#meme my way through the grief

[marshmallord]

arm, opening the first aid kit: WHY DID YOU FILL IT WITH CHEETOS

big, bleeding out: it was funny at the time

#i cope with humor #meme my way through the grief #kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #kinnporche #kinnporche the series #kinnporsche incorrect quotes #arm kinnporsche #big kinnporsche

[willowser]

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds. 

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating. 

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is. 

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

#narrator voice: willow did not have the spoons to extend the ending #whoopsie #okie okie part 2 #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

[cacaocheri]

made a little meme to help me while i process through my grief. this realization was comforting in a way

#when i pull away the aching and the pain and all the vines that surround my heart #i realize that it is just love #and suddenly a heart is not such a heavy burden #because i love you and i love you and i love you #and the love is wholesome and pure #grief #love #cherry rambles #relationships

[snenbubs]

I've been reading your work for a while now and the way you write for Mammon is amazing, you're definitely my favourite writer for him. So I was wondering if you aren't too busy if could you please write breakup headcanons for mammon

HELLO! Thank you so, so much!!! It means so much to me that you enjoy what I write! Most of it is my delerious train of thought at like 1am so im honestly shocked at the amount of support ive been getting!

ANYWAYS, ONTO THE HCS!

HB MAMMON X GN!READER, BREAKUP HCS

I'm assuming you meant like, if you broke up with Mammon? If thats not what u meant just send in another anon! I wont mind :3

- Okay, first of all, how dare you?

- He is, the Mammon. You don't just decide when things are over!

- You were smart enough to break it off with him over text, rather than in person, because he absolutely would throw a scene. No matter where you are, public or private. Think Sarah Lynn level shit.... like, literally stabbing himself, in public, to prove a point.

- What is the point? That he loves you!

- He's especially pissed off about the fact that you broke it off with him though. It bruised his ego, he would much, much prefer it if he had been the one to have broken up with you. He would have never done that though.

- He would go through the five stages of grief 100%

- For the first few days he's in DEEP denial about it. He'd go about life as though the two of you were still together, even though you weren't there.

- Pretending that you were on a work trip or something really helped. It gave him a sense of hope that one day you'd return to him, and he'd feel your warm body embraced against his once again.

- But you and Mammon were a big public thing, like, everyone knew about you. So, people started to notice your absence. Where you would always be by his side now bore an empty pocket of air. People started questioning it;

- From simple posts online to 666News interviews asking him invasive questions regarding your lack of publicity. It pissed him right off, because he couldn't pretend you were still with him whilst constantly being reminded that you weren't.

- And then you spoke up about the breakup.

- You made a Tweet regarding the status of your relationship. Que the next stage...

- With the world now aware of your distanced status Mammon was bombarded with crude comments and remarks, from your fans and haters, to his fans and haters. It'd range from "Wow Mammon fumbled the bag hard." to "Now that Mammon is single do you think he'll start letting groupies backstage ?"

- He actually refused to show up to a lot of interviews and talk-shows because every single time theu brought up the headline, he would get so, so angry. He's almost torn through an interviewer once or twice.

- His bargaining phase was the absolute worst phase though.

- Thousands of calls a day, and an equal level of voice messages followed by hundreds of texts. You'd block his number and then BAM, another number calls you. He manipulates the phone manufacturer of Hell to give him an unlimited free supply of phones so expect him to not let up in that department.

- You know that meme where the person is stood outside the door, crying, with an umbrella over their head and fake rain over them. That's him.

- He gets Beelzebub to provide the fake rain and probably prepared a whole speech to recite to you... its not that good though, most of it is deflective bullshit. He wont take his own problems into account at all.

- If you don't take him back after that then he may even resort to the old boombox by the window trick.

- I don't think he'd hit the depression or acceptance stages of grief, though. He's a tempermental character and he resorts to anger if something doesn't go his way. So the traits he shows through this whole ordeal is frustration and desperation.

- He has a strict victim complex too. So he's most likely never going to understand what he did wrong in the relationship.

- Even if he did realise what he did however, he isn't apologising. He expects you to understand and forgive him despite this.

-It would take him a long while to get over you.

-You were one of the only people who would put up with his shitty personality, who could make him feel so loved and adored. It had been a long, long time since someone had made him feel such a way. It was such a fleeting experience, and he will not be recovering from the loss of your love any time soon.

This is a little short, so I do apologise! I hope you enjoy it anon :)

#helluva boss x reader #mammon hb #mammon hb x reader #hb mammon #mammon helluva boss #hb mammon x reader #headcannons #breakup headcannons

[artsavi]

god. uh. myhouse.wad, huh? I have, frankly, way too many thoughts about this entire mod. Please bear with me as I try to ramble my way through them, I ended up going off under the read more.

I’m going to be honest, this game felt like an extended, emotional fetch quest for me until this point. Don’t get me wrong, I knew that all the items had emotional and memorial impact, but...this one got to me. This moment hit me like a fucking truck.

For those of you who don’t play Dungeon and Dragons, sessions get long. On average they can run anywhere between 4-6 hours, but I myself have played longer, with the longest taking the cake at almost a half day, or roughly 11 hours. A lot can happen in a session, and most of it is just...joking around. The phrase “roll for intercourse” is a reference to an age-old running gag of players trying to seduce an NPC for whatever reason. It’s funny. It happens so often it’s a meme.

But finding it here...it really hit me. This isn’t just a reference to a well-known meme. Tom and Steve sat down and played D&D together, spending multiple hours in a day to play sessions, likely with other players but always with each other. And this phrase? It stuck out, it’s a moment that stuck with Steve for one reason or another, and my only guess is to say it’s because it‘d become an inside joke. And...you can’t help but wonder what it was. If Steve had been DMing, or if he’d been the one trying to seduce the NPC much to Tom’s chagrin, or...what.

And that at the core is the devastating part of myhouse.wad. The more I sit and think about it, the more I think about it, the more I realize this map is chock full of inside jokes, and we as players will never understand them. Because it’s not meant for us. These are things we’ll never have context for because one of the people involved is gone now. And the more I think about it, the more the realization hit that this entire map is not a game and really, truly is a memorial.

Do you remember when we played with Legos together? Do you remember when we played video games? Drinking milkshakes in the basement, sharing a pop? Our inside jokes? Roll for intercourse. Pumpkin Rick. Shrek chasing after you. Do you remember when we got married? I do. The house does. The house loves you. I love you. I miss you.

This map reads like a conversation, someone reaching out to someone else. You can’t help but wonder who is reaching out to who, though.

You know, I was talking to some friends on Discord about this map, and one of them brought up something interesting that I agree with. myhouse.wad draws clear inspiration from House of Leaves, but there’s a distinct difference between them. They both have heavy themes of grief and closure, but where House of Leaves is mysterious because of the layers and layers of unreliable narrators, myhouse.wad is mysterious because of you’re only ever hearing one side of the conversation. House of Leaves makes me feel like I’m intruding on something that no human should ever know. myhouse.wad makes me feel like I’m hearing part of a conversation through a wall.

Either way, there is one thing that both works share: This is not for you. It never was.

You know, I kind of wonder what their D&D campaign was about, if this moment was enough to stick out as an inside joke. I wonder what their sessions were like. I hope they had fun.

#myhouse #myhouse.wad #myhouse.pk3 #house of leaves #hol #doom #doom ii #doom 2 #fanart #artsavi #digital art

[blues824]

Imagen the female izuru Kamukura with yoriichi tsugikuni.

❤️A couple muzan fears so much he took a restraing order on them.

🖤Imagen kokushibo or Michikatsu reacting to his younger brother getting married to the ultimate hashira and seing them together.

❤️Who whoud be more powerful I don't know but I know if they ever have children they would be some powerful children.

🖤How would her react to his wife being the victim of lab experiments to make the ultimate talented child thx to her parents him reading her files what she has gone through.

❤️How would her react to her regaining her memories back and her old personality back from her cold personality her becoming a social butterfly.

🖤Him still having ptsd from his previous wife and child and when her learn she is with child him being worried and her calming him saying that she will be fine.

❤️They are there for each other helping each other with their ptsd understanding each other and supporting each other like a good husband and wife whoud do with each other.

🖤But what if she gets acedently turns in to a demon but she is like nezuko she doesn't need human flesh to survive a because of her luck she is immune to the sun.

(Don't they look perfect together)

*Quotes meme* I love everything I see on that paper (the request).

Yoriichi Tsugikuni

If you mix the creator of Breathing Styles with the only Hashira that can master them all, what do you get, my students? That’s right: Rip-Off Michael Jackson’s worst fear, as well as the Dollar Tree’s Halloween Spider’s object of envy! Yes, the latter is very jealous that his brother outdid him once again, but we’re not talking about them!

Anyways, the two of you had met after he had already lost his wife and his child, and you had gained the rank of Hashira beside him. You didn’t really understand his grief, but you would be there to listen whenever he needed someone to talk to. It was a bit unexpected for you, as he remained kind and dedicated to the Demon Slayer Corps even after all that had happened to him because of it. You never predicted it, so you fell for him because of it.

Yoriichi also learned more about you. You couldn’t remember your past, and because of the man’s desire to help everyone, he would try to help you get your memories back. He had to help you with your cold exterior, though. However, it all came back to you in a way that surprised you both: the scientists who had experimented on you had resurfaced and tried to get you back. The Corps did not allow you to kill other humans, but Tsugikuni, taking the place of a knight in shining armor, carried you on his back and ran away.

When he put you back down, he could see that you were stunned. Tears were falling down your face and you were shaking slightly. He gently held the sides of your face and made you look up at him, and he used his thumbs to wipe away your tears. Then you whispered something so low that only he could hear: I remember…

You were clutching a file that you had obtained from one of the scientists, and he took it from your hands and started to read it. Even from what he had seen in battle, he had never seen something like this. It was all gruesome, just to make the Ultimate Human Being. He immediately pulled you into his arms and just held you there, as your very small sniffles died down.

From that point on, he decided that you could not be left vulnerable or alone, thus for years he stayed by your side and looked to see if those scientists would ever come back. This led him to falling for you in return, and the two of you were wed. Now, your new husband was incredibly terrified that something would happen to you just like something happened to Uta, but you assured him that you were fine.

His worries only increased when he found that you were pregnant with his child. Sure, he was definitely very happy, but he was also very protective. When reaching your 8 month mark, he did not want you even getting up from bed, and he would get you anything he wanted. You had to remind him that exercise was good for the baby, but you understood where he was coming from. 

Once you had gone into labor, he had already had the midwife living with you temporarily. There was no way that anything was going to go wrong this time, and your husband made sure of that. Well, everything went smoothly, and after 16 hours of painful labor, you gave birth to twins: a boy and a girl.

Hearing the cries of his children, he cried tears of joy. He placed a kiss on your forehead, telling you that he was so proud of you and that you are strong. The midwife, after cleaning the babies, handed the boy to you and the girl to him. Upon looking down at his daughter’s face, he noticed something on her forehead: his Demon Slayer Mark. The same mark was present on his son’s face as well.

As joyful as this moment was, the two of you had to be realistic: your children would be huge targets. So, you prepared your home accordingly. You knew that Yoriichi would soon have to go back to being a Demon Slayer, as Muzan was still out there and he needed to be taken down. You had your sword accessible to you, and there was a hiding place for the twins. The two of you even prepared a fake hiding spot for you to defend to trick any demons into thinking your children were hiding there.

Unfortunately, one day, when your husband was away on a mission, Muzan had attacked. He knew that no one besides him would be able to fight you, but his true target was your daughter and son. You fought him off and even injured the Demon Lord, but it was all in vain. Your last thoughts before he had turned you into a demon were ‘the kids are safe’. The transformation overtook your body, and you were left lying on the floor, asleep.

Hours later, Yoriichi came home to see blood splattered all over the floor, leading to you. He could hear your children crying, but before he could check on them, you had grasped his ankle, made him fall to the ground, and started attacking him. The look in your eyes, he knew that this wasn’t you. Eventually, he turned the two of you around and he was on top.

The only thing he could think was, ‘I failed again’. He eventually got your clawed hands pinned to the ground as he begged you to stop. He didn’t want to hurt you, and that’s why he did not have his sword drawn. After struggling for a bit, tears began to fall from your eyes as you recognized the man who you were trying to kill. As though everything was normal, Yoriichi held your face gently in his hands and wiped the tears away. Your hands went to cup his, but you felt your vision going a bit blurry. You were growing tired, and you passed out.

Once you had woken up, your husband asked what happened. You went on and on about how Muzan had attacked you to try and get to your children, but he spared them for some reason. Instead, he went for you, probably because you would be capable of predicting all Breathing Styles as well as master each and every Blood Demon Art. However, you didn’t seem to need flesh. Instead, you explained that you were still trying to protect your son and daughter.

‘Well, you were alive, and that’s all that mattered’, Yoriichi thought. You learned that you did not need to feed on humans, but rather very large amounts of sleep. Because he needed to make sure that no one knew you were a demon, he had you stay home with the children. Thus, you did not overexert yourself and fall into a deep sleep.

Even after your husband’s passing, the legend of the First Demon Slayer and the Ultimate Demon still circulated. Your children eventually grew up and had children of their own, who then had children, and it went on. You were aware that your family would become demon slayers, as you and your husband were. You even became a secret friend to Ubuyashiki, and wrote him a letter for each generation that went into the Corps. It was not just Urokodaki who convinced him to spare Nezuko’s life, but also your influence as well.

#demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #kny #kny yoriichi x reader #kny yoriichi #kny x reader #yoriichi #yoriichi x reader #yoriichi tsugikuni #yoriichi tsugikuni x reader

[magpiefngrl]

writing patterns: last lines

I love the first lines meme, but what about last lines? I find them as vital as first lines, if not more. A first line should do a lot of things (indicate POV, tone, voice) while also catching the attention of the reader and inviting them to read on. But it can be invisible, just a way into the story, and that's perfectly fine because the story is what will amaze/impress/entertain the reader.

The last line, however, is the last impression: it can be a powerful punch, or it can be underwhelming. It's the vibe, the feeling, the aftertaste that the reader will carry with her when she closes the tab/book. It doesn't do as much work as the opening, but a really strong (or really weak) last line might colour what has come before.

For this game, instead of recent fics, I decided to check my longer fics; the last line of a longer piece of work sort of carries more weight, in my mind, idk.

Rules: write the last line of your 10 longest fics. What patterns can you see, if any? Which ones are your favourites?

Something I noticed: in my longer fics, I often have a short epilogue at the end of the story. Like a post-credits scene. I'm including both last lines for pattern-seeking. Also, a while ago, I'd done a before-during-after ask thing and posted some sequels at the end of a few fics. I debated using only the original ending here, but the sequel's last line is what will stay with readers, so I added both. Finally, The Boy Who Died has a coda but it's so long I'm treating it as a chapter.

I. 9 ½ Days (drarry, E, ~70k)

(story) Harry burrowed closer to him, eyes fluttering open. ‘You’re real.’ ‘I am.’ Draco tangled their legs together. It was snug under the covers. ‘Touch me and see.’

(epilogue) Harry took his hand and together they stepped forward into the green, living wood.

II. dirtynumbangelboy (drarry, E, 39.4k)

(story) ‘Home,’ Harry says, nuzzling Draco’s hair. ‘Take us home.’

(epilogue) He wants them to look smashing at the betrothal.

III. The Miseducation of Draco Malfoy (drarry, E, ~38k)

(story) Draco decided he would be happy to spend his life making Harry laugh, and thrust in.

(epilogue) “Let’s give them something good to talk about then,” Draco suggested, and Harry smiled, bent him backwards, and gave him a proper kiss, tongue and all.

IV. The Boy Who Died (drarry, E, ~27k)

Overthrowing the regime will take a miracle, Kingsley had said in the dark Edwardian manor. Draco had smiled at that and gazed at Harry. Indeed. Which is why we’ll win.

V. The Gift (drarry, E, ~26k)

Before [Draco] casts Nox, he takes a last look at his packed trunk, and then, in the whispering night, he allows himself to dream.

VI. Hush, darling (drarry, E, 23.6k)

But Draco holds Harry tighter — and doesn’t let go.

VII. The Unquiet Grave (drarry, E, 21.5k)

Draco glanced at Harry and smiled. ‘I’ll be fine. I have a bodyguard.’

VIII. Through the Looking Glass and What Draco Found There (drarry, E, 17.5k)

(original) This world was fucked up. It had pain and grief and sick people and dead people and stupid decisions and bad hair days and fear and regret—although it didn’t have Smith in leather gear, which was something. It also had Harry Potter, who buried his face in the crook of Draco’s neck, and who liked this Draco, the Death Eater Draco, and that made everything worth it.

(sequel) ‘Pull them down yourself,’ Draco said and kissed him.

IX. The Full Monty (drarry, E, 10k)

First, he goes to the kitchen to make sure Arthur is indeed alive — he is, nibbling at some seeds on the counter — but after that, yes, he goes straight to where Potter is waiting, hopefully all soapy and wet.

X. How to Court your Husband (drarry, E, 5,5k)

(original) Their escorts maintained a discreet distance when they arrived and saw what the princes were up to, and twenty minutes later in the palace courtyard, the Fountain spurted a jet of water the likes of which had never been seen before.

(sequel) Harry smiled and stroked Draco’s face. ‘We’re in no hurry, husband.’

Patterns

JFC. I like my epilogues and codas and sequels, don't I? Lord. I don't think I'd noticed it before as clearly as I do now. This isn't even everything: I actually started a coda for The Gift a while back, and I have a half-finished sequel scene for dirtynumb in my folders. I can just never leave off. But it's true: I do love epilogues.

I end with dialogue A LOT more than I start with it. First lines, I estimated a third of them are dialogue, but a good half of the endings are.

A large majority of my endings involve kissing or cuddling or touching in some way. Love language touch anyone?

There's a fair bit of Draco glancing at Harry and smiling.

In the two fics that have a sequel scene, the original ending is, imo, vastly superior to the sequel's. Hm.

Faves

I like the epilogue ending of 9 1/2 Days; the ending of Unquiet Grave, which works better I think in context; the rather poetic ending of The Gift; the original ending of Through the Looking Glass, which, imo, perfectly captures the theme; and the original ending of How To Court Your Husband, which is hilarious in context. Several readers commented on that one.

Tagging

I'll no-pressure tag @lettersbyelise @lqtraintracks @the-starryknight @skeptiquex @etalice @coriesocks @gracerene @citrusses @lower-east-side @hogwartsfirebolt @queenofthyme @writcraft @shealwaysreads @phdmama @stripedroseandsketchpads @sixappleseeds to get the ball rolling-- and of course YOU, reading this! Feel free to tag me so I can read your last lines, I'm ever so curious x

#last lines #drarry #writer memes #endings

[thechekhov]

you mentioned in recent tags about a horror comic you drew- i understand not wanting to link publicly to it to avoid creating MORE misinterpretations, but i really like your storytelling and now i��m curious?? so if you could, that’d be great! no pressure either way!

(i’m sending this off anon so you have the choice to respond to it privately anyways) (love your art thanks) (and the dungeon meshi reacts)

Thanks for the kind message! And it's not a secret or anything, it's straight up this post:

I used language comparing humans and other animals as two separate things (for the sake of drawing the narrative conclusions I needed to, in order to make the concept understood in only a few pages), like this:

But because of this simplified language, people drew their OWN wild conclusions about me as a person.

For example, this guy on twitter:

I never actually said humans WEREN'T animals, never said humans were somehow 'above' biology...I was simply putting them into a separate category capable of a specific set of skills for the sake of the comparison I made in the last couple of pages as the punchline.

But they decided that it must "clearly" mean I believe X, Y and Z.

This has happened MORE than enough times!

Writing is difficult, and writing for varied audiences with different dialects, different levels of reading ability, and different attention spans is hard! Sometimes, people don't want to sit through 2 pages of 'well humans are animals but due to a specific evolutionary niche we fill our ability to use language and calculate mathematical equations to the degree that we do is really unique--'

Now, mind you... I STILL got grief for trying to be soft-boiled in my delivery. People (who don't have a linguistics degree) IMMEDIATELY also messaged me to tell me that chimps CAN learn language - and haven't I seen that one video with the gorilla, the dolphin, etc?

And that's it's own can of worms. (No, other animals cannot learn language the way humans can. Yes, they can communicate in complex ways. No, language is a very specific human thing as far as leading scientists are concerned, at least based on current data. Yes, I went to University for this. I have a degree. Please just trust me.)

It happens, I'm not actively mad about it... Humans tend to take whatever we read and run with it.

But we make this mistake often! I know I also make this mistake. We come conclusions based on scarce evidence! We jump to the worst case scenario! We presume that we know better than that person what they believe, based on minimal interaction with them.

It's yet another thing that's unique to humans thanks to... wait for it... language!

It's the price we pay for having memes.

#but man memes are great #chekhov answers #language #linguistics

[welcome-to-green-hills]

Bye mystery what are your thoughts on the whole ‘SoNiC cAn’T cRy’ rule on Twitter and from some writers? I find it stupid. He should be allowed to cry.

Hi Hon!❤️✨

Ummm… I feel that we’re missing a bit of information here. It’s became a bit of a meme on Twitter. And I think that the “meme” kinda lost its translation, if you know what I mean.

I’ve looked through fan Wikis, Reddit, Twitter, and other social media outlets to see what these mandates are. I found a Reddit post implying that there are regulations, but suggests that these are for IDW comics only (IDW Reddit, 2020).

Sonic is absolutely allowed to cry, he doesn’t cry in front of others (Ohshima, 2019). To him, in tears are a private feeling. The tears of grief and loss are for him to experience by himself. And that’s not a bad thing. It doesn’t mean that he’s not allowed to cry. It just means that it’s an emotion he feels and experiences himself. Something that he needs to listen to in order to make peace with it.

Let me put into this perspective; when we cry, we’re feel many emotions. Sometimes it’s hard to understand what emotions were feeling and how many we feel when it’s released. And sometimes feeling everything can cause sensory overload. If one cannot begin to identify what we’re feeling at that moment of time, do we really want to share that with others yet? Not necessarily. Sometimes being alone is the best thing. Being alone allows one to contemplate on why they’re feeling all of these strong emotions and provide a sense of inner peace. Taking a step back to feel our emotions allows ourselves to search within our heart and mind to understand we are so moved to begin with. There are times that I may not want to be near others when I cry. Sometimes I need to be alone. Being alone allows me the chance to sit and contemplate on what my heart and mind want me to hear.

I’ve shared with you all in the past that it’s okay to cry. Everyone should cry. What I haven’t done a good job in communicating is that you don’t always have to share your thoughts and feelings right away. I’m sorry for that. When we cry, it’s message from within our heart and soul that is screaming for attention. Sometimes crying and anger and any other strong emotion is your body asking for attention. It’s a message that needs to be heard and reflected upon in order to understand. This message helps us grow and become a better version of ourselves. It’s personal growth. It’s a lesson that only you can understand and appreciate what it’s teaching you. The message needs to be internalized before it can be shared with others. And sharing with others is entirely up to you! Feeling a strong emotion and healing from it could be private. It gives you a chance to look back from where you began and fully appreciate the growth that you’ve made from it.

I can completely understand where this misleading information comes from. He’s not emotionally constipated/out-of-tune as some fans claim. This does not mean that Sonic doesn’t trust his friends. Not at all! He’s very open and honest with others. Taking the time to be by himself to cry allows him a chance to release all of the emotions inside before he shares what he feels in his heart. He needs that peace to understand why he’s feeling the way that he feels in order to properly heal from it.

Does that make sense? I hope it does. If you need further explanation, let me know. I’m more than happy to reexplain if needed! I hope that this answers your question, my dear!❤️✨

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic #mystery anon #off topic #sonic movie #sth

[the-s1lly-corner]

I’ve read through some of your old posts and I gotta say…I love me some angst. May I kindly, pretty please with a plastic cherry on top, ask for TADC gang with an S/O who abstracted a while back, but then they ‘respawn’ one day with a glitch affect about them, and their memory was totally wiped? Like it was their first day in the digital world? The glitch affect doesn’t hurt them or anyone like what happened to Ragetha and Pomni btw.

TADC cast x mended!reader

so funny story i was about to sit down and work on this about 4 hours ago but then my parents said they were going to watch the fnaf movie in the garage and i literally dropped everything and watched it so uh uh. the reason the grind stopped was because of fnaf movie and now im kinda tempted to pick up my fnaf fic again anyways! i did a similar post, here! jax and caines parts here will be short, really only focusing on the glitch aspect for them in this post, since the other half has already been written!

CAINE:

just got flashed with an image but you know that scene where the iron giant is trying to pick the boy up but hes like limp or something and the giant pulls back (ive never watched iron giant i just know this clip from a meme) i think it would be like that if he tried to poof your glitching away; but like. in an emotional way, if that makes sense. like its the same kind of carefulness and worry, i think... bonus if he does more damage than not

JAX:

honestly a little too scared to even touch you out of the deep seeded fear of getting all glitchy as well. like he knows it wont spread to him, but you know...

POMNI:

similar to jax i think she would instinctively avoid touching you even though she knows its fine... the whole hand thing making her overly cautious for future scenarios, you know? i think she would slip up and accidentally bring up something you and her did before you abstracted, or call you an endearing name before abruptly stopping herself and trailing off, sad stuff. grief makes her tear between wanting to find an exit faster and trying to make you remember/stay for you

RAGATHA:

poor girl :( i think she would genuinely try to make an effort to re/befriend you and try not to have her hopes too high for the two of you to get back together. if you hear about your past relationship and want to learn more about it, shell tell you what you want to know, but i doubt she would instantly start dating you again if you suggest the two of you trying to give the relationship a second shot... i think that would need some time

KINGER:

bro is gonna be going through it, first he loses his possible wife to abstraction and now he lost you.. got you back, but you dont remember anything. on top of that you look.. off.. sure it doesnt hurt you but it still looks like it would be uncomfortable, even if it isnt

stuck between longing to rekindle your old relationship and letting you go in order to allow himself to process this grief; the third option is potential abstraction for himself

ZOOBLE:

tries not to care. they want to forget everything like you did, they were finally starting to be normal after your abstraction. but now your back in a clean slate, mind wiped and memories gone. how does someone cope with that? as much as it hurts them they think it would be best for them to pretend you were a stranger again

GANGLE:

saying it again, poor girl. mix of pomni and ragatha here i think, like she keeps messing up and verbally reminiscing before realizing you cant relate to what shes saying anymore. will tell you anything you want to know about the past, but i think it would take a lot longer for her to consider getting with you again than ragatha. for both its kind of a "i dont want them to feel obligated to try because we were together once" type deal

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #caine x reader #jax x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

[asumofwords]

Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Masterlist

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note: Hello my babies!!!! Holy fuck. Wow. I actually can't believe it. I may or not be crying a lil bit because here we are. Here is the final chapter of Smoke, Fire and Ash (besides the Epilogue that is coming tomorrow!). I really can't believe it. This has been such an insane journey to be on. I started writing this fic for my best friend, just emailing her updates, and then she convinced me to post online, so in January (thats how long this thing has been going lol) I started posting with you all!!!

I really cannot thank you guys enough for all the continuous love and support you have given me with this fic. All the memes and laughs and theories and messages, I have absolutely adored talking to you all and getting to share this with you! ARGHHH. I could say so much more, but I shant.... nay.... I wont. haha, so again, thank you all so much, and I hope that when the Epilogue is posted tomorrow, that we can all close this story together neatly! Can't wait to keep writing new stories for you all.

ENJOY! <3

FINAL CHAPTER 109: Through Smoke, Fire and Ash 

There was no singular way to describe how you were feeling. 

No singular way to explain the confusion of grief and both elation that swirled within you. You supposed, this was how Rhaenyra must have felt when she had her hasty coronation on Dragonstone. 

How does one see the light when they are shrouded in so much darkness? 

How is one supposed to smile through all the losses?

Because the shadows outweighed it all, much heavier than the Conquerors Crown you had worn, the weight of the world sitting atop your shoulders and spine, pushing down on your vertebrae with a force that could buckle your knees. One wrong shift and the fragility of your bones and muscle may cause it to crack, collapsing beneath you.

It had been days and yet, it still felt as though it was yesterday when you had driven your dagger into his neck. You could still feel the way it had felt when it pushed through his muscles and tendons, how his body had resisted it. How he had tensed beneath you jolting, how his eye had opened wide in pain and shock.

How he had looked at you.

How it had smelt, the iron of the blood on your hands, your body, in your hair.

All of it.

And at times, during those days that passed you, you would wake in a cold sweat, drenched in perspiration as you dreamt of doing it over and over. Dreamt of watching the light fade from his eyes. Dreamt of the smell, the blood.

And each time you would wake, tears falling down your cheeks and heart rattling against your ribs, your eyes would fall to your hands and a small cry of horror would leave your lips.

Each time, your hands were covered in his blood.

The first few nights that it happened, you would race to the basin beside the bed, desperate to wash the blood away, clawing at your skin with your nails as you scrubbed them raw, sobbing loudly in the chambers.

And each time, Ser Darke at your door would alert the Queen, and Rhaenyra would rush to your chambers in her nightgown, gripping your hands as they dripped with water, not blood, and would whisper to you that it was okay, that it was over, that you were clean.

Each time she would pull you away from the basin, hands raw and sometimes bleeding from your own nails, and would take you to bed, laying down first to clutch your head against her chest as she would hold you, and you would sob.

But after the eighth night of your new and horrifying routine, you woke and looked at your hands.

Blood again.

But this time you did not scream, this time you did not race to the basin to try and wash it away. This time you sat up against the back of the bed and stared at your hands until the sun had risen into the sky, and the maids came to get you ready for the day.

And it was much the same.

For many days after.

You would dine with your family, and there he would be, in the corner of your eye watching you.

Always watching you.

And each time that his shadow would catch your eye, you would know to not react when your eyes would catch glance of your hands, covered in his blood once more.

As though he was punishing you.

Your mother and father, if you suspected that she had told him, were the only ones to know about your crumbling stability. But as the days passed, and almost a moon had turned, it got better.

Easier.

You could now look at your hands without recoiling, and some nights you would not dream of him. Some nights you would not dream at all, and would sleep the entire night through.

And when you did wake up, the smell of blood beneath your nose, you would hold your stomach, the smallest of swells beginning to show, and soothe the skin with your palm, hushing the babe inside of you as you whispered to yourself that it was all okay.

But by the time the moon had turned, you had begun to make your peace with it. Begun to understand that this was your penance for such horrors. That this would be your atonement for what you had done.

A punishment that you would not deny.

This morning however, was different.

Today you would put on a brave face for the realm, not just for your family, who treated you with with such exceptional kindness and patience that it often brought you to tears.

Today the mask of impassivity, the mask of strength and triumph would be slipped over your face for all to see. As was your duty. As was always your duty.

Saria and Aella brushed their gentle hands into your hair as they braided it back against your skull in intricate twists and weaves that lifted it from the nape of your neck completely, whilst Joanna and Amala tended to tightening your gown at the back. 

Your reunion with your two maids had been a tearful event, but smiles were shared after all eyes were red and raw from broken sobs and shared stories, minor tales of survival.

You held your hands at your front, observing yourself in the vanity of your old chambers, unwilling to enter Aemond’s again, not knowing if the stench of blood and memory of the past would be the last thread to be pulled, and your crumbling resolve would snap, and you would be lost to madness like Helaena had been, the weight of it all sinking you into the ground.

The necklace in your hands had warmed in your palms and fingertips, as you pressed the pad of your thumb into the chain, feeling each ridge of the Valyrian steel beneath it, using it to ground you, attempting to count each notch in the chain to help quell the rising tide within.

When Saria and Aella finished their braiding, they moved to place the headpiece atop your hair.

It had been old, far older than you or your parents.

The Valyrian steel had been a relic, a thick band that wrapped around your skull like a crown, that then had four similar bands that smoothed over the top of your scalp, meeting at the top of your head. 

Pressed into the Valyrian steel were round and square cut rubies, and dragon glass all the way along its surface, glimmering in the light, with small coils of gold that were nestled between each jewell. Three emeralds were newly laid amongst the rest, one at each point at your temple, and the last at the back of your head.

It was not heavy like the Conquerors Crown, but it had a weight to it, pressing down onto your head as the girls adjusted it to fit. Adjusted it to look weightless. But there was the invisible weight of it too, and that squeezed at your ribs causing you to be breathless. 

Saria moved to stand in front of you, looking at the chain that you held in your palm.

“Your Grace, might I?” She asked, a hand reaching out to offer to put the necklace on.

You nodded at her and gave her a small, yet stiff smile as she took it from your grasp, watching yourself in the mirror as she came to move behind you, hands fiddling with the clasp as she draped it across your neck. 

The gown you wore was the last piece Aemond had made for you, and one you had not worn yet. But today you would. Today you would carry him with you as you took yourself down to the throne room. 

It was a deep red, almost the colour of blood when it would begin to dry, with gold and black dragons and flames embroidered at the cuffs of your wrists, making their way up your forearm. The bodice of the dress was tight, and in its centre, a gold, beaded dragon, marked with black shivering beads that looked like scales.

A homage to the first dragon you had claimed, and lost. 

From each shoulder, sat a large golden clasp, holding a set of three chains that hung across the neck. But they were not usual chains, instead, they were made to look like stems from a rose bush, pointed thorns all around its length, sharp and menacing.

Placed atop the gown by the help of Joanna and Amala sat the black and gold cloak your mother had worn many years ago for her coronation. It still smelt of her.

Saria finished clasping the necklace at the back of your neck, and stepped back, all the maids looking over you one last time to ensure that you were perfect.

They deduced that you were.

From behind you in the mirror, you could see the figure of Jacaerys as he entered your chambers, adorned in a vision of red and black, the colours of your House.

You spun to look at him, his eyes roaming over your body with the softest of smiles on his lips. His hair had been brushed back and away from his face, curly brown locks tucked behind his ears by small falling braids, gold clasps at their ends to hold them together.

“You were born for this.” He whispered, stepping towards you to take your hands in his, “Are you ready?” His thumbs brushed against your knuckles softly as he watched you.

You swallowed. 

Were you ready?

Would you ever be?

No.

But you had to be.

“Yes.” You lied.

His large calloused hand moved to cup your face before pressing a kiss to your cheek lovingly, a habit that he had inherited from your mother, and something that he no doubt pressed against Baela’s furrowed brows and cheeks when needed.

Jacaerys' gaze dropped to your neck, and then back to your face as he blinked but said nothing, instead offering an arm to you to walk down together.

Resting against your neck, warmed by gentle hands that had held it, atop the cloak for all to see, was the necklace that Aemond had given Alys. 

That your mother and father had then given to you. 

And which you had plucked the emeralds from, not wishing to wear them around your neck, instead placing them within the piece that sat atop your head. A reminder.

At the centre of the Valyrian steel, the chain flush against you, was a steel dragons claw that hung from its centre, and in its grip a large spherical sapphire. 

Taken from the ashes, as a reminder, as a lasting piece that you could have and hold.

The last piece of him.

Aemond’s eye.

"Shall we?”

You looped your arm in his and made your way down to the Iron Throne chambers together. Always together. Through thick and through thin, you shared the blood of Old Valyria, and the both of you had shared a womb, nothing could seperate you. 

Your hand pressed against your necklace as you walked, feeling the weight of it with every step. Feeling his presence despite not being visible to your eye.

It helped to calm you strangely, helped to give you strength, to give you some sort of hope and feel as though he approved. You hoped that he would. You thought that he would.

He would.

In no time at all, you stood before the two large doors at the entrance to the Iron Throne. Jacaerys stilled, unlinking his arm from yours as he brushed his sweaty palms against his robes. Another habit the two of you shared.

You frowned at him, worry beginning to burrow itself in your chest. You stepped forward to cup his face in both hands, “Do you hate me? For what I am about to do?”

Jacaerys' lips pulled into a lopsided grin, hands coming to grasp yours, “I could never, not now, or in any other lifetime, come to hate you. You are my sister, and I have always held firmly in my beliefs that it should be you to sit the Iron Throne. How could I hate you for taking something that was never to be mine?”

You felt your eyes well with tears, relief pouring from you.

Jacaerys shook his head softly as he chuckled, towering over you, “Don’t cry. You’ll look a mess.”

A laugh bubbled up your throat and you tapped his cheek lightly.

“They’re waiting for me. Actually, waiting for you.” He breathed, stepping back, looking at you one last time as his fingers brushed the necklace, touching the orb that sat against your chest.

Jacaerys breathed deeply as he looked at it, gnawing at it his lip as he held it softly.

You watched his face as he thought for a moment, eyebrows twitching, but then breathed his thought aloud.

"He would be proud.”

You could tell it had taken a lot of Jacaerys to say that.

And yet he did.

You blanched, and the tears that you had tried to hold at bay trickled down your cheeks, hot trails dripping down onto the stones below. 

Jacaerys frowned, head dipping down to your level, “Please don’t cry. Mother will have my head.”

You chuckled wiping the tears away with the back of your hand.

“Away with you then, the sight of you brings me to tears.” You half laughed and half sobbed.

Your brother swiped up a stray tear that had escaped your eyes before he gave a deep and mocking curtsey to you, his curly brown hair flopping against the sides of his face, “At once, Your Grace.” And with that, Jacaerys slinked into the chambers, announced loudly by Ser Erryk inside. 

The doors shut behind him as you heard the crowd inside slowly quieten. You straightened your posture, heart beating against your chest with every breath.

But there would be no waiting, nor halting of what was to come. No moment of stilling for just a breath more to catch your bearings. Because if life had taught you anything, it was that the world does not slow for anyone, and it shall continue to move forward without you, even if you are trapped in the past. 

And so forward, you went.

The doors were pulled open, and you felt each and every eye in the throne room turn to you. All Lords and Ladies from across the realm, Heads of their Houses and knights, watching as you made your way towards them. But your eyes were solely on your parents. 

Queen Rhaenyra was seated upon the Iron Throne, dressed head to toe in black and red, gold crown of her father, the crown of King Jaehaerys before him, seated atop her skull and pride in her eyes. 

Your father, King Consort Daemon Targaryen, stood at the bottom of the throne, hands in front of him as he grinned ear to ear, watching as you descended the stairs and walked towards them.

Atop his head, the Conquerors Crown.

Just as you had told him to wear.

‘This is yours now.’ You had told him, and he had argued, but you had insisted, ‘Return it to me when I sit the Throne.'

“Princess Y/n Velaryon, First of her Name, Daughter of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.” Ser Erryk’s voice boomed into the chambers, and you had to suck in a stiffening breath as you felt pangs of fear wind through you. 

It was almost like the days you had been brought before Aegon, the strange feeling of remembrance racing through you icily. Remembering how it had felt to be presented to this throne twice before.

But it wasn’t the same. 

There was no danger here, only love, and care, and trust. But this did not stop your mind from racing, or your heart from jumping in your chest as you stood before your mother, looking up at her.

Rhaenyra looked out at the sea of Lord and Ladies who stood in the Hall, all having travelled from their lands to come to the Red Keep for you.

All who had sworn themselves to her. 

All who were willing to do it all again. 

“Let all who stand here today, who have travelled across the Seven Kingdoms, who have sailed the seas and ridden to Kings Landing,” Her voice boomed across the room, steady and even, “Bear witness to the naming of Princess Y/n Velaryon as my successor for the Iron Throne.”

You smiled softly at your father before turning around to face the room, looking out at all who stood present, and had come to declare for your mother. 

For you. 

Some faces you recognised, others you did not. House sigils were pressed or stitched into robes and cloaks or armour, House colours adorned on shoulders and skirts. Men and woman of all kinds filled the chambers of the Iron Throne ready to swear their fealty.

Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys were the eyes you found first, standing at the front with your half sister Princess Rhaena beside them. All had their heads towards you, Rhaena grinning widely, whilst Rhaenys dipped hers in a subtle nod, the tiniest of smiles on her lips. 

Lord Corlys however, did not smile, nor nod, but looked at you in appraisal. In pride. He had always treated you as his granddaughter, and despite you knowing the truth about Laenor, it did not take away that he had been a father to you, and Corlys, a grandfather.

At the sides of the chambers, your brothers stood and watched, and it took everything within you to not cry as one head of brown was missing. 

You swallowed thickly as Rhaenyra continued.

“Your loyalty to the true heir of the Iron Throne has not been forgotten. Your sacrifices to regain the throne are not forgotten. All Lords and Ladies who stand before the throne today have shown their loyalty, bravery, and defiance in the face of turncloaks and usurpers. Have shown support of my cause, and my claim as the rightful heir and ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. So today,” She breathed behind you, “I, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, ask that you to do so again. Pledge fealty to the throne and its rightful heir before the Old Gods and the New. Promise your faith, and know that if it is broken, there will be no mercy given to those who go against it.”

You breathed again, feeling your hands begin to sweat. 

This was all you had ever wanted. 

This was all that you had ever dreamed of. 

But there was so much missing from it.

So many missing.

It was a dream that you had thought was lost. Gone with the marriage, gone with Lucerys. Gone to Jacaerys. Gone with the war. 

But here you were, before the eyes of the Heads of the realms Houses, having your succession be named before the Gods, and their fealty sworn to you.

“Step forth now, and make the pledge.”

The first to move, was the silver locks of Lord Corlys Velaryon. He moved with no hesitancy, with a speed that had rivalled all others, moving to stand before you, slowly lowering himself to his knee as he bowed his head. 

Ser Erryk announced him to all present, “Lord Corlys, of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.”

Corlys lifted his head to look at you, his deep voice moving through the chambers, “I, Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark, promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.” The Lord stood, moving back to his wife and granddaughter, where he kept his eyes upon you, a small nod tipped towards you and the throne. 

Warmth bloomed in your chest as you smiled at him softly. He was still, in your eyes, your grandfather.

The elder Lord Staunton was next, stepping forward to the middle of the aisle of people, bending his knee down slowly until it rested against the stones, bowing his head.

“Lord Simon Staunton, Lord of Rooks Nest, and Head of House Staunton.”

“I, Lord Simon Staunton, Lord of Rooks Nest and Head of House Staunton, promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.”

Lord after Lord, Lady after Lady, Heads of Houses, young and old, stepped forth to kneel before you and pledge their allegiance and fealty to you, naming you as the successor to the Iron Throne.

All you could do was stand and watch, pride and vindication blooming in your chest warmly.

The last man stepped forward, but his robes were far different to those who stood amongst the rest. You watched in interest as he bent his knee.

He would be no older than Aemond had been. His hair was a dark brown, long and pulled away from his face by a clasp at the back of his head. 

As he bowed to you, Ser Erryk Cargyll announced him to the throne room, voice loud behind you, icy grey eyes lifting to meet yours.

“Lord Cregan Stark, Wolf and King of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Head of House Stark.”

Lord Cregan Stark had a long face, not in the way that Aemond had, but Cregan’s thicker, and fuller. Cheeks wider and more muscular, and lips that were dutifully kept still. Furs lined the neck of his robes, and large silver wolf heads clasped it together in a chain at the front.

“I, Lord Cregan Stark, Wolf and King of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Head of House Stark,” His was voice was deep and smooth, his accent lilting upon every word he spoke, “Promise to be faithful to Queen Rhaenyra and her named heir, the Princess Y/n. I pledge fealty to them, and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods and New.”

The entire time he spoke, he kept his eyes on you. 

You blinked as he stood, towering taller than most men in the room, and watched as he moved back to his place, feeling a pull towards him in your chest. 

There was no denying that he was handsome, a certain roguishness to him that only men in the North had. His shoulders were broad, and he looked to be a seasoned swordsman with large hands that he clasped at his front.

He did not smirk at you as Aemond would have when he caught you staring, and instead bowed his head out of curtesy and respect. 

You swallowed and looked away, turning to finally face your mother, who sat upon the throne, crown atop her silver hair, and large blade at her side, hand rested on top of the hilt. She looked down at you with bright and violet eyes.

You bowed your head to her, momentarily looking down at the stones, where stains of red sat beneath your feet. 

It was clear there had been an attempt to scrub it free, but the blood of Aegon Targaryen had sat at the foot of the throne for too long, and its viscousness had sunk deep into the porous stone.

When you lifted your eyes back to your mother Rhaenyra, she stood, looking out at all those present. All who had stayed loyal, all who had sworn their loyalty again. To the Houses that had sacrificed men in the battle for the throne, a mere moon before. To the Houses who had stayed true to their loyalty. 

And then, to you. 

To the one person who had made it happen. To the one person who ensured her seat. Months in waiting, months of torture and depravity. Months of sheer will to complete what she had started.

The realm knew you as many things.

The People’s Princess. The Bastard Princess. Survivor at Storms End. The Merciless. The Realms Despair. The Kinslayer. The Claimer of Two. King Maker. Queen Consort. Wife to the One-Eyed King. The Broken Queen. 

King Slayer. 

Queen Maker. 

And a Queen for a Day.

But now you would be known as something that was rightfully, birthright and earned, yours. 

“I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Roynar, and The First men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, do hereby name, Y/n Velaryon, Princess of the Realm, the Heir to the Iron Throne.”

Heir to the Iron Throne.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39 @virtualsweetsqueen @fo-cus @auratiqs @feyres-fireheart @queenofshinigamis @asoiafwh8re @teasandcrumpets @shesjustanothergeek @grungegrrrl@queenofsarcazm @marihoneywk @curlszx88 @virgogaia @loser-keiji @asoiafwh8re @whore-of-many-hot-men @vipervixxen @theonewiththeimaginaryboyfriends @watercolorskyy @lavendervisions @mazmack666 @chokefrog @orangejump-suit @nik2blog @serrhaewinin @ohemgeewhat @winxschester @cryptidsrcool @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @celestedonut @bloodyvelvet777 @iamapersonthatsalive @av-sos @yentroucnagol @sanzu-s @opheliaas-stuff @bellameshipper @maviee @persephonerinyes @neytiri-09 @ensnaredinwonderland @xbluegracex @sotragedynut @nattieot7 @shesawaywiththefairies-blog @coffedraven @prettycutebunny @celestedonut @the-jess-life @ssulfurr @out-of-life @madislayyy @crazylokonugget @cicaspair418 @katwmk @relminnie @milovart @teagrex @visenyaverse @bellameshipper @toodlesxcuddles @tempt-ress @dontmindmereading7 @qyburnsghost @55gyi53vtnquwziq5 @notnormalthings-blog @maidmerrymint @qyburnsghost @madislayyy @chelseaouat

Bold is who I cannot tag!

#aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond smut #hotd smut #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #dark!aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #dark!aemond #dark!fic #fic #series #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond #smoke fire and ash

[portaltothevoid]

Console the Griever - copia x gn!reader

Grief is a fickle thing. It hits everyone differently, some more-so than others. We all have to learn how to deal with it and sometimes, no matter how long it's been, we just need comfort and a safe space to feel. Reader is dealing with it being the first anniversary of the loss of a loved one and Copia steps up to be the one they can lean on.

warnings: grief, loss of loved ones mentioned (no descriptions), everything is kept as vague and broad as possible to fit many situations, emotional hurt/comfort

word count: 2.8k

ao3 link

You could feel your insides shaking, your leg constantly bouncing. The work day was almost over. Freedom was so close, even if the only thing you did with that freedom was stay secluded in your room drowning yourself in memories of things, of people, you could never get back. 

A notification popped up on your phone. One of your friends sent you a meme, most likely. That seemed to be the way you communicated lately, solely through memes. The energy to have a full conversation was nowhere to be found and you couldn’t be bothered to look for it. Your eyes fell on the date. 

Knots twisted in your stomach. All day you’ve tried to ignore it, but it was bound to catch up to you eventually. Scrunching your eyes shut, you focused on your breathing. This could wait until you got back to your safe haven – it had to. You took a stuttering deep breath as you organized papers on your desk. Biting your lip, you hoped these tasks could wait until Monday. Staying on track wasn’t an option today, no matter how much you wanted to. 

“Topolina, before you go, could you just email these idiote (idiots) and tell them we have a petting zoo for i bambini of the Ministry for educational purposes and not for ritual sacrifices.” Copia pinched the bridge of his nose as he returned to his desk after setting down the information you needed.

“Of course, Cardinal,” you said quietly, after a brief and quiet laugh left you.

“It’s Papa now, cara,” he solemnly corrected you. 

Great. Another slip up. Your shoulders slumped at your mistake. Couldn’t you just get it together? “Sorry, Papa, I keep forgetting…”

“Ah shit. So do I,” he chuckled as he wiggled his fingers at you, now covered in his white face paint. He wiped it on his black, designer tattered pants absentmindedly before he frowned, having spread the white paint elsewhere. A nostalgic sigh was pushed from his lungs. “I miss my white suit,” he muttered.

“Me too,” you mumbled.

“What was that, cara?”

“Uh, I said, I know you do,” you quickly spoke, covering your small slip up. Your only further response to him was a tightlipped smile. It was just pleasant enough and all you could manage. An angry email. That was your mission right now. Then freedom. You could write a brief angry email.

As you went on with your task, you missed how Copia’s brows furrowed in concern. He knew you’d been acting differently lately. He wanted to chalk it up to just an off day; everyone has them once in a while. Then you started to smile less, his stupid jokes and quips that would always make you giggle barely made you give him more than a “ha.” Something was going on, and even though you were his assistant, a close bond had formed between you both. He hated seeing you turn into a shell of your former self.

Once the email was sent, you felt the crushing weight of the shadows in your mind fighting their way to the surface. You needed to get back to your room. Your breathing started to quicken and your hands were shaking. “Email’s sent. I think that’s it for today, unless you need something else…” you trailed off, praying to Lucifer himself that he would allow you to go home for the day.

“No, no, that was it.”

“Okay, I’ll see you on Monday,” you responded quickly, gathering your things.

“You’re not going to be at dinner?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Um, no, I don’t think so… well, uh, maybe, I don’t know,” you rambled.

“Is everything alright, dolcezza?” You froze at this question. Dolcezza was a rare term of endearment. It carried more weight than the others. This wasn’t Papa asking you, it was Copia.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Your pitch rose, betraying you just enough to earn a raised eyebrow from him. You tried to make your voice sound happier, more even. “Everything’s okay. Just a long week. Case of the winter blues, you know how it goes…” When he didn’t respond right away, you finished making your way to the door. “Have a good weekend, Co– Papa.”

Keeping your head down, you rushed back to your room. With a pounding heart and a heaving chest, you breathed out a shaky sigh as your hand lingered on the now closed door. You threw your bag down at the foot of your bed before you fell backwards onto it, staring up at the ceiling. Dragging your eyes to the window, you noted the weather. Exactly the same as last year. 

The memories sucker-punched you the instant your mind made the connection. Tears rolled down your temples, and before long you were choking back sobs, not wanting the sound to carry to the nearby rooms. Bringing your hands to cover your face, you curled into the fetal position, where you let the wave of emotion, of pain ride its course. 

How had a year gone by already? How had several gone by? You were no stranger to loss, but it never gets easier. All you wanted was to just stop everything in the sense of responsibilities and duties and expectations. It was getting more and more tiring to hold it together in front of everyone. You were seconds away from breaking down today in front of your boss. Even before his… promotion… the two of you could have almost been considered friends, he had just experienced a multitude of losses himself and you couldn’t dump all of this onto him. He had enough to deal with and you certainly weren’t about to add anything to his already full plate. That being said, there were also the formalities that had to be respected. 

You had no idea how much time had passed since your sobs had quieted. A ding from your phone pulled you back into the present moment. Curiosity got the best of you to at least see what the notification was, despite planning to ignore it. A grimace pulled at your features as you saw it was from Copia. Ideas of what the text could contain raced through your mind; you forgot to do something important, he needed you to come in for a bit tomorrow, another email had to be sent, you really fucked who-knows-what up and you’d be reprimanded… Biting your lip in apprehension, you slide the notification open.

Papa Emeritus IV:  Are you sure you're alright dolcezza?? You really haven’t been yourself lately… I hope this isn’t too forward. I just worry about you topolina mia. I am free tonight if you need or want to talk about anything. –C

Well, that was certainly unexpected. You threw your phone on your pillows like it was a hot potato. A blush reddened your cheeks as your heartbeat sped up, finally not because of anxiety. 

He was just being nice. There was no need to read into this. With how much time you spent with him in his office, albeit in a work environment, of course he would know some of your mannerisms. He was incredibly smart. He didn’t get to where he was by being stupid. That being said… perhaps he would be the one to really be able to understand what you were going through. 

Over and over you read that text, your mind racing. Should you respond? What would you even say? Do you want to talk to him? Why is he being so insistent? 

Darkness fell over your room, so you got up to turn on a light, but that just turned into you pacing as you tried to decide what to do.

Again, you lost track of time ruminating in your own world. Your eyes widened when a soft knock at your door stopped you in your tracks. Taking a deep breath, you cautiously went to open the door.

Copia was waiting outside, chewing his lip nervously, as he held two plates of food. “I’m sorry I–” you both said at the same exact time. 

“Go ahead, Papa,” you nodded, encouraging him to go first. It still felt so strange to refer to him by his title.

“I, eh, I noticed you didn’t really have lunch and… you weren’t at dinner, so… I just wanted to bring you this. I promise I won’t bother you again. Well, until Monday. I guess it’s your job to be bothered by me, no?” he laughed nervously as he rambled.

He was here because he cared. So, you listened to the little voice in the back of your mind that was whispering to you how you were more than just an assistant to him.

“Th-thank you…” was all you could manage to say, in shock by the kind gesture.

“Have you been crying, carissima?” he whispered softly. Okay, and then with his use of carissima… That was a new term of endearment, which made your heart skip a beat.

“Is it that obvious?” you laughed humorlessly, but it died in your throat when you saw him regarding you with such concern. You stepped back, giving him room to enter. “I guess I could use some company if you want to have your dinner here… if you’re still free?”

“Certo, certo. For you? Always,” he said as he stepped inside. “I was, eh, hoping you’d say yes.” The shy smile he gave you melted your heart and you swore you saw the slight blush under some spots of his fading papal paint from the long day.

Although your apartment was on the smaller side, it was still large enough to have a kitchenette and a small seating area. One of the perks of having worked alongside senior clergy members for years. As you got some utensils and drinks from the fridge, Copia set the plates on your coffee table while settling down on the loveseat in the corner.

He smiled at you as you set down a couple juice boxes for him and some for yourself. “Before you say anything, I haven’t felt like going into town so I had to dip into the stash I save for you when I need to restock the minifridge in your office,” you chuckled. 

He just shook his head. “Everyone’s always hating on the juice boxes,” he playfully grumbled.

It didn’t hit you how hungry you were til you saw the plate of food in front of you and then when you realized he brought you your favorite. “Wait… how did… This wasn’t on the menu for tonight’s dinner, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t, but sometimes it’s worth it to take advantage of the perks of being Papa.”

He had literally gone out of his way to do this for you. Blinking back tears, you murmured a quiet thank you when you knew you weren’t going to start crying again from his kindness. “How has it been, now that you’re officially Papa?” you wondered in an attempt to keep the conversation light so you could actually enjoy your dinner.

“Eh, it’s pretty much the same as it’s been for the last couple of years. Well, as far as duties and things go, for me at least. They treat me with… a little more respect than before,” he shrugged. 

“I’m still not used to calling you Papa,” you admitted.

“Please, don’t,” he responded quickly. “When it’s just us, call me Copia. I don’t like… I don’t think there has to be such formality between us. We’ve, um, worked side by side long enough…”

“It’s nice to have a sense of normalcy?”

“Sì. Sometimes it just reminds of… what they did to get me here and…” he cleared his throat. “And I’d just prefer you use my name.”

You nodded, knowing he was referring to his own series of losses. Not wanting to encroach on heavy topics yet, you steered the conversation to movies you’ve seen recently, a book you thought he might like, et cetera.

Once you both had finished eating, Copia insisted that you stay put while he cleaned up. When he sat next to you again he turned and wondered, “Did that help you feel a little bit better, dolcezza? I really can’t stand to see you so… hurt.”

You nodded. “It did. It really helped get my mind off everything for just… a little bit. I can’t thank you enough, Copia. You… you have no idea how much this means.” Anxiously, you stared at your hands in your lap as you fidgeted. 

“This week… it’s the first anniversary of her passing, isn’t it?” he spoke with sincerity and a cautiousness as if you might break.

Biting your lip, you nodded again. “You remembered,” you stated.

“Of course, cara.” He took one of your hands in both of his. “If you want to talk about it, I’m here. I’m here for you, if you need me. You’re safe with me, always know that.”

The tears started to well up again. You couldn’t tell if the pressure in your chest was from the surmounting grief you tried to stuff down or from the gratitude of Copia trying to break through to you. “I can’t do that to you,” you shook your head, avoiding his mismatched eyes. “You have your own stuff to deal with. I can’t pile my shit on top of it…”

The hand on top of yours moved to cup your face as he turned your head so you could look at him. “If I couldn’t handle it, I wouldn’t be so insistent. I’m okay. Sure, some days are worse than others. That’s grief. It… it never goes away, but what changes is our ability to handle it and have space for it, to navigate it.”

As you looked into his eyes, you felt the dam break. Tears spilled over and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be fully vulnerable in front of someone else. Without hesitation, he pulled you to him, cradling your head against his chest as his other arm wrapped around you, holding you close to him. This time, you weren’t solely sobbing from the crushing grief and memories of the past, but because finally you felt like you were able and that you wanted to share with someone everything that you had been keeping under lock and key. 

When you had calmed down enough to talk, you told him your story. You started with how you had lost one of your parents when you were young, how much it still bothered you, how you recently lost another close family member and the anniversaries were so close together. You shared with him how this week you just tried to keep your head above water. You were so afraid of disappointing him, but were too overwhelmed. He just listened. He took it all in stride as he soothingly rubbed your back to keep you calm and grounded. 

“So much of that I’ve… I’ve never told anyone,” you confessed.

“Do you feel better, lighter now?”

“I do. I didn’t realize how much I needed that. I… Just… Thank you, Copia. Thank you for listening, for insisting, for just… being here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, carissima.” You couldn’t help but give him a quizzical look as you tilted your head to the side. “What’s that look for, hm? Do you honestly think I’ve thought of you as only my assistant? All this time?” His hand cupped the side of your face again with his thumb gently caressing your cheek.

“All this time?”

“Sì. You mean more to me than you know. I couldn’t stand to see you in so much…pain. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to keep my feelings to myself any more. I just hope–”

All inhibitions left you and you couldn’t stop yourself as your hand finally reached up for him to pull him close, stopping his words as your lips met his. The kiss was gentle, but the affection you both had, and could finally admit to both yourselves and one another, was unmistakable. When you parted, Copia couldn’t help but quietly laugh. “You feel the same, I take it?”

“I do. I mean, I have for quite some time now. It’s not just because of this moment…” you trailed off trying to find the right words. 

“We take things slow, then, sì? Even if just for tonight,” he smirked playfully. 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped as you nuzzled your head into his chest while wrapping your arms around him, squeezing him tightly. The ache was still there, but it had dulled considerably thanks to Copia. The smile wouldn’t leave your face as your space for your grief having grown two sizes. You didn’t have to go through this alone. Not anymore. Neither did he for that matter, because when the time would come, you knew you could be just as strong and supportive for him as he was for you. And there was no one else you’d rather have by your side.

🖤🌹🖤

#copia #papa copia #copia x reader #copia x gn!reader #copia x gn reader #copia x gender neutral reader #copia comfort #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus 4 #papa emeritus iv x reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction

[glowin-theshark]

**SPOILERS AHEAD**

So, I know I just made a meme replacing JFK with Confucius as my favorite character… and I’m still a bit disappointed about the upcoming events that will likely befall my beloved ship… and Confucius is still now my best friend…

But in a slight defense towards JFK, I was rewatching and pondering the older episodes, and I felt a tiny, sliver of positivity. I am a little bit happy that he went through character development over the course of the two seasons. In the very first episode, he outright cheats on Cleo by going all the way with another woman without so much of a second thought. (And, ironically, gets mad at her for kissing another guy, Abe).

Here, as soon as he suspects that he may like Harriet, he actively tries to avoid her at first. Which is something that he never would have done with other women, or Cleo. And when they eventually kiss (which was still a scummy move), he immediately says “I didn’t do this with my other broads, but should we tell Joan?” It was essentially Harriet who convinced him that they “technically” didn’t do anything wrong and he went along with it. And again, at the end, JFK is the one to tell Harriet that they should come clean. He’s taking the initiative. And he is very concerned about how Joan feels as they let her know the full situation.

Credit where credit is due, it really does show how much his relationship with Joan is important to him. So much so that he feels guilt about a kiss and wants to tell her and seek forgiveness, when with Cleo, fully sleeping with someone else was second nature…

I dunno. It was still really bad to betray Joan’s trust and it did leave me feeling heartbroken about it. I’m sure JoanFK is still gonna go through a ton of obstacles the next couple of episodes, and it’s unclear if they will recover from them… this is still first and foremost a parody of teen dramas. To be honest, I was surprised they lasted about 6 episodes before the first wind of major drama occurred in their relationship.

But yeah. I guess I’m trying to make peace within myself and focus on some slight positives about the current state of the ship. Maybe I’m just in the denial stage of grief….

#thanks for listening to my rant #maybe a miracle could still happen but I don’t plan on it #at least we got a little taste of sweetness for a hot second #clone high jfk #joanfk #clone high #clone high joan

[lady-harrowhark]

Hello! I saw you mention that Pyrrha remembers pre-resurrection, and I totally missed that!! Do you have any theories as to why?

I have a few thoughts!

Just for context - because I didn't catch that on my first read either until I started going back through! - there are a few instances that seem to suggest Pyrrha remembers at least some of her life pre-Resurrection. Off the top of my head, I know there's one point where she refers to G1deon as G--, just like John does. Nona also says that Pyrrha calls her "Hairy Maclary", which is referring to a series of children's books by a New Zealand author. Here's a link to a picture and some info about Hairy Maclary... I can definitely understand why Pyrrha would call Nona that lol. This one's super interesting to me in that it's such a fantastic example of the way Tamsyn uses memes and references so skillfully! In the previous books, most of the references are fairly organic in that they're things that could conceivably be, you know, just things the characters say; the readers catch it (if they also know the reference! otherwise they're fairly unobtrusive) but the characters themselves aren't intentionally making a reference. This would be the things like "You can't just ask someone why they want to be a Lyctor" and "a hunger that only thumbs could satisfy," etc. The exception, though, is John. The "none Houses with left grief" particularly is SO fun from an exposition perspective (but if I start on that one I'll never stop), and then of course we have Commander Wake Me Up Inside. The implication here being that John remembers these specific things and is intentionally making those references within the context of the story. Pulling that same expository trick with Pyrrha sets them up as both remembering... at least to some degree. The hints that we get from Pyrrha are such that it's pretty unclear to what extent she remembers, leaving a lot of room for juicy speculation :)

I initially touched on it over on this post where I rambled about names, memory, and the Eightfold Word, but I'm copying over the Pyrrha-specific paragraph so that you don't have to dig for it:

When assisting with Harrow’s lobotomy, Ianthe tells her, “If you push your brain too hard, any surgery could simply heal over.” And in NtN, Pyrrha tells Palamedes, “You should be draining and replacing her fucking brain fluid... When Gideon and I designed that trial, I used to crack his skull and sieve it myself, just as a control variable... The only other people I put through that damn trial were Mercy and Cris, because only Cris didn’t mind being trepanned on the regular.” I don’t know exactly where the threshold is for pushing one’s brain too hard, but I suspect frequently draining and replacing one’s brain fluid is in that ballpark. Which is to say, it’s very possible that Mercy and Pyrrha (and potentially others) could have healed over from anything John had done to their brains.

Also, I don't know why this didn't occur to me as I was writing up that other post, but when Pyrrha's telling Palamedes about how dangerous their uhhhhh living arrangements are, and how they're risking brain damage... Pyrrha and G1deon were operating under somewhat similar circumstances for thousands of years. Cumulatively, it's possible that G1deon's brain was racking up damage that eventually eroded away whatever John had done. Another thought is that maybe the fact that G1deon died and Pyrrha didn't is at play here.

It could very well be less dramatic than that, though. We don't know much about how Lyctorhood impacts the brain, although to be completely fair, we also can't say for certain how a typical human brain would function after ten thousand years of runtime either. Our brains are constantly wiring new neural pathways and rewiring and revising old ones. After thousands of years, might we be reaching a Ship of Theseus situation with regard to the neural circuitry impacting pre-Res memories? Which is a fancy way of saying, "Maybe it wore off."

It could be all of the above, too. Assuming that Lyctor brains retain plasticity like we see in typical human brains (and I'm not letting myself think too hard on implications either way, because in sci-fi/fantasy make-believe land, neuroscience can be whatever you want it to be), we'd probably see that effect happening with the other Lyctors at roughly the same rate, but at least as far as we can tell (and that wording is intentional because I'm not taking anything off the table with this series), the others don't seem to remember. So that might be contributing, but not sufficient on its own. BUT perhaps ten thousand years of rewiring PLUS ten thousand years of cohabitation PLUS however long of being "trepanned on the regular" PLUS G1deon dying might override John's meddling.

We've still got so many open questions here regardless of what the specific mechanisms are. Like, I'd love to know when Pyrrha started to remember exactly. And did G1deon remember anything, then? It seems like he was Straight Up Not Having a Good Time so if he did remember, he might not have been relying on those memories much. Whatever's going on, I'm sure it's just as bonkers as the rest of the series!

#'in sci-fi/fantasy make-believe land neuroscience can be whatever you want it to be' i whisper repeatedly to myself #after spending like two hours this afternoon formatting datasets from the neuroscience lab i work in #nah but for real i have zero issue with that kinda stuff being. you know. fictional. i just need to not go down that rabbit hole lol #also sorry about sneaking a little bonus ramble about meme usage in there #believe it or not i had more about that but took it out because it wasn't directly relevant lol #also to the other anon that's sitting in my inbox: I PROMISE I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN #it's just... you opened a hefty can of worms and it's gonna take me a while lmao #ask #anonymous #tlt meta #pyrrha dve #nona the ninth spoilers #tlt #long post

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group J Round 1: #J4 vs #J5

#J4: Kids conquering dungeons to change the world

A Magi is a magician whose inclination toward magic is so immense that they can be said to shape the world. With their significant influence, each Magi chooses a worthy candidate to become a king, then helps them conquer strange labyrinths called "Dungeons" and acquire the power of mythical djinns within. Above all else, the Magi supervises their elected representative as they build a country that might one day bring the world to its knees.

Aladdin is a young Magi wandering the world in search of his true self. However, his journey is not a lonely one, as he is accompanied by his friend and mentor Ugo—a djinn he summons using his flute. On his travels, Aladdin also befriends Alibaba Saluja and guides him to a nearby Dungeon. With this newfound friendship, they begin an epic adventure across the world, witnessing various irregularities that seem more frequent than ever.

#J5: Girls live in a school, but not by choice

Carefree high school senior Yuki Takeya looks forward to the School Living Club every day. Consisting of the president Yuuri Wakasa, the athletic Kurumi Ebisuzawa, the mature Miki Naoki, the supervising teacher Megumi Sakura, and club dog Taroumaru, the club prides itself on making the most of life at school. There is only one rule the club members have to follow: all members must live their entire lives within school grounds.

[Admin: I didn’t notice it while screening the submissions, but the submitter’s original trailer and tagline contained MAJOR spoilers for episode 1. Luckily, I’ve watched this show before, so I can edit it safely.]

Titles, propagandas, trailers, and poll under the cut!

#J4: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic

Propaganda 1:

Imagine characters from Arabian Nights/1001 Nights coming to life in an anime. Even though it is loosely inspired off of the tales, it is a unique time and place from most anime settings. It has action, humor, and deep concepts. One of my favorite parts about Magi is how well-developed the background characters are.

Propaganda 2:

This anime has a lot of philosophical takes on what fate is. Basically, is everything that happened to you caused by a force you can’t control or is it what you make of it? Is there something or rather someone pulling the strings on what should or shouldn’t be? Is the person you are because you were lucky or unlucky to be born in the wealthy family or not? Why are things the way they are? Why was I dealt with a shitty hand in life? Is it because I’ll never amount to anything, or is something doing this to me? Why are we here just to suffer kind of deal, but you know not the meme version, the really sad and real version. Then you have the side of the people who may have not had the best life, but found a way out of it. Why do some people get to feel the light when you went through the same thing, but still lost and in the dark?

Trigger Warnings: Partial nudity and slavery. One of the mains is a slave in the beginning, but the other two mains help free her from that.

#J5: School-Live! (Gakkougurashi!)

[Admin: The official trailer spoils ep1, so here, have the opening instead.]

Propaganda:

If you like Madoka Magica, you’ll 100% like this series. It’s hard to explain without spoilers, but it has a huge plot twist in the first episode. The anime is a short one with only 12 episodes, but it has an amazing manga as well! It mixes a cute slice of life high school anime with a darker plot, and it’s handled so well. It doesn’t seem like it’s just dark for the sake of being edgy like some other similar series. It covers topics like mental health and grief well, and it has as happy of an ending as possible for a series like this. The plot twists were executed so well, and I was sobbing by the end of the series.

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty or Death, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Derealization.

[Admin: I had to remove the submitter’s explanations for the TWs because it will spoil the show greatly. You're on your own now. Proceed at your own risk.]

If you’re reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

#anime #best underrated anime #polls #poll tournament #tournament #anime tournament #animation #animated show #group stage #group stage round 1 #tournament polls #group j #magi #magi the labyrinth of magic #magi: the labyrinth of magic #school-live! #school live #gakkou gurashi #gakkougurashi

[selkra-souza]

The Moodsters Rabbit Hole

So I was bored one day and in my vain attempt to search the internet to find a knock off Inside Out movie to ironically enjoy, I find out that one does not exist. Vídeo Brinquedo, the studio behind the critically memed Ratatoing, has truly forsaken me, and alas, I can only dream. Instead of finding a rip off Inside Out movie, I ended up finding something that accused Inside Out of ripping off it, I'm talking suing. Turned out to be just as interesting.

The Moodsters is a multimedia edutainment brand and children's foundation centered around a cast of six monstrous critter "feelings detectives" called Moodsters. There's Coz, the yellow Moodster representing happiness, Snorf the blue Moodster representing sadness, Razzy representing anger, Quiggly representing fear, Lolly who represents love and Tully representing ... being calm I think? The Moodsters is an IP created by Denise Daniels and owned by JellyJam Entertainment (formally known as the Moodsters Company) who claim on their website (themoodsterschildrensfoundation.org, formally themoodsters.com) that they're "providing accessible science-based content on emotions for children, their parents, and teachers for more than 35 years". That science is based in collaboration with Marc Brackett PhD and Robin Stern PhD, to develop the RULER™ model for dealing with emotions. Besides their mission statement and credentials, their site currently has downloadable workbooks for kids to print and journal their thoughts and feelings on, along with guide booklets for their caretakers. Their children's foundation initiatives includes an "International Partnership for Children Displaced by War" and "Grief Relief with the Moodsters".

They've got a twitter account featuring one (1) post from 2016.

Let's dig deeper though. Hopping onto the Wayback Machine and searching for "Moodsters" will show you that they've had an online presence since 2008. Since then, the brand has gone through a few changes, and they've released a few toys and published a few books.

I first want to go over the plushies specifically because look at them.

They're adorable. I want to firmly grasp them in my hand. These goobers were sold in retail in the mid 2010s and nowadays are pretty rare in the second hand market. They look soft and I appreciate everything from their embroidered features to Snorf's lopsided face. From looking at them, I like the quality. My only complaint is that their little detective capes lack edge stitches, which would make them more prone to tears, and I'm not convinced they have an accessible way to replace their batteries (though I could be wrong). Overall as a plushie lover though, I want them in my home so I can invite them to tea parties and have them sit on my bed.

Their website in 2015 teased a mobile app called, The Moodsters: Learn About Feelings, which - as far as I could search - does not exist. This page lists features such as an interactive story book, a Mood Meter that "gives children a basic vocabulary of feelings and helps them express themselves" by using a thermometer-shaped mood meter to take one's "feelings 'temperature'", a Moodster Mirror that "helps them make the connection between feelings on the inside and facial expressions on the outside" with demonstrations of 25 different emotions, and a Feelings Notebook that's an art program. The development of this app is no longer mentioned on the site currently, so it's probably a scrapped project.

At some point there was a Moodster themed memory match browser game and coloring pages (hard to tell if they were browser coloring games or printables).

Some of the features from the what would've been the app actually made it to market as toys. These toys were colorful little detective supplies. One for (almost) each Moodster. The top image of this very long post actually features each Moodster with their chosen detective tool on-hand. Coz wields a Moodster Mirror, Razzy carries a Moodster Meter, Quiggly has an emotional support Feelings Flashlight and Lolly writes in a Feelings Notebook, all (at some point) available at your (once) local Toys R Us. Whatever Snorf is carrying hasn't made it to market it seems, but it's apparently a First Aids Kit for Feelings (mentioned here). I can't find what Tully's item is supposed to be. Perhaps it's emotional identification cards, or positive affirmations? Who knows. My favorite out of these has got to be the notebook, mainly because I'm a sucker for cute stationary. I'd fold and decorate a little cardboard box just to house those crayons just for keepers sake.

And have I even mentioned the yoga mats?

Almost every plushie and detective tool toy appears to come with a picture book. I can't comment on most of the books since I can't buy any that still happen to be available as of now, but luckily there is a read along video I found shown below of one of them. It prominently features a more recent addition to the Moodsters lore, the human children.

These side characters where featured on the site as recent as October 2023 (I neglected to take a snapshot, so here's another from June), but are nowhere to be seen on the website now besides the older downloadable worksheets. There's a chance they've since been retired.

It's exactly as boring as I feared that it would be. Obviously, I'm far from being in the target demographic for this anymore as an adult, nor am I any expert of child psychology beyond one elective course I took in university, but the one credibility that I do have is that I remember my personal tastes from when I was a kid, so I can comment on this from that perspective. I will say if I was handed this as a little kid, I would've liked the little monster dudes, but my attention would've shifted away from this pretty quickly and easily, because the little monster dudes aren’t really doing much. I was one of those kids that was really drawn to creature characters way more than I ever was to human characters (and to be perfectly honest, I still am as an adult, but that's besides the point I'm about to make). The plot of the book is perfectly serviceable with a good message about altruism, so that's not the problem. My grievance is with the fact that the human boy Zach takes center stage as the main character, when one would think that the main characters would be the Moodsters. They kind of take a back seat working on the sidelines for the most part here, and don't directly interact with Zach that much. Would've been hard for kid-me to latch onto this when the cool critter characters don't have as much of an active role as they could have. Not every kid is going to be as drawn to critter characters as I was (and am), but if the critter characters are going to be the face of your preschool IP, they should be presented front and center as much as they can be. Children's picture books are a media format that isn't particularly long nor complex, so their biggest strengths are in the characters and the art. If it were open to changes, I'd make a few: I'd have the Moodsters be just a bit more proactive, such as the suggestion to buy Sam a new bike coming from Coz or maybe Lolly instead of his sister Zoey, have them discover the "feelings emergency" while they're hanging outside with Zach and Sam instead of by spying on them with their cool and fancy desk setup, maybe have a one or two page mini side plot where Razzy's anger at the truck driver is addressed and resolved with breathing exercises or something, and change the art style to 2D illustrations to allow more dynamic poses and expressions since the 3D models and environments used here are pretty okay but nothing that stands out too much (or just instead use more expressive 3D models). No major changes that would fundamentally change the book, just enough to give the Moodsters more spotlight and expressions. Overall, as is, it's an okay children's book, just nothing that really stands out much as unique.

Back in the 2000s, there was an animated pilot for the Moodsters (with art and animation direction by Drew Bloom) featuring different designs of them and an additional cat girl not present in the current iteration named Moodini voiced by Grace Garland. The earliest legible Wayback Machine snapshot for the Moodsters (May 16, 2008) lists their names as Zazz, Rizzi, Scootz, Snorf and Oola". Now, I unfortunately can't find the full pilot, only the intro, which is a massive bummer because it's the most interesting piece of Moodsters media I've encountered. Apparently, according to a few articles and court documents (we'll get to the lawsuit later I promise) it was titled "The Amoodsment Mixup", and said to be officially available in its entirety on Youtube ... only it's not there. It must've gotten unlisted or removed by the company owner, which is really disappointing since it looks like a fun watch. It's gone probably because it's an outdated interpretation of the Moodsters, which makes sense for the company to remove, but it's disheartening that I can't find it archived anywhere on the internet.

To comment on the intro that we can watch: I'm really digging these older designs! They've got that Muppet look to them with the high eye placement but with smaller mouths, and they've got more varied facial structures and come in different heights, along with overall looking more monstrous. The literal emotional roller coaster is a cute touch too! Honestly I wished they kept these looks, they're peak. I can't find an officially stated reason for the design overhaul and reboot of the IP; my only guess as to why was in order to incorporate human children for the Moodsters to interact with, so that the brand would be more relatable for kids and more easily applicable to them as an emotional analysis tool. There's merit to that decision I'm sure, but I personally prefer this older version because the Moodsters here look more critter-ly and kind of seem to just hang out in the woods doing their own thing, instead of having more "marketable" designs and hanging out directly educating human children. I was a kid in the 2000s, if this animation pitch made it to air on PBS, I absolutely would've tuned in to see these goobers. I likely would have enjoyed it as much as Dragon Tails, Cyberchase and Arthur, as long as the education came second to characters and story (as opposed to more overtly educational shows like Super Why). Honestly, I'm really bummed this pilot wasn't picked up for a full show, or heck, I can't even find the full pilot anywhere :(

Speaking of old iterations, I really want to show off these old renders of the Moodster headquarters I found digging through Wayback Machine snapshots from (June 29, 2014). It's the Emote Control Headquarters, which was seen in one page of the book in the read along video linked above, but with more detail in the background surrounding the central desks and not in Zach’s room. It seems these renders were to be how their headquarters looked before the human characters were added to the lore. And lemme tell you I adore the amount of detail put into these! I've mentioned the fancy desk setups from the book, and they're shown here again. It's got to be my favorite design aspect for the Moodsters, because each one has their own personalized setup that's color coded and decked out in decor. Coz has some sports equipment at his desk, Lolly's got art supplies, Quigly's got a telescope, and so on. It's a really good way to visually show off their personalities, since they admittedly don't have that much personality otherwise. My hot take is that it way more creative than the console in Inside Out because of its attention to detail. These colorful set pieces are peak kids show aesthetic appeal to me, especially the third image with the ambient lighting. This holdover is something I'm glad made it to more recent Moodster products like the book mentioned above, even if it doesn't make that much sense for them to have such elaborate setups to monitor on the kid they live in the same house with, but it sure as heck at least looks cool.

Remember when I said that this was something that accused Inside Out of ripping it off? Well we’re finally getting to that. I have no formal education on law keep in mind, so here's my understanding on the situation: in Daniels v. Walt Disney, The Moodster Company filed suit against Disney for breaching an "implied-in-fact contract". The gist of the matter is that the Moodster Company had pitched their IP to several companies, the relevant one here being Disney, during the 2000s (likely the animated pilot mentioned earlier was what was pitched), and accused Disney of using the ideas they pitched to produce the film Inside Out, and failing to compensate The Moodster Company for it. It was an accusation of copyright infringement. Disney filed to have this case dismissed, claiming The Moodster Company "failed to meet the legal standard for copyright in a character", basically that the Inside Out emotion characters are not rip offs of the Moodster characters. Ultimately the court granted Disneys' dismissal, because The Moodsters are "lightly sketched" and "are not protectable by copyright". This was determined by the "Towle test" (based on Mark Towle v. DC Comics), which has three criteria for making a character design eligible for copyright protection:

" (1) has “‘physical as well as conceptual qualities,’” (2) is “‘sufficiently delineated to be recognizable as the same character whenever it appears’ and ‘display[s] consistent, identifiable character traits and attributes,’” and (3) is “especially distinctive’ and ‘contain[s] some unique elements of expression.’” " ~ McDermott Will & Emery

It was determined that The Moodsters met criteria (1) but not the later two, mainly because of the several redesigns and name changes the Moodster characters have gotten over the years, ultimately making them inconsistent and indistinctive. The Moodster characters also didn't pass the “Story Being Told test”, because in what little media they have been in, they don't have a proactive enough role nor go through any character arcs nor at least have any unique personality quirks that would make them distinguished characters, instead their personalities are summed up with a short description in their pitchbook and otherwise only just kind of exist. I'd hate to side with the massive corporation for pretty much any reason, but it's a stretch for The Moodster Company to have claimed that Disney ripped them off with inside Out. If the Moodsters had more consistent designs and personalities that Disney-Pixar copied in the Inside Out emotions, there would've have been a case, but that case isn't here. However, I don't think it was completely unreasonable for The Moodster Company to take the legal action that they did, even if they didn't really have much of a legal leg to stand on, because the creator of the company, Denise Daniels had directly pitched the Moodsters to Disney and a contract was involved. I can imagine pitching your idea about personified emotions to a huge company like Disney only for them to come out with their own personified emotions movie a few years later to feel like a contractual stab to the back. One last tidbit mentioned in the court documents though, the most interesting claim Daniels makes is that she discussed the Moodsters with Inside out director Pete Doctor, though the context for when and why this discussion took place isn't known. If that's true, it's very possible that Inside Out took inspiration from the Moodsters, as in, the general idea of personified emotions. The movie is also known to be inspired by Doctor's own daughter, so if anything, this is a case of taking inspiration at most, not copyright infringement. It just goes to show that even though the Moodsters is, first-and-foremost, an emotional educational tool, it's still worth the effort to make your educational tool have an iconic narrative with distinct characters at the very least. It's also interesting to learn that the history of the Moodsters is more intertwined with Inside Out than I initially guessed. If this law suit has taught me anything, it's that the more you redesign your commercially public OCs, the less they are eligible for copyright protection. Weird to think about, in my opinion. (sources and relevant court documents (1), (2) and (3)).

The last thing I want to talk about extensively are the designs of the Moodsters themselves. Honesty, I like them. I think they're cute! I probably wouldn't have have written all of this text if I didn't. I dig the idea of having little fluffball monsters represent emotions, even if they have that generic preschool edutainment mascot look to them. I prefer their pilot designs, but the current designs have been growing on me. You might have noticed the green one got redesigned into the orange one to make room for another green one. Or maybe you didn't notice because they both look the same. In fact, they all kind of look the same save for the colors and outfits. They admittedly are not the same exact 3D model copy pasted with different colors and clothes (each have different shaped ears, cheek fur, facial features and heights), but they're all so similar to each other overall that they're still hard to distinguish. The only bad thing about their designs are the fact that their silhouettes look near identical, really.

If I gave you only half a second to tell them apart based on this image, you'd probably have a difficult time. I'd imagine the preschoolers they're marketed to would as well. Now, a bad silhouette is a pretty fundamental character design issue, but it's easily fixed by just reshaping them with different body types. For fun, I tried my hand at it shown below. Essentially they're the same but with more exaggerated shapes, along with digitgrade legs and short tails to help sell the monstrous look. I drew Tully (the current green one) a little later after the original five (digitally, while the former five were drawn traditionally). It's a first draft that could be improved upon more, because if these critters need anything apparently, it's yet another redesign. I did have fun with it though!

Since I like the pilot animation, it got me thinking about how I might reboot the Moodsters for a hypothetical animated show. I’d change the lore a bit. The main change I’d make is scrap the fact that they live in Zach’s house. They’re not like his fairly oddparents or anything to my knowledge, so there’s no need for them to hang out exclusively (or even primarily) with him. Instead of only helping Zach out with his emotions, I’d have them help out everyone in the whole town with them. This would allow the Moodsters (and the audience) to experience a diverse cast of human characters with a wider variety of life and emotional problems. The Moodsters could help out other children, parents, teachers, the baker, the librarian, the mayor, basically there’s a lot more possibilities than Zach alone would ever provide. A diverse cast of townspeople characters would make it more likely that the audience will relate to at least one of them. Having them help out adults would teach kid audiences that even adults need help with their emotions (because boy do we ever), along with giving this show an all ages appeal (so parents would actually want to watch it together with their kids, or heck, even teens, and adults who don’t have children). It’d be an episodic show that focuses on introducing characters with emotional problems that the Moodster main characters help solve, with the townspeople being better neighbors to each other for it. I personally would avoid any fourth wall breaking (“talking down to”) teaching moments because I personally hated that in shows when I was a little kid (I’m looking at you Dora) and it would bore older viewers. Again, I'm going for a aimed-at-young-children-but-has-an all-ages-appeal. All you really need to teach young kids via a show (again I'm far from an expert, I'm making assumptions based on my anecdotal experiences as a child) in an engaging way is interesting character interactions going through a well written plot honestly, and their caregiver being there with them to talk about it with them.

Also, why isn't there a disgust Moodster? Disgust is a lot more than just wincing your nose at duck poop on the sidewalk, it's a feeling that can shape your entire worldview - particularly about other people - if you don't take the time to analyze it like you would other emotions. It's probably the emotion that's talked about and understood the least and absolutely should have a place in an educational tool that teaches about how to identify and handle emotions. Waltzing around with unchecked disgust can mold a person into an needlessly judgmental snob, at worst a bigot (something I sadly have witnessed growing up with my own parents). Again, for fun, I designed one shown below. Admittedly, she's inspired a bit (a lot) by Rarity from My Little Pony. The gem emblem on her detective cape represents her meticulous sense of aesthetics, since she's the most artistic of the Moodster group. She’s purple because that’s the only color left.

Listen, the Moodsters new detective hideout could be in a burrow under a tree stump in the park, there could be a hotline the townspeople can call to summon them for their help with emotional problems, the park could have a year round carnival with a whole ride dedicated to the Moodsters because they’re beloved by the townspeople called the Emotional Rollercoaster that’s a callback to the coaster in the animated pilot. The whole town could be called “Moodsville” or something. One of the school mascots can be a cow (because MOOdsters) with rainbow colored spots that represent each Moodster. Townspeople can participate in all sorts of community activities like community gardening and hanging out at rec centers. The Moodsters can emotionally help children acting for the school play or college students picking careers or parents handling a messy divorce, the possibilities are truly endless.

That's everything I can find online about the Moodsters. I pretty much focused more on the Moodster media as apposed to them as a children's foundation mainly because I find the media more interesting, and it was easier to find information on. If you're reading this and happen to know any other other info about it (especially if it's about the pilot animation), definitely tell me about it because my intrigue pertaining to these fuzzy goobers is immense.

I think it's an IP with a lot of potential, and one that's struggled to have much of any footing on the general public these past few decades. Pretty much any rare recent mention of the Moodsters online is in reference to their lawsuit against Disney, and it's disfavorable on the part of the Moodster Company since a quick-glance-view of the situation shows a company that sued for a copyright infringement case that ultimately looked silly.

I do like their mission statement about aiming to help children and their caretakers to better understand and cope with their emotions, because emotions really are ignored, misunderstood and dismissed a lot here in countries like the US, leading to many dysfunctional interactions between family, coworkers, and communities at large. Discovering the Moodsters has certainly inspired me to be more mindfull about my feelings, and I hope this 9 page wall of text has inspired you to do the same.

Fingers crossed that the Moodster Company re-releases those plushies in the future

#long post #essay #selkra squawks #the moodsters #moodsters #inside out #inside out fandom #pixar inside out #disney inside out #Youtube