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dreamescapeswriting · 27 days

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Petals Of Love ~ HJS

WORD COUNT: 2.9K

GENRE: Non idol, college au, established friendships, unrequited love, jisung blind to his feelings, reader almost dying, mentions of coughing and blood, hanahaki disease [Hanahaki disease is a fictional medical condition often depicted in anime, manga, and fan fiction. It's characterized by the symptoms of coughing up flower petals or blossoms due to unrequited love. ]

PAIRING: Jisung X Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - April 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

In the bustling city of Seoul, cherry blossoms painted the streets pink, and everywhere you went petals fell down and showered those around them creating a beautiful scene, but you hated it.

You had once loved the flowers but now they simply reminded you of the one person you could never have, the one person that was killing you slowly on the inside and didn't even know it. Your best friend. Jisung.

You'd always loved him but you hadn't realised the depth of your feelings until recently. It had started subtly, with you admiring his infectious laugh or his giant smile. The way he stored food in his cheeks or his passion for music. Everything about him drew him in. He even had a remarkable ability to see the best in people and bring joy to those around him mostly you.

"Dear? Is there something I can do for you?" A voice brought you out of your daydream as you slowly turned around to face an elderly woman who was staring at you. You took in her appearance, silver hair that cascaded down her back in gentle waves and she was dressed in a headscarf adorned with cherry blossoms. You'd been reading about her all week long, she was supposed to be the best herbalist in all of Seoul and you figured she'd be able to find a way to help you.

"I...I need your help," You stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper, and your hands were trembling.

"I have this... this illness. It's called Hanahaki. I'm in love with my best friend, Jisung, but... but he doesn't feel the same way. I'm coughing up petals, and I don't know what to do." Tears sprang to your eyes as you finally admitted it out loud to someone else. Ever since you'd started coughing up the petals you'd done everything you could to hide it, not wanting anyone to see you.

The herbalist listened attentively, her expression softening as she heard your plight. With a gentle touch, she reached out to comfort you.

"I'm sorry, my dear," the herbalist sighed, her voice heavy with regret.

"But there is little I can do for you. Hanahaki is a curse born of unrequited love, and its remedy lies not in herbs or potions, but in the depths of your heart." Your heart sank at the herbalist's words, your hopes dashed against the harsh reality of your situation. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the gravity of your predicament.

"But... but there must be something!" You pleaded, desperation lacing your voice.

"I can't just let this disease consume me. Jisung... he means everything to me. I can't lose him." The herbalist's gaze softened, her eyes reflecting your anguish.

"My dear child," she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm.

"Sometimes, the greatest remedies come not from external sources, but from within ourselves. Only by confronting your feelings and expressing them honestly can you hope to find peace, whether it be in love returned or in letting go." With those words, the herbalist offered you a comforting embrace, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in your struggle.

"Confess your love and hope for reciprocation or face the consequences of a love unspoken." She told you softly as she rubbed the small of your back, the weight of everything pressing down on you as you began your walk back to your shared apartment with Jisung.

No matter how much you adored Jisung there was always someone else for him, someone he liked more than you. The thought of it made your throat close up until you coughed a little, petals falling into your hands, the beautiful pink in stark contrast to the blood red that covered them.

As you stepped into the apartment, you were instantly greeted by the scent of your home and Jisung running around excitedly, his energy infectious as it always was. The thoughts and problems of your day melted away instantly as he grinned in your direction,

"You're back!" He exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement.

"I have some exciting news!" Curiosity piqued you set your bag down on the floor and walked toward him,

"What's the news?" You smiled.

"I met someone, her name is Emi and she's incredible! You have to meet her!" Your heart skipped a beat, a pang of longing shooting through you as you processed his words. It honestly felt as though it was going to be anyone but you at this point and your chest tightened, your throat burning as you felt the flowers making their way up making it feel as though you were going to choke. Forcing a smile onto your face you nodded,

"T...That's wonderful, I can't wait to meet her," You lied, doing your best to mask the ache in your chest as you spoke. It would be a while before you'd ever have to face her, Jisung was always slow when it came to relationships and never wanted to rush anything.

"Great! Chan is hosting a party tonight and she'll be there! I can't wait for you to meet her," Your smile faltered as you stared at him, this was faster than any of the past relationships he'd had.

"Tonight? But-" You didn't even have time to come up with some kind of excuse not to come.

"It'll be fun, I heard Lix is going to be there." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, he'd been trying to set you up with his friends for a while not catching that you weren't into them but rather him.

"Sounds good," You lied through your teeth, you could think of a million different places you wanted to be rather than at a party where you would watch him with someone else, hell being one of those places.

"You're the best, this is going to be so much fun!" He told you, embracing you in a tight hug as you squeezed your eyes shut, enjoying the fleeting moment of being so close to him while it lasted.

"Why not me," You whispered to yourself as he walked away from you, going to plan an outfit for the night and you coughed into your hand throwing away the petals into the bin.

The party pulsated with energy, its atmosphere electric with excitement and anticipation. Held in Chan's college house adorned with twinkling fairy lights and draped with cascading cherry blossom garlands, it resembled a scene straight out of a fairy tale. The sight of the garlands felt as though they were torturing you though, as if they were there to remind you of your unrequited love.

The air was alive with the sound of laughter and animated conversations, mingling with the rhythmic beat of music that reverberated through the room.

"This is exciting, right?" Jisung asked from beside you, the two of you went to almost all of Chan's parties and this one certainly felt more extravagant than the others that you'd been to in the past.

"Yeah it's nice," You whispered, letting your eyes linger on him for a second enjoying the way his eyes were lighting up at the sight of the party.

"Might be his best party yet," Jisung chuckled, nudging you softly as you nodded at him but you were in complete awe of him not to agree with everything he was saying. You forced a smile on your face, your heart pounding as you followed Jisung through the throng of partygoers. You tried to focus on the lively atmosphere, the music to try and drown out the whispers of doubt in your mind.

"Hey! Yn! Jisung!" Felix waves at you both and you smile, hugging him softly and relaxing as he whispers in your ear,

"Missed you little one," The two of you were close with one another, not in a romantic way but still close nonetheless.

"Have you seen Emi anywhere?" The mention of her name had you choking up as you stared at Felix,

"She was with Chan last I saw her." Without a second thought, Jisung left you and Felix alone, your eyes staring off after your best friend as you swallowed the nervous lump in your throat.

"She's the girl of the week then?" Felix teased softly, it was no secret that Jisung fell in love with a new girl faster than anyone else but it was something you found endearing about him.

"I guess so," You mumbled, reaching for a cup from a nearby tray and downing it instantly trying to forget everything that was going to happen tonight.

The two of you fell into casual conversation, catching up with one another as you walked through the party, your eyes finding Jisung instantly as you noticed just how close he was to Emi. Their hands linked with one another as you stared at him a sharp pang of pain shot through your chest, causing you to gasp for breath and clutch onto Felix.

A delicate petal, stained with blood fluttered from your lips, a cruel reminder of the curse that plagued your heart. Felix's eyes widened in shock as he stared at you,

"You okay?" He asked, his voice laced with worry as he pulled you to the side, trying to get you out of the crowded party. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment as you tried to compose yourself,

"I-I'm fine," You stammered, your voice trembling a little.

"It's nothing." You lied, but Felix's eyes remained fixed on you, his eyes filled with understanding as he realised what was happening.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" He asked as you stared at him, your breath caught in your throat as you nodded silently, unable to find the words to express the depth of your emotions.

"You can't tell him," You begged, your hands clutching onto Felix's forearms as petals began to fall from your lips faster than before, more blood coating them with each falling petal.

"Yn, it'll kill you if he doesn't know." Something you already knew but even if you told him and he rejected you, you were going to die, you were fighting it as much as you possibly could.

"It'll kill me faster if he knows and rejects me," You croaked out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. You'd thought about confessing a million times before, you'd written songs, letters, and poems but nothing was ever going to work because you knew he would never love you back.

"But-"

"There's nothing I can do Lix, either way I die." You mumbled, wiping the corners of your lips to remove the blood from them, sighing a little as you shrugged your shoulders.

"How do you know he doesn't love you?" You scoffed a little and shook your head, there was no way Jisung returned the feelings you had for him,

"He would have said something." You mumbled a little, looking down at the floor as Felix stared at you,

"Like you have to him?" He had you there but you just shook your head,

"I'm going to get some fresh air, keep him distracted...I don't want to meet Emi," You admitted as Felix nodded, always having your back no matter what.

The moon cast a gentle glow upon the garden, its silvery light dancing among the cherry blossoms like ethereal spirits. You stood at the threshold, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unrequited love. Each step felt like a burden, and your chest constricted with the pain of the Hanahaki disease.

With each laboured breath, you coughed, delicate petals stained with blood escaping your lips like crimson tears. The air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms, their sweet fragrance mingling with the coppery tang of blood—a haunting reminder of the curse that plagued your heart.

As you stumbled forward, your vision blurred with tears, and the world around you seemed to spin, a dizzying whirlwind of colours and sensations. Your strength waned with each passing moment, your body growing weaker with every faltering step.

But still, you pressed on, driven by a desperate longing to be alone with your thoughts, to find solace amidst the tranquil beauty of the garden. Each petal that fell from your lips was a silent plea, a silent prayer for forgiveness and understanding. Darkness began to cloud your vision as you leaned up against a tree, trying to catch as much breath as you could but it was as though there was a filter to your lungs, stopping any viable air coming through.

In that moment of quiet surrender, you finally found peace—a fleeting glimpse of serenity amidst the chaos of your suffering. And as the night stretched on, the garden whispered its mournful lament, a solemn witness to the beauty of love unspoken and the tragedy of a life cut short.

"Have you seen Yn? I figured we'd go home together," Jisung said as he joined Felix in the kitchen but he shook his head,

"She was going for air the last I saw her," He admitted, he hadn't seen you for at least an hour now and he figured you'd gone home. Jisung smiled weakly and began to make his way through the people, his date with Emi couldn't have gone worse, it turned out she had a crush on Chan instead of Jisung and all he wanted was to go home and watch bad movies with you.

"Yn?!" He called out to the party, sighing a little at the thought of you going home alone. The two of you always went home together, dates or not. As he walked through the party, a hushed whisper reached his ears, a rumour that someone had been found unconscious in the garden. Panic built inside of him as he dashed toward the garden, his heart pounding with fear.

As he burst through to the garden his worst fears came true, you were lying on the floor surrounded by cherry Blossoms as people simply stared at you in awe. You were frail on the floor, a halo of petals surrounding you like a mournful shroud.

"Yn!" He cried out, his voice trembling with anguish as he rushed to your side, his hands trembling as he brushed bloodied petals from your chest. Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze clouded with pain as you struggled to breathe,

"Yn," He whispered, his voice choked on emotion. Tears welled in Jisung's eyes as he took in the sight of your frail form, the severity of the situation finally sinking in.

"Oh, Yn," Jisungwhispered, her voice choked with emotion, the thought of all of this happening to you.

"What happened? Why didn't you tell me?" He pleaded with you, the sound of distant sirens blasting through the air, your response was a weak cough, a delicate petal stained with blood escaping your lips—a silent testament to the depth of your suffering.

Realization dawned upon Jisung like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the darkness of his ignorance. He'd been blind to your silent struggle, oblivious to the agony hidden beneath your friend's smiles and laughter.

"I'm so sorry," He murmured, his voice trembling with regret as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I didn't know... I didn't realize..." With each passing moment, your strength waned, your breaths growing shallower as the petals threatened to suffocate your fragile lungs.

"I wrote a letter and threw it away, 'cause god just knows that I'll never say I think about you every day...I-I know you'll never see me that way." You coughed out before everything faded to black, Jisung's hands shaking you as he begged you to come back to him.

"Yn...Yn, can you hear me?" The voice was gentle yet urgent, pulling you back from the brink of oblivion. With a faint groan, you stirred, your eyes fluttering open as you squinted a little.

"Jisung?" You mumbled, your voice hoarse from how dry your throat was.

"You're in the hospital, you collapsed," Jisung whispered, his hands griping yours with trembling hands, you stared at him and took in his appearance, it looked like he'd barely slept and his eyes were bloodshot.

"What...What happened?" You thought for sure you would have died right then and there, it had been the only reason you'd admitted your feelings to him.

"You were coughing up blood...petals...Yn, why didn't you just tell me?" He squeezed your hand and you shook your head, looking back on it, it all seemed silly not to tell him the truth.

"I was scared I was going to lose you," You admit as you slowly sat up in the bed,

"And I nearly lost you," He choked, kissing your hand softly as you watched him,

"How am I-"

"Alive? After you passed out...I finally realised I love you, I always have and I just cried into your chest," He laughed nervously and wiped the tears away from his cheeks.

I've loved you for as long as I can remember. I just didn't know how to tell you." He admitted as you stared at him in complete shock,

"You saved my life," You whispered as you swallowed and for the first time in forever it didn't hurt, it felt pain-free as you finally didn't feel the urge to cough anymore.

"I love you, Jisung." You whimpered a little./

"I love you too, Yn," He whispers, leaning down and kissing you softly as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck bringing him closer to you.

In that moment, amidst the sterile walls of the hospital room, you felt a weight lift from your chest—a burden lifted by the power of love and the courage to speak your truth. And as Jisung leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, you knew that this was exactly where you belonged—in the arms of the man you loved, your heart finally at peace.

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 1 month

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[prev]

For some reason, Pure Vanilla's dreams always take place in memories. The situations may be different, and the details may be blurred and absurd, built from a collection of fragmented moments spanning his life, but the locations themselves are always familiar.

That's why it is significant, glaringly so, when he finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognise.

It isn't a small room, but it feels smaller because it is hedged in by the dark shapes of bookshelves and chests. A large desk is nestled to the left, and a window sits ahead, clearly large but covered by a thick curtain. It leaves the room swarmed with shadows that seem to watch and breathe, hardly fended off by the feeble efforts of the desk's waning candelabra.

It makes viewing the room difficult. If he had his staff with him, Pure Vanilla would have cast some light, but he hasn't had it in his dreams for a while now, so he makes do with the meagre light he has. It is enough to realise that the room is a mess, the desk chair tipped over with books, scrolls, papers and quills, many of them looking like they were snapped, strewn about haphazardly. There's an inkwell on its side on the floor, spilling the abyss everywhere and soaking into the floorboards and loose paper.

The new location makes hope spark within Pure Vanilla, but it is dampened slightly by the uneasiness born from the visible disarry. "Where..?"

"This is my old study." As expected, Shadow Milk's voice swirls around the room to greet him, and a moment later, he emerges from the nothingness of the pitch-black corner, the edges of his silhouette blending into the darkness.

He doesn't look surprised or irritated at the sight of this time capsule of a room. No, his face is blank, verging on bored, as it often is when relics of his distant past crop up. It is a welcome sight, if only because Shadow Milk has a tendency of being more seriously receptive to questions when he wears that expression.

"What happened to it?" Pure Vanilla asks quietly, his voice bouncing back loud in his ears anyway. He doesn't move from where he is standing, a little wary of disrupting the mess on the floor before him.

Shadow Milk doesn't have the same hesitation, walking all over the littered documents with his arms folded leisurely behind his back. He peers down at them with a lazy gaze, but his voice and smile is light when he responds. "Oh, nothing interesting! I was just terrible at organisation, I'm sure you've noticed."

Well, being more receptive to questions doesn't mean he answers them honestly or in any kind of straightforward manner. The fact that Pure Vanilla is here already feels like enormous progress, because whether Shadow Milk made a conscious decision to meet here or not, his relative calm now must mean that he is willing for Pure Vanilla to see this, even if he isn't willing to explain its history.

Besides, Pure Vanilla isn't entirely oblivious. He has seen scenes like this before, and he can connect the dots himself.

Shadow Milk steps into the ink puddle and drags the abyssal liquid across the crumpled papers – a clearly intentional move, because he isn't bound by gravity unless he chooses to be – as he continues to scan the mess without a care in the world. He pauses at the edge of the candlelight's reach, squinting as he bends at the waist to get a closer look at a stack of bound papers.

Then, he lights up, dropping down to sit on the floor as he picks the papers up with both hands. He sits on the line between the fading candlelight and the hungry shadows, sinking back into the darkness like it is natural, but his eyes are all bright and his smile feels more genuine.

"One of my playscripts!" Shadow Milk announces, almost sounding giddy as he flicks through the pages with an air of fondness he doesn't quite manage to hide. Then, as if he can't help himself, he puffs his chest out a little and starts proudly explaining, some of his extra eyes flicking over to glance at Pure Vanilla. "I had dozens of these lying around. I never had the time to stage any of them myself, but they were extremely popular back then. That's to be expected, since I was the best wordsmith to grace Earthbread. Still am, to this day!"

In the dim, still moment that follows, stretching long and precious, Pure Vanilla doesn't see the Beast of Deceit before him. He doesn't even see the brilliant scholar, the Virtue of Knowledge, not quite.

What he sees is a Cookie, whole and complex and alive and beautiful, and his heart pangs, softly.

Pure Vanilla feels drawn to him, to the glimpse of something real and present, the current evolution of the past that lays abandoned around them, the past he has grown fond of in stolen glances, and suddenly he is moving. He carefully picks his way across the room, which isn't easy with the mess and the dark, but he manages, tiptoeing around ink and paper.

"It's their loss, to not have my genius plays anymore." Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he begins to leaf through the script more carefully, silently reading it line by line. An edge of bitterness peeks through his tone. "Nobody knows how to appreciate good artistry these days. What more can you expect from little mindless fools?"

When Pure Vanilla sinks into a kneel beside him, Shadow Milk's extra eyes all gravitate towards him inquisitively, even as his main pair continue to soak in the script. The pressure of them drapes over Pure Vanilla like a cloak as he clasps his hands together in his lap, taking a moment to mull over his own words.

"...Perhaps you should try having a more open mind." He says finally, not unkindly. Shadow Milk stops, still as a statue, before turning to face him with a concerning crack of his neck that, despite knowing his habits by now, still makes Pure Vanilla wince.

"Huh?" The sound is flat and loud, too loud for the shrinking boundary of the study, and it is obvious he is offended.

"I've been thinking about you a lot recently, and your situation." Pure Vanilla admits, something placating lacing into his voice as his attention lingers on that beloved playscript to avoid meeting Shadow Milk's sharp eyes. "Have you ever considered the possibility of your imprisonment ending amicably?"

"Huh?" Shadow Milk repeats, his voice more abrasive as his patience dwindles. He heard him perfectly fine, Pure Vanilla is sure, but he must want an elaboration.

"You seem to think the only chance for your freedom is to escape by force." Pure Vanilla explains, glancing up to take in Shadow Milk's face, his brows furrowed and mouth an unreadable line. "But I'm sure a compromise can be made to some degree. The things you have done are too severe to be settled by an apology alone, but- but if we can agree upon a system of redemption and rehabilitation, then–"

Shadow Milk cuts him off with a wild bout of laughter that rips through the study like a clap of thunder, hunching into himself as he unceremoniously drops the script. He tries to cover his too large grin with a hand, his many eyes pinning Pure Vanilla in place with the frantic look crystallised within them.

"You're joking!" Shadow Milk forces out through his stubbornly smiling teeth, voice gravelly and rattling with traces of laughter just short of hysteria. "Do you even hear yourself? No, no, you must be joking!"

"Not at all. I wouldn't joke about something like this." Pure Vanilla insists, seriousness plain on his face as he shifts to face him fully, a little concerned by the reaction. "Good punishments are meant to teach a lesson. As long as you are willing to learn from it, I don't see why your imprisonment couldn't be renegotiated."

The laughter gives way to a cold silence, and Shadow Milk's eyes narrow as he grits his teeth in a half-scowl, hand still obscuring half his face. "You're serious." He says slowly, words dripping with disdain. Then he huffs, shaking his head as his voice takes on a more playful tone. "Don't be silly, I've told you not to overthink things so much. Besides, the Witches," and here, his attempt at playfulness falters under a charged growl, "would never entertain something like that. Cowards, all of them!"

Maybe Pure Vanilla is reading into things, overthinking just like Shadow Milk accuses him of doing, but he can't help hearing a note of hurt in his voice. The fact he brought up the Witches so quickly speaks volumes by itself, and sorrow and pity bubble together in Pure Vanilla at the thought of what Shadow Milk must view as the greatest betrayal.

"...I don't think they'll mind." Pure Vanilla says after a moment of consideration, folding his hands in his lap. "The Witches rarely interfere with the lives of Cookiekind – at least, not since I was baked. Even when you broke the Seal and escaped briefly, they showed no signs of interference."

"Cowards." Shadow Milk mutters again with a tight, sardonic smile. "Afraid of reaping what they've sowed. Of course they don't dare to show their faces anymore!"

Pure Vanilla frowns slightly, but chooses not to comment, glossing past that to deliver his point. "That means the terms of your continued imprisonment solely relies on the Faeries and White Lily, now."

"Yes, yes, yes, do you think I don't know that?" Shadow Milk huffs again, waving an impatient hand as he leans back against thin air. "And? Are you going to, what, appeal our case to our great and wise Guardian?"

"Well, yes, that is the idea." Shadow Milk blinks owlishly at him as if that was a surprise, and Pure Vanilla adds sheepishly. "Not immediately, of course. There are more pressing matters at the moment, and I don't want to add more stress to her shoulders." Then, quietly, more to himself. "...She's going through enough as it is."

The look Shadow Milk gives him is complicated, far too complicated to parse in the sparse lighting. When he speaks, it is weighted with disdain and disbelief. "That's actually your plan?"

"If you're willing to consider it seriously." Pure Vanilla's reply is sterner to express his own determination, a little frustrated by the lack of cooperation, but when Shadow Milk remains visibly suspicious, he softens again and sighs.

Of course he's supicious. Nobody has tried to lend him a helping hand since his fall from grace. To be forsaken like that would make anyone somewhat jaded.

"...Remember what you told me? We are the same." Pure Vanilla begins patiently, keeping his voice calm and soothing as he shifts a little closer to him. "We just fall on opposite ends of the same spectrum. I could fall to darkness, but it is just as likely that you could return to the light."

"Yes, and didn't I tell you that was a stupid thing to say?" Shadow Milk muses mockingly, head lolling too far to one side for his neck to still be intact. And yet, he was playing along, the whole of his attention resting on Pure Vanilla with a sense of intruige. That was enough to encourage him.

"You did, but you also told me that people change, didn't you?" Pure Vanilla continues steadily, not hindered by Shadow Milk's lazy rebuttal. "I understand you meant that Cookies can change for the worse, but quantifiers always exist in pairs, so the opposite is also true. Cookies – you can change for the better."

The flickering candlelight makes the colour of Shadow Milk's face murky, accentuating his flat expression as he straightens his head back on his shoulders with a dull crunch. His eyes burn like shooting stars as he says slowly, overpronouncing each syllable, "Possibilties are never guaranteed."

"Guarantees leave no room for possibilities. Similarly, an endless imprisonment leaves no room for change and growth." Pure Vanilla argues back mildly, and in an attempt to connect with him, he finds himself reaching out for Shadow Milk's hand. He clasps it gently between both of his, pulling it closer to his own chest as Shadow Milk's expression momentarily shutters in surprise.

"You've been abandoned for a long time, and I'm sorry about that." Pure Vanilla murmurs, head leaning closer to make sure Shadow Milk can hear him as he warms his cold, dissolving hand between his palms. "You have done awful things, and you needed to be stopped, but it is cruel of them to bury you alive without any chance to redeem yourself, to condemn you to stagnation."

Shadow Milk doesn't interrupt. His eyes rest squarely on their joint hands, and he makes no attempt to pull away, despite his intial surprise. His expression betrays nothing.

"I know you reject the idea on grounds of impossibility, but I truly believe you can change for the better." Pure Vanilla smiles down at their hands, voice warm and earnest, and it is the truth. He looks up, making sure to meet Shadow Milk's bright, bright eyes to convey his sincerity. "I believe in you. More than that, I care about you."

The word comes out a little shy, but not hesitant. He is making a point – trying to show that even if Shadow Milk may feel like he has been abandoned to rot, that doesn't have to be the truth.

Shadow Milk breaks his stony silence with a click of his tongue.

"You care too much about too many things." He retorts, a taunting lilt filtering into his voice as the corners of his mouth curl upwards. "That doesn't mean much. It just makes you a fool with a bleeding heart."

"And that doesn't make any of what I say less true." Pure Vanilla replies easily, projecting confidence. He refuses to let Shadow Milk scare him off now. "I really do care about you."

He hesitates for a tense second before moving one hand to cup Shadow Milk's cheek, to show him in actions. Shadow Milk stiffens under the touch, but relaxes in the next blink, baring too many teeth in a lopsided grin that dances along Pure Vanilla's palm, still vaguely mocking.

"Really?" Shadow Milk drags the syllables out, pressing his face into Pure Vanilla's hand as his narrowed eyes never waver from him. The darkness creeps over his shoulders, the protection of the old candelabra gradually shrinking. "Why, I didn't think you could be such a flirt!"

"I mean it, wholeheartedly. You can always tell when I lie, you must know this is the truth." Pure Vanilla insists and insists, because it is all he can do, a strange desperation starting to form, now that he can imagine a peaceful solution so clearly. He grips Shadow Milk's hand tighter, but the hand on his face remains carefully gentle. "All I want to do is help you, if you'll let me."

It is important that it is a choice Shadow Milk makes, and not something forced upon him. It won't work if it is forced. Still, as Shadow Milk's eyes grow lidded, Pure Vanilla suddenly can't bear to watch anymore.

"So please," he whispers as he closes his eyes, body leaning forward with the weight of his urgency, "can I...?"

There is a beat where there is stillness, and then Shadow Milk lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. Pure Vanilla feels him move forward, fingers brushing his dough as his hand falls away from his face, and then– then–

Then their lips meet, and his mind goes blank.

The kiss isn't gentle. It isn't harsh or aggressive either. It just is, and just as quickly, it isn't again.

Pure Vanilla's dough is burning when Shadow Milk pulls back, his chest warm like the bowels of the oven, his stomach swooping in pleasant and sickening loops. Overwhelmed as he is, it is horribly difficult to open his eyes, but he is compelled with a need to see his face.

Unfortunately, even when he manages to force his eyes open slightly, there isn't much to see. The candelabra is quickly going out, its retreat inviting in a darkness that Pure Vanilla cannot see anything in, let alone the details of a face. The only proof that Shadow Milk is still there at all is the feeling of his hand in his, and the familiar presence of his gaze.

"You can try," Shadow Milk answers from the darkness, a teasing smirk audible in his words, "if you really think you can convince the Guardian of something as elusive as mercy."

Pure Vanilla nods quietly, certain that Shadow Milk can still see him even if the opposite isn't true, his tongue unable to find words quick enough to answer verbally.

When he wakes up, far later than he usually does and well behind schedule, his face is still glowing with leftover heat. He presses his cheeks into the cool surface of his pillow, and feels something in him settle, satisfied.

I can save him.

[next]

#i wrote a majority of this in a mad burst of inspiration. bone apple teeth!#also there is one part left in this series after this. take that as you will :)#shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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dark-and-kawaii · 4 months

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༺ 𝒱𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 ༻

Raphael

Summary: Raphael returns to his boudoir with news that will forever burden your soul, the loss of a child is never easy…

Pairings: Raphael x F!Tav/Reader

Notes: This is separate from “Heirs”. I just wanted to write more angst bahaha.

Character Death - Angst - Battle - Blood

Throughout your journey with the absolute, you found yourself entangled in a forbidden love with Raphael, a love that defied all odds. Your union was born from flames, a tempestuous affair woven between two souls, bound by both passion and damnation. Your companions, especially Karlach and Wyll, vehemently forbade it. Karlach, the barbarian tiefling, was particularly against your entanglement with Raphael. She had expressed countless times her disapproval of witnessing you surrendering yourselves so freely to the devil. One day, she finally left your life for good, and you haven't heard from or seen her since.

However, your greatest fear loomed over you: now that Raphael had the crown he would set his sights on Avernus, where Wyll and Karlach resided. You dreaded receiving the news that Raphael had either killed Karlach or one of his lackeys had. His insatiable thirst for power would drive him to conquer Avernus and beyond, and Karlach would be caught in the crossfire.

You knew Raphael would be a part of the fights here and there, at times you worried, other times you were sure of him. But what you never anticipated was that yours and his daughter, a gentle yet fearless soul birthed from your twisted union, would also become entangled in the wars to come.

The knowledge of your daughter's involvement in the chaos gnawed at your heart, a foreboding sense of unease that whispered in the recesses of your mind. She was out there now, surveying the lands near Zariel for her dear father to see where they should strike first… The night was still as you stood by the crackling fireplace, finding solace in its flickering flames while Haarlep laid on the bed like some sort of house cat.

“You have little faith in our precious little girl.” Haarlep spoke freely. The incubus had forged a bond with your daughter, but unlike you, they lacked maternal instincts. “She’ll do well out there, afterall she is also of Raphael’s blood.”

You remained silent, your eyes fixated on the dancing flames. It felt as if you're trying to glean the happenings in Avernus, near Zariel's domain.

The sound of Raphael's return to the boudoir finally broke your trance. Little did you know that he carried a tormenting secret, burdened by its weight. Slowly, he approached you, his steps deliberate as he reached out for your hand. A mix of vexation and despair painted his features as he prepared to unveil the truth that would shatter your world.

"My dear-," he spoke, his voice seething with a mix of sorrow and anger, "in this moment, I must share tragic news that will forever haunt your soul." you could feel the gravity of his words, the pain they inflicted upon him even before they left his lips. “Our daughter, the fruit of our affair, has been plucked from us by the hands of treachery. It is with a heavy heart that I reveal to you the dreadful truth-,” Your heart twisted with anguish, you had feared the consequences of his ambitious plans, but you had never anticipated the loss of his and yours own flesh and blood.

You couldn’t see it, but Haarlep’s tail fell to the bed, hanging limply off the edge of the bed…

Tears welled up in your eyes, anger and grief mingling within you, with a trembling breath, “H-How could this be? Tell me, Raphael.” your voice was demanding while your lips trembled as your tears teeter on the edge of your eyelids, glistening, before finally succumbing to gravity…

Raphael's grip tightened on your hand, his voice seething with restrained fury, “Karlach and Wyll, your previous companions carried out this malignant act.”

You could feel the bile rising within you, your breath catching in your throat as your knees threaten to surrender beneath the weight of unbearable grief. The room spins around you, a cruel vortex of disbelief…

Raphael stood by your side as you took in the horrific news, his hand never leaving yours. Your free hand clutched at your stomach, your fingers searching for the child that was once a part of you. Desperate for stability amidst the chaos of your emotions.

Your vision continued to blur as your mind struggles to comprehend the magnitude of what has unfolded. To realize that those you had once trusted, the companions of your past, were the catalysts of your daughter's passing… It was an unbearable torment. Betrayal, the venomous beast, sank its fangs deep into your soul.

You turned to face Raphael, your expression a tempest of grief and rage. In that moment, the fires of vengeance ignited within you. Your daughter, Raphael’s heir, the child of House Hope, gone far too soon… "Raphael," your voice whispered, your voice trembling with a haunting resolve. He watched you closely, allowing you to speak the words he already had thought about, "We shall not let this cruelty go unpunished. Our daughter's blood shall not stain the ground without punishment. Let Wyll and Karlach tremble in fear beneath the weight of our wrath and power."

“My child will be avenged in the cruelest of manners.”

Amidst the chaos and the clash of steel, your heart pounded with a ravenous rage that threatened to consume your very soul. Your daughter, a precious light in your life, had been mercilessly struck down by the hands of those you once called friends. Wyll and Karlach, their names now etched in your mind as the embodiment of betrayal.

As you advanced, your eyes locked with Karlach's, a flicker of desperation in her gaze. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this," she pleaded, her voice strained. "Your daughter interfered, it was a mistake!" The weight of Karlachs actions settled heavily upon her heart, as the reality of the loss she had inflicted upon you settles in. She never wished to take your daughter's life, to rip a child away from its mother. Even if the child belonged to Raphael, she was still yours that you birthed. Karlach knew the pain, but at the time… It was all a mistake.

You refused to believe such words, "Liar!" Your voice echoed through the battlefield, your voice mighty like a dragon's roar. You swung your sword with a force born of anguish, aiming for Karlach's neck. In that moment, time seemed to stretch, as if the world itself held its breath.

With a swift motion, your blade had connected…

Severing Karlach's head from her body...

The sound of steel meeting flesh filled the air, followed by the sickening thud as the lifeless head rolled away, coming to rest in a pool of blood. It was done, but now what?…

Overwhelmed by the weight of it all, you sank to your knees in the desolate landscape of Avernus. Red skies and a brewing hellish thunderstorm served as a grim backdrop to your misery. Sullen tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the blood stains, marking the depths of your sorrow.

As you surveyed the carnage you had wrought, a bittersweet emptiness began to settle within you. The flames of vengeance, once vibrant and fierce, flickered and revealed the true hollowness beneath. The tragic truth of never seeing your daughter again haunts you, overshadowing any satisfaction you may have derived from retribution.

Behind you, Raphael, with his immaculate ascended form, towered over you. He crouched down, his much larger frame curling protectively around your back. One of his wings shielded you from the hells, providing solace and comfort. His head rested gently at your side, Raphael allowed himself to mourn alongside you.

A rare sight indeed, but a much needed one before you both caused the skies around Avernus and every other realm to fall...

"Your reign has just begun, Raphael,” your hand finds the bones to his cheek, "you'll have it all. This I swear to you." Raphael's tail tightens around you, a silent agreement. Because the hells and every other realm haths no fury like a devil and a mother that lost what should never have been taken...

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #haarlep #raphael x tav #raphael the cambion #tav #karlach

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callmearcturus · 1 year

Text

my blog title is from a pamphlet handed out at Janelle Monae's Electric Lady tour, which I have carried in my heart ever since.

THE TEN DROID COMMANDMENTS

I BELIEVE IN THE ARCHANDROID.

IF YOU SEEN YOUR NEIGHBOUR JAMMING HARDER THAN YOU, COVET HIS OR HER JAM.

BE AWARE THAT JAMMING HARDER MEANS: NO TWEETING WITHOUT CLAPPING, NO SEX WITHOUT SCREAMING, AND NO FREEDOM WITHOUT DANCING.

PLEASE BE AWARE THAT THE SONGS YOU WILL HEAR ARE ELECTRIC: BE CAREFUL AS YOU EXPERIENCE THEM AND INTERACT WITH ELECTRICAL DEVICES, DRINK WATER, OR TOUCH OTHERS. THE WONDALAND ARTS SOCIETY WILL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR MELTED TELECOMMUNUCATIONS DEVICES OR INJURIES RESULTING FROM LOCKBACK, SWEAT-TECH, LEAVEWEAVE, POPARM, SHOCKJAW, ELECTROBUTT, OR ANY OTHER MALADIES OR MALFUNCTIONS CAUSED BY THE JAM.

ANY SONG LYRIC YOU KNOW MUST BE SUNG. IF YOU DO NOT KNOW ENGLISH, SING LOUDLY IN ANY LANGUAGE OF YOUR CHOOSING. BE AWARE THAT THERE IS NO RIGHT OR WRONG LANGUAGE, FOR THE ARCHANDROID WAS RECORDED ALL OVER THE WORLD.

ABANDON YOUR EXPECTATIONS ABOUT ART, RACE, GENDER, CULTURE, AND GRAVITY.

BEFORE THE SHOW FEEL FREE TO WALK ABOUT THE PREMISES IMPERSONATING ONE OF THE MANY INSPIRATIONS OF THE ARCHANDROID EMOTION PICTURE: (CHOOSE ONE) SALVADOR DALI, WALT DISNEY, OUTKAST, STEVIE WONDER, OCTAVIA BUTLER, DAVID BOWIE, ANDY WARHOL, OR JOHN WILLIAMS.

IF YOU HAVE BEEN TO THE PALACE OF THE DOGS, PLEASE DO NOT SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE PALACE OF THE DOGS. IN ADDITION, DO NOT SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE DROID CONTROL, THE WOLFMASTERS, OR THE GREAT DIVIDE. ALL THESE TERMS OR CONVERSATIONS ABOUT THEM ARE STRICTLY FORBIDDEN, SO SAYETH THE ZOIDS.

BY SHOW'S END YOU MUST TRANSFORM. THIS INCLUDES BUT IS NOT LIMITED TO EYE COLOR, PERSPECTIVE, MOOD, OR HEIGHT.

LASTLY, PLEASE BE AWARE THAT CHILDREN CONCEIVED DURING THE SHOW OR WITHIN 48 HOURS THEREAFTER MAY BE BORN WITH WINGS. THE WONDALAND ARTS SOCIETY WILL NOT BE HELD LIABLE FOR THIS PHENOMENON OR BE HELD RESPONSIBLE FOR PARENTING OR PROVIDING FOR YOUR FLYING CHILDREN.

#janelle monae #real life role model

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sky-scribbles · 2 months

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Playlist for my Aeor longfic

I failed to figure out how to do a fancy spotify embed like the kids do but uh. Here's the playlist for Gravity!

I listened to this while planning and writing, and there are even a few shout-outs to the songs in the fic... Songs are arranged chronologically, so you should be able to hear the story happening, hopefully :'D

Further yelling about song choices under the cut!

A Matter of Time - This one is... sort of the fic's opening titles in my head? I wanted to start out with an instrumental, to capture the vibes of the months before the fic opens - Essek and Caleb apart, thinking about the T-Dock, and each other. Wondering. Waiting.

Horse to Water - Essek in Chapter 1, knowing his life as the Shadowhand is ending, waiting for Caleb to come and take him away to whatever comes next. (I'm normally very picky about not putting songs that reference modern day stuff on fantasy playlists but this one's vibes were too perfect)

Dear Fellow Traveller - Two wizards heading into Aeor together.

Conquest of Spaces - A song for Aeor. A dark, beautiful city, the remains of a people who lived by greed and power. (And two wizards in the ruins, trying to draw closer to each other.)

Neptune - This is mostly for Essek's breakdown in chapter 5, as he worries he'll never break out of his Shadowhand manipulation, wanting to be closer to Caleb and not knowing what that would even look like. And it's a little for Caleb in chapter 6, too, grappling with his feelings for Essek and his fears that they'll ultimately be bad for each other.

Please Don't Say You Love Me - ... and as they move past those fears, this song is for them tentatively acknowledging what they might be to each other. Not yet. But maybe soon.

Woodwork - This is for the chapters 6-9 span, as they learn more about Brashaar's plan. The pressure of a crisis has an odd way of making them realise just how deep their trust and care for each other runs.

Two Evils - Since we're at the point where Brashaar shows up, she gets a song now! This is pretty much her internal monologue during her confrontation with the wizards (though she really should have paid attention to 'if you're not careful, you will lose her' in reference to Quaera...)

Winter - Travelling northward, and yearning. Wishing they had more time.

Mind - A song for a young Quaera, slowly forming a personality, wondering about who she is and how her identity forms...

The Tower - ... and having their own breakdown.

What Could Have Been - I love me a good villainous breakdown, and this is a song for Brashaar's. This is how I imagine she feels during the final confrontation, raging against the gods, against Caleb and Essek, against Quaera after they turn from her. Not quite able to let go of what she thinks Aeor could have been. What, in her eyes, the world is meant to be. (As a bonus, I think the second verse sounds a bit like a retort to her from Quaera...)

Everybody Wants to Rule the World - This is such a fun cinematic cover, and I can't tell you how many times I've imagined a mental AMV of the final battle with Brashaar set to it :'D

Ori, Embracing the Light - I wanted an instrumental here too, because... Essek is dead, Caleb is in shutdown, and Essek and Quaera are communing with the Luxon, a being that doesn't really speak with words. Also, 'embracing the light' is exactly what Quaera does at this point.

Would That I - I know we all use this as Caleb's 'learning to live and love again' song... and I am no exception. This is for him after the T-Dock, finally fully acknowledging his grief, and his love for Essek.

First Day of my Life - Just two wizards realising that they have a future, and agreeing to slowly work at what's between them.

Ready to Call This Love - This one speaks for itself, honestly.

Five - Both of the wizards in the final chapter, but especially Essek realising how isolated he's been from the world, and letting it all in so he can feel it. (Also, studying the universe is a love language - )

Gravity - Gravity is a metaphor for love!!!!

#please know that restricting myself to just four sleeping at last songs #is Enormous restraint for me #anyway uh have some songs and rambling #shadowgast #gravity and all that's born within #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #critical role

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pleaseleavemetowrite · 11 months

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Should have built a home | Cato x tribute!reader (pt1?)

I am working on my finnick fic - but it’s a massive slow burn so have this bc i’m going through a phase rn.

also love clove but for my own convenience, she isn’t here - we’ll jus say she didn’t get reaped

requested? yes/no

requests are open!

————————————————————————————

(Y/n)’s eyes swept over the other people in the crowd, eyes cold and detached as looked at the faces around her. However, for a brief moment, her gaze softened. Hard features relaxing slightly when she locked eyes with Cato. His familiar face bringing a semblance of comfort to her, and easing the unfamiliar dread she felt in her chest. With the lingering thoughts about how this is the last time either of them could be reaped, and how she longed for Cato to not do something stupid.

But the moment died as soon as it happened, with both of them averting their eyes. In their district, the reaping was a chance at glory and pride, and definitively not the time to show weakness. Most children were born for this moment, wether they loved or loathed it.

(Y/n) and Cato being a part of this majority. With the former not having much keeping her attached to any sentiments to her district and the people within it. She had a decent family, but they weren’t close. A mother too focused on material aspects and a father who was simply distant, and no siblings. Cato however, had more motivation to keep his district pride, with an undeniable thirst for success. This was one of the only parts of Cato that (Y/n) didn’t understand. With him having parents that loved him dearly and an older brother.

(Y/n)’s thoughts however were cut short when the reaping actually began. Her face fell stoic and apathetic as she regarded the Capitol representative on the stage.

“We’ll start with the ladies, shall we?” The crowd made no effort to respond, and the representative didn’t seem to expect one either. Their expensive shoes clicked on the floor as they sauntered to the glass ball. With some young women looking gaunt with fear while most seemed to almost shake with excitement.

“(Y/n) (L/n)” The voice was clear and loud. (Y/n) exhaled through her nose as she calmly walked over to the stage, movements sure and clear. As she faced the crowd before her, she saw envy on some faces, pride on others. But (Y/n) didn’t feel particularly lucky, despite being a part of academy to train for the games, she had no care for it. She didn’t wish for glory, or acclaim. Nor did she really want to kill to survive.

As the boy’s name was about to be chosen, (Y/n) let her eyes meet Cato’s once more. With his eyes holding a stubborn haze. She knew what he was about to do, and a small part of her wanted to believe it was driven by her own name being reaped and not for victory. Capitol cameras caught the moment between the two, lingering on (Y/n) and the hint of something tender deep in her eyes.

The tributes name was hardly able to be announced before Cato declared himself as a volunteer. With cameras split between the two, having documented the moment prior.

Cato basically strut onto the stage, his cockiness was obvious, and (Y/n) held back an eye roll. Recalling a moment when he claimed he wasn’t dramatic. As Cato stepped to his place, the side of him that (Y/n) couldn’t bring herself to see as fully himself took over. He looked angry, enraged even. He was making his intentions clear to his district, to the game makers and to all of Panem.

The difference between the two was jarring, (Y/n) seemed indifferent, almost like it wasn’t her going to the games. While Cato’s eyes blazed, eagerness present on his face.

As the two were sent to separate rooms to bid their farewells, (Y/n) finally felt the gravity of everything hit her. She was going into a game with one victor and one of her competitors would be the one person she had ever loved. Forcing the tightness of her throat down and stiffening her upper lip, she awaited her parent’s arrival.

#cato x reader #cato hunger games #cato hadley x reader #cato hadley #hunger games x reader

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brisquad-unit-4402 · 6 months

Text

sitting with vox and the truth

(spoilers obvs)

happy the demon hungers everyone :D i did two watchalongs with my friends i hope we all show our appreciation to vox. he’s worked very hard and he’s very considerate of us his fans

this is all just to say that after a long, long, long two weeks i would like to rest so nicely on his chest. naturally i walked into this planning to write that but it turned into another vox breakdown fic which, really, couldn’t be a better description of unit 4402 if you tried

tags: gender neutral reader, angst, themes of self-hate, vox has a breakdown, spoilers for the demon hungers and the truth, ambiguous relationship (romantic intended but can be read as platonic; reader says “i love you”)

⚠️ spoilers for the demon hungers / the truth, vox akuma.

⚠️ contains self-deprecating dialogue

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

wings of melded leather and flesh writhe in the home of vox akuma. a dethroned lord, a wretched infernal. such a a wide reach. the talons of the wing threaten to scrape the ceiling with his greater height, while the membranous tatters hang loosely. if he represented Hell it would be a king’s robe. under wall and lamplight the sheet of skin is his chain.

gravity weighs down his voice all the same. it sinks his shoulders, drips off his hair and down his back. seven feet tall, with a shadow to cast over your body so small in comparison, and yet wind could knock him over as he stands his ground. the familiarity of gold within his eyes is gone but the guilt behind it is all the same, tainted in burning-coal. the smoke around his mouth and the embers along his tongue match the char. there is no fire. he’s put that out long ago. but what was scorched refuses to dwindle down to ash, remaining orange and red and that pink you swore you could see when there was nothing good on his mind.

nothing good, you thought, jokingly and enticingly. lightly. you see now that you were right, but without the fortune of intimacy.

he is scared, if he would be willing to admit it, and he is protective which he does. it’s why his hands are buried close to his chest, the swirling black-red, clasped together as if they were weapons. they are.

“do you understand?” vox asks. “i don’t deserve your pity.”

his frame is full with rage and power held dormant.

“i don’t deserve your attention, or your patience. or your love.”

a bead of ember rises from between his teeth. it fades to room dust as he grits them together.

when they snap apart an arc of flame accompanies it.

“It’s never been deserved. It’s never been okay. I have never been okay!”

the flames curl out of the air, following where the ember once went, room dust and hot air. without his hair in his face he can’t hide from the firing squad.

he can’t hide when you step forward, either.

“Don’t.” that’s what gets him to quit yelling. it’s replaced by inhaled cinder under his breath. “No, no, don’t. Don’t. Don’t.”

and quiet, you say, “you’ve held me before.”

“Don’t. Don’t. You can’t. No. Don’t.”

“and i’m nowhere near death.”

he backs away. “You don’t know that, you don’t know that, you don’t know, you don’t.”

“we don’t choose the bodies we’re born in. or the biology we function by.”

another step back. he doesn’t trip on anything. it’s the pure magma under his blood that sends him to his knees. “Get back.” a hiccup. “Get back!” his hands form tighter to his body. “Get away from me!”

“i trust you.”

“Don’t! Don’t! No! Away!”

“you aren’t hungry anymore. and i’m not in danger. i love you.”

vox’s back thumps against the corner of the wall. his hands tear apart. a prominent vein glides down the oil-slick arm. they tangle themselves into his hair. pale fingertips along bloodied streaks. white knuckles pulling at black locks.

he screams.

he screams again when you place yourself next to him, up against the wall, and bump your leg to him.

“if you could hurt me…” your eyes lower to where your legs are placed upon his. “then this would count. but i’m still alive.”

you look up to the ceiling. his talons didn’t scratch it but his horns certainly did. “and i’m still alive, and my soul is where it should be, with me.”

you cannot recognize the sound the voice demon emits.

“so i’ll stay with you. and we’ll figure things out.” with river under your hands you rub his arm. “do you remember this? it’s what i always do when you want me to help calm you down.

“that’s what i’ll do. just let it out. and i’ll be right here, and i’ll always be here no matter what.”

it’s a guttural, throaty cry across his register. a frog scratch.

“come on.” his blood twists under your touch. veins alight as live wires. “i have all the time in the world.”

“But I have been nothing but a blight.”

“i love you as you are.”

you place your head over his chest.

the first thing that happens is the draft from his wing wrapping around your face. your vision colors red. branches of uneven membrane along the wing’s flesh. so tight around his chest you don’t see a glimpse of the outside.

the next is how vox wracks himself over the lava within his throat.

your free hand takes over attending to him as much as you can, swaddled close to his chest.

through the wing, you can see how he forces his head away when he spits a flamethrower.

when the unpredictable flames raise to you and the wing-shield, it suffocates against the flesh. you don’t feel a shred of heat.

each fire is a bellow of pain gone unacknowledged for years. you don’t think he realizes his instinct to cover you. it would be a welcome validation if he weren’t lost in his own grief.

you spend the night beside the voice demon, listening to the shred of his screams. when he finds the courage to open his eyes, he shrieks for every moment that passes with your hand upon him, and soul within your confines.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #vox akuma angst #the demon hungers #luxiem #luxiem x reader #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #4402 writes #vox akuma headcanons #vox akuma imagines #the demon hungers spoilers #wrote this so sleepily… i hope. snnrk. hope it makes sense… nodded off a few times almost #it’s funny bc i told my friend i would go to bed early so i could take a break after all this hecticness!#…and then i wrote this. i’ll see if i can get a cuter monsterfucker appreciation post out at some point since clearly that was the goal #and failed

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jewishvitya · 5 months

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I just wanted to thank you so much for all of your insight and generosity with your perspective as an anti-zionist israeli, something you absolutely don't owe us but I feel immense amounts of respect and admiration for. from an American jew, it's been so valuable to know there are people like you out there, it's made everything feel much less hopeless despite all the hopelessness. I've felt very alone recently, surrounded by all the Jewish people in my life who are pro-israel and don't seem to grasp the gravity of the situation and my pro-palestine gentile friends, and I've felt very alone in my grief as I've only really started to unpack and dismantle my own biases very recently. reading your posts and your perspective on everything has just made me feel very seen as a jew in this situation, especially as I try to reconcile my feelings about everything going on with my own feelings about my faith and my identity.

you've probably seen that I've gone through a lot of your posts and that I've followed you. i just want you to know that I'm not necessarily following you just for that, I know you're just a fandom blog, it's just that after looking through your posts I feel like you're just a really nice person and seeing yoi on my dash from you would be endearing coming from you even though im not into it myself.

just. thank you again for sharing your story and continuing to share. you have no idea how much it's helped me.

I'm in tears. I've been crying way more than usual over the past couple of months, but it's nice for a change to have those tears to come from being touched instead of grief. I apologize if I'm going to ramble.

You say I didn't owe you all this, but I do feel responsible. I'm watching so much destruction and seeing how comfortable people around me are with the loss of life. This is why I've been talking about what we do and not as much about the impact of October 7 on me or people I know. I did a bit of that in the beginning, but pretending it was the start of everything to keep going back to that one day, after two months of horror, as if I can't count past 7... I didn't choose to be born where I am, I didn't choose to grow up in the most extremist community this place has to offer. But since I'm here, since I'm comfortable at the expense of Palestinians and violence is being done in my name and I have the tools to highlight issues within my society, I think it's a moral obligation.

I know how I talk about things here, and that's genuinely because I don't want to minimize the severity of the racism and the nationalism in Israel. And someone perceived my words as showing hatred for Israelis. But... I love my people. I don't expect those who see or experience our violence to feel the same or even understand me, but I do. It's my neighbors and my childhood friends and my family. It's children I see playing outside and getting excited when they see I have a cat, and the random people who stop me in the street and give me directions if they think I look lost.

Even growing up in the West Bank settlements, the people were very good to me. I needed years to internalize the fact that this kindness doesn't get extended to you if you're not part of the in-group. It broke my heart. It still does. Seeing people who I know are capable of kindness and compassion, hardening themselves against the pain of other human beings. Closing their eyes and telling themselves it isn't real. It's all an act.

I told a friend I feel like I'm betraying my mom, who was deeply bigoted, but also a wonderful mother. She taught me a lot of the principles that are guiding me now - I just took down the walls she put around who deserves to be considered. She'd be horrified with seeing the things I'm saying if she was still alive. But she taught me to care about people, I just decided it means all people.

Everyone should be prioritizing Palestinian liberation, and at the same time, I care about this too. I care about the morality of my people. I need us to be better than this. I want to dismantle the nationalism that teaches us hate and violence so we can start to heal and come to terms with what we did (and still do) here. I want us to fix what we can and hold ourselves accountable. I want us to reimagine safety in a way that doesn't cause harm, and build good relationships with the rest of humanity. Every marginalized community is experiencing bigotry in interactions with every other community, that's just how these things work. But I believe healing the world, and healing my society, is possible.

And it's hard, because so much of what we learn is rooted in truth. Antisemitism is real. Millennia of persecution are real. The trauma we carry is real. If the idea of an ethnostate makes us feel safe, and the idea of losing it makes us scared, how do we differentiate between fear as a natural reaction to antisemitic violence and fear that was taught to us for the sake of nationalism? Especially those of us living in Israel, immersed in the propaganda. It doesn't matter in practice, our feelings of safety or fear don't justify an ethnostate, especially not one built on top of another nation, but it matters for the conversations I have with people.

And I said that the violence I'm seeing feels like an attack on my identity. Seeing a giant hannukiyah in Gaza, when Hannukah tells the story of occupied people fighting off their oppressors. Seeing images that echo so much of the horrors that were done to us. The Magen David being used with hate and spite. It's all so painful. And I love this land, it's the only home I've known, so seeing us destroying nature and soaking it with blood and calling that connection?

Judaism does guide me here. The concept of tikkun olam. The idea of לא עליך המלאכה לגמור ולא אתה בין חורין לבטל ממנה - doing what I can, even if what I'm able to do isn't some decisive blow that entirely turns the tide. The idea that every human being is a whole entire world, to me it means that every single person alive is worth fighting for. So no matter how much death I see, there's still worlds more to save.

And Jewitches had this post that felt just healing to read. Nationalism hijacked our culture, and it will always leave a mark for centuries into the future. But I'm not letting go, and I'm not letting that create a rift between me and thousands of years full of history I can be proud of.

I feel your grief. And I'm grateful for the anti-zionist Jews I met by talking about this, because honestly, I need you people in my life. The pain and the anger are both easier to hold together.

So, thank you for following. I might follow back, just to see you around on my feed. And thank you for sending this. Feel free to message me anytime for any reason (I promise it won't result in a lecture every time).

Also, your url gave me pjo nostalgia

#riki babbles

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j3ss3jam3s85 · 17 days

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Evidence of Exodus

Many often wonder if there is any factual evidence proving the Bible being true. What if I told you that not only can I point you to strong evidence of the old testament Exodus being real, I can point you to a person in Exodus who has a real life replica of himself. Being possibly the only person mentioned in the Bible that we can truly see how they appeared. (With the exception of Vladimir Putin's recent 2024 claim that he has an original painting of Jesus Christ that has been in Russia).

bNow, if you're not familiar with the book of Exodus (chapters 1-14), I suggest you taking a moment to read it. Otherwise, what I'm about to say may not make much Sense. Or, read this and then read Exodus, and things might make more sense to you as it's being read. Either way, I highly recommend reading it.

Archeologically, we're able to prove many things within the Bible, however, Exodus is not one of them. Matter of fact, some of the things are extremely questionable. For example, where are all these Israelites coming from mentioned? There are no records of a man named Moses in Egypt. Many movies depict the enslaved Israelites were building the pyramids, however, The pyramids were built long before the Israelites were enslaved. There are many things that people question in the book of Exodus, you might as well. Maybe I can help with any doubt that you may have. In hopes to open your eyes as to the possibility that these things really could have, and did indeed happen.

Let's go back to the story of Joseph. Joseph is one of the 12 sons of Jacob, also named Israel. (Remember God changed his name to Israel because of his faith in willing to sacrifice his son). They fell into a Great famine Aunt resources grew very slim, so they went searching for a better life elsewhere. Can you guess where they ended up? That's right, Egypt! This is where we get "The children of Israel", also known as, the Israelites.

Joseph's gift from God was the ability to interpret dreams. In doing so, he was able to interpret the Pharaoh's dream which ultimately helped save Egypt from a great famine. So how did his people, his family, end up in bondage? Answer is, the Israelites were living and the delta and we're living a pretty prosperous existence. Up until the moment a new pharaoh becomes in charge. This Pharaoh knows nothing about Joseph. For none other than narcissistic reasons, the new pharaoh is upset that the Israelites are living such a lavish life. He ordered task masters to watch over them, which is when they became enslaved. This Pharaoh is historically documented saying to his midwives, "watch the two stones." Meaning, Egyptian women often give birth while sitting straight up to let gravity help them with the birthing process. Often, they would sit on two stones to help assist them during labor. This correlates with the Bible when pharaoh ordered the death of all the Israelite males that were being born. This is around the time that Moses was born. With Moses's mom afraid of him being murdered, she sent him away, down the river, for a chance at life.

Another questionable biblical text says that the pharaohs daughter finds Moses and the river and takes him in as her own. An Egyptian naming their child Moses, which is Hebrew is not very likely. Leaving some skepticism. Let me push that skepticism aside.

Remember, Moses is sent down river, so when he's found, he's found in the reeds. Now the Hebrew word massa (משא) means brought out. However Moses, Moses is actually a pure Egyptian name, which means Born. Just think about Ra-Moses, Ra means God and Moses means birth in Egyptian, God is Born. Another common Egyptian term is Toth-Moses. So therefore, just because the name Moses doesn't appear as someone's name being an actual person, it does not mean he did not exist. Moses literally means birth and Egyptian. Something someone would say or call a newborn baby.

Moses later has an encounter with God through a burning bush. God tells Moses that he is going to be the one to help set the Israelites free and lead them into the promised land. Moses, brings his brother Aaron with him to go speak to the pharaoh. Moses performs many miraculous wonders and so do the pharaohs magic wielders. So it's like they're in competition for a moment. Moses has a staff and he throws it down and it turns into a snake. Then Pharaoh has his people throw a staff and they also turn into snakes. It was almost like this was something that they've seen before, and we're unimpressed. Now you can take it exactly how it was written and think that a staff was thrown down and turned into a snake and both parties were able to do so. What I think happened is, the staff happened to be a cobra snake that was stiff like a staff with the head as the handle. When you throw the snake down onto the ground it then is able to slither away. This is a known practice and Egypt then and even today which would explain why people wouldn't be impressed. Moses and Aaron came back time and time again with 9 different plagues. Trying to convince Pharaoh to let his people go. Pharaoh gets annoyed and Now orders that the Israelites are no longer going to be given prepared straw to mix with their bricks. Leaving them to cut their own straw to mix with clay in order to make their own bricks. Giving double work with the same deadline. None of the plagues presented so far didn't seem to phase the Egyptians whatsoever. By this point, God says enough is enough and lets the pharaoh know that if he does not cooperate, he will take all the firstborns of families who do not have a blood sacrifice over their door frame. Of course Pharaoh did not take this threat seriously, so there was no blood sacrifice and he ended up losing his son. This is what makes pharaoh say okay, You can have your freedom, you can go.

When the Israelites leave, the Egyptians are all mourning the deaths of their firstborns. So, when the Israelites asked for gold and silver upon leaving, they just handed it over with no issues. So the Israelites are able to leave rich with gold and silver. Rightfully so in my opinion. They just spent approximately 430 years, in slavery and are now heading to the promised lands.

As the Israelites were on their way, Pharaoh quickly changed his mind and decided to go after the Israelites and bring them back. This is when the famous part of Exodus happens that most people are familiar with. Did the Israelites really cross the Red Sea on dry land? While the Egyptians get swallowed whole by the water? There is a lot of skepticism about rather or not they truly did part the Red Sea.

Here the Israelites are leaving on foot with all this gold and silver. We know that they lived in the Delta part of Egypt so we can kind of figure out the route that they took. They don't take the Philistine route because Palestine is highly guarded with watchtowers. So what they do is go through the marsh. Now the misconception lies with where exactly they crossed at. Which they actually crossed through the Sea of Reeds and not the Red Sea. Now in the Bible it says that Pharaoh's chariots were clogged. Sounds like they were going through mud. If you ask me. Which if I'm on foot I can get through but if I'm in a chariot I cannot. So Pharaoh's men ended up perishing while God helped the Israelites make it through safely.

In playing devil's advocate, if this story is true then why is there no record other than what is mentioned in the Bible of this particular situation? The answer is Egyptians were horrible at record keeping in general. Their record keeping is mainly made up of what is written in tombs or on Stella's. Which never mentioned anything about any of their defeats. Egyptians only kept records of victories. Honestly, this entire situation only really mattered to the Israelites. No one else really cared. But this was the beginning of their entire religion.

Biblically they never say who the pharaoh actually was. Historically, Egypt didn't even have a pharaoh at this time. Who ever was in charge would technically be a king. So where does the Bible get Pharaoh from? It's actually a conjunction of 2 Egyptian words, that meant house, great. Which Pharaoh meant the one who lived in a great house. Fitting for someone living in a palace.

A clue in the Bible as to who this pharaoh may be is when they speak of the Israelites building the store cities with bricks. Is it a coincidence that one of the cities names is Pi-Ramess? They are using bricks, which historically we can narrow down the time frame in which bricks began being used to build the storehouse in these 2 cities mentioned.

i'm going to agree with Bob Brier, an egyptologist who suggested the Pharaoh in the book of Exodus is...... Ramesses the Great. Why?

Ramesses' built his capitol right beside the Delta, which would be close enough to the Israelites. Especially during the times Moses and Aaron were traveling back and forth trying to convince him to let his people go. The Israelite slaves built the city of Ramesses out of brick and he was the one who built these cities. There is a sentence written on a Papyrus that explains grain ratios to be handed out to the soldiers and apperu (now I know I butchered inthe spelling of this word, but I spelled it the way it sounded). Which The translation is thought to mean Hebrew. Many scholars believe that this is our Israelites. Other scholars believe that Merneptah was the ruler over The Exodus. They believe this because the first time Israel is mentioned is during the reign of Merneptah, which is Rameses 13th son and his successor. However, when Merneptah mentions Israel on his Stella. It is referred to as a people and not a country or a foreign land. Meaning around this time the Israelites were still wondering. Therefore, if they are wandering at this time, that means they must have left right before he began his reign. Biblical scholars believe The Exodus happened in year 20 of rameses reign. Guess what else happens right around this time? Ramesses loses his firstborn son, Amonhirkhopshef.

In the Egyptian museum, you can now see the mummy of Ramesses the Great. Which very well may be the only face you can look upon that is a real biblical figure. I love it when science, history and the Bible correlate.

References:

Brier, Bob. The history of ancient Egypt. (2013). The great courses.

Exodus 1+14

#reading #my writing #spilled ink #books #writing #writeblr #exodus #bible #science #history #ancient egypt #moss #pj masks pharaoh boy

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anonymous-chicken-was-taken · 3 months

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So, how rare ARE Ford's extra fingers, anyway?

I'm not gonna lie, at first I was skeptical of Ford's claims that the Weirdness Magnetism had an effect on him. Like, yeah, the whole having six fingers thing isn't exactly common, but it's a naturally-occurring event. Stan describes it as a birth defect, and there doesn't seem to be a noticeably great number of people with those in Gravity Falls. It wouldn't be all that farfetched for Ford to think he was just Built Different, for like, at least 7 reasons, but then you start actually thinking about it.

Polydactyly isn't exactly common. Approximately 1 in 1,000 babies are born with some form of polydactyly. While it's true that postaxial polydactyly (extra digit is past the pinkie) is the most common form, which is shown to be the kind Ford has in the x-ray at the beginning of AToTS, there are several other extreme circumstances.

Extra digits in polydactyly aren't usually found on all limbs. It can occur on hands and feet (and Alex has confirmed that Ford does, indeed, have six toes on both feet) but rarely does it occur on both feet, or both hands, much less both hands and both feet. And even when it does occur more than once on one person, the extra digits aren't usually fully-formed. Oftentimes they don't even have bones. When they do have bones, they're usually much smaller, or barely opposable (if they have joints at all). When they're big enough to be maneuverable, they usually interfere with the structure of the hands/feet in negative ways. All this means that an extra finger or toe which doesn't direly require a surgery to remove the extra digit within the first year or two of life is incredibly uncommon.

And let's remember: that's just for one extra digit. Ford has four.

For Ford to have fully functional polydactyly on both hands and both feet, to the point where it's basically impossible to tell which one is finger x without x-rays... the odds of that are astronomically unlikely. Never-before-recorded, one in a kazillion, borderline medically unfathomable sort of rare.

I think I do believe the Weirdness Magnetism could've affected Ford, actually.

#I don't think the same about Dipper and his constellation birthmark tho #I have freckles on my arm that make a perfect right triangle u ain't special #while such a large birthmark is certainly rare it isn't unheard of #the actual structure isn't technically any more or less likely than any other random arrangement of dots and lines #unless the fact that it's a constellation makes it special in some way which would make sense but we never saw any supernatural connection #i definitely think that part is just Ford being like “look at my grandnephew :) he is a Special Little Guy I love him he's great”#which is extremely adorable but not indicative of any weirdness in a scientific sense of the word #i can't believe i just typed “weirdness in a scientific sense”#gravity falls #journal 3 #gravity falls journal #gravity falls spoilers #ford pines #stanford pines #dipper pines #gravity falls meta #i think #is this what meta is?#am i metaposting?

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boytumms · 10 months

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Random thoughts i've had today: A warrior in some fantasy world, captured by the enemy when his army is defeated in battle. But they don't execute him, no, he's strong and valiant in battle, qualities that are too admirable to just be wasted... So he is brought to the temple of a deity of fertility, and the soldiers who have captured him begin to fuck him right there at the deity's altar, taking turns breeding him until he is full of their seed, his pain and his pleasure a suitable sacrifice to the deity to make sure that it will take.

Soon he is pregnant, carrying the children of the best warriors in the land, and when he's a warrior himself as well, his babies are sure to grow to be strong, to have the best possible chance to become fine warriors too.

How many children he's carrying, he has no idea, but there must be many, because within just a few months, his captors no longer need keep him in chains, his already-massive belly is enough of a hindrance that he can't escape. And the babies do indeed seem strong before they've even born, kicking with vigour at the walls of the womb, rarely giving him a moment of peace. His captors prod eagerly at the tight skin of his stomach, they too trying to guess just how many children he's carrying.

By the time he reaches the ninth month of pregnancy, he can hardly move from the weight of his belly, and his captors barely bother keeping an eye on him anymore, since it's not like he's going anywhere anyway. So, when the contractions start, there's no one around at first, no one even within earshot to hear him scream at the pain...

ooooohh imagine after hours of being stuck on the ground screaming in labor and unable to give birth to his massive babies, the guards finally come back to find him writhing in agony. They lift him up by his arms and drag him out of his cell, and he thinks they're taking him to a doctor, but to his horror, they drag him outside to a stage outside the castle walls instead. He's tied up with his hands above his head, left to hang from a wooden stake, barely able to hold the weight of his enormous belly on his weak trembling legs.

Below him, he sees the army of his fellow warriors, looking up at him in horror as fluids squirt and drip between his legs, squeezed out as his belly contracts over and over. He realizes he's being used to humiliate his own kingdom, forced to give birth to the enemies offspring in front of his own people. As hard as he tries to stay stoic and hide his pain, the contractions are so strong he can’t stop the screams and cries of pain that rip from his throat every time a contraction tears through him.

Now that he’s standing, he can feel the first of many babies start to slide down his birth canal, aided by the force of gravity pulling it through his body. The stretch is unbearable as the massive head slowly inches it’s way out, forcing his body to widen in a way it was never meant to stretch. He grunts and moans and pushes with all his strength, trying to give birth to his babies as quickly as possible, but their massive size proves to be difficult even for a warrior like him.

Below, he feels the hundreds of eyes staring up at his struggling body, shame and humiliation burning on his face while he writhes and struggles. His legs spread open against his will, forcing his body to widen around the baby's head. He can now feel it start to press against his hole, battering against the tight ring of muscle with each push. Despite his efforts, the baby refuses to crown, slipping back each time he stops pushing through his contractions.

He bucks his hips wildly and wails in pain, too tired to care how he looks in front of his army anymore. He's so desperate to get these babies out of his overgrown belly but the first one is stuck and no matter how hard he pushes, it wont move any further. His tummy twists and deforms with each contraction, the shapes of his massive babies thrashing inside him becoming visible as the skin tightens around their bodies.

His captors decide he’s taking too long, not wanting their offspring to be damaged in labor, they lower his ropes, letting him lay down on his back and spread his legs as wide as he can. After hours of pushing, finally the head crowns, stretching him wide open for all to see, his hole bulging obscenely around the head as it slowly slips from his body. It pops out with a gush of fluid and a cry of agony from the exhausted warrior. He lays there panting and moaning with his baby’s head hanging from his body, mustering up the strength to keep pushing.

The crowd below him watches in horrified silence, listening to him pant and moan and scream through the pain. Now that he's on his back his captors order the guards to get the babies moving. They move to stand beside him, one on each side, and place both hands flat on the top of his heaving belly. The warrior cries and begs them not to, but he's too weak and helpless to stop them as they shove his tummy down, crushing his belly while it contracts, forcing the shoulders of his first born to tear their way out of his battered hole.

He shrieks in agony as they shove down on his tummy over and over, thrashing wildly against his restraints. The pain is so bad his vision goes white and all he can feel is his belly being squeezed and the burning pain between his legs. Even with the help of the guards, it takes them the whole day to push all eight babies out of his belly, the last baby slipping out of his ruined hole just as the sun goes down.

It's finally over, belly empty but still swollen and puffy after being so hugely pregnant for so long. He pants and wheezes, barely hanging onto consciousness as his captors laugh and jeer and him and the horrified crowd that watched him labor for hours. The last thing he feels before blacking out is his ruined body being dragged back into the castle, and hearing his captors warning his people that any who oppose them will end up just like him

#ask #anonymous #mpreg #birth #labor #writings #i got so carried away with this one my bad

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shesjustanothergeek · 1 year

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His Love

|Aegon II Targaryen x Fem!Reader|

Part Four

Master List of Series

Summary: Being a bastard born in the slums of Flea Bottom was all you were known for. Not the streak of white you had in your dark hair, the violet ring around your pupils, or how your sharp tongue and skills with the blade resembled your father, Daemon Targaryen. You were just a bastard, nothing more, but to him, to Aegon Targaryen, you were everything. You were his love.

Author's Note: Hello, everyone! School is now back in full swing for me, and it's been hella stressful, but I wanted y'all to know I'll be updating every two weeks now. I wanted to thank you for the continuous support you have shown me, even those who haven't commented and such. I see you! Things are starting to heat up now, so stay with me as the story progresses! <3

Chapter Warnings: Minor x Minor sexual situations, Aegon and you being absolute heathens.

A snore woke the eldest Prince up, eyelids fluttering at the noise below him.

His sweet girl was fast asleep, tired from a long day exploring the many things King's Landing had to offer. Aegon ordered the guests in the private room to leave some time ago, wanting personal time with his dragon.

He had wanted to go farther with you but thought better of it. He knew you would leave him at the drop of a needle if he did anything that displeased you.

You were a more outspoken and self-assured young woman than many of the so-called "Lords" in the royal court. Aegon admired you for that.

Gods. His life could have been so different if Daemon had known about you. If that bitch Madam had not hidden you away from him for so long. He wanted to make up for that lost time, knowing what it could have been like now.

Aegon had tasted the forbidden fruit; he realized as he drifted off into a slumber similar to your own, falling asleep within seconds.

***

Ser Erryk Cargyll had finally decided to find the crowned Prince. He knew Aegon would have his fun and eventually head back to the Red Keep, but it had been nearly a day and a half, and Aegon still had yet to return. He soon found out why seeing an unconscious girl on top of him. Ser Erryk did not question it, only looking at the child with pity. He could only imagine what Aegon had subjected her to. Erryk shoved the girl off him, her still heavily drunk body flopping onto the floor.

You groaned, rolling onto your side as you pried your eyes open. The different concoctions of alcohol still coursed through your veins, your vision only slight blobs of color in the dim light. It was a rude awaking. Your annoyance at whoever threw you off the bed and onto the tile floor was intense. You had thought, how dare they wake you up as you raised into a seated position. Sitting upright did not help your need for rest, feeling as if gravity was pushing you into the floor.

Erryk touched Prince Aegon's shoulder, attempting to spare him some dignity of respect for the crown. Of course, Aegon didn't budge, sound asleep to dreams of soft, nimble fingers running through his short hair, nails scraping his scalp.

"My Prince." Erryk tried again to wake Aegon, but he was far too gone, the endless cups taking their toll.

You tilted your head at the man and saw a blurry outline of what looked like a shiny rectangle, sparkles dotting your vision.

What was a rectangle doing waking up the crowned Prince? You couldn't help but giggle as you saw them move Aegon again, he ignoring the intruder and rolling on his side. Aegon could handle his alcohol during the process, but Gods help anyone who tried to mess with him after.

"Your grace, you must wake up," he asked, louder this time. Aegon groaned, smacking the man's hands away as he flopped down into his pillow.

You laughed again, your heavy body thumping on the floor as you continued your drunken fit. The man glared down at you, annoyed that you found his current predicament amusing. You would be of little help in your state, even if you wanted to.

Ser Erryk was beginning to feel a familiar disdain bubble up inside him. He didn't know why Prince Aegon continually sullied the Targaryen's name.

After years of being chastised and embarrassed, drug back to the Red Keep day in and day out, having his Mother scream at him for the coffers he slowly drained, he ought to have learned. But he did not. Eyrrk felt that he never would, having been raised as an uncollared dog. He waited patiently for Aegon to be put on a leash-- put in his proper place. Whether it be by Rhaenyra taking her spot as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, or a tampered glass of wine, he did not care.

"Aegon, I think he wants you to wake up," you teased from your spot on the ground, rolling slightly from the tingles in your limbs.

You were a drunken, uncontrollable giggling mess watching the man move about the room, finding a filled pitcher and pouring it onto the Prince's head. A muffled "No" sounded from the feather-tick pillow Aegon was smothering his face in. Your stomach hurt, your sides stitching as he shot up, gasping from the cold liquid as his shirt stained a pinkish color.

"I am glad you find my suffering amusing, little one," he jested, although glaring daggers at the man.

"Come, my Prince, it is midday, and your Father wishes your family to sup in honor of your Uncle's arrival." The man hoisted him up, his armor clinking as he wrapped his arm around Aegon's shoulder.

"My Uncle has dined with us many times before, Ser Erryk. I do not see the importance of this one," he protested, slumping over.

"Your King commands it, my Prince. It was not a suggestion," the man you have come to know as Ser Erryk said.

"The King demands it, or does my Mother? Do not lie to me. You know that man has not spoken coherently since he was put on The Poppy." Erryk pursed his lips, not dignifying the boy with a response.

You watched them with a slowly falling smile as he led Aegon to the exit, nearly tripping over the uneven floor. The terrifying thought of walking alone on the streets of Kings Landing caused you to let out a loud sob, quickly covering your mouth so no one could hear. You didn't know where to go, a hopeless feeling drowning you in your vulnerable state.

Aegon turned and saw your crumbled figure on the floor, your dark hair a mess from last night's sweating, dancing, and drinking. His little dragon, alone without a rider to claim her. He would have to remedy that.

"She comes with me." Aegon pointed to you, his words firm and no hint of second guesses. Ser Erryk scowled, questioning the Prince he served.

"The whore?" He asked bluntly, making you mirror his sour expression. But before you could speak, Aegon did it for you.

"She is not a whore," he defended you, and your heart melted. It felt different than how Madam would. Instead of the usual threats and yelling, he stood up for you. He said no great show of ruffled feathers and loud barking only, "she will return with us to the Red Keep and dine with my family."

Ser Cargyll wanted to protest and explain to the Prince how improper-- how insulting this would be to his Mother. To have a lowly whore dine with the royal family was... fitting for Aegon, he had to admit. You attempted to stand but fell back down onto the tile, heel catching on your dress. Heat covered your cheeks and ears from the embarrassment.

"Your grace, she cannot even stand," he said, a protest hidden behind the concern for your well-being.

"Then you will carry her," Aegon retorted as if it was apparent. He freed himself from the knight's grip, stumbling slightly as he regained his balance. "I can walk myself, Ser Erryk. Tend to the lady," he nodded in your direction.

Erryk did not challenge him anymore, understanding that refusing his request further could cost him his knighthood or possibly his life. He stomped with his white-plated armor, clinking with each step as he threw you over his shoulder. You squealed, kicking your legs on instinct as his cold metal breastplate jabbed into your stomach, but after a few steps and a sudden wave of nausea, you began to forget.

Balling your fists, you willed yourself not to vomit. A combination of pride and solely not wanting to hurl your entire belly gave you strength as you swayed over Ser Erryk's back.

Aegon was immensely annoyed at his Mother for cutting his enjoyable sleep short, but he found the whole ordeal amusing as the three of you left the brothel and smiled to himself. He knew tonight's dinner would change everything as he trailed behind on the path to the Red Keep, watching your face turn different shades of green. He was sure it would change for good, at least for him. Daemon wanted you for some reason or another, and Aegon was willing to bet that Rhaenyra had something to do with it. Daemon had no paternal bone in his body for girls, having been raised in a society that let men do as they please.

Though Aegon was drunk most of the time when the Valaryian girls visited the palace, he could still see how Daemon was disconnected from them. He could not train the pair in the art of the sword or take them to war, let alone have them attend the revelries he frequented. He still loved his children, but an arm's length was where he kept them. A blind man could see that.

Frankly, you had no idea where you were going at this point. Something about the Red Keep mentioned earlier was all you could remember, but you couldn't trust your memories yet. You could see flashes of black leather boots when you dared open your eyes, your head thumping in time with the steps. The soft rumble of male voices conversing in the background eased your discomfort, but you could not discern what they were saying. You faintly recognized the smooth timber of one of them, enough for you to calm.

Shouting soon clouded your senses instead, the sound of words being relayed to multiple people as a loud thud boomed in the air. You attempted to cover your ears, but the movement put all your weight on your stomach, and you let out a loud belch. You tried to hold your laughter back, hiding your face in Ser Erryk's armor. Another person joined your immaturity, which only served to foil any attempt at holding your composure.

Erryk stiffened at your childishness, unimpressed with how unladylike you were being. You were just as much of an embarrassment as him. He now understood why Aegon brought you along. The Queen would surely die from shame tonight. He mentally prepared for it, sending a silent prayer to The Seven as the three of you entered the Red Keep.

***

The land between sleep and consciousness rocked you in its embrace the entirety of the day, or, at least, what you assumed it was. You hadn't strictly kept track of how much time had passed. Was it today, or was it the morrow? Or, somehow, in a wicked twist of karmic retribution, was it years from now?

You would never drink again.

Sweat clung to your skin, a blanket of sticky fluids wrapped snuggly around your body as you tugged at your dress. Everything was too tight-- too hot. The woolen fabric trapped in all your heat as you wriggled like a babe attempting to escape its swaddle.

"What's wrong, little one," Aegon asked, his voice gravelly with sleep. You hadn't a clue where you were or how he got here, but you didn't care.

"Get this Gods forsaken dress off me," you demanded, still struggling in vain with the unforgiving fabric.

Aegon blinked at you, his hair in greasy white tangles and dark circles contrasting his pale skin. Surely you did not ask him to undress you. The Green Fairy must still be playing tricks on him.

"Aegon, help me," you whined. You managed to get your skirt stuck over your head, making the already troublesome task even more difficult. He sighed through his nose, playfully annoyed. He could never be cross with you.

He sat up and slid closer, flipping the outer layer of your dress back down before positioning you on your side. Aegon knew you could not keep yourself upright, electing to loosen the strings on your back before shimmying the fabric down.

He paused at the sight of your exposed shoulder. The dark hair of your scalp ran down the sides of your neck, fading into a fine fuzz that stood at his touch. He moved the long strands from your back, trailing his fingers down your bones like raindrops sliding on your flushed skin. You hummed in delight, rolling until your shoulder blades touched his cold chest. While you felt like a wood stove, he radiated a chill that swept the streets of Kings Landing during winter nights.

"That feels nice," you sighed absentmindedly, pulling on your sleeve to pop your arm out. "Gods, this is the worst," you mumbled.

The other sleeve refused to budge, cutting into the base of your neck as you flopped like a hooked fish trying to rip it off. He helped you again, sitting up and exposing your thin chemise.

Sweat stains covered the delicate fabric, the originally white coloring now a tan-yellowish color from days of skipped washing. Aegon didn't mind. He was well aware that he did not look much better after a night of drinking and fucking. It was one of the many reasons everyone within the castle walls turned their nose away from him.

He did not train his violet eyes on the dirty cloth but on what lay underneath. The protrusion of your shoulder blades, the outline of your back, and your shape. He felt himself stop breathing, gulping down a lump that formed in his throat at the personal view of your figure. To all others who glanced, you were a plain-looking girl, the only remarkable thing about you being the white streak in your hair. If only they took a moment more to look at you, they would see you for what you indeed are—a God amongst men.

"Still too hot," you groaned, moving your arms to take your underdress off. Aegon quickly grabbed your hand, stopping you from exposing yourself utterly bare in front of him.

"You must keep your modesty, sweetling," he said. The words almost sounded like a plead, an exemplary sentence to one's child.

He did not know where a sudden urge to protect your honor came from.

Aegon was never much for caring about his pride, let alone a woman's. He was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his debauchery, yet a bastard maiden from Flea Bottom brought out his conscience.

"I do not care, my Prince." Even with the words slurred out, he could still hear the condescension that came with his title. He pursed his lips, racking his brain for a way to redirect your attention from trying to unclothe yourself.

"How about some wine? To cool you off," he offered, but you shook your head vehemently, causing it to spin.

"No! No more wine Aegon; I cannot think straight." You looked as if you were about to vomit. The heat mixing with your upset stomach was a potent concoction that spelled disaster.

"Water then," he said, opening his chamber doors and barking the order to someone you couldn't see.

Aegon released a gasp when he turned back around, seeing you had ignored his warnings and attempted to take the chemise off yourself, your head somehow stuck in the armhole and your arms poking through the neck. His pupils dilated at the curve of your thighs, an almost invisible line of dark hair trailing down your stomach to a sparse tuft between your legs. All the blood in his body rushed to his cock, a jolt of arousal at seeing such indecent parts of you.

He wanted to pounce. He wanted to rip that damnable piece of clothing off your body and stuff it in your mouth as he claimed your maidenhood.

Hearing and touch were the only two senses left that weren't wholly distorted by the copious amount of alcohol you drank the night prior. Touch: the fabric of your smock strangling your limbs and rubbing your skin raw. Hearing: the floorboards creaking with someone's weight as they stepped closer to you.

A hand subconsciously slid down his side and hooked its thumb in the hemline of his trousers, relieving some of the pressure.

You felt your bondage loosen as the final piece of clothing left your body. It was like the first breath of spring, the golden sun bathing your skin with its comforting rays for the first time in months. You sighed, smiling and lying back on the bed with your freedom.

"Much better," you hummed, shutting your eyes and stretching your exerted muscles with a loud groan. The mattress dipped next to you, not the total weight of someone's body, as if they were kneeling, looking down upon your naked form.

A shuttering breath next to you opened your eyes, seeing Aegon leaning over you. He didn't seem like himself, his eyes black, the dim light from the troches reflecting in them. It was as if something had possessed him as he stared at your breasts, wetting his lips and bending closer to you. His hand reached out at speed almost too slow for one to notice, and his blunt fingertips trailed down the expanse of your chest, down to your sternum, and circled the underside of your bubby. Gooseflesh rose in his wake, your toes curled, and your nipples hardened as Aegon's finger slid over it. You moaned as a chill went through your body, finally cooling off.

His touch lit a fire within you, the same feeling from the pleasure house, but you weren't in a drunken haze this time. You were beginning to sober, all your senses finally returning. Your vision was apparent again as you saw Aegon shift himself over top of you, using his other hand as support on your shoulder. He bent down, his once violet eyes still black as he scanned your face, a taught expression on it. Jolts of pleasure went straight to your core as he pinched your budded nipple, capturing your lips with his in a mess of tongue and teeth.

The lack of inhibitions between the both of you back at the brothel served in favor of Aegon. You let him defile you without reservations, but the alcohol was nearly gone from your system, and you realized something was wrong with this. Your mind screamed it. But how could you stop? You didn't want to stop. You wanted to extend the sensations he was giving you; it was what your body wanted, what it needed.

He broke for air, trailing a line of open-mouth kisses down your jaw and neck, licking and nipping at the sensitive skin as he reached your chest. He continued groping at one breast, kneading the flesh with his hand as he latched on to the other, his lips sucking the perked bud. Aegon's grip on your body hurt, the skin tender from growth, but the pain surfaced something... primal. A deep moan came from your throat as your hands went into his hair, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, moving on their own accord against him.

"Oh, Aegon," you whimpered, pulling on his hair until he released your tit with a pop. His chest heaved, grinding himself into your heat as his mouth returned to yours. His fingers tangled in your damp hair, cranking your head back to expose your neck, sucking harshly as you whimpered again.

"Your sounds are divine," he growled into your skin, "I must hear more."

Aegon bit onto a pulse point, causing you to cry out and your hands to yank the hair attached to his scalp. A muffled chuckle was all you heard from him as he let go and kissed down your body once more, not stopping past your chest or navel, creating small puddles of saliva.

Anticipation tightened in your stomach when he reached the top of your mound. The desire to move your hips, his lips on the buzzing spot, was all you could think about. Any hesitant thoughts from before were gone, your mind only chanting one thing.

"Please, Aegon."

He grinned, more than happy to oblige your pleas.

Aegon opened his mouth and used his flattened tongue to lick a stripe up your slit. He wrapped his lips around that sensitive button, sending waves of ecstasy throughout your body and making your thighs trap his head there. Your hips bucked, chasing his movements and moaning every time he hit that particular little bud. Your body became hot, your cheeks undoubtedly generating enough heat to warm even the coldest souls in the winter months.

You could feel sweat collect on your hairline and drip behind your ears as your hips moved in time with his ministrations, your insides wanting to clench around something. Aegon kissed your maidenhood as he did with your lips, creating the same building sensation as last night.

You felt his tongue dip inside you, using his thumb to continue the same focus he had with his mouth on your bud. His tongue felt terrific, hitting a specific spot inside you that made your nerves go wild, but you wanted more. You might not be able to reach the same peak as before if you did not. You needed something to hold on to, something deep within your body to keep you in place as you rode out your high.

"Aegon, I-I need..." You couldn't form a coherent sentence, every attempt foiled by a new wave of pleasure. "I need-Oh Gods-I need you..."

Despite hedonism, Aegon felt a deep emotion he had never experienced, feeling wanted. Since the day he was born, the first true-born Prince spent every moment of his life with those pushing him away in place of someone more fitting.

Rhaenyra has already taken his place as heir to the Iron Throne and received all his father's praise and attention. Aemond, his ever-dutiful brother taking the spot as their Mothers favorite, and Helaena, the spot of their Grandfather's darling grandchild. He was left with no place in his family besides as a pawn to be put on the throne, but with you, oh, with you, he felt like he belonged.

A girl he had hardly known for a day made him feel like he was needed solely for himself and not the potential of what he could be.

Something twisted inside him then, a feeling of dark, unhealthy obsession blooming in his mind.

Mine, was all he could think, only mine. Only my darling girl. No one-- nothing can take her from me. She is mine, only mine, mine, mine.

"What do you need, my little dragon?" Aegon asked sweetly, vastly differing from his possessive thoughts.

Mine, mine, mine.

"I-I need something inside of me. I do not think I can reach my peak without it. Without you." He could see the tears leaking from your eyes, your face flushed with frustrated pleasure. Seeing you in such a weakened state only fueled his darkened mind, unable to deny you of your request.

Of course, Aegon wanted to take your maidenhead, he would not let the idea of anyone else cross his mind, but this couldn't be the time. You were not his wholly. You were just a young girl, intoxicated by the newfound pleasures a man could give. He couldn't fault you for that; he remembers feeling the same at your age. He still had a small amount of decency within him and knew that you would live to regret having him take your virtue in the future. He wanted you in your entirety—mind, body, and soul.

He parted from your mound, his thumb still rubbing your button as he traced a finger around your hole. "I shall not deny you, sweetling," he plainly said as a singular digit entered you.

It provided much repreave, yet still not deep enough. Your disappointment soon overshadowed as he stuck his mouth to your button and curled his finger inside you.

Your high mounted, quick, wild horses ran through your hollow bones as he pulled your release from you. He did not stop until your legs went limp around his head, and your body went slack, small whimpers coming from your lips. Your hands went to his hair, pushing his face deeper into your wet core as you let pure ecstasy run through you, singing Aegon's praises.

Finally, he pulled away, his chin glistening from the juices inside your heat as he brought the finger he used inside his waiting mouth. You still saw stars as he flopped down next to you, catching his breath as if he had just finished sprinting. Aegon wore a smile you mirrored as you scooted closer to him, placing your head on his shoulder.

He had given you many opportunities to explore new things, and you did not know how to thank him. Words could not convert your gratefulness properly. You moved your hand across his chest, creating a pattern similar to the one he made on your breasts as he closed his eyes and sighed contentiously, pulling you closer.

Your fingers trailed down the expanse of his soft stomach, following the line of blonde hair down to his trousers. He didn't open his eyes as you traced the outline of his rigid member, only quirking a brow.

"What are you doing, little one," he questioned with a look. You could feel his cock twitch underneath your fingers.

"You have shown me so many things I had no idea of, exposed me to the pleasures of man, and I am eternally grateful for that. Should I not do the same?" You rubbed your palm against him, and you saw his stomach tense. "You will help me, won't you? I am still not entirely experienced yet," you said sheepishly.

"Of course I will," he agreed and kissed the knuckles of your other hand.

A knock interrupted your moment. Aegon groaned in annoyance, rolling his eyes. "Go away," he commanded as he grabbed your hand to move again.

"Your Grace, I have brought the water you requested," a weak female voice sounded through the thick wooden doors.

Your mouth suddenly felt parched, remembering how thirsty you had been earlier. Aegon looked down at you, questioning if you still wanted it, then sighed, telling the servant to bring it in.

You had completely forgotten you were still naked, your palm over Aegon's cock as she entered, releasing a short gasp at the sight. He rolled his eyes again, signaling her to put the pitcher and cups on a table across the room as he kept your hand in place.

Aegon had not let you stop your movements on his prick, maintaining eye contact the entire time the servant scurried around his rooms. You knew you should have felt disgusted with the shame of displaying something so sexual and vulgar in front of a poor serving girl, but you didn't. The impropriety of it was what you loved, sending a pleasant warmth throughout your body.

The girl stood silently, hands clasped in front of her red uniform dress and gaze downcast.

"You may go," Aegon said pointedly, annoyed that she couldn't read that her task was finished.

"Yes," she nodded, curtsying out of respect for his position, "thank you, your grace." And she left his chambers in a flurry of skirts and crimson.

You could see that Aegon wanted to continue as if you hadn't been sorely interrupted, but your thirst was unimaginable, and you pouted your lip. He sighed, moving slightly to let you get a drink. It felt as if the ground was vibrating as you walked over, needing to move from chair to table to chair again to stay upright. You had seen men walk out of rooms like this at Madam's brothel, snickering to yourself in the shadows away from their eyes. It was ironic you did the same.

You could feel Aegon's stare on your back as you poured yourself a glass, not thinking to offer him some. Not moments later, another knock on his door sounded, a more mature female voice coming through it.

"My Prince," she began, pausing for a moment longer than reasonable, "I believe I may have found a dress befitting your guest." You looked at Aegon, perplexed as to why you needed another set of clothes. A flurry of questions arose in your mind, reality finally catching you as you took in your surroundings.

You were in His Majesty, Prince Aegon Targaryen, Second of His Name, Son of Viserys, the Peaceful, bed chambers. How had you gotten to this moment? The last memory you had was of Ma yelling at you, kicking you out of the only home you had ever known, and then Aegon. It was all Aegon. His smiling face dragged you across Kings Landing, stuffing your face with foods Ma could never afford. His laugh echoed in your mind as he threw back drink after drink. His sweet words whispered in your ear as he made you feel the greatest pleasures of man.

"Your Grace, I am feeling quite ill. I wish to be taken home." You had acted too immaturely and rashly after what happened with Ma. She was the only true mother you had known, and you were her only daughter. She loved you-- loves you.

"What are you going on about, my sweet? You are home," Aegon dismissed, shifting himself in the blankets.

"No, Aegon." You placed the water on the table and gave him your full attention. "This is the Red Keep. Your home," you replied pointedly.

"This is your home now; I thought you realized this." He was starting to get annoyed with explaining the obvious to someone he thought was clever.

"Why on the Seven's green Earth would this ever be my home," you asked sarcastically, curling your lip incredulity and crossing your arms. "If you are attempting to make you your whore, you are sorely mistaken."

He groaned, rolling the blankets and shifting the pillows as he failed to get comfortable. "You are not my whore. I did not expect you to be."

You stormed over to the resting Prince, forgetting that you were still naked as the day you were born.

"How dare you think you can keep me here! I may not have the power to order people around as you do, but I have authority over my own life!" He scoffed and rolled over, refusing to meet your angry gaze.

"Not anymore," he mumbled more to himself than you.

"I do not care what you believe. I am leaving this place." You stormed around the room, a blaze of fury in your steps as you pulled your smock on and tied your outer dress just enough to cover your modesty.

He didn't try to stop you, only watching as you took one last swig of water before shoving his chamber room doors open. You had been a fool. The stupid young, naive girl you had tried so hard not to be. It was ignorant to think that Aegon wouldn't be like the men you heard the working girls complain about when he was most likely the one they spoke of the most. He was a disgusting, vile creature, and you never wanted to see him again.

The guard stationed outside his room looked at you with an unreadable expression, his armor a polished white as he stood tall. He seemed familiar, but his garb was different from the City Watch. You supposed he must have been far on the hierarchy of knights never to have seen him.

"I apologize, my lady, but I cannot allow you to leave," he said gravely, stepping in front of you.

You spun to face Aegon, the man still not having moved from his spot on the bed.

"Tell him to let me leave," you nearly shouted, but he ignored you. "Aegon, tell your guard to let me leave. Now!" This time, you did yell, done with all the games the eldest Prince played. They were no longer fun.

"Lead the woman to the Guest Wing," he flicked his wrist as if he was swatting a fly. "See to it she is fed and made to rest until called upon. We have had a long night."

You felt as if smoke was pouring from your ears, marching over to Aegon as his guard caught you by the shoulder, nearly causing you to fall back.

"Yes, my Prince." He nodded stiffly, pulling you to where you assumed the Guest Wing was.

"Oh, and Ser Eyrrk?" The knight stopped his movements abruptly, turning to face the boy he was sworn to protect. "Be sure to show me the dress the servant choose." Aegon paused, looking over your lust-stained clothes. "She is an honored guest of House Targaryen; she deserves to be robed as such."

Ser Erryk nodded once more and continued to lead you down the dark and barren halls of the Red Keep.

Master List of Series

The song called The Fruits by Paris Paloma heavily inspired this chapter. Link here! I also have a playlist I listen to when I write. Link here! If you have any questions about the story regarding the ages of characters, descriptions, etc... don't hesitate to ask me! Thank you so much for your patience. I hope the chapter lived up to your expectations. *.*

Tagged Peeps: @zeennnnnnn, @malfoytargaryen, @targaryencore, @justasmallbean, @alexandra-001, @buckysmainhxe, @omgsuperstarg, @sommornyte, @minttea07, @silverslive, @unclecrunkle, @prettykinkysoul, @duesobabe, @djlexi, @ynbutbetter, @honestlykat, @graykageyama, @legolas017, @iiamthehybrid, @brezzybfan, @ladybug0095, @millies0bsimp, @kalfilit, @sheislonelyalways, @tempt-ress, @bellameshipper, @minttea07, @trikigirl271, @esposadomd

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