#so im truly at a loss w what to do

[otrtbs]

any chances ppl would be allowed to bind ahb for personal use ??

hiya!!

at the moment, and for the foreseeable future i am saying no. just because there are copies of ahb! circulating around SEVERAL websites and vendors being sold for oodles and oodles of dollars. despite my requests for the sellers to stop.

i have had people (etsy vendors) in the past lie to me and say they've made "too many personal handbound copies and are only selling those extra ones" which ,,, was obviously a lie. also they were getting the copies through lulu and selling them just btw.

i have also had people tell me that they are binding them and selling them to others for personal use but not making profit off of them even though they're selling art heist for over $100 a book. so. yeah. another lie

so, sorry! but yeah!! there's not much i can do about people actually listening to me and respecting my wishes etc etc and lord knows they don't, but i would super appreciate it if we kept ahb! an ao3 exclusive for now!

it just makes me feel slightly better to put more rules and boundaries in place! though it's never stopped people in this fandom from bulldozing right through those anyway :/

#asks #art heist baby! #and sometimes i feel like the wrong people get the short end of the stick #bc the people who will listen to me wouldn't sell my fic on etsy anyway #but the one's selling my fic give less than 2 shits if i ask them not to bind it... #but idk. idk what to do about this anymore. honestly #im tired of filling out copyright requests and proof-of-ownership forms etc and going through customer service reps #just for ahb! to pop up somewhere else for sale the next day #like it takes HOURS. of my time to do that. and a lot of my limited energy. #so im truly at a loss w what to do #but anyway sorry you didn't ask for that long-ass rant !! i vented a bit for sure

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

you’re an angel, i’m a dog ; satoru gojo

synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.

word count; 4.3k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.

a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

”haah…”

— the sigh spills into the air, dripping with exhaustion, a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching.

just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.

another sigh. deep, exasperated — from satoru, this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment. 

”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”

you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.

”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”

he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”

then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.

even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.

but you just won’t listen.

”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”

a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.

”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”

at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.

”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”

and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.

time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right. 

of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.

still, though.

”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”

you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”

”my little night owl.”

that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.

with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”

satoru softens. 

(always so good to him.)

”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”

in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.

he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.

satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease. 

satoru thinks you deserve everything good.

it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.

so he’s been worried.

it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.

he just doesn’t trust your professor. 

that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.

it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.

(it was only a matter of time.)

satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.

and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —

it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.

it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled. 

there’s only one way to satiate it.

so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.

then he grabs his coat and slips outside.

the moon is visible through the window.

a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast. 

(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)

”who… w — what are — ?”

satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure. 

just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick. 

he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.

he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.

he just can’t bring himself to care.

”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”

silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat. 

it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.

satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”

another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.

then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”

the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.

before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”

it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair. 

he wouldn’t lay a finger on her. 

but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.

a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.

the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.

finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve. 

three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact. 

that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.

(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?

it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)

there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.

and there you are.

on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes. 

you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.

suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.

“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”

his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.

“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.” 

he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch. 

but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.

satoru would never cage you in. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious. 

so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.

(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)

“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.

“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”

“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”

satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat. 

and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance. 

“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”

and he grins. like clockwork. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”

again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”

“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”

and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.

“right! i almost forgot!” 

then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.

he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.

but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance. 

satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.

you, you, you. the only thing that exists.

all of him is for you.

”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw. 

”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting, slipping from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”

”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”

another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.

so precious that he forgets about everything else. 

this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care. 

you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.

it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it. 

(something worth cherishing, no matter the cost.)

as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date. 

satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.

“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”

satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”

“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“

“— yet.”

a pause. 

satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”

a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist. 

he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”

a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.

“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”

satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.

”you’re so gross.”

a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”

”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue. 

”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.” 

”charmer.”

”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”

and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything that’s good, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches a flicker of joy dance within your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.

the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think. 

satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back. 

so why not bear the weight of your burdens?

all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.

he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.

“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”

he prays it never will.

#im a lil unsure how to feel abt this piece i feel like it lost its flow pretty quickly 😔👉👈but i rlly did have fun writing it hehe #my baseline for yan!gojo is basically; a kind man who’s so in love w u that he’s willing to compromise his own morals to keep u safe #he’s not particularly possessive or even obsessive?? to him violence really is just . a necessary means to keep u happy #this is almost definitely the only yan piece ill ever write bUT im very fond of this gojo … he’s a tortured little meowmeow <33 #cw yandere #yandere gojo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #tw yandere

[ugly-pickle]

Good morning, Pickle.

Please kindly consider this Ayato request: Your spoilt and pampered sister who has always destroyed every marriage prospect you have isn't happy that Ayato chose to marry you instead of her. So, on your wedding day, she has her servants destroy your wedding kimono as a fit of petty jealousy.

Please also kindly take as long as you need with this request; I have no qualms in waiting. Furthermore, by no means feel obligated to prioritize this request over your other requests.

lovely ☆ ayato

CHARACTERS: ayato x f!reader

SYNOPSIS: your sister seems to be upset when she finds out that you and ayato are engaged, so she casually ruins your wedding

GENRE: fluff 💿

W/C: 1.4k

C/W: cussing, betrayal, scissors, and physical touch (let me know if ive missed anything!)

A/N: OMG MY FIRST REQUEST AHRGHDSHH im currently working on your other request @sailorstar9 so just hold on tight! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

your sister is your everything, from the moment of her birth, when you held her in your arms you just knew you had to protect her until the sun and the moon collided, no, even after that you have to protect her. you thought all of the compassion youve shown your sister would help her bloom to be an elegant young lady, but has instead grown into a carrion flower.

your sister is certainly a bitch from time to time, but maybe it's because she doesnt have any suitors that truly love her, on the other hand you do. only an imbecile wouldnt want to be your lover, youre charming, funny, loving, intelligent, and beautiful. it could be out of jealousy that your sister had ruined your relationships with men who want your hand in marrige.

one day, you were having a fancy dinner with ayato, his family (plus thoma), you, and your family, when he suddenly got down on one knee and held out a ring with a fat diamond to you. you obviously accepted his proposal, and everyone in the room applauded for the two of you, except your sister.

for the next couple of months of your engagement with ayato, youve noticed that your little sister has become, well, bitter. her state worsens more and more the closer that the date of your wedding day approaches.

the week of your wedding day has finally arrived. the first gift youve received is from ayaka; you open the gift, you laid your eyes on the most beautiful kimono that has ever been made. the embroidery is truly one of a kind, the floral patterns was simply gorgeous, and the hair ornament looks so delicate that even the softest gush of wind could shatter it into pieces.

“oh my— ayaka this is beautiful…” youre at a loss of words, “im glad it’s to your liking,” ayaka responds with a sweet smile gracing her lips. “i will make sure that this kimono will never know what a blemish is,” you tell her solemnly, she giggles, “i wish i could talk to you longer, but im afraid that i have unavoidable duties to attend too,”

you bid ayaka farewell. you close the door behind you, you place the kimono back into its box and store it safely away. oh how you cannot wait to tells your friends and family about this gift, especially your sister.

when she heard about the news of your kimono that descended from celestia she threw an entire fit, one more immature than a toddler’s, but she does have her manners and did it once you had left the estate. her servants were comforting by her and calming her down, until one suggested to, perhaps, ruin the kimono?…

now that this idea has been implemented into your sister’s brain, nothing could lure it out. during the days leading up to your big day your sister has been ordering scissors so sharp that it could leave a scratch on the geo archon’s shield. your sister had selected her most loyal servants fit for the task to to shred your beloved wedding kimono to pieces.

your big wedding day is finally here! your bridesmaids are helping you get ready, they took you to the bath first, leaving your bedroom unattended.

the servants took this opportunity to sneak into your sleeping chambers and rummage through your things, looking for your kimono. after some time, one had found it; calling the others over, they started to get to work.

the embroidery now looks like the handwriting that belongs to a toddler, the floral designs had certainly seen better days, and the ornament is now smashed into pieces. the kimono now looks like the ghost from the ring would wear. your sister’s servants, pleased with their artwork, placed the kimono back into the box and storing it where they first found it.

you hear something scurry away, you open the door to see nothing. you shrug it off, “ladies, would you please bring my kimono? it’s in that box over there,” your bridesmaids nod there head, one of them grabs the box and places it on your bed. you open the box to find your kimono in a strange state.

your eyes widened in horror, you wanted to cry but you were in too much shock to do so. your bridesmaids were just as terrified as you are. the maid of honor instantly sent out two ladies, trying to order another kimono in such short notice. the ceremony is soon, you want someone to comfort you, but not the ladies with you. your sister? not a good idea, ayato? yes. but, hes busy.

you tell everyone to get out of the room, not wanting to shed tears infront of them, "but y/n, the wedding is soon, we cant afford to waste time, especially now." you acknowledge this for a moment, but with no dress you cant have the perfect wedding youve always dreamt of; besides the ladies cant get another kimono in time. "out. i already told you, get out," they cant do anything but put their heads down and listen to you, they exit the room one by one.

after the last one shuts the door, the tears fall down your face, you cant help it, you really cant. who did this? who would be so cruel, so jealous, so petty to do this? not even the tsaritsa would be this evil. the only person you know of who would do this is,

your sister?

how can she be so cruel?… but, jumping to conclusions is never good for anyone, and even if she did do this, it couldve been out of jealously.

.....

oh FUCK THAT SHIT, she just ruined your wedding for archons sake. you look at the clock. oh archons. the ceremony had started, but who cares, even a trash bag looks better than your wedding kimono.

tears are continuously rolling down your face, like a river that will never stop flowing. your sniffles are quiet, but it is the only rolling that can be heard in this room.

…

ayato is standing there at the alter, waiting for the love of his life, but she never shows up. worry suddenly floods his mind, what if something happened? he excuses himself and rushes to find you.

your sister sees him dashing towards her. have the archons finally answered her prayers? “oh ayato! i knew you would come to your senses sooner or later!” she exclaims. ayato, a bit disgusted, brushes her off and says politely, “i love y/n dearly and im currently searching for her, do you have any idea where she might be?”

one of your bridesmaids is running towards ayato, “over there ayato! quickly!” she shouts and points from across the room, unable to catch her breath. ayato nods, running towards where you are.

he slams the door open, “y/n—“ he cuts himself off when he sees your glossy eyes, tears falling down your face, your sniffles and breath trembling. “oh ayato,” you walk to your not-so-soon-to-be-husband and embrace him. the wet stain on his shoulder slowly growing.

for the first time in a while, ayato is genuinely shocked, hes seeing his lover upset, crying, and he cant do anything about it. “my love, whats wrong? what happened?”

you point to your bed, ayato takes a look and sees why— he and ayaka spent hours searching for a dress thats one of a kind and meant for you. his eyes widen a bit then relax again. he places his hand on the small on your back and rubs it in small circles.

he comforts you by saying, “i am beyond lucky to have you as my bride, even the most expensive jewels cannot be compared to your beauty because you outshine all, so please dont be too upset about this matter. i will find a dress made in celestia just to please my wonderful my darling.” he kisses your temple and pulls say, his face looks a bit more eerie now.

“your sister, right?” ayato asks you. “i think so—” ayato cuts you off, “i’ll cut off that bitches head as soon as possible, dont worry y/n.”

:)

A/N: this was VERY rushed but i hope you still enjoyed it ૮ ⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝ ྀིა

imagine a plot twist where the sister is in love with you lol (i dont write incest)

TAGLIST: @sailorstar9 @gummy-dummy @hopefulceladon @username-try-3

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #fluff #genshin fluff #pickle #genshin #ugly-pickle #uglypickle #genshin ayato #ayato kamisato #ayato fluff #ayato #kamisato ayato #ayato x reader #ayato x you #ayato x y/n

[thelvsickgirl]

Hi Sofia.

I know you know who I am. I keep it anon because I don't want people to know who I am and why Im writing you for.

I know you're a busy person, and you won't respond me in a while, but I just wanted to ask you one thing: Can you please write a Jude fic?

Just one. You know why im asking you this. I know you're an amazing writer, and I just want people to see that as well.

Do it with whatever idea you have in mind, and whenever you feel comfortable doing so.

Thank you.

-🐾

Hey. I definitely know who you are ms. anon. I hope you like it, because it took me several weeks to do. Way longer than i expected this to turn out, but i guess it turned out great.

letting you in.

word count: yes.

tw: a bit of angst, divorced parents, toxic household (kinda)

genres: fluff, angst (not ready to make my debut w smut)

------

: It seems like a perfect relationship, but what will you do when the ghosts of your past haunt you, making your self confidence's walls crumble?

-----

In the heart of a vibrant city, amidst the roar of enthusiastic fans and the energy of the football stadium, there existed a bustling sports bar named "Offside" It was a sanctuary for those seeking the thrill of the game and the camaraderie of fellow supporters. Among its regular patrons was a young woman named y/n, whose passion for football matched that of the most ardent fan.

But Y/n's love for the game wasn't merely a casual interest; it was a lifeline, a refuge from the storms that had raged in her past. Born into a family plagued by dysfunction and discord, y/n had learned from an early age to bury her emotions beneath a façade of strength and resilience. Her parents' tumultuous relationship had cast a shadow over her childhood, leaving her with deep-seated insecurities and a fear of abandonment.

As she navigated the turbulent waters of adolescence, Y/n sought solace in the world of football, finding comfort in the rhythm of the game and the camaraderie of fellow fans. It was on the pitch that she felt truly alive, her worries melting away as she cheered on her favorite team with unwavering devotion.

But despite her outward bravado, y/n carried the scars of her past—a past marked by loss and heartache. Her parents' bitter divorce had shattered her world, leaving her adrift in a sea of uncertainty and despair. And though she tried to bury the pain beneath a veneer of indifference, the wounds remained raw and unhealed, a constant reminder of the fragility of love.

As she entered adulthood, y/n found herself drifting aimlessly, unable to shake the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at her soul. She threw herself into her studies and her job, hoping to distract herself from the turmoil within. But no matter how hard she tried to outrun her demons, they always seemed to catch up with her, dragging her back into the depths of despair.

"Why am I not good enough?"

------

It was on a fateful matchday evening, as y/n sat alone at the sports bar, drowning her sorrows in a sea of beer and cheers, that she first laid eyes on him. Jude Bellingham, the star player of her favorite football team, stood at the bar, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. Despite his fame and fortune, he seemed strangely out of place, his gaze betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the mask of confidence.

As y/n watched him from afar, a spark of recognition ignited within her—a sense of kinship born from shared struggles and silent battles fought in the shadows. She knew all too well the weight of expectations, the suffocating pressure to conform to society's standards. And though their worlds seemed worlds apart, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were more alike than they appeared.

Summoning her courage, she approached Jude, her heart pounding in her chest. "Hi," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm y/n. Can I buy you a drink?"

To her surprise, Jude smiled gratefully, his eyes lighting up with genuine warmth. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice tinged with relief.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly as they bonded over their shared love for the game, and y/n found herself drawn to Jude in ways she couldn't explain. Despite his celebrity status, he was remarkably down-to-earth, his humility and kindness shining through with every word he spoke. She couldn't stop analysing his chiseled face features, eyeing down every part of him.

As the evening wore on, y/n and Jude discovered a connection that transcended fame and fortune, their shared passion for football forging a bond that felt destined to withstand the test of time. They laughed and joked like old friends, their worries and insecurities melting away in each other's presence.

"This place is way too crowded. Mind to go on a walk?" Jude asked, frowning as some hooligans threw beer jugs to the floor as the local team missed a penalty.

"Please."

With a mischievous grin, Jude led her to a hidden rooftop oasis, where the city skyline stretched out before them in a breathtaking panorama. In a bold and impulsive move, he leaned in, capturing y/n 's lips in a spontaneous kiss—a gesture fueled by the intoxicating rush of the moment.

Though taken aback, the girl felt a surge of exhilaration as their lips met—a whirlwind of emotions colliding in the space between them. And as they lingered in each other's embrace, the city whispered its secrets, weaving their fates together in the tapestry of the night.

----

Their budding relationship blossomed quickly as they explored the city together, attending matches and immersing themselves in the electric atmosphere of the country's stadiums. Jude, ever the gentleman, often surprised y/n with tickets to VIP events and exclusive gatherings, eager to share his world with her.

One memorable evening, the man invited her to join him in the VIP section of his home stadium, a gesture that left her speechless with excitement. As they watched the game from their plush seats, surrounded by the glittering lights of the city skyline, y/n couldn't help but feel like she was living in a dream.

But their moment of bliss was short-lived, as they were soon accosted by paparazzi eager to capture their every move. Flashes of light blinded the girl as reporters bombarded them with questions, their invasive inquiries threatening to shatter the illusion of privacy they had worked so hard to maintain.

Fearing for y/n 's safety, Jude would usually usher her away from the chaos, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. Despite the intrusion, she couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for Jude's unwavering support, his reassuring presence serving as a beacon of hope in the midst of chaos.

As they retreated to the sanctuary of the player's home, y/n found herself overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions—gratitude, awe, and an overwhelming sense of love for the remarkable man standing beside her. In that moment, amidst the chaos of the outside world, she knew that she had found something worth fighting for—a love that transcended fame and fortune, a love that was as boundless as the sky above them.

But even as they basked in the glow of their newfound happiness, a shadow loomed on the horizon, threatening to tear them apart. The girl's past, with its ghosts and demons, resurfaced with a vengeance, casting a pall over their relationship.

Haunted by memories of her tumultuous childhood, y/n found herself consumed by doubt and insecurity, her fears driving a wedge between her and Jude. Despite his best efforts to reassure her, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was unworthy of his love—that she was destined to repeat the mistakes of her past.

As tensions simmered between them, Jude struggled to break through y/n's defenses, his heart aching with the knowledge that she was slipping away from him. Desperate to salvage their relationship, he suggested couples therapy, hoping to address the underlying issues that had driven them apart.

Reluctantly, she agreed, her heart heavy with guilt and regret. But as they delved into the depths of their shared history, confronting the traumas that had shaped their lives, she found herself unraveling before his eyes, her carefully constructed walls crumbling beneath the weight of her emotions.

And yet, amidst the tears and the turmoil, there was a glimmer of hope—a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them. For in each other's arms, they found solace and strength, their love a beacon of hope in a world fraught with uncertainty.

As they emerged from the crucible of therapy, battered but unbroken, y/n and Jude found themselves more deeply in love than ever before. And though their journey was short and had been fraught with challenges and obstacles, they knew that they had emerged stronger and more resilient, their bond forged in the fires of adversity.

And as they stood hand in hand, just cuddled beneath the covers of his bed, the girl knew that she had found her victory—the greatest victory of all: love. And Jude, with a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, knew that he had found something even more precious than fame or fortune—he had found his home in the arms of the woman he loved.

#jude bellingham #jude victor willliam bellingham #sofia’s bar #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham x reader #angst #fluff #jude bellingham fluff #fanfic

[kunikame]

¡ ! ❝ REDAMANCY . . ❞

╰┈➤ ❝ [27] collapse ❞ | m. list | prev. | next

natsume sakasaki x reader smau

warning(s) : cussing, death mention, sakasaki natsume is a simp, rip mao im sorry ill write a mao fic as an apology for what i put him through one day i promise

w/c : 1.1k

wataru hibiki has, in his time at yumenosaki academy, seen many dreams crumble. he's witnessed many dreamers fall apart, give up and leave, become a shell of who they once used to be. he's familiar with this particular feeling of loss, of not remembering who you once were; who you wished to be. 

it's a common experience and he has long accepted it strikes when least expected, to the ones you least expect it to happen to, because their dreams are simply too precious– too pure, yet they're still thrown into such a distressing situation.

he wishes he could keep that view, keep looking at the world in black and white, see the evil in the good and the purity in the bad. perhaps it would be easier, less taxing on the mind.

and yet, he hesitates, finds himself looking for an exception; a fault in his theory. he feels his gaze wandering around the ballroom– black and white, filled with fraudulent faces– only to be met with the smiling face of the one who so dearly refers to him as his 'master'.

he protected natsume once, he can do it again, and yet as he truly focuses on his expression, wataru finds there is nothing to protect the boy from.

he's smiling– truly smiling, with his entire being, because natsume has found his safe place.

wataru thinks he is okay with that. as his gaze slides to the person natsume is looking at so fondly, he finds himself relieved she's looking at him the exact same way, like he himself hung the stars and the moon in the night sky. 

perhaps, perhaps some dreams won't crumble

contrary to the flourish in natsumes speech and movements, he hates social events that include the higher classes. he’s been trained for them, taught how to behave, move, interact, stand, lift a glass,.. he knows it all. he has always, always hated these. so then why does he find himself so at ease at this specific event?

because it celebrates his mother? his friends are here? the color scheme makes him feel at ease? no.

you laugh at something kohaku says and suddenly he has the answer to all the questions running through the back of his mind, and he knows it’s you and it’s always been you and it always will be you.

because natsume sakasaki gazes down at you like you are his sun and his world revolves around you; he wants to be yours– he is yours, but only if you want him to be. he thinks he would continue being yours even if you didn't desire it to be so, he simply couldn't stop following the predetermined route he is meant to take; following the course mapped out for him, much like the planets you hold so dear orbit the sun (and he hopes you hold him dear, too).

he finds himself desperately wishing soulmates were real because then his feelings would make sense because now he just feels and he doesn’t understand why.

and yet as you turn his way when you notice him walking towards you with that breathtaking smile of yours and something akin to sparkles in your eyes, his heart starts racing a mile a minute and he’s not even sure he can walk properly anymore. is this a curse? is he dying? what have you done to him?

“natsu! you were so great! i wish you would’ve seen yourself! err, well, i suppose performing was better but- not the point! ahhhh, i wish i had recorded it.. actually i think tsukasa said–”

you went on animatedly explaining whatever it is you were saying while he just stared. he wishes he could listen but he’s gonna be absolutely, brutally honest, he can’t bring himself to. his ears are ringing and his palms are suddenly sweating and holy shit has it always been so hot in here? where’s all the air from his lungs gone? why is his throat so dry? oh god you’re looking at him and what were you even saying oh go-

“natsu? are you okay? would you like to sit down for a bit? i’m sorry, i should’ve known you were tired– come, i’ll go get you some water,” you grab onto his elbow and pull him along with you universe knows where and he just lets you. 

suddenly he’s sitting in a chair and you’re fawning all over him; checking his temperature because apparently his ’forehead is too warm’ and sending mao to get some water (which he, to everyones surprise, does) while kohaku and tsukasa keep the other guests away from your unsuspecting corner and natsume just dazedly stares up at you while you gently push his bangs back with a look of genuine concern for him.

suddenly, air re-enters his lungs and his throat opens up, but the ringing and the fuzz in his brain remain. he doesn’t think you’ve ever been so close to each other before and frankly, it’s making him lightheaded. his amber eyes trace the curves of your face and he’s late to realize he could probably count your lashes if he really wanted to (he does, god does he want to) and, makeup be damned, even without it you put all beauty standards and so-proclaimed “most beautiful women in the world” to shame. 

despite the fuzz there is a singular coherent thought swirling in his brain, he thinks you’re beautiful. no, gorgeous. no, that’s not quite good either.

“you’re ethereal..”

and yet, that still doesn’t fully capture your essence. heavenly might be close. breathtaking? heartstopping? not quite.. they need to come up with a new word for you specifically because whatever high natsume is riding on, he can’t find a word good enough for you.

you’re looking at him in the eyes with an adorably flustered face and your hands are no longer messing with his bangs or touching his forehead and he’s a little slow to realize he accidentally voiced his thoughts when he sees you give him the softest of smiles; his face now feels 10 times warmer than before.

“thank you, i would say the same about you. ethereal, breathtakingly so,” your hand slides from his forehead to cup his cheek and natsume sakasaki thinks he might short circuit.

“i think i’m in love with you..”

your hand freezes and natsume begins to regret every life decision that’s led him up to this point but then he feels the soft press of your lips against his and, perhaps, he should give himself a pat on the back instead.

mao isara, however, regrets agreeing to come along the moment he walks past the curtain separating you from the rest of the guests just to see you kissing his “arch nemesis” and he’s forced to accept there is nothing, no deal, no faking; you love natsume sakasaki and he can’t do anything but watch. he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving the glass of water with kohaku and with the excuse of needing some fresh air, he exits the ballroom.

╰┈➤ synopsis ❝after yumenosaki academy resident magician and eccentric sakasaki natsume asks you to “go out with him”, you immediately shut him down. so why is he dedicating a song to you at a switch concert? and why are people whispering about you being the cutest couple?❞

✩₊˚TAGLIST : @myunghology @shionszz @ikasaeki @zephestia @1072v @drihihihi @homonatsume @lialibrary @hugs4shizu @mikctp @emikoisdead @ara-arashi @disa-ster @tjjjrsj @solemn-soliloquy @bxkugzo @buns-inhiding @calxrein @gxwesn @kzmeru @valeriele3 @444neapolitain @theloverofscaramouchie @thelocal-idiot @lunalightlyy @promisedswords @gabirii @booklover-valkyriep @mahouwoageru @kazemiya @yellowdialover @engurishu @ttsukipi @6ellyache @anndangtramcam @pocchapoccha @stxrgxzxr @tamayoris @dexocore @zhenyuus @lunavixia @taruruchi @momomijileaf // ask/comment to be added/removed! (if you’re in bold i can’t tag you)

#☆ : redamancy #enstars #enstars x reader #enstars x y/n #enstars x you #ensemble stars #ensemble stars x you #ensemble stars x y/n #ensemble stars x reader #enstars natsume #natsume sakasaki #natsume sakasaki x y/n #natsume sakasaki x reader #natsume sakasaki x you #sakasaki natsume #sakasaki natsume x you #sakasaki natsume x reader #sakasaki natsume x y/n #natsume x reader #natsume x you #natsume x y/n #ensnet #🌐「ensnet」

[ge]

what do you like about rotmhs? like what draws you in?

GAHH IM SO GLAD YOU ASKEDDD at the top of my head thhe top three things i felt really drew me into and made me fall in love w rotmhs is the found family/bonds before blood narrative, the action/fight scenes, and the comedy..

rotmhs is not a romance and i feel like that really pushes people away from reading it, especially folks who were first introduced to east asian novels through bl (specifically mxtxs novels like mdzs tgcf etc etc) which i feel is incredibly disappointing because yallre missing out on a certain depth of writing and nuance you otherwise wouldnt get in a romance focused novel. (orv is another extremely popular knovel with no romance.. if you like orv PLEASE give rotmhs a shot)

rotmhs is about a dead man resurrected a hundred years into the future having to come to terms w the fact that everyone he loved is dead and that the only home he ever had was destroyed, its inhabitants and centuries worth of teachings burned to the ground, and that it was partially his fault these things happened, so in order to prevent a future catastrophe he knows is on the horizon, he trains the youth of this new generation and finds a new home surrounded by ghosts in the wreckage of his home of his past

⬆️…very dramatic but somewhat accurate barebones synopsis of rotmhs which is fairly faithful enough methinks.. rotmhs doesnt make a point of going ‘heyy these guys are family nowww theyre brothers and sisters and love each other like familyyy’ LOL the growth is very subtle and before u can really blink ur like ‘oh man.. chung myung would kill for these kids. obliviously though. i dont think he knows he even likes them’ all the while hes still aching w the loss of his loved ones before.. if we’re being really really honest chung myung, the mc, truly is the star of the show and a character i got attached to incredibly quickly.. hes so stupid but so smart he has so many issues i want to hit him with my car then nurse him back to health just to hit him again

chung myung himself is a whole other thing i could get into but he has so many layers.. so much depth.. on the surface ud look at him and think what a punk but look a little closer and then ud think oh this punk has depression ptsd survivors guilt hallucinations etc etc LIKE DAMN.. I THIUGHT HE WAS JUST A FUNNY LITTLE GUY WHYD I GET SUCKER PUNCHED

what was i even talking about. OH right romance. please please dont let the lack of romance dissuade you, imo it is soooo refreshing to read something that isnt focused on romance like i love yaoi like the next bl reading bitch but damn.. ive always been into found family and while the bl novels i have read did always have a little hint of it, i always wanted more and rotmhs fills that void

(that being said i cant stop yall from shipping if yall want LOL im guilty of shipping charas too despite everythiing i just said… if yall want yalls yaoiyuri fix may i direct yalls attention to the ‘doomed by the narrative, tragic best-friends-to-almost-lovers tangchung’ & ‘love at first sight sweethearts iseolsoso’ ….. :SMILES: I LOVE TANGCHUNG..!!!!!!)

NEXT, the action and fight scenes in rotmhs, even in written text form, are sublime to say the least.. my fail cis dudebro trait is that i love crazy insane adrenaline rushing heart pumping shounen-esque battles so much that i could typically care less for the rest of that specific piece of media as long as the fights are good.. FORTUNATELY FOR ME rotmhs is crazy good at balancing its comedy, action, and otherwise more ‘mundane’ scenes together so harmoniously that its such fun read even when theres no swords crossing or heads being beaten in

also important to note, despite being a knovel w korean naming of characters/places, rotmhs actually takes place in ancient china in a wuxia setting so jumping head first into it wont be all that confusing for first time readers/cmedia fans and u can use ur knowledge of cnovels to fill in the gaps.

theres not really much more i have to say on the topic of fighting, im just personally a huge fan of the crazy spectacles rotmhs brings to the table.

saved this for last but THE COMEDY…!!!!!!!! after being soo dramatic w all my previous points and comments ur probably thnkng rotmhs is heavy and somber w no breathing room.. WELL YOURE WRONG. ROTMHS IS FUNNY AS HELL quips and jokes and simple funny actions and scenes litter nearly every page. i mentioned this novel balances its action and comedy well and im NOT LYING youd think maybe the heavy action and light comedy would awkwardly clash but u cldnt be more further from the truth.. rotmhs wears action and comedy like a pair of twin gloves

rotmhs handles its action and comedy in equal doses and it all fits together like matching puzzle pieces, like i really cant stress enough how fun it is to read. not every fight scene is somber, most of the time its chung myung oneshotting someone by hitting them across the head so hard they pass out..

unfortunately im not really the best at listing instances so its be better for u to go read it for urself but this scene from one of the later chapters is soo funny every time i read it i start giggling

(LIGHT/MINOR SPOILERS FOR THE NOVEL it probably doesnt even matter u wont even remember this when u start reading)

right so i think thats most of it.. too lazy to read through everything i just wrote so if nothing makes sense… well. …well!

rotmhs deserves to have the same amount of fame as ORV and MDZS and TGCF have and it is my civil duty as one of the oldest mxtx novel outlets on tumblr to put yall on it..

my thumbs hurt from typing so im done now but if u have anymore questions PLEASE ASK IM SO DESPERATE TO TALK ABOUT ROTMHS ok byyyeeeeeeee

#rotmhs #rotbb #return of the blossoming blade #return of the mount hua sect

[rollercoasterwords]

i was so so so excited to read this, for a lot of reasons but mostly because i was So curious to read how you would write the spell, how it changes someone, the extension throughout the brain… he doesn’t have the memory but he still has the felling. how much memories and feelings depend in one another?!!??. is like when you don’t remember what you read, you can’t quote it, but you can remember how it felt. or like when you try to remember a song and for however reason you just CANT but its there, and your mind feels like its hollow, and it creeps on you, to feel like that for the memory of two whole years… it must be so deeply sickening. is a little like murder.

also i’m glad dorcas is with him, so they can share the grief, and just for understanding, even though they’re both so miserable they cant be a good company even for each other. and anddd sirius destroying the wall he used to hide for be able to torture, i don’t know if he meant to destroy it or if that was just a side effect of being truly happy and in love and free but anyway im glad he cant do the things his pre-obliviated self wouldn’t like to. great ch as always rae, if you like, please share a spoiler, snippet, anything.

thank u!! yeah i really wanted 2 explore the idea of memory, again, as not just something stored in like ur brain/consciousness whatever…or i suppose more accurately stored across different parts of ur brain? basically exploring the idea that ur brain is ur body & so the whole mind/body platonic dualism doesn’t really hold true etc…so like. how do we conceptualize memory loss when we think of ourselves not as mind-within-body but body-minds, what forms of memory persist even in ways we don’t usually consider ‘memory,’ etc—like the example u gave of still knowing how something made u feel without really being conscious of why, or physical habits & muscle memory, or triggers that invoke physical reactions without full understanding of why ur body is kicking in w that response, etc.

& yeah also did want 2 explore the idea that it’s a bit like murder!! like our experiences shape who we are, & removing those makes us different people in some ways…he hasn’t and can’t go back to being the person he was before, but he’s also never going to be the person he was/would have been w those memories—he’s someone different now, someone who is being shaped by the very experience of memory loss.

& also i like having dorcas back as well she’s fun 2 write <3 anyway glad ur enjoying the fic & sure i will share a spoiler abt the next ch lol:

the next ch is mostly sex. so! i am actually currently debating whether i’ll bump the rating from M to E 🤧

#ask #wfrau #have fun w that spoiler im not really sure what kind of reactions ch 23 is gonna get lol #having fun writing it tho 🤭

[journey-to-the-attic]

hello!!

i just finished reading chapter 50 of jtta and oh my gosh. i don’t even know where to start.

jtta is SUCH an amazing work of art that my words fall short.. it’s rlly the best fanfiction i have EVER read and i’m sure it’ll continue to be my Number One forever. your writing style is absolutely beautiful and your choice of words is IMMACULATE. the way you describe certain scenes truly baffles me everytime like,, there’s people out there who are really able to write like this?? they can magically plant a mental imagine w colors and all in my head from??? Words only??? u r so amazing omf

i also have to say that ur work has rlly helped me with expanding my own vocabulary — i had to look up a A LOT of words (though i’m sure i forgot them all by now..) but it was always so fun to learn new stuff!

your mind fascinates me sm bc?? when i was reading some scenes from jtta i rlly thought ‘man.. if i was the author i’d have no idea how to solve this..’ but u managed to surprise me every. single. time. u outdid urself each time and my jaw legit dropped at some scenes bc i could’ve NEVER EVER thought of that,,,

i only discovered jtta last summer bc i was looking for a platonic obey me ff (i can’t see the boys romantically to save my life 😔) and ur writing was rlly the best thing that ever happened to me.

i swear everytime i read another chapter i dived into this World bc ur writing is so????? Perfect??? i cant put it into words

idk how many times i repeated myself by now but i just wanna give u this BIG word of appreciation (even if im struggling w it LOL) for everything. your characterisation of all the characters was always SO on point and the pacing of the chapters always elevated the reading experience and and and i’m just so overwhelmed by the quality of your work 😭🫶

and when i found ur tumblr??? oh i was FLOORED. like. not only r u absolutely GIFTED at writing, ure also good at drawing???11!?1? the writer & illustrator combo is INSANEEEEE

jtta got me all wrapped up in this universe that whenever i went back to read other obey me work or play obey me itself, i got sad bc the newspaper club and ik weren’t there 😭

normally i’m sad about things ending, esp when i indulged in it over a course of time but with jtta all i felt was a warmth (oh and the tears…..) in my body, it rlly couldn’t have ended better!! jtta made me elict all sorts of emotions while reading and it was just such a wonderful experience!

i feel like i just want to say more to u and sing more praises for u and jtta but i’m just at a loss for words,, my mind is COMPLETELY blank :c

writing is definitely your superpower and i’m forever grateful that i found your work!!!!!! T__T <3 can’t wait to see more of your work in the future 🥹💝

i need you to know that i had to look away multiple times consecutively just to compose myself because aAAAggkj

from the bottom of my heart, thank you!! i don't know what else i can say, everything you've said means so much to me! messages like this make everything about creating so worth it, all i can do is thank you twice <33333

#answering asks #anon asks #<33

[0xo]

that post about trying to break cycles by being nothing like ur abuser but actually failing to grow better behaviors... (tw lots of talk of suicide and death, mentions of abuse)

really hitting hard rn considering the death of my uncle who hated his (admittedly terrible) father but ended up perpetuating the same exact bullshit onto his wife and kids. and then died bc he couldn't face that fact. like when faced w divorce and the idea of losing his control over his family he... fucked off and died. (still don't have details on how, unsure if it was on purpose but. signs point to...) [AND PREFACING WITH: i do NOT think all people who die by suicide are cowardly or bad people or anything like that. i am talking about a very specific and complicated situation in my own family. please do not interpret this as me saying that all people who die by suicide were bad people/dodging responsibility/could've "worked harder to improve their situation." i know deeply that that is NOT the case, i have been personally impacted by suicide in other ways. i am just discussing one person and the circumstances around his death.]

and of course im sad, we were close once, he is family. ofc im sad he felt dying was better than trying to sort out his life or trying to be a good coparent. but the way he treated his (very sweet, very patient) wife was deeply unacceptable to me. he isolated her, and didn't properly care for his high-support needs autistic kids, and pinned it all on her. he was terrible to my mother and forced all my grandma's end of life care on my mother. he hurt us a lot with his behavior.

and like. i don't think he necessarily deserved to die bc of it, right? he had his own issues, he cut himself off too and refused help from everyone, these problems run in the family and he knew that and still wouldn't accept help. and you can't MAKE anyone accept help. but i can't help but think that if he'd, maybe, been open to the people who loved him, he could've... restructured. he was so smart, so clever, so creative! he could've done anything he wanted to, he was so good at anything he tried.

and yet. in trying to avoid being like his father. he ended up doing all the same things. and i think that was too much for him to handle. and i hate that, i hate that so much.

he leaves behind two brilliant, brilliant children - they're SO CLEVER. but he couldn't accept their support needs and didn't treat them well. they don't even know he's dead yet, i don't think. but they love him, and he saw them as manipulative and trying to intentionally ruin his life. they're small children. they haven't even developed the capability to manipulate yet, they just want some chocolate milk, right? and yet he compared those kids to his father.

it just hurts. this wasn't necessary. my poor fucking mum is now an orphan with two dead siblings. how is she meant to deal with all this? how is she supposed to reconcile the grief of his needless death with the absolutely shit way he treated her and their mother?

luckily we love his widow very much and we will make sure she and the kids are okay. but i truly don't understand anything. it just sucks balls to watch someone ruin their own life and leave a giant fucked up mess behind. and then everyone's saying sorry and apologizing for my loss, like i didn't lose him years ago, like we were still close, like i'm not angry with the way he treated the people around him. we grew up like siblings. but that connection was basically severed when he started acting like a jackass. i don't know how to respond to people trying to comfort me. they all assume i'm really really sad, and i am, but i'm also pissed off, and i don't think anyone knows what to do with that.

because you're not supposed to be pissed at someone for dying, especially if it's probably suicide, you're meant to be tragically sad. you're not supposed to say they were wrong, you're supposed to apologize for being wrong and not seeing the signs earlier, you're supposed to be sorry. and you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, even if they were fucking complicated, you're meant to shove all those negative emotions aside to grieve the good of them.

and i do grieve the good of him! i grieve the family member he could've been if he had actually broken cycles! but i'm fucking angry. you don't get to treat everyone around you like shit and then kill yourself to get out of being remembered as an asshole. it doesn't work like that. you're still an asshole, now you're just dead and can't take responsibility for fucking up people's lives. i'm sorry he felt that was the best way out. AND good god, he was a grown man with every opportunity to improve himself. and he chose to stagnate and be fucking mean. dying in a shit way doesn't erase that.

and like, listen, i understand that people are complicated. i don't think everyone who dies by suicide is an asshole. MOST people who do were genuinely failed by the people and systems around them, they weren't bad people, they were in bad situations. they didn't have help or a way out. it's not inherently selfish or evil, it's fucking devastatingly sad.

and mental illness is complicated and hard. like. hm. i don't think it's his fault he was fucked up, it runs heavy in our family, he was traumatized too. but. he talked so much about growing past that and then just... didn't. he had support, he had a good therapist, he talked the talk. and didn't walk the walk AT ALL. he treated people like dirt. and i understand that certain illness our family is prone to, they make it extremely hard to get or accept help, okay? i get that. i really do. but you can't just fall back on mental illness and trauma as an excuse for financially/emotionally abusing your wife and neglecting-to-the-point-of-abusing your children. it wasn't okay when his dad did it and it's not okay that he did it. and what makes it worse is that he was so aware of how fucked up his childhood made him, and self-aware enough to superficially recognize his own faults, but not enough to change how he interacted with people. why must these cycles continue! why!

i'm so angry and so sad. i don't even know my cousins well because he was so ashamed of how poorly he treated them that he cut us off from them. he hated my mum and so held me at arm's length to avoid interacting with her in any capacity. they're sweet kids...

anyways. sorry. im just so so so so so so so so so tired of death in my family and abuse cycles. im so tired in general and these giant unnameable unfathomable emotions don't help. i feel like the suicide element makes it even harder to talk about, because i sound like an absolute cunt for saying any of this to people who don't know the situation. nothing about it is simple. nothing about it is easy. i don't know what to do anymore at all tbh!!!!!!

[the-true-brat-princess]

You're in the Wind, I'm in the Water CH 2

Aemond Targaryen x OC Velaryon

Chapter Summary: Saera Rhae sees her family for the first time in months, under seemingly happy circumstances, a Winter Tournament! But after getting in trouble with Rhaenyra and Alicent, she wonders how happy the reunion will actually be.

Word Count: 8320

Tags: Slow Burn, Friends to Enemies, Enemies to Lovers, Canon Rewrite: The Dance of the Dragons | Aegon II Targaryen v. Rhaenyra Targaryen Era, Canon - Book: Fire and Blood & House of the Dragon (TV) Combination, Period-Typical Sexism, Loss of Innocence, Father-Daughter Relationship, Family Dynamics, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Doomed by the Narrative, Survivor Guilt

Previous Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/the-true-brat-princess/728558518189309952/youre-in-the-wind-im-in-the-water-hotd-fanfic?source=share

Chapter 2

Visenya rolled her head to look at her, her hair looked yellow against the pure white ground; Saera’s was dark grey. Saera took a deep breath of the cold air above her, watching dainty snowflakes drift from the bright sky and melt into their flushed cheeks. 

Visenya’s gloved hand closed around her friend’s. She could feel the eternal warmth her Targaryen cousins seemed to carry sink into her skin. “What do you think they are doing in there now? Reading musty books by the fire?”

Saera looked at her; a curious smile on her face. “I believe the princes are learning history, and poor Helaena is stuck in the etiquette lesson you dragged me out of.”

“And aren’t you glad I did?” the princess teased, sitting up. Snow fell out of her hair, leaving a patch of dull grass underneath her. “Could you truly stand another day of Lady Redwyne droning on and on about the ‘proper fork for fish’ and the ‘way to bow to members of the court’?”

She laughed, loud enough to startle the crows nesting in the red walls. “Visa, can you with any confidence tell me which goblet is meant for sweet wine and which for sour?”

“It is not sour, Saera Rhae,” she mocked their teacher’s voice. “It is dry.” She let out an exaggerated groan and made an ugly face. “I would rather the Queen attend to these lessons, as miserable as she can be-”

“Hush yourself,” she whispered, peeking around the large trunk of the Godswood tree. looking for the guards that typically lingered in the courtyard. “You know better.”

“Iā dārilaros hen dārion iksan se hae nyke kostilus kesan ȳdragon (I am a princess of the realm and I will speak as I please),” she grumbled.

“Ao mivojughagon. Daor iksan (You forget. I am not),” Saera sat up, readjusting herself amongst the roots, pulling her dark blue coat closer to herself. “Besides, between your mother and the Queen, we have unending lessons in a day. I am not sure why we have to listen to such a dull old woman. At least the Queen has taught me how to sew and the Princess has taught me to curtsy.”

“Do you think we will be so dull when we grow old?”

Saera wrinkled her nose. “I couldn’t imagine being so passionate about the state of a teacup, our ancestors would balk.” She laid her head across Visenya’s lap, her wet curls soaked the wool of the princess’s cape. Her friend’s hand fell into place on her head, smoothing over her forehead. “Why, your namesake might even rise from the ashes to chastise you herself.”

She let out an unladylike snort. “I couldn’t bear it. She always seemed so frightening in the stories.”

“I could protect you,” Saera chuckled, twisting apart a blood red leaf that had fallen onto her chest. 

“You would defend me from a ghost?”

She grinned. “I would certainly try.”

Visa opened her mouth to argue, but a door slam jarred them both into silence. “Visenya,” her mother called, her voice echoed across the garden. She was angry, likely because this was not the first time the girls had snuck away from their duties. Saera sat up, pulling herself and Visa closer to the trunk of the tree. A knobbled, stained face was between them. She had to cover her mouth to keep herself from giggling while Visenya silently mocked her mother. “Visenya, come here this instant.”

They looked at each other, before they both shook their heads and pressed their backs fully against the tree. There were a few moments of silence, even the crunching of boots could not be heard. Saera poked her head out for a second, seeing Rhaenyra’s back, bundled in her blood red cape. She ducked back, holding her finger to her lips. 

It was Harwin that found them not a second later. “They’re here, Princess,” he called. His large hand closed around their arms, dragging them away from the haven of the tree and down into the snow covered garden. Rhaenyra crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at her daughter. 

“Well?” she asked, giving the girls a beat to answer for themselves. 

Visenya looked at her boots, knowing they were not going to get away with it this time. “It is the first snow of the season, muña (mother).”

The Princess let out a disgusted laugh. “And before that it was a full moon, and before that there were kittens in the kitchens. How many times must I tell you? You cannot leave your lessons.” She pinched her nose. “Visenya. Return to your quarters. You are not to see Alleria for a fortnight-”

“Mother, that is not fair. You have said a dragon and it’s rider cannot be-”

She held up her hand to stop her daughter. “A fortnight. And you will be bound to your books, everytime you are not will be an additional day. You have much to catch up on,” she said. “Ser Harwin, please ensure my daughter goes where she is supposed to be, and her maid washes and changes her for her lessons with the Septa.”

Harwin motioned for Visenya to walk before him. She opened her mouth in protest, but with a final withering look from her mother, she accepted her fate and returned to the castle. 

For a fleeting moment, Saera thought she was going to slip away without punishment. Until Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes fell on her. She bit her lip. “Laenor will decide on the full extent of your punishment, after the lords arrive at dusk. You will go straight to your room, and you are only permitted to leave to attend your meetings with the Queen. She has also been informed of your absence.”

Saera bobbed a quick curtsy. “My apologies, Your Highness,” she said, keeping her eyes on the damp hem of her skirt. 

“Saera Rhae,” she said, trying to dull the frustrated tone in her voice. She looked up at her through her lashes. “You are not in the same position as my daughter. The graces granted to her will not be given to you. This will not happen again, is that understood?”

Saera swallowed and nodded. 

The Princess jerked her head to the castle, dismissing her. The young lady didn’t hesitate to escape from her presence. She watched Saera scamper past her and back into the red shadows of the Keep. 

Jaylessa was flitting back and forth in her room, tending to the fire, fixing the linens, laying out her laundry. She stopped her humming when Saera opened the door, surprised to see her disheveled state when she was meant to be indoors the full day. “My Lady, what brings you here so early? You’re meant to be in your music lesson by now.”

Saera sniffed pathetically, closing the door behind her. “I…”

Her maid looked at her coat and the damp cape on her shoulders. The braid she had spent an hour weaving into Saera’s hair was let free and her curls hung tangled and wet around her face. “You went for a walk?”

“Visenya and I went to watch the snowfall by the Godswood,” she twisted her hands in front of her, looking sheepishly at her boots. “It looked lovely rolling in off of the bay.”

She sighed. “Who found you first?”

“The Princess,” she pouted.

Jaylessa tutted. “Ah. So, you are finally in trouble for bending rules you have no business bending?” Saera nodded. Her maid folded the thick stockings she held in her hand. “Very well. Hopefully you learn your lesson.”

“My family arrives this evening,” she stepped forward, pulling off her gloves and working at the golden clasps at her neck.

She slowed her folding. “Ah, for the Winter tournament, your gown should be arriving any minute so we can fit you,” she rambled. “So what was her highness’s verdict?”

“Ser Laenor will decide my punishment. Though, I have been forbidden from leaving my room unless it is to see the Queen, who also knows I missed lessons.” She dropped her wet caplet and coat on a plush stool. “With my luck, I will receive three opposing punishments I’ll somehow have to find a way to follow.”

Jaylessa picked up after her, bringing her things near the fire to dry. “What do you mean, songbird?”

Saera fell into her favorite chair, reaching for the laces of her boots. “The last infringement resulted in the Queen ordering me to not leave her side for a fortnight, the Princess demanding I remain in my rooms without interaction with her children for a week, and Laenor insisting that Jace and I work it out amongst ourselves immediately.”

“Which one was this for?”

She pulled off her shoes and rolled down her stockings, letting the fire warm her legs. “I believe Jacerys and I were fighting over something Aegon or Aemond had said. Do you not remember fussing at me for the massive bruise on my leg that left me limping?” Her maid chuckled in response. “The princes are always at each other’s throats one minute, then act like the best of friends the next. It is impossible to be around, especially when the princesses and I act as sisters. Yet, I am expected to be a part of the boys’ rows.”

Jaylessa started picking at the tangles in Saera’s hair with a silver comb, starting to hum a comforting tune. 

Saera leaned back, watching the flames dance back and forth in the grey fireplace. Her maid’s deft fingers wound her hair into regal braids. “I do not regret watching the snow today.”

“I know.” There was silence while she pulled clean and dry underclothes from Saera’s wardrobe. “Your father will be happy to see you. Your brothers too.”

Saera sniffed. “Perhaps. Lord Corlys may not be pleased with me though. He is certainly harsher than my father, and holds me to the standard of his daughter. Which is quite high.” She tucked her feet underneath herself, resting her chin on her knees. “Laenor told me his sister was nearly engaged to the King by the time she was twelve. Do you think my father will do that to me as well?”

The movement stopped behind her. “I could not say, my lady.” Dry wool stockings and a shift were laid beside her. “But there is no use in worrying about the future. Come straight here after the feast, you have much to do before bed.”

“Yes, Jayleesa,” she mumbled.

Alicent motioned for her maid to open the door. Her attention was entirely held by the story Daeron had presented her with earlier in the afternoon; a small book, bound in brown leather and handwritten by some maester before she had even been born. About Oldtown and its everlasting fire. Curious, she thought, flicking the delicate page. “Who is it, Talya?” 

“The Lady Saera Rhae, Your Majesty,” she announced. 

The Queen looked up from the pages, tucking an old ribbon into the crease of the spine. “Is it so late already? Send her in.” She placed the book beside her and smoothed the dark green brocade of her gown. 

Saera walked in, her hands fiddled with the gold belt beneath her ribs until she saw Alicent’s dark eyes narrow in on her. She folded them in front of her before giving the Queen a deep curtsy. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” she said with a smile. 

Alicent nodded her head, her characteristic frown melted. “Good evening, Saera. Please, come sit. We have some time before your uncle arrives.” She watched Saera sit across from her on a golden stool, tossing her silver curls away from her face. The young lady adjusted her teal gown so it covered her leather boots and crossed her ankles the way Alicent had taught her. Then she looked up at her, blinking and waiting for her queen to start speaking. Perfect.

“I hear you had an adventure this afternoon,” Alicent said. Talya placed a silver tray in front of them, with an elegant carafe of deep wine and two crystal goblets beside it. “Pour.”

Saera obediently stood. The Queen narrowed her eyes when she gripped the handle and shakily poured the spiced red into the glass. A drop splashed on the silver tray when she poured her own glass. She studied the goblet Saera handed to her. “A little full,” she corrected. She watched Saera sit across from her again, her lightly calloused hands played with the lip of her goblet. “How was the snow?”

Saera watched the brown spices swirl in her cup. “Beautiful.”

“You abandoned your duties for beautiful? Come now, Saera,” she chastised. 

The girl let out an unladylike huff. “Beautiful and cold. We sat amongst the roots and drew patterns. Princess Visenya unbraided my hair and put leaves in it, and then Ser Harwin found us and sent us inside.”

She raised an amber eyebrow. “There was a search for you two throughout the Keep. Had several servants in a frenzy. Looking through the curtains, the kitchens, they even tried the dungeons in case you had managed to wriggle your way down there and lock yourself in a cell.”

Saera smirked, hiding it behind her hand. “I apologize for causing concern. We only wanted to see the snow.”

“It was Visenya’s idea?”

She didn’t respond, instead taking a small sip of her wine.

Alicent nodded. “Rhaenyra’s children cause such trouble. It is a shame they drag you into it, my dear.”

Her brows puckered together. “She did not drag me, I agreed to go.” The Queen clicked her tongue in disappointment, and Saera swallowed the passion in her voice. “I apologize… I meant to say, Visenya suggested we go play in the snow, and I agreed to accompany her.”

“I am disappointed in you, Saera.”

“I know.”

“What punishment have you received thus far?”

Saera swallowed; her tongue darted out to catch a speck of cinnamon on her lip. “Princess Rhaenyra has confined me to my rooms, I am only allowed to attend you. And Ser Laenor is to decide my fate,” she pouted. “Surely, my father will also be consulted.”

“He will be,” she said. Alicent swallowed down the last of her glass and placed it on the tray. “Pour.”

Saera carefully measured out the wine, her mouth was pinched in concentration. 

“Much better. And not a drop spilled this time,” she complimented. “Here, sit beside me.”

The girl followed her instructions, looking up at her through her pale lashes. Alicent studied her; her cool hand cupped her chin and tilted her face back and forth. Her stormy purple eyes drifted shut. A silk handkerchief dabbed at her cheek. “Speck of dirt.”

The immediate frown on Saera’s face made her smile to herself. “Ash. From sitting too close to the fire,” she said, opening her eyes slowly. “Is it gone?”

“Yes, my dear, it is gone.”

Saera pulled away, folding her hands in her lap. 

Alicent handed her the abandoned book. “Read to me. Consider this the lesson you missed for the day.”

“Are the others joining this evening?”

“My children? For dinner,” she said, tucking a curl behind Saera’s ear. It held for a moment before springing back into place. “Read.”

She opened the book, smoothing the yellowed pages with her fingers. “In Oldtown, maesters throughout history have discovered ways to change the colors of the fire that burns in Hightower, to alert the ships in Whispering Bay of treacherous rocks, incoming storms, or political and civil unrest. As the highest point in Oldtown, the strength of Hightower is imp- impar-”

“Imperative,” Alicent corrected.

“Imperative.”

A few pages later, the Queen’s youngest burst through her chamber’s doors, pretending to fly a carved wooden dragon toy. He ran up to Saera and knocked the book from her hands. “Hey!”

Daeron stuck his tongue out at her before jumping out of her reach. The girl lunged for him, hiking up her skirts to her knees to give chase. 

“Children,” Alicent said with a loud clap of her hands. They both froze, looking at her guiltily. “Saera Rhae. Sit down and fix your gown. Daeron. What is in your hands and where are your brothers?”

Daeron blushed and looked at his leather boots, hiding the toy behind his back. “A dragon.”

“And where did you get the dragon?”

He rocked back on his heels. Before he could answer, Aemond came running in too, his face was flushed pink and his white blond hair stuck out in odd directions. His eyes were narrowed in on his younger brother until he saw the pinched frown on his mother’s face. Aemond stood up straight and bowed stiffly. “Mother, he got out of my sight, I apologize for bursting in like this.”

Alicent nodded and motioned him to sit on one of the sofas. “Daeron. Where is that toy from?”

“Father carved it for me,” Daeron said, showing it to them. A tiny, unpainted version of Tesserion blowing flames from her mouth rested in his hands. 

“Liar,” Aemond spat.

His mother stood, placing her goblet down on the table before holding out her hand to Daeron. “You know you are not to touch your father’s model.”

“But he let Jace do it,” he sneered. He nearly threw the toy but his mother plucked it from his fingers before he could. 

Alicent sighed, handing the figure to her lady-in-waiting. “Have this returned to the King’s chambers. Make sure he does not notice.” She turned back to them, her dark eyes scanned over them like she was waiting for another stolen toy to appear. “You are both a mess. Have you been chasing each other through the halls for hours?”

Aemond crossed his arms, pouting. “No, we-”

She held up her hands, looking at the dark sky. “No matter. Go. Get cleaned up.”

Daeron whined, stomping his feet into the floor. “Why aren't you dismissing her?” His accusing finger pointed at Saera. Alicent looked at her youngest coldly, and all of the children snapped to attention. She raised her hand to the door, her eyes did not leave her son’s. 

Saera watched Aemond grab his younger brother’s arm and pull him out of the room in silence; their boots scraped against the stones. Then the Queen’s gaze fell on her. She ducked down to pick up the book off of the floor, brushing away barely visible dust on the pages. “Shall I continue, my lady?”

Alicent picked up her glass. “Yes, you may.”

Soon enough, all of the Green siblings sat in their mother’s chamber; scrubbed clean and dressed for their feast, and they listened passively to Saera reciting the fragile pages. The room had a peaceful lull about it, the fire roared pleasantly in the hearth, snow fell steadily beyond the windows. 

Talya stepped away from the door, momentarily letting the noise of the castle invade the quiet space. “My Lady, the lords are arriving.”

Alicent nodded. “With me,” her command barely whispered but brought all of her children to their feet. Saera gently closed the book, blinking the exhaustion from her eyes. She was grateful for the break from the small print. “Saera,” the queen called over her shoulder. 

She jumped to her feet and hurried to catch up with them, her hands tucked firmly behind her back. She could feel her excitement starting to eat away at the nerves that had been lighting in her stomach. She started to peer up at the adult’s faces milling through the halls, hoping to see her brothers’ bright grins and open arms. 

The lords and ladies of the court rarely looked down at the children, royal or not. She envied Aegon and Helaena, who had finally started to grow in their early teens, now people parted in front of them and bowed their decorated heads in acknowledgement. Saera grumbled when people pushed past her, scraping her sleeves against their trousers or stepping on her sparkling shoes. She rushed forward a few steps and caught Helaena’s cool hand.

Helaena glanced down at her and with a tiny smile she tightened her grip. She was gently guided to her side and their arms interlinked. “Lady Redwyne missed you this morning,” she whispered to her younger cousin. They turned down the hall and began to stride down the stairs. 

Saera held her skirts in her free hand, focusing on the uneven stones. “Did she now? I suppose she cannot criticize you, cousin. You never wear trousers or forget which spoon is for dessert.”

Her giggle was like tiny bells they used to stitch on the doll’s clothes. “Considering the lecture I received this afternoon, she has plenty to criticize.”

“And what was she red-faced about today?”

Helaena considered the question for a moment, her bluish-violet eyes momentarily unfocused. Then she took a deep breath. “Several things. Not knowing what flowers to pick for this tourney’s festivities, choosing the wrong wine for a pear tart.” She looked up at her mother as they walked down the main hall, Ser Criston had fallen into step beside her at some point. “Not having control over you.”

Saera frowned. “Control over me?”

“She thinks you are wayward,” she whispered. They stopped by the doors, Alicent’s ladies in waiting draped warm furs over their shoulders, pinning them in place with golden broaches. Saera hardly noticed, turning the phrase in her mind. “But I do not mind it, I find it endearing.”

“My ‘waywardness’?” 

She huddled closer to her younger cousin when the doors were pulled open, sending in a freezing breeze. “Yes,” she said simply. Then she fell silent, following her mother to the front of the crowd and pulling Saera along beside her. 

They stood across from Rhaenyra and Laenor. Only Laenor acknowledged her, giving her a small smile and a wink. But then he fell serious again, looking back towards the gates. Saera shuddered again with another gust of wind, looking for her other family members. 

It was a sea of house colors, expensive gems, and fur lined capes. She could barely see through the nobles that resided at the castle; could barely hear her own thoughts over the buzz of conversation. Then she saw Harwin’s bright golden cloak, followed by three small figures. He pushed people aside for the young royals and planted himself directly behind Visenya. 

Much like the Green siblings, the Black children were brushed and buttoned up in their formal wear. Jace’s mop of brown curls had been combed and tucked away from his chubby face, his chin held high thanks to the stiff black collar of his doublet. Visenya had her hair braided into a white gold crown and her blood red gown peeked out from underneath her black cape. She gave Harwin a withering glare when he ducked down to say something to her but let him carefully pull her fur lined hood up over her bright pink ears. Luke clung to his sister’s cape, his big brown eyes wandered around at the people surrounding him. He was dressed nearly identically to his older brother, but instead of a deep black fur on his shoulders, his cape was lined with a brilliant white. Likely from some Northern beast imported in the autumn. It looked warm. Saera yearned for her coat, but it was likely still drying in her room. And, as Jaylessa constantly reminded her, it was not for formal events such as this. 

A tug on her cloak made her look over at Daeron. “Could you stare any harder?” he mocked.

Saera glared at him, though he had nearly grown to her height in the last moon, she still managed to look down her nose at him. “Do you not have your toys to distract you?”

He sneered, starting to make an ugly face before Cole walked behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder. They stood in silence, listening to the trumpets blow and the gates creak open, until his guard slipped back to his mother’s side. 

She covered her mouth with her fingertips, trying not to giggle. His bony elbow dug into her ribs, but his jeers died in his throat as the first entourage climbed the stairs. 

“Lord Hobert and Lady Lynesse of House Hightower,” the crier called. She turned her head, watching them bow deeply to the King and Queen, gently brushing their lips over Alicent’s cheeks. Behind them was her red-haired brother, who formally bowed before kissing her as well. Saera scrunched her brows, she could never remember his name. 

Alicent gently squeezed her brother’s hands before carefully stepping back to Viserys’ side. Her family bowed to her children, muttering pleasantries to each of the children. She saw their amber eyes rake over her indifferently, before they passed over her to bow to the blond princes at her side. She bobbed her head anyway, as she was expected to do, ignoring the all too familiar reminder of her station. It was becoming an increasingly longer day than she was prepared to handle. 

She watched the Hightowers circle around, greeting Rhaenyra and her children with grins that didn’t quite meet their eyes, and curtsies a little less deep than what they awarded the Queen. She bit her lips and readjusted her fingers in Helaena’s, a deep, unnerving weight settled in her chest.

The procession was the same through other houses. The Tully’s, the Lannister’s, even the Baratheon’s. She tried to peek around, hunting for her family’s silver hair in the line. “Do you see them?” she whispered to Helaena. 

Her cousin didn’t respond, completely distracted by a small, frost covered spider’s web hanging from a frieze. 

“Helaena, do you-”

She was interrupted suddenly. “Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys of House Velaryon,” he called. Saera poked her head out of line, watching her aunt and uncle lead in their family. She felt like she had to cling to her cousin to keep herself from sprinting into her father’s arms. It had been drilled into her after she passed her seventh nameday that a lady has to wait until she is in private to embrace her loved ones. And once the lords had their meals and several bottles of the King’s wine, she would be able to be glued to their sides’ without question. 

Rhaenys smiled kindly at her before bowing. “Lady Saera, you have grown since I’ve last seen you. Doesn’t she look lovely, my lord?”

Corlys looked down at his niece, a twinkle in his dark violet eyes. “My gods, I scarcely recognized her.” She smiled and gave them both a formal curtsy, despite the cold she did not wobble. He bowed his head to her before turning to greet Rhaenyra and his son. 

Her father passed next, extending his hand to her. She took it and sank into another curtsy. “Hello, father,” she said. “I trust your journey was easy?”

He sniffed, giving her a tight lipped smile. “Quite cold. But we are grateful to be received so warmly.” He kissed the back of her hand before continuing the procession. 

She didn’t contain her wide grin when she saw Daemion and Daeron greeting Alicent. Daemion had grown out his white locs to his waist, like his uncle. Instead of letting them dangle down his cheeks, like Daeron’s, he braided them back and secured all of his hair into a long, decorated tail. Daeron kept his short, silver ornaments twinkled on the ends. She noticed how much older they both looked, both were sporting cropped silver beards and the family crest on their chests. 

But all the age disappeared from their faces when they grinned down at her. She liked that the three of them shared the same smile. That their eyes, though all different shades of purple, danced with identical light. “It is good to see you, numio (pearl),” Daeron said, kissing her cheeks first. “You have yet to meet my wife, she is very excited to meet you.” 

“Oh yes,” she said quietly, wondering which silver-haired lady was Hazel.

He perked up as some of the Velaryons passed by them, skipping over Saera to the princes beside her. “Inside,” he promised, making way for his brother. 

Daemion was second. “Where has my little sister gone? All I see is another princess,” he teased.

She wrinkled her nose to keep herself from laughing. “Don’t be silly, I’m right here!”

He squeezed her hand. “As lovely as ever. Are you allowed to join our procession or must you stay,” he glanced over at Alicent who was already greeting the Redwyne’s. 

“I have already gotten in trouble once today for being somewhere I don’t belong,” she said seriously. “I don’t wish to chance it.”

He playfully frowned and poked her nose. “Very well, Lady Saera. But you must save me a dance then.” He grinned at her once more before they were ushered along, dragging the remainder of the Velaryon’s with them. 

She barely noticed the rest of the houses, but they also barely noticed her. Some spent more time lingering by the Queen, some rushed their greetings to be beside the Princess. Soon enough, Helaena tugged on her hand and they were being ushered into the warmth of the Keep. 

The food was hot, chasing away any chill that had sunk into her bones. She was avidly listening to a story Luke was spinning, leaning slightly over Jace’s plate to hear him over the buzz in the hall. She sat in her spot, separating the Green and the Black siblings as their shared sister. She would have to turn occasionally to look at Alicent’s side and listen to Daeron excitedly tell his own tale, or Aegon make lewd comments about one of the ladies in the room. 

But every once in a while she snuck a glance at her family’s table, equal in grandeur but not raised on the royal dias. They talked amongst themselves. She saw Daeron holding a woman’s hand, her deep skin radiated bronze in the warm candlelight and her silver hair was braided elaborately against her head. When she reached for her wine, Saera could see her teal sleeves were wound with silver threads that glimmered when she moved. Hazel’s eyes were dark, but she couldn’t tell from her seat if they had a hint of violet in them; but she could see the way they softened when they fell on her brother. 

“Saera,” someone said, making her turn around quickly. Aemond raised his brows at her. “Did you not hear me?”

She blinked and twirled her silver fork in the drippings left on her plate. “I thought my brother was speaking to me, my apologies.”

He looked down his nose at her family. “They seem preoccupied with themselves. My sister suggested we all go to the Dragon Pit together for training, before the hunt.”

She glanced at Alicent; she listened intently to the Hand and her husband rattling on. “I am not sure I will be-”

“You should come, someone has to keep Aemond company,” Jace hissed in her ear, shooting a mischievous grin at his uncle. “Poor boy only has the keepers and his hand to distra-”

She pulled her head away with a gag. “Jacearys,” she said. “You’ve been spending too much time with Aegon.” Her eyes darted to Aemond, who’s pinched face had gone sour. 

“Something to share, nephew?” he asked. He twisted his fingers around the stem of his goblet, not breaking eye-contact. “Or are your pathetic jests reserved only for the lady’s ears?”

Jace stuck his tongue into the gap in his teeth and looked over at their parents, making sure they were fully distracted. “Saera has heard worse, I think the only delicate, ladylike ears here…are yours, uncle.”

Saera groaned and buried her face in her hands. “Must we do this tonight,” she said, peeking out from between her fingers. “I have hours left before my father hears of my indiscretions and proceeds to skin me alive.”

The blond prince rolled his eyes. “Your flair for dramatics will outlive you, surely,” he said snidely. 

“What indiscretions?” the brunette glared at her, as if he were insulted he had been left out. Saera waved him off.

“May I have one evening without insults and pranks?” she begged. “Please?”

“Very well,” Aemond pouted.

Jace raised his brown eyebrows at her and poked at the remaining dregs of his meal. “I will do my best, but make no such vows.”

She sighed. “Thank you.” She leaned back on the carved chair, smiling softly at a servant coming to clear their plates. She glanced back at her family again, their plates were already gone, soon enough they would be on their feet and dancing about. 

The musicians were picking up speed, the drummers were getting ready to start. And once the King gave them the signal, the tourney would officially begin. Viserys lurched to his feet. She noticed his finery seemed too big, his white hair had thinned, though his crown hid the worst of it. He smiled at his daughter first, then his wife. He held up his overfilled cup, and a dull clatter followed as everyone lifted theirs in return. “Welcome, all, to our home. The realm had a blessed harvest, and as the snow falls and the wind grows cold, it is a pleasure to celebrate amongst friends.”

He drank deeply, prompting the room to follow. The king slammed it down into the table and pointed at the musicians. “Play,” he commanded with a joyous laugh before sitting. Alicent’s hand immediately worried over his chest, but he batted her away. 

She felt the drums pound in her chest, chairs and benches scraped when people stood, gathering in the center of the floor to dance. She felt her chair creep out from beneath her. Before she could whip around, large hands wrapped around her waist and hauled her out of her seat. 

Saera let out a joyful laugh as Daemion tossed her into the air and caught her. He was warm from the fire and the wine, and the hairs of his beard ticked her face when he kissed her cheeks. She twisted so she could wrap her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. His arms cradled her closer and she could feel his breath on her shoulder. “May I ask the lady for a dance? Or are there a hundred other young men waiting their turn?” he teased. 

Saera pulled away. “The Queen says I’m too young for such things, I have to wait until I’m two and ten,” she pouted. 

He grinned at her, his eyes sparkled as he shifted her onto his hip and turned to look at the royal table. “I am inclined to agree. You’re much too young to be entertaining any attention, I won’t allow it,” he mocked, digging his fingers into her sides until she laughed. She slapped a hand over her mouth to quiet herself, but the sounds of the ball and dull roar of conversation of the lords and ladies left her unnoticed.

He bowed his head to the King and Queen before carrying her over to Rhaenyra’s side. Laenor looked away from a knight he was whispering with to grin at Daemion. “Come to steal away your sister?” he teased as Daemion dropped her beside her guardian’s chair and the two embraced. 

“Why else would I come to King’s Landing? To visit you?” he laughed. Laenor patted his back a few times before grinning down at Saera. 

Laenor smoothed a curl that managed to escape from her braid, tucking it beneath the jeweled net pinned to her hair. He ducked to her level, taking her hands in his. “Promise me you’ll behave?”

She nodded in earnest, making him chuckle.But she could tell he didn’t believe her. “Yes, ser. Best behavior.”

His eyes met hers. “Very well. Have your fun, but you will be going to bed soon. Come when I call you, Saera Rhae.” She nodded again, but he didn’t let go of her hands. He looked like he was holding a heavy weight on his shoulders, and suddenly she could see the rings of shadows beneath his eyes and the sharpness of his cheeks. 

But in a flash it was gone, he let go and rose to her brother’s height. “Alright, you may have her for now.”

“For now? Limiting my time with my own sister? King’s Landing has made you cruel,” Daemion teased. As if he was worried Laenor would change his mind, he picked his sister up and placed her on his hip with an exaggerated groan. “You’re lucky, ser, she’s getting too big for me to stow away in the hull of the ship.” 

She waved at her cousins as her brother carried her to her family, not missing the varied looks they gave her. Annoyance. Jealousy. Even a bit of confusion, but mostly from Luke, who hadn’t really realized she wasn’t his sister yet. 

“I have a present for you, father,” Daemion called, pulling Vaemond’s attention away from his brother. He grinned at his only daughter as her brother placed her on the floor and let her run towards him. 

Vaemond wrapped his arms around her and eased her onto his lap. “Hello, my little love,” he grinned down at her. “Only a few moons since your nameday and you’re already taller. What have they been feeding you?”

She tucked herself into his chest, her pale eyes fluttered closed when she could faintly hear his slow heartbeat. His chin rested on top of her head, his arms briefly squeezed her tighter. Selfishly, she wished this moment would never end.

“Daeron, stop lurking and come introduce her,” he called. She sat up and slid out of his lap, her hands folded politely behind her back. 

Her eldest brother guided over the dark skinned woman she had noticed earlier. “Saera Rhae, this is my wife. Hazel Harte.” 

“This is the darling sister I have heard so much about,” Hazel said with an almost shy smile. She curtsied deeply to Saera. “It is an honor. Daeron speaks so highly of you.”

She beamed at her eldest brother. “He has written about you. I am sorry I could not attend the wedding, Lady Hazel, my studies wouldn’t allow for it.” 

Hazel’s eyes twinkled, and she noticed that even though they were dark, a glimmer of violet shot through them. Her hand wrapped around Daeron’s and he turned to gaze into his wife’s eyes. “It is quite alright, Lady Saera. There’s plenty of time, and a hundred celebrations to follow.” She looked back at the royal table. “I hope we are not keeping you from your companions?”

“Not at all, this is where I have wanted to be all evening,” she chuckled, leaning closer to her father. She peeked around Hazel’s shoulder; Jace looked away in a hurry, leaning over to whisper in Visenya’s ear. “I am quite excited, the competition is said to be fierce.”

Hazel stroked Daeron’s arm. “Yes, both Daeron and Daemion have been training everyday since the invitations were sent.” 

“Have you now?” Saera sat up straighter.

Daemion appeared at his brother’s side, his long locs swung over his shoulder. “If you call me beating Daeron every afternoon ‘training’, then yes.”

Her eldest brother groaned and glared at him. “It is not every afternoon,” he jammed his elbow into Daemion’s ribs. He huffed and pressed his hand against his stomach as if his brother had driven a blade into his lung. 

Saera giggled. “Daemion, he hit you on the other side.” 

He paused and squinted at her before slowly sliding his hand across his torso, before resuming his dramatics. 

Vaemond held his daughter closer, his rare smile crinkled his eyes. “You’re setting a terrible example your for your sister. Where did you learn this from?”

Corlys chuckled. “Certainly not from you, brother,” he leaned forward. “Saera Rhae, how has your training progressed? Perhaps you can put both of your brothers to shame.”

All their eyes fell on her. Saera traced over the callouses on her hands. “I believe I am doing well. Combat is much harder to measure than language or history.” She grinned at her uncle. “Ser Criston is not quick to give me compliements, though I think I am catching up to the princes.”

“What weapons does he train you with?” Rhaenys asked, tracing the rim of her cup with her finger. “Hopefully nothing too brutish, doesn’t he use a morning star?”

Saera covered her mean smirk with her hand. “No, he has us all learning broadsword. Laenor has been teaching me how to use a dagger.” 

Rhaenys looked like she was about to add to the conversation when the drums pounded harder, transitioning into a slower dance. Saera pulled away from her father’s chest and turned to watch more people file onto the floor. Laenor offer his hand to Rhaenyra; her solemn face broke into an easy smile. Corlys and Rhaenys stood, taking each other’s hands. Her uncle patted her head as he passed by, leading his wife into the long lines that were forming. Her eldest brother and his wife follwed them. 

Daemion offered his arm. “Time to see if these fancy palace lessons have paid off,” he said. Saera kissed her father’s cheek before sliding to the floor and letting her brother guide her into the crowd.

She picked up her skirts and grinned up at him. “You might be disappointed, brother.” He grinned down at her, then bowed with the rest of the men. She curtsied, hazarding a glance at the other noblewomen in line, spotting Helaena’s shimmering white hair a little further away.  “But I will try my best to avoid your toes.”

Saera surprised herself; it had been weeks since she had practiced this dance. And it had dissolved into a pathetic brawl when Visenya kicked Aemond in the shins while switching partners and the princes leaped on each other without hesitation. 

She turned around herself and stepped towards her brother, who easily lifted her off of her feet and gently pushed her back like a wave. They clapped in time and turned around each other, grinning like children when he nearly went the wrong direction. She took his waiting hand and spun to her next partner. He was in red, but it was deeper than the Targaryen crimson, and almost as tall as her brothers were. 

She clapped her hands with everyone else and looked up at one of the Lannister brothers. Saera struggled to tell the two apart, even though there was usually only one in the halls of the Red Keep. The dance didn’t end, and she bowed with the rest of the ladies. “I wasn’t expecting you to dance tonight, Lady Saera,” he said.

She tilted her head, accepting his hand and hopping closer. “Dameion wanted-”

“Ah, yes. I saw your family arrive. You must be very happy to be reunited with them,” he said, twisting her around. She flinched when he grabbed her waist and lifted her feet off the floor. “I must visit with your father before he returns home.”

“Yes, ser.” Gratefully, they were about to switch again. His hand reached out, turning her again. “Are you competing in the tourney, ser?”

“I am meant to,” he said, letting her step away with the line. “But it feels like a young man’s sport.”

Saera grinned. “Oh, I would not know, this will be my first year attending.” 

“Perhaps I will see you in the stands,” he said. She spun once more before she stepped to the next man in line. 

Aemond. “When did you join?” she asked with a little annoyance. 

He pinched his face. “Does it matter? Unless you plan on kicking me like my niece did.” He bowed as gracefully as his gangly legs would allow. It was much more comfortable to not be looking up at her partner.

“She only did that because you stepped on her shoes,” her defensive tone made his eyebrows perk up. She bobbed a curtsy and then clapped with him before they started to circle each other. 

She spotted Helaena a few ladies down, dancing peacefully with Harwin; she was comically shorter than him. “I believe I only stepped on her shoes because she turned the wrong way,” he said. “Something you’re about to do now, pay attention.” 

Saera took his hand and let him turn her around. He found her waist and lifted her back into place with a small grunt. His bony fingers dug through her layers of skirts and pressed uncomfortably into her skin. “Tell me Jace joined you,” she said without thinking. 

“He didn’t,” he responded quickly. Their hands intertwined and she turned again. 

She hopped on the drumbeat and started to spin to her next partner, her eldest brother, but Aemond wouldn’t let go of her hand. “What?” she hissed.

He pulled her back into place. “Third partner, we don’t change for the rest of the dance. Formation only.”

“No, that’s a different one,” she argued. But he was right, partners stayed the same and started to shift from their lines into the final circle. Saera mumbled a curse, joining both of their hands. 

His freckled nose wrinkled like he was about to tease her doubt; but the blond prince thought better of it and guided them to their place in the circle, finishing their dance with a deep bow. 

Everyone clapped when the dance ended, laughter and chatter echoed around the hall while the musicians adjusted themselves to start the next piece. Aemond offered his hand to her. “I believe Jace wanted to dance with you next? It is proper for me to escort you to the next partner.”

Saera watched Daeron start to push his way towards her, Daemion taking Hazel’s hand with a kind grin. “Not this one,” she said flippantly, reaching up to her brother’s warm, calloused hand. He spun her around his finger once before guiding her into the next dance. 

It was past midnight. Her hair had been let free to tangle amongst her pillows, she was buried to her nose in her warm blankets. Then the tiniest click jarred her from her sleep. She rolled over, seeing candlelight spill in from the hidden panel connecting Visenya’s room to her’s. 

They had discovered the tunnels by accident, when Saera had fallen back into it while they were playing one day. While they found themselves brave enough to explore Maegor’s Holdfast alone by day, the permanent dark and damp of the tunnels kept them from wandering through the maze, instead only keeping to the narrow hall that connected the two of them. 

“Saera?” her friend whispered into the dark. 

She sniffed and rolled over to face her, opening up her blankets so Visenya could crawl in. The little princess didn’t hesitate, blowing out the candle and scrambling beneath the sheets. Her feet were frozen from her brief walk and her straight hair stuck out from its loose braid at odd angles. Saera let the sheets fall around her. “Don’t touch me with your icicle feet tonight,” she said with a secretive grin. “Or I’ll send you back to your bed.”

When Visenya turned her head, Saera could see the gleam of her eyes in the reflection of the moon. “Did you enjoy the ball? You danced quite a bit before father sent us to bed.”

She smiled sleepily. “Yes,” she pressed her cheek further into the pillows. “Did you?”

“I was not allowed to dance tonight,” she pouted. “Something about my behaviour, or perhaps it was my age.”

Saera let out a quiet laugh. “Can’t remember?”

“Truthfully, the cake tonight was so divine, I stopped listening to everyone once I had a bite.” 

The girls giggled into the sheets, trying to muffle their joy as much as possible. They caught their breath and listened carefully for any movement in the hall. It was still quiet. 

Visa stared at her, her mouth started pulling into a pout. “What do you think is going to happen now?”

She frowned and scooted closer to Visa. “Whatever do you mean?”

“With Laenor. And your father. What do you think is to happen?”

Saera sighed. “Nothing.”

Visenya sat up. “And how do you know?”

“I don’t, but you make such an ugly face when you worry, I can’t stand it,” she teased. Visenya dug her fingers into Saera’s side with a quiet noise of protest. 

“What if they send you away?”

She paused. The thought hadn’t crossed her mind, and suddenly the cold in the room started to sink into her bones. “Who said that?”

Visenya’s hand rested on her friend’s cheek. “Criston.”

She scoffed. “Ser Criston is uninvolved with the decision. He has no say.”

“But what if this time he is right?”

“And what if you wake up and your skin is bright green and covered in dragon scales?” she said softly, taking her hands in hers. “Some things just don’t happen.”

Visenya frowned, she could see the glimmer of tears forming in her eyes. She pulled the little princess into her arms, hugging her tightly. “When will they tell you?”

“I am not sure,” she whispered. “Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps before they leave. But you needn’t worry about my fate.”

There was a beat of silence. Visa rested her forehead against her friend’s, letting out a soft sigh. In the snow, everything felt quieter; even the dully glowing embers of the fire had lost their crackle when a cold wind washed through. 

Slowly, Visenya’s amethyst eyes drifted shut, and her breathing calmed. Saera stroked her silky hair while she drifted away, her mind alight with new thoughts. She would have to wake her up and send her back through the tunnel before their maids came. But she knew that wouldn’t be for a few more hours. She took a few deep breaths before slipping into her dreams.

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen fanfic #you're in the wind im in the water #fic rec #fanfiction #my writing

[mirsvintagesonytv]

I feel like 'Stay Soft' suits Yousano so much. First of all, Yousano went through so much in her life. Yet, she is a tough and strong female character. But she is also soft inside. Second, this an ISTP song. And guess what MBTI Yousano has? That right ISTP.

YESYES i agree!!! the other song I associate very heavily with her is Bag of Bones, but Stay Soft is veeerrryyyy Yosano coded it was the second song i had on my list for her.

Especially the chorus:

You stay soft, get beaten Only natural to harden up You stay soft, get eaten Only natural to harden up

I think this shows her experience in the war very well and the way that the repitition and forced exposure forced her to close herself off at a very early age. It reminds me of the way she slowly looses hope while under Mori, starting as a starry eyes little girl who wants to help and ending up basically snapping and never wanting to use her ability again. Its why we never really see her as very emotive/empathetic in the series - shes learned against being like that to save herself the pain of losing someone like how she felt for Tachiharas brother, its a defense against loss and pain. The first time we ever really show much emotion/rage truly is w her confrontation with Mori. Before that point she was always very stoic.

I think this song reflects her really well as you said its in line w her personality type, and imo the first verse really reflects the objectification she went through, only being valued for her ability and not much else beyond that.

"It glints in your eye It's why I've arrived, your sex god Here to take you where You need to go"

In the song mitski basically expresses how shes only there for others gratification and not her own, and i think in Yosano's context this matches with how she feels abt Thou Shall Not Die - thats the piece of her Mori wanted, he didnt care about her beyond that and thats something she takes to heart because it becomes her core identity until she meets ranpo and he tells her she can be more. Even past that i feel like she'd still feel that way somewhat because views like that dont leave easily. Plus how she was viewed as an angel vs mitskis "god" is very much a comparison i love, being put on a pedestal you dont think you deserve + the pressure to deliver always and the subsequent feeling of failure once you cant is veeery applicable to her character, both in her backstory at Tachiharas brothers death and in the present because its clear she feels a pressure to save the agency and keep them all alive no matter what even though its not neccesarily her responsibility to do that for people anymore.

BUT YEAHHHH!!! thank u for ur ask i rlly enjoyed u are so right !!!

Honestly Mitski x bsd is just a match made in heaven i love it bc they all have a song that fits and im just aAAAAAAA

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #mir speaks #mirs bsd rambling #mirs thoughts #bsd yosano #bsd analysis #bsd theories #mirs bsd mitski crossover #yosano akiko #mitski #stay soft #my asks #send me asks #asks answered #please send me asks i dont bite

[time-is-restored]

I took offense to “most cringe fail meow meow in recent history” until I realized it was a compliment 👍 she is minmaxing her life isn’t she (the caretaker for instance) anyway I think Clara and Martha would be friends but would also have a complicated relationship

oh im genuinely so glad u realised it was a compliment it would KILL me if ppl thought i just like. was unironically shitting on clara omg she's one of my favourite characters in like... ANYTHING, ever. i am OBSESSED w her twisted mind..

(expanding on my martha + clara dynamic thoughts under the cut bc it got OBSCENELY long lol)

i also completely agree w that clara and martha take! on the surface, i think they would make very good acquaintances/casual friends. they share the same inquisitive + intellectual nature, so i feel like they approach problem solving very similarly. it's hard to give a concrete example, since no companion has ever faced the EXACT same mystery, but what comes to mind for me is martha realising its safe to open the windows in smith + jones, and killing the engines in gridlock to hide from. whatever the monster was that episode LOL. compared with clara noticing the similar poses in Hide, and learning to make rapid-fire deductions to bluff her way out of danger, like in The Girl Who Died.

from memory they also have pretty similar sense of humour, and as unlikely it would be to come up in casual conversation, they can also both relate to being forgotten by the doctor, though at least in martha's case it was only a temporary measure.

however, i think beyond the level of occasional friends/allies, shit would definitely get tense. martha's arc is defined by how she never can truly adjust to the loss + death that follows the doctor wherever he goes, and how that's a good thing, and makes her such a good person + doctor. her priority is always saving + healing as many people as possible, and the level of distress she experiences after losing someone never seems to lessen (i can't quite remember its name, but the dolphin alien in the doctor's daughter comes to mind - at that point, martha has seen COUNTLESS fatalities, both while walking the earth and working for UNIT, which isn't exactly a chill desk job. but still, she cries like she's just lost a close friend, because she has). she feels everything incredibly deeply, and even though she does appear to develop a 'soldier's mentality' or whatever the fuck it is that davros calls it in journeys end, when she threatens to destroy the earth to disrupt the dalek's plan, to ME the most important part of that sequence is that she doesn't genuinely try to stop the housekeeper from shooting her/preventing her from using the key. she understands that what she's about to do is terrible, and would not blame anyone from stopping her - does not resent them from trying. there's no ego driving her actions here, just experience.

when we compare that with clara... now, listen, i wanna give a disclaimer here and say that i in NO way believe that clara is a paticularly cruel or callous person. but she ABSOLUTELY 'goes native' to a degree that martha explicitly refuses to (i can NOT see her rolling over to the housekeeper for even a second, if her and martha's places were switched, for example). sure, the adventuring is addictive, but she also learns to compartmentalise other people's deaths in a way that pretty much... no one other than the doctor himself seems to learn to do? she's hardly gunning down innocents, but she encourages ppl to risk themselves for the greater good (before the flood), and explicitly deceives people about their chances of survival (mummy on the orient express, flatline). as seen in her final sacrifice with rigsy, it's not like she's unwilling to walk the walk, but that familiarity with death + loss is something that's freaked out virtually every companion that's ever traveled with the doctor, and by the end of her journey, im pretty sure clara deals with loss in an almost indistinguishable way to him.

compound that with clara's control issues (if it came down to it, could she really trust martha with key components of any plan, even if she is intellectually aware of her capability + experience?) and plain old ego (while i do think clara in s9 has grown a fair bit away from her 'dont lump me in w the rest of those puny humans' rant in kill the moon, as viewed from an outsider POV, martha's job at UNIT automatically puts her as 'lesser' in clara's eyes, just bc of how often travelling w the doctor involves scoffing at local armies as they royally fuck everything up. WE know that martha's more than just someone else's lackey, but would clara?)... yeesh. at minimum, im seeing clara being condescending + dismissive, and martha being (almost DEFINITELY rightfully) outraged at clara's cavalier, too-cool-for-emotions attitude, and associating her with the doctor's worst moments.

ofc they could work THROUGH these issues with time - ultimately, both of them became very close with and fond of the doctor, and that takes a particular type of tolerance to some... frequently grating personality traits LMAO. not to mention how well they could bond if they gave each other half the chance (sarah jane + rose, martha + donna - companions all inherently have a lot in common! the love of adventure, of exploration, of being able to be part in something so much BIGGER than every day life..)!

tl;dr despite my dismay over the poll, they realistically actually WOULD fight, quite a bit. but im a firm believer in the healing power of the 'talking shit -> being proven wrong' pipeline, not to mention the power of female characters unionising, so i like to imagine that they could one day be good friends :)

#companion poll #my writing #meta #tysm for the ask btw its always rlly cool to see other ppl passionate abt the same characters as me :D #asks #dw

[peri]

guys what would you do if clearing cookies/cache didnt fix bad performance / glitching / lagging on a website.... ?? ive not seen any other desktop users complain about tumblr being glitchy in the same way it has been for me so i assume its not a thing anyone else is dealing with and it hasnt been like this on any other site im using. im stuck

for more information, the issue im having is that buttons wont work first try. i have to click two or three times for a like to register as a like, all the while it gives me errors saying it didnt go through. same goes for messaging, posting, saving drafts, reblogging, replying, and sending asks to name a few things, but its for like... everything, besides clicking onto a different page or something. i hope this makes sense..? i'd really like some help w this coz i truly am at a loss

im not using xkit or dash unfucker or anything btw, and firefox is up to date, and restarting the laptop doesnt do it either.

here's an example of the errors im getting that are happening as i type and try to upload this

it does go through after like 2-3 tries tho which is why you are seeing this post now

#log date.txt #tumblr is fine on mobile so its not an account thing either

[obxsprincess]

heyy girl, how are u? i know ive been kinda missing but i might need your advice on something bc im very confused and unsure (and my friends are being kind of unhelpful bitches lol

So, im in college right? and theres a lot of fraternities around, and I met this guy, a friend of a friend, and he lives in a fraternity.

So far so good right? We kinda flirted with each other for a few days until a party last night where we finally hooked up (i was drunk but everyone said it was pretty hot :)) but i had to leave bc my roomate was very sick so i never got to talk to him abt anything else basically. And my friend said tomorrow they'll have a small party to celebrate a bday on that fraternity, and everyone keeps saying i should lose my virginity to this guy (ik shocking im a virgin), but the thing people dont understand is that i get attached very quickly and to me our kiss basically locked in, so im kinda nervous ill get attached and he wouldnt want anything serious w me

Reading it back it feels kinda dumb but specially for people on campus and SPECIALLY on fraternities is very rare for u to get kinda together w someone so quick, so I DUNNO WHAT TO DO

- 💋

hiii babes, ofc ofc im always here to help!! and remember not even my opinion should persuade you into anything, cus I can only go off of my own experiences with virignity loss and hook ups 💞 but I hope my insights helpful!!

I lost my virginity at 16 back in high school (a long time ago and not at all saying ur guy is like this ! cus he probably isnt! especially cus hes an adult so I hope to fucking hell he isn’t) and it definitely happened very fast and quick, texted for a few days, made out, and then met up to have sex. in summary it ended with my nudes being leaked around the school and almost a felony on my name (for sending them?) but the thing ive took out of it (and only reason for the story, im srry cus I was so young so it might seem weird to include) n held close is to remember trust is one of the most important parts of sex really! because your putting your pleasure and body into someone elses hands, but also your emotional trust because sex is so much more than just getting physical for a few minutes, and its important to remember that the lingering thoughts shouldn’t ever be negative, or the guy broke the trust you put in him. truly the after sex reaction is just as important as being taken care of during. in my experience, because I didnt know the guy well, I went into it blind not knowing what I total asshole he was.

and trust, in my eyes, means knowing you’ll be treated right afterwards no matter what, even without a relationship basic aftercare if the bare minimum. and to me it doesn’t seem like you are convinced he’ll do that for you ! so pls pls be careful 💞 who knows ! he might be an amazing guy but if you arnt ready to take that step yet, don’t ! because the good ones are always willing to wait. I would say text him/talk to him in person if you have to too. because and I’m hoping not but you never know, his and your friends might have ‘talked’, and sex might be on his mind too. so if you feel comfortable, get on the same page with him with whatever you decide angel !! you deserve to lose your virginity and be glowing afterwards, its so much better than regretting it 💗 whether u choose to get to know him better or lose your virginity to him, stay safe bby and use safety <3 (pls make sure to discuss possible STD history on his side too btw !)

hope this helped a little love, love you and never let anyone pressure you please, cus fuck that

#my pretty 💋 anon <3

[butchviking]

i think its really lame that so many ppl on here have tightened the borders of what they consider radical feminism & who they consider radical feminists lately. like if u dont do everything just right the way /i/ believe is the truly radical way then you have no claim on the label and the label is of course the most important thing for some reason. and i will pretend like this has always been the way the label has been used, i will pretend that andrea dworkin was never a radical feminist and no-one (except fools not as englightened as i am) ever considered her to be. and if you do not meet the standard, you aren't part of my movement.

i understand that defining your branch of politics is important for finding likeminded women with common goals, to communicate what you believe in, and so you can work together on practical action to achieve those goals.

it's just. hm. its been a long time since ive considered myself a radical feminist, or even necessarily a feminist at all. ive spoken plenty abt why that is but safe 2 say i still desire the liberation of women no matter what words i call myself. but ive still always been happy to lump myself in w radfems in many ways, discuss ways forward with self-defined radfems, go to radfem events, attend radfem meetups. but lately ive begun to think, huh, i guess if i don't define myself that way i shouldn't b like. tagging along as though i belong there. which is a crazy fucking shame bc the whole reason i don't really consider myself a feminist is due to lack of action - that means i WOULD like to go to more feminist events & groups and find ways to take action! and i know that while /i/ believe feminism doesn't have to be radical to address female sex-based issues, female healthcare, porn, prostitution, male violence, etc, im well aware that if i were to attend plain ol' 'feminist' events, im going to hear a lot of shit i actually consider very very ANTI-feminist. so obviously it makes sense 2 me to go to radfem spaces instead. and if i feel like im not gna be welcome in those, then.. well, i just won't go to any, or do any sort of feminist activism at all. which isn't what i want. i want to do things! i want to help! the cause matters to me! but if mainstream feminism says "you're too radical and you're not welcome here" and radical feminism says "you're not radical enough and you're not welcome here" then. i'm not the only one on a borderline here. a lot of women who would like to be feminists are going to get left behind and end up doing nothing. don't you think that's a shame? don't you think that's a loss?

#just thinking out loud i guess. #idk i get the urge to say 'we only want women who are serious about our cause and serious about their beliefs/actions' #but no-one is born serious about the cause. everyone has steps they take and everyone is at different levels. #and maybe it works if there's liberal feminism for the new-to-the-cause and regular feminism for the halfway-there #and radical feminism only for the truly radical #but there isnt. there isnt that. because everyone else considers believing in sex-based opression to be not only radical but also evil.