as a newly bound book for her to sketch in. Abby smiled at the idea, and had tucked it away for later.

“Mind the dress,” Wylla’s voice came from behind, already dressed for the feast and bossing about the red-clad maids of the holdfast who had been helping Abby as she worked to put together her household. Theraxis lay reclined along the end of the bed, his great yellow eyes watching the flurry of maids with such focus as if he too were supporting Wylla’s orders.

“Only a single lady?” Grandfather had balked, perceiving insult before she’d hurriedly cut in, explaining Wylla was more than enough, she did not want to be demanding, and hadn’t needed anyone else.

Wylla had snorted, eyes flashing in the familiar argument. “She’s meant to be looking for more ladies over the course of the festivities,” with all the same annoyance aimed at her as she had aimed at Aegon in the courtyard so long ago. “She needs six at least, but will she listen to me? Nay, she’s a wee stubborn thing and Lord Larys doesn’t seem to push it either.”

The gifts had not stopped there, and she was currently staring, wide eyed, at the most recent one.

The ornate wooden box before her was made of varnished rosewood, with inlays of silver decoration along the edges, and an equally delicate lock that her grandfather had carefully opened with a tiny silver key. The tiara that lay inside was fit for a queen. Ten citrine sunbursts wove together like flowers, the colors of them running from red to gold to orange and in the center of each, diamonds glittered. It sat in the center of the box, resting on a cloth of silver pillow and her mouth went dry.

“Th-this is too much. Grandfather…” Abby’s voice faltered and she lifted her gaze to meet his. Never had she felt so spoiled, so doted on. She felt guilt for it, the way it warred in confusing uncertainty. So long she had never asked for more, and it wasn’t as if Larys was a doting brother who snuck her sweets and trinkets the way Harwin had.

Her grandfather’s gaze was a mixture of annoyance, affection, and more that she did not understand. “It is most certainly not too much, dear child,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. Wylla slightly raised her eyebrows when he wasn’t looking and gently lifted the tiara from the box. “You are the blood of Castamere. You are my blood, my granddaughter,” he had said, cupping her cheek in a warm, rough hand and pressing a loving kiss to her brow. “The realm would do well to remember that you are a Reyne just as the queen is. It is not simply Hightower blood no matter how much my good brother likes to pretend.”

At least her grandfather was honest and she could not blame him for that. This was how the game was played. This was how power was brokered, even Abby understood the simple truth of it. Unlike most, Rodrik Reyne did not hide his motives, and the care that he expressed towards her since his arrival a few days ago had proven genuine. He did not ask her for favors, had inquired about her wellbeing and made sure she had what she was owed to her station.

Wylla’s nimble fingers had ensured the tiara was settled in her hair, twists of braids securing the citrine that matched her hair. The Riverlands style was one that she was glad not to give up and she would not have anyone thinking she was anything but the daughter of the rivers, and now a child of Castamere.

Her grandfather had escorted her down to the queen’s party. The king and her brother and uncle were already in the throne room and she could hear and feel the buzzing of growing anticipation as they approached the antechamber. Her hand rested in the crook of her grandfather’s elbow and her fingers spasmed with nerves. His hand found hers and she looked up at him, mouth parted as if to speak. He smiled at her instead.

“You look so much like your mother,” he said softly, his blue eyes misty and his smile warm. It took Abby aback. She had not seen the Lord Hand smile so openly and honestly. Larys barely smiled and when he did it made her wish to avoid it more often than not. The last man who smiled at her in such openness was her father. “She is here with us and she would be so proud of you.”

“Would she approve of this?” Abby asked softly. It was a silly question, the kind of question a motherless child who could barely remember her own mother asked. She could see the queen through the doorway at the end of the hall, hear Helaena’s laughter echoing along with Daeron’s.

Her grandfather paused and seemed to steel himself. The emotion was plain on his face. The grief was palpable and he did not meet her eyes as he composed himself. “Your mother was in the very fortunate position where I could let her choose who she wanted to marry. She could wait, and find a match that she got along well with. Lord Jason was a possibility, but even if your mother wanted to marry him, I couldn’t let her resign her future to a foppish imbecile like him, Lannister seat or not. She fell in love with your father and he did not demand heirs of her or money or prestige. He simply wanted someone to spend his days with and they found that in one another. That is what your mother wanted for you. A world where you were safe and loved.”

He cupped her cheek and Abby lifted her hand to hold his, feeling her own tears threaten. “The future has one certainty and there will be hard choices to make. Know that your family stands behind you, and that you may be a Riverlands girl, but there is a lion inside of you. They say in the north wolf packs survive together. You are part of a pride and are just as fierce. Dragons could not take the Westerlands and fire cannot burn the rivers.”

“He won’t burn me,” Abby said softly. “I trust him. I… care for him. I want him, not for a title, not for whatever the future may bring. I simply want him and he wants me and we just want to be happy. I think we can make each other happy, Grandfather.”

“Good,” he said and dropped his hand. “Then should the Stranger take me this night, it will be knowing you will be happy.” He gave her a watery laugh, amusement on his face. “And should he mistreat you, then I will haunt him to madness.”

When they entered the antechamber, Lord Rodrik pressed a kiss to her hand and went to join the rest of the gathering in the throne room. Helaena was in conversation with Daeron, and Aegon…

Aegon turned to look at her upon her entrance and his face went slack. She blushed, smoothing her hands over her gown, watching as the candlelight shimmered over the green and blue layers of the skirt, the fabric diaphanous, like currents of water around her legs. Her fingers found the golden dragons embroidered over her waist, intermingling with the glittering red weirwood leaves, worrying at the material. Her slippers were as gold as the dragons on her bodice, peaking out beneath her hem as she closed the distance between them. Aegon reached for her and she slid her hand into his and watched the smile spread slowly across his face.

‘I think we can make each other happy.’

Abby was not meant to be on Aegon’s arm as they entered the feast. He should have been escorting his mother as protocol dictated since King Viserys had entered the feast already. It was a heady feeling to know Aegon would not let her go, even as he was forced to drop her hand so she could tuck hers into the crook of his arm. A thrill that continued down her spine and coiled in her belly with the rest of the bursting butterflies dancing inside that gave her the strength to tilt her chin up as all her lessons instructed her to do. The perfect posture, the perfect gait all came rushing to her in a way that she finally understood why it mattered.

The pride that she felt wasn’t about being Queen Alicent’s pet project, or even that she had somehow snagged a prince for a betrothed. She was Lady Abrogail, heir to Harrenhal, the legacy of her mother’s fierceness and her father’s wisdom. As they walked behind the queen and Lord Otto, Abby squeezed her hand along Aegon’s bicep. She was the daughter of the Riverlands, and Aegon was lucky to have her, for there were many others that she could be with.

He looked at her with clear and bright eyes, the lilac full of mirth in a way she hadn’t seen from him in so long, and there were broad smile lines around his mouth, the flash of white teeth as he grinned at her. His hair was freshly washed, the silver curls gleaming gold in the sea of candleglow. His doublet was new as well - a fine, black silk brocade with a pattern woven in that evoked a shimmer of dragon scales. Golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads gleamed down the center. The seams were piped with red silk, and red silk trim embroidered with golden dragons wrapped around from the center and over his back. The same embroidered trim encircled his sleeves, which were slashed open along the back of his arms from bicep to the buttoned cuffs, the Targaryen red brocade of his shirt beneath poking through.

For the first time, he wore a crown upon his brow. It was a hammered circlet of gold that rested gently around his head, interspersed with seven circles stamped with dragons. Before the realm, he truly looked like the prince that he was.

A son who was celebrated by his parents.

She was lucky to have him. Let them see it. Let Queen Alicent see how brightly they made one another smile when they got to choose one another. Let them see she was not beholden to The High Tower, or to the Targaryens, or to anyone. Let them see that for all they may want to whisper about machinations and intrigue, she wanted him, and he wanted her.

Abby curtsied deeply before the king before they took their seats. Aegon was on his father’s left hand - the place of honor for the evening, and she was beside him. ‘How lucky we are’, came the thought again. She had not realized she had spoken the words aloud until Aegon’s grin widened into a beaming smile, his eyes crinkling with his own joy.

This was how the past weeks should have been. This is what the welcoming feast to Lord Tully and his party should have showcased: the two of them united, happy now, even as they set out to figure out what their marriage would be, what it would look like. There was enough time for that.

“You know, people like us don’t marry for love often,” Wylla had said, words that had stuck to her ribs.

The queen, her brother, and her uncle did not care for her and Aegon’s happiness, that much was startlingly clear to Abby. They had not come together in this betrothal by choice, but beneath the heart tree, they had made a promise. They had made their choice.

As her elder sister, Corynna, and her husband, Erwin Lannister sat beside her, Abby wished for the comfort of Wylla and Heleana at her side. The latter was at the other end of the table, and Abby’s gaze sought the friendly face of the young woman at the table below.

Wylla sat with Uncle Simon and Aunt Mya, looking striking in her black velvet gown. It was cut in the southern style, the neckline edged in white and silver cut across the line of her shoulders, her raven hair twisted into three rope braids woven with white ribbon and strung with pearls. She looked like a dream, Abby thought. A maiden of winter with all her pale skin and dark hair; striking in a way that many other women were not and Wylla wore it well. Harrion was beside her, his head inclined toward a lovely, red haired woman beside him. Wylla had said that his betrothed, Lady Alys Bracken, had only just arrived. She was so slight next to the northman’s bulk, her smile soft, eyes crinkling at the corners as she laughed at something he said.

Wylla caught her eye and sent her a warm, reassuring smile that Abby returned with a little wave, uncaring of decorum at the moment with how shaky her nerves were starting to get now that everyone was staring up at her. Her dear friend had not shied about her own discomfort in crowds, declaring her own relief that she was not the one who would be center of attention in her teasing, sharp yet fond way.

A harsh pinch against her left arm made Abby jump and she turned sharply to look at her sister, who was smiling serenely as if nothing was amiss. “Stop it, you’re behaving like a child,” she hissed behind a gritted smile. “I’ll not have you shame me.”

“If returning a kind gesture and a greeting to someone across the room is childish, then I cannot imagine you have many friends, Corynna, that do not cling to your skirts.” She smiled at her sister, whose saccharine falseness turned quickly to annoyance. “Do mind yourself, Cory. You are not my mother, nor my guardian.”

She caught the sidelong glance Aegon gave her and she felt his warm hand on hers, drawing it to his mouth to press a kiss against her knuckles. Abby felt the spray of heat along her throat, pressing her lips tightly together to keep from biting at her lip and being too obvious. He kept hold of her hand, thumb running lightly along her knuckles in familiar reassurance, and leaned in to speak softly against her ear.

“Lady Abrogail, if that’s the kind of behavior you plan on keeping up, as your husband, it shall be my duty to discipline you for such talk.”

Abby’s mouth went dry, her flush deepening and she glanced up at him, demure beneath her lashes. “Prince Aegon, you get ahead of yourself. I am the image of propriety.” He smirked and they both drew back. Abby reached for her goblet to calm the different sort of butterflies fluttering through her stomach now.

The echo of a staff cracking against the stone floor of the hall reverberated through the hall and all fell silent as the king rose, the queen beside him in what was meant to be a show of unity. But Abby knew that she was there to steady him so he did not have to rely on his cane. The black, red, and gold robe he wore nearly swallowed him whole, and she wondered how heavy it was for him.

Beside him, Alicent Hightower wore the colors of her house instead of a glow of green. She was as regal as Abby had ever seen, in a storm gray damask gown with white flame embroidery along her neck and shoulders. A cape of gray silk felt about her and the gray sleeves of her gown hugged her arms until they flared out at her forearms to bell around her wrists. Her auburn hair was twisted back on the sides of her head before coming to a single twisted braid down her back. Upon her head rested her crown of state. It was a gold circlet with seven points of golden flame rising from it and in the center flame was a blood red ruby that matched the gold and ruby earrings dangling beneath her hair.

“Be welcome,” the king said. His voice had rarely been a strong one, but he had found the strength behind it to let the words carry now. “It is good to see so many happy faces here, as we come together to celebrate my son, Prince Aegon’s nameday.” He turned his head to look down at Aegon with a nod and a gap toothed smile that, while fleeting, was genuine. The people clapped, thumps on tables shaking the cutlery, and Abby grinned at him. Aegon looked taken aback by the well tidings, the shouts of wishes for good health and good fortune. The hand that he had rested on her knee tightened and Aegon straightened in his seat, smiling back and giving a wave of thanks as if it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

The King continued, “The Queen and I also honor House Strong this night. Since my ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, landed upon these shores, the Strongs have been a leal and loyal house. Ser Osmund Strong himself was the longest serving Hand, and through the decades, this family has proved themselves time and again, their fealty to the throne and their dedication to the realm. It is why upon the passing of the beloved Princess Rhaena, that my grandfather, King Jaehaerys, bestowed the great Harrenhal to House Strong. It is this dedication that before he passed, our late Lord Lyonel Strong, the Seven keep him, agreed to a proposal. We welcome you all to celebrate with House Targaryen and House Strong as I announce the betrothal of our son, Prince Aegon, to the Lady Abrogail Strong, and their investiture as the future Lord and Lady of Harrenhal, under the wise and clement eye of Grover Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands.”

The whispers of the betrothal had already snaked their way through the keep over the past weeks. First the servants gossip, then the unofficial talks among the lords who had, by now, sent ravens back home to their holdings in the Riverlands. It was news that had passed naturally among the realm, and while Abby did not see any surprised faces, the cheers that roared up took her by surprise. The slamming fists on the tables, the clapping, the shouts of well wishes and even some crass remarks was not at all what she had expected. She felt her cheeks burn and the flush of it snake across all the exposed skin of her gown. She yearned for the coverings of her linen gowns so none could see how red she had turned at the attention.

Yet, Abby did nothing to hide how large her smile was, so wide it nearly hurt. She met Aegon’s eyes, his own grin crinkling the corners of his eyes, and she never, ever wanted to see him frown again if this was how bright his smile could be. He then looked at the crowd and she followed suit, waving at the smiling faces, blowing a kiss of thanks to all. She did not startle when Aegon lifted his hand from her knee to tuck beneath the fall of her curls and rest along the back of her neck in a possessive gesture that made her belly roil with heat. She looked at him from the corner of her eye and saw that his bright smile had set into something darker, more firm.

The feast began, servants coming out of the shadows. Trenchers of roast pork in red wine and plum sauce were placed before them, steaming with scents of ginger and cinnamon. Shrimp cooked in fennel and white wine steamed from large platters, boiled eggs cut and stuffed with fragrant cheese and herbs nestled among salads of other fresh herbs and greens. Abby gasped, admiring the hollowed out Stormland lemons with glistening pieces of Dornish blood oranges and lemon sticky with sugar dotted the table in pops of bright, delectable color.

Aegon was eagerly filling his plate with the roast pork he so adored, and she reached for one of the sour orange treats, popping a sticky piece of fruit into her mouth and hoping it calmed the knot of nerves that were growing insistently.

“They certainly spared no expense,” Corynna’s voice was soft at her side. Abby glanced over at her sister who was commenting on the wine being poured to her husband. Her sister was as beautiful as she was sharp, resplendent in the colors of House Lannister, a ruby red gown that set off her golden skin, and an overdress of golden silk. Her brunette curls were tamed and pulled back into a low bun at the base of her neck, encased in a jeweled net of gold and rubies, a heavy lion pendant hanging from her throat. She decided not to engage with her sister’s low commentary, for it was exactly what she wanted, and instead busied herself on the treat in front of her.

“Here.” Abby glanced at Aegon, who held his fork up with a piece of pork. She opened her mouth to decline, and he popped the piece in with that dangerous smirk flashing across his mouth before going back to his food. It was good, the spark of ginger cutting through the sweetness of the plum. It had also served to get her mind off the fact that they were eating at the head table, and she let her gaze drift, ignoring her sister’s tut of disapproval.

Abby caught Baela looking at them curiously. She was beautiful that evening in the colors of her mother’s house. The aquamarine gown was cut in the Pentoshi style like the previous one she wore to their family dinner, with a deep v cut into the bodice and the layers of fabric pinned like a chiton at her shoulders. On her head she wore a silver tiara shaped into the heads of seahorses with matching gemstones for their eyes. Abby gave the princess a small smile. “You look lovely tonight, Princess. I am truly glad to have you here and I look forward to us getting to know one another.”

Baela’s violet eyes narrowed somewhat at being addressed, and Abby felt Aegon shift beside her as he honed in on the conversation. “May your futures be bright and happy, Lady Abrogail. Cousin.”

“Thank you, cousin,” Aegon replied with his tight smile. “Perhaps it will be your nuptials we’ll be celebrating next.” The words were friendly, at least somewhat so. Abby suppressed a sigh, but knew it was at least a small win. Baela did not seem to mind sitting next to Daeron, for the pair of them had fallen into a discussion about their dragons and how Tessarion had fared in Oldtown. “I heard Mother wondering if her and Jace will wed next.”

Jacaerys.

Abby chanced another look at the incredibly awkward end of the table. There was the queen, then Lord Otto, then Larys, and then… Aemond, Helaena, and Jace. The three of them were utterly silent, like mimes in a play, and it was hard to tell what made it worse: the fact that Aemond and Jace had ended up wearing near matching doublets that evening, or the sapphire sun that was Helaena between them.

Aemond and Jace and Baela should have been separated, but Jace could not sit next to her, for the rumors that would cause and so poor Helaena was stuck as the wall to separate them.

She looked every inch the beautiful princess from a song. Her silver hair hung loose and free down her back with four braids keeping her hair from her face. The twists wound themselves into the silver tiara she wore, the sapphires winking out like stars from the woven metal strands that took the place of her usual braid. Her gown was diaphanous silk, her shoulders bared. The sleeves were a light blue and the sheer fabric hugged her arms. The gown went from a lovely sky blue to a deeper shade of twilight along the hem, and the silver embroidery evoked silver flames dancing across the gown. She wore the colors of Dreamfyre, dragonrider that she was, the princess of House Targaryen that did not need to evoke her house colors to state her place in the world.

The look on her face was blank and somewhat wide-eyed, focused on the shrimp in front of her. Abby’s heart ached, wanting to go to her and get her out of the situation she was in, but there was nothing for it. Helaena already grew anxious with crowds and she didn’t need the extra stress of being caught between two petulant looking boys.

Jace tilted his head towards her, saying something that drew a small smile from Helaena, and the knot of worry eased slightly.

The course was cleared away, the minstrels along the side gallery merrily playing songs from each of the realms present there today. Currently it was a Westerlands tune, fewer drums than the melodies of the Crownlands, and Abby caught Lord Tyland’s head bobbing to the music from his place at his twin brother’s side.

The next course was brought out and it was the largest pie Abby had ever seen, along with pottage of wild hare and cabbage, roasted lamb smelling of caraway and fennel and thyme. There was roasted chicken in orange glaze. Her gaze returned to the pie. It was as big as a wagon wheel, the pastry crust browned and caramelized and surrounded by many smaller pies like a crown. The crusts were slivered all around and gilt in gold along the top, and she could smell the saffron and cloves. They were stuffed to the bursting with more eggs and mixed meats and smelled delicious, but Abby’s stomach was knotted with nerves combined with the heady twist of arousal that pulsed every time Aegon’s knee bumped hers, or the way he’d tap his fingers upon her wrist to make sure she was alright.

Aegon inclined his head towards her, waving the servant away and pushing his plate between them. “You’re not eating. We’ll share.” He even pressed his goblet into her hand, taking hers and sipping from it in such an intimate gesture that Abby’s nerves were utterly forgotten about in that moment. She took a sip from his goblet, unsure of what to say. Aegon raised an eyebrow at her. “Eat,” he ordered and she knocked her slippered foot against his boot.

“You’re eating enough for the both of us, Prince. I couldn’t possibly keep up with you.” His appetite was a voracious one, and the plate he’d pushed between them had already started inching back towards him. She stabbed a piece of meat and gave him a look as she ate. He looked only somewhat abashed and popped a piece of crust in his mouth, licking juice from his fingers. She was reminded of the lakeside picnic, and the way his lips felt against her fingers while she fed him, the blushing heat as he fed her cakes in return and the kisses shared.

It must have shown on her face because a wicked gleam flashed across his eyes, gaze drifting to the low neckline of her gown and the gentle swell of her breasts. A voracious appetite indeed. He laughed when she busied herself with her goblet.

“Everyone is staring,” she whispered, unsure if she was chastising him or reminding him. Aegon’s gaze raked along the bare expanse of her shoulders, his hand twitching along his stolen goblet as if he was keeping himself from reaching for her again.

“Of course they are, hunītsos. Let them. Let them see how happy you look.” His gaze grew uncertain for a moment and she understood what words he held back.

“How happy you make me,” she offered softly. It was finally Aegon’s turn to blush, the expression uncharacteristically shy, and Abby could not help but lean over to brush a soft kiss against his cheek. Satisfaction was bright in her chest when his blush deepened before his own satisfaction crossed his features.

Let them witness. Let Edmund Vance and whatever moody River Lord conspired against them see that Aegon was hers, claimed by the rivers.

“Prince Aegon,” Erwin called halfway through the following course - mutton and stag and boar drenched in plum and wine sauces, brown sauces, and surrounded with dates and figs. The youngest Lannister brother was a gleaming gold lion, square faced with bright green eyes. He was not lanky as Lord Tyland nor as haughty as Lord Jason. He was a third son, bred for battle, and while he did not appear to cross swords with her sister, Abby wondered if that was a battle he had no desire to engage in. “I hear you’ll be participating in the melee on the morrow. Do you wield a morning star like Ser Criston, then? Or perhaps a battle ax?”

Corynna tutted, leaning back with exaggeration so her husband might speak. “It was only a matter of time before we talked swords.”

“The Prince is admirable with his sword skills, Erwin,” Abby piped up proudly before Aegon could speak, her turn to boast of him as he had done for her.

Aegon’s hand rested along the back of her chair as he leaned over with a grin on his face. “Some could say. It’ll either come down to skill or my lady’s favor, should she grant me. Mayhaps I’ll have the good fortune of meeting you in the ring?”

“Everyone knows the joust is where one proves themselves,” Baela cut in.

“Prince Daemon was quite impressive with his blade in the last tourney I saw him in, just as he was with a lance,” Erwin said with ease and a smile. “All the bouts require their own skills and strength.”

The conversation of the small tourney for tomorrow kept on, with Daeron joining in. Abby ignored her sister’s displeased muttering and her husband did as well. Perhaps that’s how the peace was kept in their household.

As the dessert course came out, those in attendance began to move about the room. No doubt they were eager to speak of the confirmation of what had been announced, judging by all the gazes that flitted in their direction. There were her favorite strawberry and cream cakes just out of reach, but she found that she had no appetite for the rich confection with the nervous energy building. Instead, she snagged a piece of marchpane dragon off Aegon’s piled plate of treats. He playfully snapped at her as if he was going to bite at her hand before handing her a marchpane crown without comment.

She leaned towards Aegon, brushing his ear and delighting in how he shivered at the contact. Her fingers tapped against his arm. “I’m going to speak to Wylla.”

He reached up to snatch at her wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, eyes searching her face. Don’t leave me alone next to him, she knew he was asking. Abby shook her head.

“We have to mingle, Aeg, We can’t sit up here all night.” He rolled his eyes and Abby tutted. “Go rescue Helaena.”

Aegon glanced down at the miserable end of the table and they spied Gwayne having come up, a hand braced on Aemond’s shoulder as he spoke to Larys and his father. “I’m surprised Aemond hasn’t stabbed him yet,” Aegon muttered and gave a nod. “Is this to be our duty now, my lady?”

Abby scrunched her face up in amusement and took his offered hand to rise from her chair. “Aye, it shall be, my lord. Save me a dance.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles and they parted, Aegon going to join his uncle and siblings at the end of the table. She tilted her head, admiring him as he walked from her before heading towards Baela.

When Abby looked at Baela, she was reminded by the statue of Visenya that Aemond favored so in the gardens, or the tapestries that hung in the upper levels of the gallery: women who rode the skies with braids twisted into their long hair, the fierce and determined looks on their faces showing their command of the world. Targaryens were the closest one came to gods in Westeros. This fact Abby had grown with all her life. Everyone in Westeros did. She saw how the smallfolk clamored for the affections and attentions of the dragonriders during parades, the furrowed brows of the septons who disliked the competition to the Seven.

“Princess,” Abby gave the other a bright, welcoming smile. “Come with me, I have someone to properly introduce you to.” There was deference in her tone that Baela was owed, but Abby also clung to the reminder that she was to be a princess too. They would be equals in a few months, and the Queen wanted her to grow accustomed to this fact.

Baela, her lovely, violet eyes narrowed in her direction, seemed to have other ideas. Abby had asked Helaena the other evening what it was that Baela had said in Valyrian, and the princess had only said that she should not worry, for she did not believe Baela would speak so carelessly in the future. The other woman held her gaze, assessing in the way Abby was sure her dragon, Moondancer, would assess and Abby swallowed past the lump of nerves beneath the gaze. She realized after a moment that it was one of uncertainty. It had initially felt hostile - which considering whatever Valyrian she’d spoken upon arrival had been clearly hostile, it made sense - but it had also become clear that the princess was uncomfortable and therefore more judgemental, Abby thought, than she might normally be. At least, Abby hoped that was the case.

“You have people to introduce me to, Lady Abrogail?” The disdain was not obvious, and Abby wondered if this was what it meant to be unaccepted by the Valyrians. The family had kept to themselves since the landing. She had studied the Targaryen family tree in her studies and knew how rarely they married out of the houses. ‘The blood of the dragon must remain pure’, was stated when they’d learned about the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that allowed the practice of incest, and outlawed the multiple wives that The Conqueror and King Maegor had taken.

Would Aegon have wanted multiple wives? Would he have wanted someone more Valyrian to make him feel closer to his heritage? The curious thought flitted through her mind, and Abby felt a stab of jealousy at the idea of such a scenario, along with an uncertainty she couldn’t quite identify, but similar to the feeling of otherness that she found herself experiencing among the company of the other Riverlanders.

“I do. I hope, very much so, that your time here in the capital will be as comfortable as possible. I understand that it must be quite the change from Dragonstone, and the company of the rest of your siblings.” Baela said nothing at first, lips pressed in a thin line before looking down the table. Abby followed her gaze.

Jace and Helaena had a series of tarts and other confections in front of them, and Helaena was laughing brightly at the marchpane tentacles rising from a plum tart. Jace plucked one of them, slathered in cream to take a bite, offering the piece to Helaena who shook her head in amusement and reached for one of the candied lemons.

Aegon had pulled his brother away with a firm grip on his shoulder and the pair of them had headed towards the floor, goblets in hand with heads bowed towards each other. They were accompanied by some of the other young men at court; the Fossoway boys, Ser Leo Costayne, brother to Lord Owen, and their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, heir to the Oldtown seat.

Ser Leo was the eldest at over twenty, his almond eyes from his mother’s Lyseni heritage striking with the silver hair of Valyria that spread across the empire. He had already earned the title of The Sea Lion, the West taking pride in their own fierce seafarer as House Velaryon did with The Sea Snake, Lord Corlys. Little Floris had found him handsome, blushing when her avid gaze had been pointed out by Helaena. Abby had found herself readily agreeing.

At four and ten, Lyonel was as tall as Aemond with the promise to be taller, with the same cut cheekbones Abby could see was a Hightower feature, while Alicent, Aegon, and Helaena shared the soft roundness of their Reyne mother. His skin was swarthy from his Dondarrion mother, a contrast with his lighter brown hair. Her eyes drifted to the group of ladies, colors of the Reach and Westerlands in their clothes, and how they clearly were eyeing Prince Aemond, who was doing his best to pretend to be above it.

Far better for their attention than that of Cassandra Baratheon, who was stoically sitting by her heavy set father, face flushed with wine and quietly hissing at his eldest daughter. An unbidden pang of sympathy pulsed through Abby’s heart at how unhappy the other woman looked, momentarily overriding her displeasure.

Abby turned her gaze back to Baela, whose own eyes were sweeping the mass of people before them. She wondered if the rumor was true of a possible betrothal between Jacaerys and Baela, the future king and queen of the realm. Dragonriders both, in the Targaryen ways of old like Aegon and his wives, like King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne. She wondered if it had happened already and was simply unannounced, Rhaenyra waiting for the most opportune moment. Or perhaps the pair were simply siblings, mayhaps promises made out of stubborn pride. Would that explain Baela’s disdain for them? Did she see them as interlopers in a place that she considered her birthright by conquest and the Valyrian blood flowing through her?

Baela finally rose, fluid and graceful and confident in all the ways that Abby still found it difficult to be. The other woman stood a few inches taller - not a difficult feat by any means, but Abby was envious of the graceful turn of her neck. She was reminded of the descriptions of Visenya: comfortable in silks as she was in armor. What a sight the other would make upon dragonback with a war cry tearing from her. How confident Baela Targaryen was;in her sense of self, her place in the world, in all that made her Valyrian.

It struck Abby then how she did not feel like a child of the Riverlands no matter what she claimed. It felt as if she were spinning falsehoods into a cloak to shroud herself in, to distract from her own sense of confusion. As they approached the closer table where her Uncle Simon sat with the Brackens, listening to the conversation blend before her in the lilt and familiar cadence of the Riverlands, Abby found herself feeling like an outsider. It had not quite been like this at the welcoming feast those weeks ago, where they spoke the language of the capital. Her mother tongue had been one lost to her over the years since her father died, relegated to the dinner table and bedtime stories, of ephemeral memories of lullabies long sung. To hear Wylla’s own northern brogue share in the words of Old Tongue falling in a similar harmony, panic settled in Abby’s chest to find that she couldn’t quite keep up with the words exchanged.

The panic was frozen when Wylla turned her head, and all at the table gave move to rise and give their courtesies to Princess Baela. Out of the corner of her eye, Abby saw Baela shift a little, felt the whisper of silks brush against her. “This is Lady Wylla Karstark, from Karhold,” Abby introduced, her voice coming out higher than she intended as she forced past the lump in her throat. Wylla rose, nodding to her brother who was also getting up to speak with some of the other lords.

“Princess Baela, I hope you’re enjoying the festivities.”

Baela inclined her head but said nothing.

“She is my dearest friend and also far from home. Also quite the archer.” Abby reached for things that Baela might find intriguing and welcoming, hoping her instincts weren’t wrong.

Wylla shook her head slightly. “You are too kind, Lady,” she lightly teased with the use of the title.

Baela’s head cocked, the tinkling of the silver charms in her hair soft among the din of the room. “My, all that snow and ice. It’s a wonder you do not melt beneath the dragon’s heat,” Baela said and the challenge was clear in her voice.

Wylla smiled in her sharp way, ever the winter fox. “As a daughter of fire and sea, I would assume you to be well acquainted with contradictions. One must burn hot to survive the cold.”

Baela actually smiled at that and Abby took the chance. “Wylla is a far better archer than I, Princess. I hear you yourself are well acquainted with the bow.” Wylla’s storm gray eyes flitted to her and Abby did everything she could not to shift awkwardly beneath her friend’s gaze. Not in this dress, and not with the sunburst tiara that graced her head. Instead, she grinned back at her. The princess merely glanced back at her before shifting closer to Wylla.

“Do you hunt, Lady Wylla? I hear there’s to be a hunt later this week and I do so miss hawking…”

Abby released a soft breath, pressing a grateful squeeze to Wylla’s shoulder before moving on to her aunt and uncle. Her cousin, Gareth, had stayed behind at Harrenhal, and she had fuzzy memories of her Aunt Mya. The older woman was plump and warm, brushing a soft kiss with a greeting. The din of the throne room grew louder as the meal came to an end, servants dashing between the party goers, removing plates and replacing carafes of wine and small foods for guests to continue to indulge in. The music shifted to a more lively fair and the dance floor quickly filled with eager revelers.

Lythene Ryger of Willow Wood had drawn her into the shy gaggle of maidens who were standing expectantly along the edge of the dance floor, trading glances across the room at the lords and Abby had noticed the looks they’d thrown in Aemond’s direction. Lady Lythene was five and ten, soft featured with honey brown eyes, her strawberry blonde hair woven with strands of river pearls in the common half knot coil that was common in the Riverlands.

“If Lord Yorick were here, none of these men would have a chance to win tomorrow,” Melony Piper said, all dark hair and more freckles than one could count. “My sister says he was the most fearsome knight not so long ago.”

“Psh,” Lythene rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows Ser Gwayne is a force to be reckoned with. Besides, Lord Yorick never leaves Runestone and if he did, Lord Borros would throw a fit.” She looked smug with the knowledge imparted and whatever look on Abby’s face seemed to spur her on. She leaned in. “Lord Yorick is married to Lord Borros’ younger sister with a son of their own. Should Lady Elenda not have a son, it’s said his sister may push one of her son’s claims to Storm’s End.”

As one, their eyes swiveled in the direction of Cassandra Baratheon, perfectly coiffed, and everything the daughter of a Lord Paramount would be. Raven hair wild as storm clouds around her bare shoulders, her golden dress sparkling in the dancing torchlight with an opal the size of Abby’s fist nestled in the hollow of her throat. Abby’s hands twitched, smoothing over the cloud of blue and green silk organza, the golden dragons and weirwood leaves embroidered over her bodice.

A warm hand touched her wrist and Abby met the gentle, honey eyes of Lythene, who smiled up at her. “Tá cuma álainn ort, a bhean,” she said softly while the others tittered. It took Abby a moment to register the words, “you look beautiful, my lady”, and Abby smiled shyly.

“Go raibh maith agat,” she thanked her and Lythene bit her lip as if holding back a chuckle.

“Agat,” she pronounced softly, the inflection different. “A little closer to got, and less like goat.”

Her cheeks burned and she repeated it softly and Lythene took her hand, squeezing it. “I can’t imagine you get to practice with many people here in the South,” she laughed, a tinkling like bells that drew the attention of other men.

“I haven’t. I’m looking forward to getting to speak it more, but I can’t get that sort of practice teaching Aeg- Prince Aegon.”

“You mean he’s actually going to try learning our tongue?” came the aggressive disbelief of Lady Melony. “Targaryens aren’t ones to debase themselves so.”

Lythene opened her mouth but Abby cut in, a frown slashed across her face. “Aegon is a Targaryen and a Hightower, a family that traces their lineage and impact to before the First Men, some say.” She tilted her head, exhaling softly and shook her head. “The Targaryens may be above us due to the gifts of the dragon, but you can be assured that Prince Aegon will take his duties seriously.”

She was reminded of the words Edmund had sneered at her, of how none would trust a dragon coming into the Riverlands and it was foolish to think so. Lythene said nothing, watching her curiously while Melony Piper’s bright green eyes narrowed somewhat, thin mouth pursed. Abby’s grandmother had been a Piper, which made the two of them kin.

Seven and the Old Gods help her if Aegon did not live up to her promise, but Abby trusted that he would. That he would, at the very least, try.

Melony opened her mouth to speak again but murmurs danced through the crowd, attention towards the dance floor. Abby looked over her shoulder in surprise.

Jace led Helaena by the hand to the crowd of dancers as the next song started, fingers touching as they circled around one another. She was a glittering, blue dragon amidst the crowd, hair like mercury as it flowed around her. Helaena loved to dance and the joy was obvious on her soft features, Jace’s own smile a shy one, his broad frame more obvious as he circled around her. Not as tall as Aemond, but Jace would grow taller yet.

“Well,” Melony’s attention had changed. “That’s an interesting development.”

Abby’s eyes instinctively cut to the queen where she sat at the King’s right, a slight furrow to her brow, and the Lord Hand beside her, his attention also on the pair dancing. A fond smile cut across Otto Hightower’s face as Helaena laughed when Jace spun her, and Abby wasn’t at all sure what to make of it.

Helaena looked happy, though, and that was all that mattered.

Abby startled at the feeling of a warm hand stroking against her elbow and Aegon’s laughter was soft as he stroked his fingers down her arm in a way that had goosebumps flaring across her skin. His fingers twined with hers and the ladies around her bobbed curtsies, murmuring My Prince and Your Grace.

“You all look like you’re having so much fun here, but I must steal my betrothed away,” Aegon said, his voice light and amused, in his element as the center of attention and even more dangerous without drink to cloud his senses. Abby felt the heated flush creep along her throat when Aegon tugged her into him. “I promised you a dance, didn’t I, Lady Abrogail?”

Lythene looked amused, Melony uncertain and Abby turned under Aegon’s arm so that she was facing him. “You did, my Prince. Thank you for the conversation, Lady Lythene, Lady Melony,” she thanked as Aegon began tugging her away. “It was good to meet you.”

Everything else drifted away when Aegon pulled her into his arms. The contrast to the last time they’d danced together was palpable. There was no anger between them, no confusion, no fear. He twirled her as he drew her into the space as if he were showing her off, her skirt flaring around her, rippling greens and blues like the rivers of her home, the candlelight glimmering along the golden threaded dragons on her gown, and the citrine bursts along her tiara. When Aegon pulled her into him, she could feel the heat of his body barely pressed against her, the flush of it coursing through her with every hammering beat of her heart.

“I wish we were somewhere more quiet,” Abby murmured to him as they turned around one another, clapping their hands before reaching for each other again. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Aemond tugging Wylla on the floor, her friend caught between surprise and a pleased flush along her cheeks. Abby would have to tease her later, in return for how merciless Wylla had teased her.

“Do you?” Aegon asked, grinning at her, eyes full of heat. “We could, you know. It is my nameday.”

“We’ll be caught, and I’d rather your mother not find us,” she chuckled, spinning away from him to turn around Lord Tyland, who smiled down at her indulgently while Aegon politely moved around Lady Johanna Westerling, Tyland’s goodsister and dance partner. Her gaze kept pulling back to Aegon whenever they were separated in the dances, and when they came back together, there was an ache in her chest that she could not identify. Relief? Want? Longing?

Everything?

“Remind me to get you a map of the tunnels,” he murmured, leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple and she couldn’t help the bubbling of giggles that escaped her. Aegon looked incredibly pleased with himself, and as the next song started, he pulled her closer to him, hands possessive on her hips as he lifted her in the air and spun her around.

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked. Then it clicked. “What, so I can sneak to your room?”

Aegon winked at her. “Clever girl.”

“I try.”

As Abby turned, her eyes caught on the furious, dark gaze of Edmund Vance across the hall, accompanied by Lord Piper and some of the other River Lords. Abby blanched, the joy she had felt abating like water on a fire at the ugly look in his eyes. So distracted, she was, that she stumbled her steps of the complicated dance, nearly falling had Aegon not pulled her to him in time. She saw his gaze follow hers, his own smile morphing into a hard look.

“I’ve taken care of it.” Abby didn’t understand, trying to find the steps again without ruining the entire dance, cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Aegon’s hand brushed soothing along her arm, his other hand warm on her waist and giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Focus on me, eyes on me, hunītsos.” His voice was gentle and firm all at once, quiet and earnest and Abby focused on the sound of it, her gaze finding his, softened now. “Aemond saved me from making a scene, but I’ve handled it.” He tilted his head. “I don’t need to take his hands.”

Abby struggled to find words, a strange and unfamiliar thrill coursing through her that she could not examine too closely in the moment. “And what have you decided to take instead?”

As the dance came to a close, Aegon reached up to cup the softness of her cheek, tilting her head back with his thumb on her lower lip. He leaned in, mouth brushing against hers, and the vow he made was full of promise.

“His pride,” he murmured, and kissed her in front of the realm to seal it.

What was your favorite moment of the chapter? What's something you're looking forward to? Any fun theories!? I'd love to hear your thoughts on what you're enjoying about Maiden and any curiosities you might have! And if you're not sure what to say, just a kind reblog with a heart or something would be lovely <3

[Chapter Fifteen]

#fic: the maiden and the drowning boy #aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fic #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen #aegon x oc #aegon ii targaryen x oc #hotd #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house strong #aegon x abby #my fics

[all54321]

Unwavering Devotion

[AO3]

Summary: Scar has never seen Xelqua’s face, yet still fully devotes himself to the God. Things change when they meet face to face.

Or: 5 times Scar doesn’t question his faceless God, and 1 time they talk face to face.

—————

1.

Scar doesn’t lucid dream, at least not usually, yet here he is, wandering through… well, he can’t describe what he’s walking through, but he does know that this is a dream and he’s fully aware. He stiffens when a voice suddenly echoes around him.

Mortal.

He flinches at the voice and whirls around, but sees nothing, “Who- who’s there?!”

You cannot see me, the voice replies, echoing from every direction. It sounds weak, I need your help.

Scar frowns, continuing to look around, “Help with what?”

I am a God, I need you to pray to me.

He lets out a breath, “I’m not religious, I don’t care for this sort of thing.”

If your pray for me, I’ll reward you.

“Reward?” Scar asks, a deal, huh? He’s always been fond of deals. Of course, making a deal with a God is probably unwise, but he’s got enough experience of turning deals against his favor to his favor, against bad odds at that.

Yes, I’ll reward you with anything you want.

“Anything?” Scar asks for confirmation, it seems a little outrageous.

I’m a god, my powers are numerous, I can grant you anything you desire.

Scar hums, considering that for a moment, “And in return you want me to pray for you? That’s it?”

Not quite, there’s a pause before it continues, there’s more. All I request is you build a shrine in my name and pray to it semi-regularly. I request you worship me, and only me.

He doesn’t reply right away, considering his options. He could say no and nothing would come of this… probably. But its request sounds simple and if it works he can get anything he wants from it. Scar fails to see a negative to this, except… “Why do you need me to pray to you?”

There’s a long pause before it slowly replies, I… need it. I need followers. You’re the only one I can reach.

It sounds honest enough… Scar debates it for a moment more before nodding, “Alright, I’ll do it. I’ll need your name first, though.”

I’m Xelqua.

“Pleasure to make a deal with you, Xelqua,” Scar says with a short bow. And just like that he’s jolting awake in his bed.

2.

Scar wakes up breathing heavily, he throws the covers off of him and hurries to the bathroom. He traces a finger over his now unscarred skin, then to the scars he now has that he didn’t before, and finally to the purple swirls along his upper arms and spreading across his chest.

He drops his head against the mirror before whispering a quiet, “What the fuck.”

On one hand, he wants to dismiss those dreams as dreams, but on the other… would it be so far to say it was a past life? Scar thinks back to the last memory he has of Xelqua, they were saying that it wouldn’t be much longer until they would grant his desires.

Yet he fell too ill too fast afterwards to receive it.

Scar traces a finger over the marks on his chest again, his wish definitely wasn’t reincarnation, but he isn’t exactly complaining about it. His finger stops at the very center, right at the broken rectangle.

Of course his dream could have just used that symbol from his constant thoughts over it, but he never once thought about it being from a god. Scar still wasn’t raised religious, after all.

He steps away from the mirror, Xelqua spoke to him in dreams before, so maybe…

Scar returns to his bed, climbing in and burrowing under the covers, here’s to hoping.

When he wakes up it’s back in the dreamscape, but more similar to the first time than the most recent time. Scar frowns, “Strange.”

You remember.

Scar jolts, whirling around, before remembering that there’s nothing there, “Xelqua…?”

A sound echoes around him, almost like a sigh, I was worried that you weren’t going to remember.

“What- what happened?”

You died, Xelqua replies simply, but continues after a moment, I didn’t have much of my power and you were dying. I am unaware of how mortal bodies work so I didn’t know how to heal you. It pauses for a minute, before letting out another breath, I promised I would grant you whatever you desire, but you were dying and I couldn’t grant that for you if you died.

Scar takes a long moment to process that before replying, “So… you reincarnated me to complete our deal?”

Yes.

He falls into a sitting position, burying his head into his hands, suddenly overwhelmed, “What the hell is going on…?”

I granted you eternal reincarnation, the god replies, not understanding that the question was rhetorical.

Scar snaps his head up, “Wait, eternal!?”

Yes. Those markings on you are a sign that you will be reincarnated into another life upon your death. I… suppose you weren’t aware enough when I granted you them the first time. You will be born with those markings a few decades after you died until the end I deemed.

“Which is…?” Scar prods, glancing around again.

Never, Xelqua’s voice sounds confused, I meant eternal. When I granted you reincarnation I chose no end. You will only not be reincarnated when the world comes to an end and no new lives will be born.

“What the fuck,” Scar mutters again, scrubbing his hands across his face, “this isn’t real.”

I had told you that I would grant any desire of yours, that I was powerful. Is this out of that realm?

“Can I just have a moment of silence?” He asks, voice straining. The god doesn’t respond, leaving Scar to his racing thoughts, which are going too fast to sort out. He takes slow, deep breaths to try to help.

After a few minutes he’s able to parse through his thoughts more clearly. Reincarnation. That’s- that’s a good thing, right? The longer he sits and thinks on it, the more he can see it coming to benefit him. Outside of the never dying completely thing.

Each new life is a clean slate for him to work with, no past debts, no angry customers, nothing. Well, he’d still have to deal with them in life, but he can handle that for a single lifetime since he apparently has infinite of those now.

Scar pulls his head from his hands after another few minutes of thinking on it, “Okay, alright, I’m good now.”

Another sigh, I was worried… I should have asked for your consent first, I apologize.

Scar blinks in surprise, a god apologizing? He never would have thought. “It’s alright, my lord.” He startles as he says the words. He had said similar things in prayers, but that was intentional, this wasn’t.

Before he can dwell on that longer, Xelqua speaks again, I have grown weaker in the decades you were gone. I will not be able to complete my half of the bargain for another few years.

Scar nods, “So I need to build another shrine and continue the prayers?”

If you would like to keep up your end of the deal, yes.

That almost feels like a challenge to Scar, he’s not one to back out of deals, “I’ll do that when I wake up, then.”

Good.

Scar pauses, before murmuring, “I will speak to you soon, my lord.”

He opens his eyes to find himself back in his bedroom. With a sigh he stands up, he has a shrine to build.

3.

Scar lets out a breath, swiping the sweat off of his forehead. He looks upwards, staring up at the face of the statue in front of him. Xelqua never said anything about building him a giant statue, nor the full on temple Scar is standing on the foundation of. Yet it is only fair to repay them.

He never expected to be here, in a third life, building a temple for a god. Scar never expected to find himself being religious at all, yet here he is, fully devote to Xelqua.

He grabs the necklace and lifts it up to his lips, murmuring quietly. Scar’s glad to have managed to track this down again, this and his journal. Although grave robbing from himself was a mess.

“Scar.”

Scar jumps, whirling around on instinct, before recalling that the god is invisible and it’s pointless. He drops the necklace in shock, because right in front of him is a purple haze in humanoid shape. He raises his head up to look at what is probably their face, “Xelqua…?”

Their head inclines, “It is I.” Xelqua walks over to him and circles the statue. While the god dwarfs Scar, the statue dwarfs the god. Well, until the haze that is the god grows in size until Xelqua is at even height with it. “I like the statue.”

“T-Thanks, I worked hard on it.”

“I saw,” they murmur, before shrinking down again as they face Scar. “Is this why you asked for a description?”

He nods, “I wanted to capture your likeness as close as possible, my lord.”

Xelqua hums and walks around the foundation, “This is huge.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure the exact size of the statue, so I prepared a rough floor plan. I need a big enough room for this to look good in, in addition to a few other rooms around.” Scar looks up at the statue and frowns in thought, “I might need to expand it.”

“This is above and beyond dedication.”

Scar turns to find Xelqua standing at the edge of one of the sides, “You deserve my full effort, my lord.”

The god pauses, before closing the distance between them to be in front of Scar again. They reach out to carefully cradle Scar’s face, making him gasp, “I could never ask for a better follower then you.”

“But-“

Xelqua shakes his head, ending Scar’s protest, “Just because people won’t listen to you doesn’t discount everything else you have done for me.”

Scar slowly nods, “Thank you, my lord.” He shudders as he suddenly feels a sparking kind of energy surrounding him, seeping into his flesh, “Xelqua…?

It retracts all at once, “Sorry.”

He shakes his head, “No! I like it!”

The energy slowly returns, “You… like the feeling of my magic?”

“Yes,” Scar murmurs, leaning into Xelqua’s hands.

The energy- the magic gets heavier, fully surrounding and seeping into Scar. He shudders again, closing his eyes to just feel it. Xelqua chuckles quietly, “You’re such a wonder…”

4.

Scar wakes up slowly, wincing at each breath in, he looks around to see the cell he’s trapped in. Right, punished for disobedience. “More like being marked by a God,” he mutters. The illegers seem ready to punish him for any small discretion due to him being a curse to them. Why they hadn’t just kicked him out yet, Scar doesn’t know.

He activates his magic, elongating his nails into claws, and carves Xelqua’s symbol onto the floor. Well, they punished him for belonging to a God, and now that Scar remembers… well, he can finally get his revenge.

Scar places a hand over the symbol, “Xelqua, my lord, lend me your power to get revenge on the ones who hurt me and scorned your name.”

It was quiet for a moment, but then Scar feels every injury starts healing all at once. Every single scrape, bruise, and gash, healed all within a minute. A beat after that he feels immense power surge through him, intensifying his own vex magic.

Scar grins widely, sharp teeth on display, this will be fun.

He falls into a daze after breaking out from his cell, only snapping back into it after staggering away from a blazing mansion soaked in blood. He stares down at his hands, at the blood soaking them. He blinks, and suddenly he’s falling, consciousness fading.

Scar opens his eyes to find himself in the dreamscape, Xelqua standing in front of him. “My lord…?”

“I am sorry that I couldn’t help you,” they murmur, “I am powerless to do anything to help you until you remember and call my name.”

Scar gives them a weak smile, their form is foggier then last time he saw them, but still very strong, “It’s alright, my lord. I understand. You did not choose for me to reborn as a vex.”

Xelqua sighs, “I did not foresee that there would be more mortals than humans one day, nor did I anticipate that becoming one yourself would cause issues for you.” They walk over to Scar and cradle his face, “I will make sure that you are safe from here on out. Call on me whenever you need, for whatever you need.”

“I don’t need anything else besides you, my lord.”

Xelqua leans down until their head is close to Scar’s, almost like he’s intending to touch their foreheads together, but staying a few inches apart. “You need to wake up, something important has happened.”

Scar blinks, but isn’t able to respond before he’s back in the waking world, and face to face with a masked stranger. He flinches back, scrambling away from them, realizing that he’s still soaked in blood and how bad that will look.

The stranger holds up their hands, “I’m not here to harm you, I’m here to help,”

“Help…?” Scar echoes. He’s covered in blood, how can this stranger just ignore that?

They nod, “I saw the smoke and came to investigate, you… you managed to escape, I see.”

He stares at the stranger, belatedly realizing that they have the wrong idea, “I… yeah, I did.”

The stranger nods, “I’m Xisuma, I run a safe space for hybrids of all kinds. Humans aren’t fond of a lot of us, and to stop them from hunting us down I take them it.” Xisuma reaches out a hand, “So you can continue to run if you wish, or I can take you to protect you.”

Scar hesitates, because Xisuma is very much misinterpreting his situation. He managed to escape, sure, but it wasn’t from humans. He doesn’t want to start this on a lie, but… he reaches out a hand, letting Xisuma pull him off the ground, staggering a little. Apparently humans are a danger to him, so he’ll take the safety. “I’ll join.”

He seesXisuma’s eyes crinkle in a smile through the visor, “Welcome to Hermitcraft.”

5.

“Scar,” Xelqua murmurs to Scar as he kneels in prayer.

Scar opens his eyes, glancing around to find the god, “Yes, my lord?” He answers when he finally sees them. They look more solid than Scar has seen them yet, although still foggy and features undistinguishable.

“My powers are almost strong enough to create a mortal form.”

He turns around to fully face his God, still kneeling, “Really? That’s great.”

There’s a hum before Xelqua replies, his tone sounding pleased, “And it’s all thanks to you, my devoted.”

Scar bows his head, “Of course, my lord.”

“I do have to warn you,” they continue, “my mortal form will look quite different.”

He keeps his head down, “I would recognize you anywhere, my divinity, in a heartbeat.”

The grin is clear in their voice when Xelqua says, “Oh? Is that a challenge?”

Scar looks up, blinking in surprise, “Huh?”

“If I came up to you in my mortal form, you would know? Even without me saying anything?”

“Of course, my Lord, I would never fail you,” Scar replies, quiet, but assured, “anything you wish for will be done.”

Xelqua chuckles, “Challenge accepted.”

+1

“Hey Scar!”

Scar startles, turning away from his chest monster to see Grian land in front of him. He grins at the avian, “Hey, Grian, what brings you to my pirate islands?” Grian has definitely adjusted quickly to joining Hermitcraft, only a little hesitant around some of the others now.

“Just seeing what you’re up to,” he replies, peering around Scar to the chests.

Scar looks back at the chests, a little embarrassed at the mess, “I just came back from gathering some materials.”

“I see,” Grian murmurs, and then his voice warps, “you have failed me, pet.”

Scar inhales sharply, whirling back around to face Grian. Grian, whose eyes are no longer pitch black, now glowing purple. A familiar purple. He falls to his knees, wincing as he hits the hard ground, and bows his head, unable to meet the other’s eyes. “My lord,” he gasps out, “forgive me. I was wrong and disappointed you.”

Hands cradle his face, warm and familiar, but also different. They raise his head up until he makes eye contact with Gr- Xelqua. “I will forgive you,” he murmurs, voice still echoing around Scar, “I did not make it easy for you.”

“Thank you, my god.”

Xelqua hums, eyes sparkling, “It feels nice, to hold you like this, to feel you this much.”

“My lord?” Scar inquires.

“It was always faded, when I did this before, it feels so much more real now.” There’s a pause before he continues, voice stern again, “There is a way to prove yourself and redeem this failure.”

“Anything,” Scar replies easily, willing to do anything to prove his devotion.

“This is fine when we’re alone, but any time we are in front of anyone else I am Grian, just a mortal avian.”

Scar baulks, “My lord, I-“

Xelqua tightens his grip on Scar’s face, “Playing mortal is interesting, I want to keep it up. Do you understand me?”

“I-“ Scar struggles to respond, how can he not treat his lord with the worship he deserves? Yet, Xelqua is giving him a direct order. He leans into the hands, “Yes, my lord.”

Xelqua smiles at him, and his magic fills the air, surrounding Scar and making him shudder. Scar’s always loved the feeling of Xelqua’s magic, which the God lets him feel it as a reward, after discovering.

Scar lets himself get lost in it, it means his God is happy with him, after all.

#my writing #devoted from one lifetime to the next #5 + 1 fic #5+1 times #scarian #hermitshipping

[teex]

Have you ever done a list of your favorite Jamie x Trevor works?

hello! i am going to assume this ask is about fic. if it isnt, please just ignore!

i have definitely recced various drygras fics before but i dont know that i have ever made a list, so here's one! everything on here is Wonderful and i have reread at least once, tho the list def isnt comprehensive. ao3 has tonsss of great fic for them, and i am forgetful

anyway! in no order except for the first fic bc its the goat:

checked swing by dilangley

Every morning, Jamie walks out into the kitchen of the little team-provided apartment and sees Trevor Zegras in his kitchen. And it ruins his fucking day. Every fucking time. (Baseball AU)

-fucking just, incredible writing. incredible characterizations and chemistry. only rated T but still one of the most satisfying fics YK!!

2. ain't going down without a fight by countthestars

Trevor may not be patient, but he is persistent. (Werewolf AU)

-Such a great exploration of their first season together, enemies to friends to lovers, now with werewolves!

3. If A Group of Ducks Is Called a Raft You Keep Me Afloat by neerdowellwolf

"I wish we could go to the beach." "Right now? That's how you get eaten by sharks, Jamie." "Oh, is that how?" "Yeah. It is how. Nice boy like you, pale little legs in the dark? Practically a beacon." Jamie hadn't known what to expect. That the chirping, shit talking player he'd lined up across from would turn out to be this smiling, laid back girl keeping up a near continuous running commentary as they play COD. She's funny, in a dry low-key way and she asks him questions about his life, his family. Jamie finds his shoulders relaxing without thinking about it. (girl!Trevor AU)

-hot! and funny and a little bit angsty. i loved the depictions of trevor and jamie here and the way trevor being a girl changes and doesn't change the dynamic

4. Fever Dream High by canary

Every single person at this party was taller than Jamie, and tanner, and glowier, like an impenetrable wall of Southern California cool. (non-hockey AU)

-trevor and jamie recently met and recently fucked and now they are seeing each other again at a fancy party ;))

5. She don't pay rent but she stays on my mind by theaa

He’s never kissed a girl with short hair. Honest to god doesn’t think he’s ever done it. (girl!Jamie AU)

-trevor going against his usual type bc he is just fully infatuated with jamie. so much sex and so much fondness and just a reallyreally great fic

6. Short Sleeves in December by makeit_takeit

Outside the windows that look out into the gym, is a guy. He’s got dirty blond hair, sun-bleached ends curling shaggy and disheveled around his ears, sticking out from under a flat-brimmed hat. He’s wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut out, sides hanging open down past his ribs, and athletic shorts that are hiked up to stretch around the considerable width of his upper quads. He’s standing there on the wooden floor of the basketball court, barefoot and sweaty and tan all over, looking like what California would look like if it was a person. And his pale blue eyes (of course they’re blue eyes) are narrowed, laser-focused, and they’re staring right at Jamie. (Highschool AU)

-i just read and recced this! but i will still happily put it on an actual rec list. this was a great alternate enemies to lovers story for them, and somehow perfectly captured the way it felt to be in high school with a crush, and the eventual giddiness of finding out that crush liked you back

#i hope this is what you were looking for! #all the jamietrevor fics by these writers are gold #along w many other writers #donderwolk has incred stuff notthequiettype too. bropunzeling. god there are a lot #andthreequarts. steviethenarwhal #happy reading! #fic rec #hockey rpf #hrpf #drygras #611

[correctproseka]

So @queer-prosekai told me to do my own top 10 list of the sets + my favorite card of each, so here's some rules i set for myself

1- i have to REALLY like the full set, not just really like a card but a little less to the others (cough Saki in no seek no find, for one example. Though other sets have also triggered this rule)

2- i also am judging by card only, not the story, however. I am not completely good at this because a lot of the cards that are already good get to be way better because of the event behind it.

3- only counting the trained cards, not untrained, it would be a very different list.

ANYWAYS. LIST STARTS NOW:

10: LIGHT UP THE FIRE

Oh my poor child are you okay??? Going past how much i like this event. Which would get me here writing for hours mind you. I also just really like the set. The dark colors and the fact that in all 3 cards you can barely see color- its black and then each has their own color showing up, An has red, Toya has blue and Rin has white. It just gives a fucking impact on you looking at them. Would not change a thing, really.

9: WISHING TO THE BLUE SKY FOR YOUR HAPPINESS

Anyone else remembers qhen this set just totally broke us? Oh my god. I do. Shizuku in a suit. An in this pretty ass dress. I just cjsjcjsmcjsncjdj. It was mainly those two that really hit for me, specially An. But when it hit it hit hard man

8: SMILE OF A DREAMER

It was the first lim set, so it was really simple compared to what we get now. But simple doesn't mean bad. I really love the colors and idk man i have a soft spot for it i cant defend everything my brain is a dvd logo bouncing around😭

7: HEAR ME HOPEFUL SHOW

Angel Minori is one of the prettiest sets ever, it just isnt higher because personally i like some others more, doesn't mean this shit isnt fucking gorgeous. The lightning, the setting. I love this mmj card with everyone in it bc this is such a beautiful place???? Just. Licks this set like an ice cream then cries bc i ate the pretty ass set.

6: Someday, from the depths of despair

Lowkey i did not expect this one to be this high before i made this list. But it is just gorgeous setting, gorgeous lightning. It just makes my brain go brrrr looking at it.

5- What lies behind lies ahead

The hermit set has people in a chokehold for years, and for good reason. The hairstyles are pretty, the au ideas one can get out of it are yummy. AND THE CARD THEMSELVES ARE SO CKSJFKDK. All of them having this golden thing around as if hermit was a story told to us by images. It just could be a poster. Its certainly pretty enough to.

4: Our escape for survival

Sorry for the amount of niigo here. It will happen again. Niigo never misses. Anyways i just love this set sm. The lightning, muffled colors and backgrounds just hit so fucking hard. The rain shared on the 3 cards from the set is so symbolical and so is the clock and the engines on Mafuyu's and Luka's card. It tells us a story before we even read the event and that is beautiful.

3: Close game offline

I had to skip this set and i am still sad about it. Man the the the cmsucksjcjx aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa viddygame and neon.

2- Unnamed Harmony

I like silly, your honor. I also like water. Saki's card has both /hj. No but really i just really like the outfits and colors and just everything in this set it would be a CRIME to not have this here as a Saki stan. Just look at it!!!!

1: Draw your bow in this white world

.. so, who's surprised? I can barely even find a favorite card in this set. From Kaitos . Kaito. (Does he need more?), Shizuku's gracefulness and beautifulness and Mafuyu just pretty and badass breaking the "screen"/mirror/window with an arrow. Its just soooooo ancjamvjsjchsjxncnsicjsv chomps.

HONORABLE MENTION:

Knock the future, which light up the fire took it off on a technicality (i like 3/3 cards on light up the fire and 2/3 on knock the future bc Honami is very meh compared to the others to me)

Anyways if anyone else wants to do this as a challenge id love it. And @probably-not-niigo i challenge u to do the same

#project sekai #proseka #colorful stage #prosekai #pjsekai #puroseka

[cluescorner]

Thoughts on Canto V

Spoilers ahead. Also, disclaimer that I did not play it but instead watched it because I really like the story but I don't play the game anymore. I do not think playing it through would have impacted my experience, but do keep that fact in mind and let me know if you think my feelings would change if I had played it.

OH MY FUCKING GOD I REALLY LIKED IT! The characters were solid (though there are some problems), the theme of hoping for the future and allowing yourself to discover it for yourself rather than holding onto the past, and there were some incredible fucking moments.

Firstly, Ishmael. She was pretty stellar throughout. Watching her slowly degrade into becoming a mirror of the very woman she sought to destroy was heartbreaking, I felt like she actually had a real arc this canto that helped her become a less burdened person, and some of her deepening bonds with the other sinners were awesome. I particularly liked watching her interactions with Outis because Moby Dick and the Odyssey/Illiad are the two literary works from Limbus that I know well, and based on that info it makes sense that they would both understand and annoy each other. The moments with Heathcliff were also incredible because they've always had a really cool dynamic. Ishmael's relationships with her crew were also interesting and I feel like that could have easily been the best part of this cant, but ultimately that didn't end up happening (more on that later). I felt like the sudden character development 'Oh the other characters are my friends and they are my compass' thing was a BIG JUMP especially for Ishmael, but it's not a bad idea. I think it just needed more time in the oven, let Ishmael interact with the other sinners inside the dungeon and have her work together with them to get through things. Fortunately, Ishmael's VA + the Mili song really carried that ending so I still wound up getting caught up in the moment regardless. Speaking of Ishmael's VA...HOLY SHIT WHATEVER THEY ARE GETTING PAID IT WAS NOT ENOUGH!! Singlehandedly made me like this Canto so much more than I otherwise would have. An incredible performance all around, stand out moments include but are not limited to: Her ranting at the pirates about them not knowing what shame is, the euphoric hatred in her voice as she fantasizes about finding and killing Ahab, the grief as she discusses Queequeg and the hope as she sees Queequeg again, and OF COURSE WHEN SHE GOES AHAB MODE! Bravo Jang Ye-na, you carried this Canto through its weaker moments and helped the best ones become my favorite moments in this game.

Next, Ahab. I liked her a lot, fucking awful captain woman who reminds me of my old pastors. GOOD JOB MAKING THIS A FUCKING HORROR GAME THIS BITCH SCARES ME! I wish we could have seen more of her (and maybe we will in the future) because what we got was incredible. I was expecting a shitty boss but instead got another fucking cult leader. Her design is also a solid mirror to Ishmael's, further emphasizing the point that they are becoming more alike as this stuff goes on AND making the moment where Ishmael breaks the cycle of hatred more impactful. She is an incredible mirror of what happens where you allow hatred to consume you entirely, and the VA really reflects that. The only complaint I kinda have is that she probably should have been a lot more morally grey than she was. I feel like we just kinda got Kromer version 2 in terms of the role she played in the story and in Ishmael's life, granted that might change in the future so I will be very happy to be wrong if that's the case. But after Dongrang, I was expecting something a little more sympathetic or at least nuanced than 'evil cult leader captain lady hates that fucking whale and will kill her crew and makes that abundantly clear'. Again, I do like what we got so I can't complain too much but still.

I LOVE THAT BIG FUCKING WHALE! SCARY FUCKING BIG WHALE COMETH! ELDRITCH WHALE!

The Indigo Elder is so fucking cool. I wish he were here for more than 3 minutes and actually had something to do. They really introduced a man by having him tear the arm off the guy who we were struggling to survive against, said he was a Color and that he killed another Calamity, teased this really cool plan, and then...he's just waiting outside presumably 1v1-ing the whale but we get to neither see nor hear about it at all. I hope he comes back and we can see him do cool shit, because we had an incredible set-up with mediocre pay-off.

Ishmael's crew...I loved them so much I wish they were in the Canto for more than 1 level. They should have been introduced MUCH EARLIER in order to have their deaths have more of an impact. We should have been in the whale for longer, even if it meant shortening other parts of the chapter, just for the crew. Because those are Ishmael's ties and these are the people who Ahab's hatred is robbing the world of. What we did get of them was very strong, but Starbuck and Pip got nothing in terms of character moment and time. Queequeg got a little bit more (by the way I love that Queequeg actually looked like the design team at least LOOKED at a Polynesian person, I'm so jaded from other gacha games that I'm thrilled somebody actually looks like they're from the culture they're inspired from. She looks like a buffer, female version of one of my Polynesian neighbors it's great.) and it made her feel a lot more developed. She was a solid adaptation of Queequeg and her relationship with Ishmael was so sweet. The moments we got of them together were some of the highlights and it made me really want them to manage to escape together. Of course that was never gonna happen, but still. I also don't like how we don't even see Queequeg and Starbuck die. Are we supposed to assume Ahab killed them to manifest the ego? Did we kill them? I see some criticism around the fact that they stood by Ahab's side at the end and wondering why they did that. And I get that criticism because it is weird, but also that's just kinda what cult leaders can do especially when they're the only reason you've been alive for however long + you're slowly being overtaken by BAD WHALE JUICE. I 100% buy that they chose to follow the Captain because the Captain is always right and even when She does horrible things Her understanding is elevated above ours. And if Her fight is our fight, then surely it is ok for us to die here.

I feel like this is also a criticism that only I care about but why is the story suddenly like 'oh revenge is bad don't do revenge'? Like, I get it revenge is bad and that was kinda the point of Moby Dick. BUT WE HAVE LITERALLY DONE SO MUCH REVENGE AND REVENGE WAS KINDA SINCLAIR'S WHOLE THING AND IT'S PROBABLY GONNA BE HEATHCLIFF'S! Why is revenge suddenly bad and 'oh no it makes you just like the other person' no it does not Sinclair did not suddenly become genocidal because he kept trying to murder Kromer. Is revenge only bad when it's successful? IDK, I just hate narrative inconsistency and this immediately jumped out at me.

Overall, I really liked this Canto! I have my problems with it, but they are relatively minor compared to all it does well.

#limbus company #limbus company spoilers #ishmael #outis #ahab #starbuck #queequeg #I love her so much #heathcliff #BIG FUCKING WHALE #the indigo elder