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betweengenesisfrogs · 6 months

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A HOMESTUCK MANIFESTO

I want to think about what comes next after Homestuck.

That’s a challenge to the world as much as a personal mission statement.

I want to see writers and artists and creators making the next Homestuck, taking its themes and binding them into new fabrics, giving life to new creatures even more beautiful and uncanny than the original species.

I hunger to see new forms of story and image evolving with Homestuck in their DNA.

This process is already underway. Homestuck is a massive boulder dropped into the waters of culture, and the full wake of its ripples is still to be felt. But let’s call attention to this process and ask: what would happen if we engaged in it more consciously? If we sifted through our feelings about Homestuck to create something new, deliberately, with great and wonderful purpose?

The tools we need are within our grasp. Homestuck presents itself as magic, but it’s a work constructed in time out of specific storytelling choices. So let’s understand those choices. Let’s understand how Homestuck did what it did, and use Homestuck’s tools to build art that grips the soul of future generations as strongly as Homestuck did ours.

What follows is not a traditional literary analysis. It does not cite its sources; it does not seek to give us a comprehensive understanding of Homestuck. If it does, it does so only to the extent it suits its larger purpose.

Our goal here, our quest, if you will, is not to understand the Homestuck that exists, but the Homestuck that comes next.

Let's begin.

0. THE WILD GARDEN

Let’s lay the absolute groundwork here.

Homestuck is constructed as a re-appropriation of itself. Or to put it another way, it’s a big improvisational move, a process of “yes and”-ing so hard it develops a sprawling continuity.

Tiny details are constantly re-contextualized to become part of something else. A joke might turn tragic. A silly aside might turn into something profound.

But it didn’t have to be that way.

It’s crucial to understand that what we experience as continuities were in fact choices made at specific times. Homestuck is a garden where seeds were scattered in every direction, grown en masse, then weeded down to create patterns and forms.

The shape of the garden is designed to conceal the gardener’s hand. But the gardener’s choices are there, every step of the way.

If we are to follow in its footsteps, what choices should we make?

Let’s talk about themes.

1. THE MEANING CRISIS

Nobody in Homestuck knows what they’re doing.

And neither do we.

All the old idols have broken down. The values we were taught in our childhood fail to measure up to the problems of the world we live in. We grasp after careers and lives we were told would make us happy and wonder why we’re left empty. The selves that we were told were us now fit us about as well as clothing we’ve outgrown. Crises loom, political, economic and environmental, and everywhere it feels like the people who are supposed to guide and lead us aren’t doing enough.

It's widening gyres and slouching beasts all the way from here to Bethlehem, is what I’m saying.

The reason people go absolutely insane for Homestuck is that it depicts this crisis of meaning. It shows the questions we might want to ask, and attempts to provide some kind of answer.

The protagonists of Homestuck struggle with what I’ve called “received narrative.” That is, they’ve inherited stories from their families, from the world, that they try to use to define their lives, and it doesn’t work. But these stories are so familiar that it’s hard to think outside them. They have to develop new stories by which to live. Sometimes they succeed, but other times they can’t escape the gravity of the ones they were given.

With me so far?

Great. Now understand that all this was improvised and discovered largely accidentally over the course of ten years.

Here’s a seed that became quite an impressive tree:

The streets are empty. Wind skims the voids keeping neighbors apart, as if grazing the hollow of a cut reed, or say, a plundered mailbox. A familiar note is produced. It's the one Desolation plays to keep its instrument in tune.

It’s a joke. But it was never just a joke. There’s an idea here of dissatisfaction with the stereotypical idea of American suburban life. Egbert here is looking for something more, dissatisfied for reasons they can’t fully articulate. This is typical fantasy protagonist stuff, but there’s something more here, too.

Eventually it’s redirected towards the idea that there really is an unseen riddler. But let’s put that aside for now.

This page, in its moment, says: your life is not the full picture. There’s something else out there, waiting, that’s going to change everything.

That's a potential set-up for a very powerful payoff. It gives us the sense that Egbert and all their friends are going to have to rethink what they know. That this suburban life is not going to be enough for them, that somehow or other they’re going to encounter something they aren’t prepared for, and they’ll have to find a new way of acting and being. That, try as they might to avoid it, they’re going to change over the course of this journey.

But to understand how they change, we need to talk about SBURB.

2. THE PORTAL FANTASY OF IT ALL

A lot of people like to joke that Homestuck is an isekai. I think it might clarify things to use the term portal fantasy instead.

Portal fantasy is simply the fantasy subgenre of characters, usually kids, going to a magical other world. Maybe they make friends, maybe they learn lessons and stuff. You know the drill. I don’t have to to tell you more because the story structure is already so familiar. That’s what gives it power.

Portal fantasy differs from the related Japanese genre of isekai in that isekai in its current form is much more heavily based on video games such as MMORPGs. In the most pervasive isekai narratives, protagonists are rewarded not so much for achieving personal growth as being able to exploit the game mechanics of a game-like system. That’s pretty different from your typical Narnia scenario.

The influence of portal fantasy is everywhere in Homestuck, especially in the beginning. We have nods to the fantasy films of the 1980s that gave us our contemporary idea of this story structure, such as The Neverending Story (itself, in its original book incarnation, a phenomenal commentary on the genre). Our protagonists are genre savvy; they recognize what’s happening here.

But it doesn’t fit quite right. The odd note is first sounded when Egbert asks Nanasprite if what they’re doing is going to save the world. They’re bit unsettled to learn the answer’s no, that something else is going on here. Next we have the fantasy worlds: the planetary lands each present a veneer of exciting adventure. But their inhabitants, the consorts, aren’t fully-realized people, they’re largely cute animals going through the motions, not really understanding the story they’re telling. The carapacians are a little better, but they’re still trapped in a fatalism that feels uncomfortable.

As things rev up in Act 4, we learn about doomed timelines from alt-timeline Dave and Rose, how your entire existence in this setting may be fodder for something other than you. When we learn the true purpose of SBURB and its froggy details in Act 5, we see that SBURB is more like a biological creature, mainly interested in its own reproductive desires. It was never really about the portal fantasy at all. The kids are just along for the ride.

So when we see that Rose wants to tear through SBURB, find out a way to escape fate, and snatch meaning from the jaws of futility, it makes sense. We’ve been given hints already that this is the conflict at hand: the characters vs the story that’s telling them.

(Note: it’s certainly possible to have a reading that SBURB is not evil so much as empty, that it reflects what you bring into it, that its will for you is your will for you. But that’s also a difficult thing, right? If you lack self-understanding, it’s a struggle to bring about your ideal reality.)

What we haven’t mentioned yet is that this is all mediated through the lens of video games. Which makes perfect sense. Because where do we seek meaning, especially as kids? In imaginary worlds that make more sense to us than real life, that give us achievements to take pride in and clear objectives to pursue.

SBURB evokes mechanics from games like Final Fantasy. We see its players complete objectives, cast magic spells, gain power-ups with colorful costume changes. But unlike the narratives implied by traditional video game progressions, leveling up doesn’t mean you grow as a person or process your trauma. Later, in Act 6, when we meet a player who has made his life about winning the game (Caliborn), it’s horrific to behold.

Homestuck is a portal fantasy, but it’s fundamentally a portal fantasy about games. It’s a portal fantasy that shows us how characters seek meaning in being the best at arbitrary game mechanics, but ultimately fail to find it.

So I guess…it actually is an isekai? Huh. Wild.

(But seriously, Homestuck is actually fairly prescient in predicting the ideas that come out of isekai and LitRPG. It’s engaging consciously and deconstructively with the weird ideas of self-fulfillment these genres are drowning in.)

So what might a Homestuckian work look like? It will almost certainly critique a false narrative we live by. It may comment on portal fantasy, or our personal satisfaction that comes as easily as playing a video game. But it doesn’t have to be limited to these things. It might talk about our popular TV shows and movies. It may take apart what’s flawed in Marvel, the latest triple-A game, or the modern dark fantasy novel.

Among its tools will be discomfort. Showing a disconnect early on between our character’s expectations and their happiness can serve as foundation to build on, so that when the flaws of the genre narrative are revealed, it feels like the truth. We may see characters who accept their narratives passively, or rebels like Rose Lalonde, who chose to rip everything apart in search of something better.

These are only some of the possibilities.

When I tell you the stories we live by mislead us, what is your relationship to that? If you were to tear these received narratives apart, what would you focus on, what would you try to say? The art that comes out of this question will be deeply personal to the soul who makes it.

But here’s another question:

Just who is giving us all these narratives, anyway?

3. THE PARENT FLIP

The world we live in was not made by us. It was shaped by forces that predate us, over which we have no control and are born into the grasp of without the knowledge of how to escape.

For instance, our parents.

The guardians who raise us provide our template for how to interpret life. We spend a large part of our lives immersed in the world they built, believing as they believe, living by the values that they instruct us in, so that we might carry their goals forward to the future.

This is an effort that is certain to fail.

Because the problems of today aren’t the problems of twenty or thirty years ago. At best, their messages can only to help in a limited way with the crises we go through as we live our lives. At worst, they actively hinder us from dealing with them productively.

If we are to escape the broken patterns of our world, then we need break out of the stories an earlier generation gave us.

How are parents discussed in Homestuck?

Initially? As jokes.

If we take our “future knowledge” goggles off for a moment, we can see that the early depictions of the kids’ parents are a goofy parody of standard parental tropes. Mom and Dad are nameless, faceless, exaggerated cartoon stereotypes, and conflict between them and their children is initially expressed through a silly video game fight.

There’s a seed of something real here, though. What we’re parodying is a familiar trope of tension between parents and children in kids’ fiction and YA fiction. But that trope exists for a reason. This conflict is rich with potential for any story about growing up. And Homestuck has smuggled the idea of it in as a silly RPG parody.

So we can extrapolate, for instance, that there’s tension between Egbert and their father in part because Egbert doesn’t know yet who they want to be, and that Rose and Mom’s relationship is awkward and contentious, with alcohol involved. We see that there’s something profoundly uncomfortable going on between Dave and his Bro, and Jade’s life in the shadow of a dead Grandpa suggests a psychology that’s not entirely a healthy one.

Understand that I’m not saying that all this was there from the start. Rather, a choice was made to develop these interesting possibilities out of the jokes, to tell a story about how parents that act like these ones might have affected their children.

A major turning point in this regard is when Egbert learns their father’s seeming clown obsession was the result of a failed attempt to connect with them. It’s quite silly, but it plays around with the idea of a gap in perception between parent and child. It’s also a sign the story’s starting to take more of an interest in character psychology, suggesting that what Egbert processes consciously is not the same as their deeper unconscious feelings. This in turn can become a setup for a portrait of Egbert as someone who represses things they don’t want to think about. From this moment, in the long term, comes June Egbert.

When the psychology machine revs up for all the characters in Act 4 and Act 5, it’s able to do so because this foundation was laid.

We also, as early as Act 3, get hints that the parents have intentions and personalities outside of how the kids perceive them. The original purpose is to hint at a larger conspiracy around SBURB, with Mom building a secret lab, Dad trying to investigate the mystery, and Grandpa jumping in and out of time. But what this suggests is that the psychology of the parents might at some point come into play.

But the most exciting development in the relationship between parents and children is Act 6.

The great role reversal. The parent and child flip.

How do you make your faceless parent figures into characters?

By making them kids.

We’re so used to this concept now t that it’s hard to remember how wild it is that Roxy is a teen version of a main character's mom. But the concept is genius. Meeting these characters on the same level forces our protagonists to understand them as people and reflect on their fallibility.

For us as readers, it adds detail and nuance to the cartoonish portraits we got in the beginning. Conversely, we also see what our protagonists might have been like as parents themselves—and turns it from a story of “parents just don’t understand” to a story of how people, despite their best intentions, can wound each other.

(The Homestuck Epilogues are a difficult text to evaluate, but one of the best things within them is Egbert’s arc in Candy, where we see how Egbert might have done as a parent, how their struggles with finding purpose in the world might lead them to embrace a narrative of parenthood yet struggle to have a good relationship their kid. It’s brilliant, and the culmination of everything we’ve talked about here.)

Thus the Homestuckian work of art will be concerned with themes of parents and children. It will play with the boundary between what children understand about their parents and what they don’t. It will show parents as people—fallible people, who make mistakes with severe costs, whose stories fail their children and themselves. It may build from a simple base of what children understand, or it may weave parent and child perspectives together. It may even show us how children fail when they become parents themselves. It will show us the cycles we are trapped in, how we wound and are wounded by our context.

And it will force us to look for a way out.

4. CLASSPECTS AS SIGNPOSTS

Hey. You want to know a secret?

Come closer, and I’ll whisper it to you.

Classpects aren’t actually all that complicated. Ultimately, they boil down to one thing:

Symbols we can use to construct a self.

If Homestuck is about a crisis of meaning, then classpects are part of its answer.

What do we do, when the world gives us no story we can live by?

We make one. We make one out of whatever symbols and messages we can find and put together from the stories we’ve read, from the people who teach and inspire us. Such collages are powerful things. They give us a way out of the dark, they give us a sense of something we are and can be, where there was nothing before.

They give us, in short, a personal mythology.

Classes and Aspects have often been read as codes to be unpacked and solved. It might be more productive to see them as creative tools, signposts designed not to narrow down meaning, but to allow us to explore it.

For instance, the portrayal of Light in Homestuck is unique. As a symbol, it combines notions of brightness, knowledge, future, luck, wealth, and narrative focus. These things aren’t inherently linked out in the world, but they are here, and that’s a choice, and an interesting one. It encourages us to imagine connections between these concepts, and to see if they have any relevance to ourselves. Identifying with the concept of Light, in other words choosing to value clarity, luck, and importance, might be a powerful tool for finding one’s way in the world.

Classes play with signposts at an even more basic level. Sure, we can talk about what a Knight does in the context of the story.

But a knight is already a powerful symbol. We bring so much cultural context to it. The word conjures up images and narratives of devotion, duty, violence, the slaying of dragons, armoring oneself against the world, and the rescuing of princesses. If we put that together with a concept like Time, we get a distinct character. If we put that together with our own experience of the world, we can create powerful concepts for who we want to be.

Interestingly, this complicates what we said about SBURB. As much as our protagonists struggle to find meaning within it, there’s still something there that they can latch onto. Classes, aspects, denizens, even consorts and lands—these things don’t have to be devoid of meaning. We can choose to affirm them; we can build something out of them, and say, yes, this is me, this is myself.

But it’s a double-edged sword.

We are responsible for the narratives we choose to live by. And we may find ourselves falling into a narrative that hinders us more than helps us, that creates a self-destructive self.

What does it mean to believe deeply that you are a thief, that taking from others to benefit yourself is the best way or comes to you the most naturally? What does it mean to tell yourself over and over that you’re a prince, with all the attendant baggage of power and grim responsibility that comes with that concept? Or, to follow the path further, what does it mean to tell yourself over and over that you are a destroyer or must be destroyed?

If we are to escape the story we’re trapped in, we must take care, lest we trap ourselves in a story of our own making.

Homestuck never quite resolves the ambiguity around these symbols of self, around whether SBURB hurts or helps, whether classpects are things you create or things that create you. But this ambiguity is a productive one. It gives us symbolic tools we can use in the creation of meaning, and it shows us the side of them that should make us wary.

The work that is to come after Homestuck will be about symbols. It may show us how we seek them in popular culture, or the people around us. It may use some of the clusters of meaning that that we see in Homestuck, but it will not be limited to them. It will write its own language of symbols, joining Light and Time to notions like Memory, Need, Rupture, and War, and be filled not just with knights and princes but brigadiers, lancers, healers, druids, taxidermists, sentries and waifs. It will build with tarot cards, enneagram types, and Babylonian gods. It will place all the signposts we’ve created in millennia of existence into new contexts and meanings.

By such means will it show us a way forward.

There’s one kind of symbol we haven’t talked about yet, however.

The kind that holds a mirror up to the world.

5. THE POWER OF ALTERNIA

There’s a reason dystopias have been so popular in young adult fiction. Sure, they’re cliché now, but they speak to something raw and visceral.

When you’re growing up into a world that doesn’t make sense, it’s natural to find refuge in emotional extremes. Stories of blood and violence, fates worse than death, and governments that demand horrific things of their citizens speak to the anxieties of the adolescent mind. They validate the feeling that something is wrong—that the world we’ve inherited is broken and unfair and has no place for us. And they’re right.

Alternia taps into these dystopian feelings perfectly. What makes it so fun is that it’s an inversion of a teenage fantasy. It’s a world where there are no parents, where kids can have access to power and violence, where you can sit around and play video games and design your own house. It almost feels like a response to the “parents don’t understand” themes of the early acts.

But the dystopia’s there, and it’s sneaky. A land of lost boys and girls isn’t actually all that great to live in. It’s lawless, survival of the fittest, with children killing each other left and right. And the future adult roles most of the troll kids aspire to are a glamorous veneer over competition for slots in a fascist military hierarchy. Which is to say nothing of the blood caste system as a way in which the kids are taught by their world to abuse and exploit each other. Crushes, personal slights, competition for status, group dynamics, attempts to define identity – all these familiar teenage dynamics play out on a backdrop of maiming and murder.

Which is perfect. Because when you’re young, all those social interactions genuinely do feel like life or death, and adulthood a regime of exploitation and horror bearing down on you. Alternia is a heightened, exaggerated version of reality. It expresses an emotional truth, not a literal one, validating our most intense feelings and giving us a road map to understanding them.

No wonder so many people wanted to skip to Act 5 and get to the trolls.

(See also Hiveswap Friendsim and Pesterquest, which explore these themes really really well.)

And Alternia, for a world where parents aren’t really a thing, tells us a surprising amount about the parental generation. In mid Act 5-2, Ancestors are added to Alternia’s wordbuilding, and we learn that as much as the trolls skipped having traditional parental figures, they were never devoid of role models. The deeds and exploits of notable figures throughout ancient Alternia gave them models to think about each other and themselves—even when those models were toxic ones. In a way, this isn’t so far from the human kids at all.

Furthermore, as time goes on, we acquire an origin for Alternia’s fascist worldview. Doc Scratch, manipulator of society, stands in for all those aspects of the world that work to create the false narratives we are born into, a true evil father figure – or uncle, if you prefer. And he's an extension of the ultimate evil father figure, Lord English, who controls not just Alternia but the timelines of the human children as well, whose belligerence and apathy give us aeons of toxic narratives and abuse. We see that story played out in Alternia in every interaction, in every moment, the beliefs its architects live by.

This is the power of dystopia—it can hold a broken mirror up to the world we live in.

Therefore the Homestuck that will come after Homestuck will worldbuild gardens of horror. It will not pull its punches but show us insidious societal systems and the effect they have on the people who live under them. It may depict fascism, authoritarianism, feudalistic tyranny, or all three. It will be unafraid to evoke blood and guts but use them to paint a picture of what we want, what we fear, and how we break under our false horizons.

As it depicts the path out, so, too, will it have its reverse side—it will show us all the hells and purgatories we’re trapped in.

6. SAILS TO THE WIND

Much has been written (including by this very author) about Homestuck’s metafictional aspects – the way it comes to foreground a more direct clash between character and narrative.

But the point I want to make here is that the metafictional angle wouldn’t work without these earlier choices. They allow the comic to talk about these concerns long before any notion of canon rears its head.

There are many ways of approaching these themes, and we don’t have to be limited to notions of Ultimate Selves and Beyond Canon to explore them. Such things are valuable, but they are only one retelling of the myth. If we are to make the next Homestuck, we must make our own.

I want to illustrate the space of possibility by offering some examples of works that explore similar themes. Note that I’m not saying these works were influenced by Homestuck in any way, but rather that they use some of the same tools to speak to the same questions, anxieties and concerns.

In trying to make what comes after Homestuck, we might consider:

Revolutionary Girl Utena, which foregrounds the archetype of the Prince as duelist, tyrant, and hero and dares its characters to break free from the false reality that shapes even these aspirations and dreams.

The Familiar by Mark Z. Danielewski, author of Houseof Leaves, whose core narrative concerns an twelve-year-old girl in thrall to an entity whose intentions are unclear but may be shaping the fabric of reality itself; which depicts the inner lives and uncertainties of her parents with just as much detail as they struggle, and sometimes fail, to make the right choices to help her; a story which, even in its incomplete form, explores a notion of a greater S.E.L.F that is not just you but also those who share something with you, where characters from other realities blur into transcendent archetypes in this one.

Digimon, perhaps the quintessential work of portal fantasy, not only Digimon Tamers, which steers the genre into a place of trauma, cosmic horror, and adults horrified by children saving the world, but also Digimon Adventure, which creates strong character arcs for eight very different children as they try to navigate a strange alien world, and shows us their struggle to reconcile with their parents as part of the process of understanding themselves.

The Neverending Story by Michael Ende,foundational text for Homestuck, which tells us not only about the rich possibilities inherent in reading oneself into fantasy worlds, but also the terrible potential for harm in making oneself an emperor over them.

Pale, by Wildbow, author of Worm, an urban fantasy story about three teenagers thrust into a world of magic and murder, a world where symbols literally create reality, where concepts like Carmine and Aurum have a powerful pull, where the Self is something that can be nourished or taken apart and put back together, a story where the parents are not just supporting cast but fully realized people forced to reckon with the ways in which they have deeply failed their children, and which contains perhaps the most thorough investigation of the question of “is it good for children to go on magical adventures?” ever committed to the page.

Heaven Will Be Mine, by Aevee Bee,in which the giant robots we pilot through space become the symbolic manifestation of our inner selves and our way of bringing about our ideal reality, and, relatedly, We Know the Devil, in which the repression of those selves causes them to burst out from us in terrifying and glorious new forms.

Crow Cillers, by Cate Wurtz, an often trauma-filled horror comic in which a group of kids and, eventually, adults, tries to fight back against an ever-present death cult that has its grips on every corner, all the while encountering Psyforms, beings made of pure mind, while characters from television and cartoons dance in the margins and all the while the line blurs between audience and art until it becomes difficult to tell who created who—a story that asks what it means to find meaning in stories when the corporate entities that own them are trying to devour us.

It's a tragically short list, I know. But perhaps it conveys some of the angles we might take.

We can also look at works that are known to have inspired by Homestuck. There aren’t many yet, but there are a few.

Undertale is famous for its Homestuck influences, with parallel timelines, an idea of agency that persists across them, and a contentious relationship between player and character, but for my part, I’m just as interested if not more so in Deltarune, which seems to be slowly building a grand thesis about portal fantasy, where the kids' adventures in the Dark Worlds seems to be offering them an escape and helping them become their best selves—but hints at a coming challenge to that simple worldview in the question of who’s really experiencing that escape.

The Locked Tomb, by Tamsin Muir – This is the big one, that really shows what building on Homestuckian themes can achieve. It turns out there really is an audience for weird aggro formalism in scifi publishing if you make it sufficiently gay. But smartly, like Homestuck, the Locked Tomb builds its weird mysteries gradually, adding on layer after layer on the solid foundation of characters we can follow and get invested in. There’s so much to notice – there’s the highly categorized teenagers involved in a murder feud, there’s the constant whiplash of humor and tragedy, there’s the endlessly open spaces in the story to interpret and project on to.

But to me, what stands out the most is the portrait of God and his court as every bit as emotionally chaotic as the sniping teenagers. You go to heaven, and God’s making out in the corner with his friend group, and you look for the adult in the room but the adults in the room don’t know what they’re doing and they never really did. It’s a portrait of the parents, it’s a portrait of the Ancestors, it’s a portrait of the gods of the new world, and it’s exquisite.

The Locked Tomb gives us a world at war with its own mythological narrative, rich with angst and irony. It’s a worthy successor to everything Homestuck was doing. It shows us how much these themes can say to us, and it gives us a hint at how powerful Homestuck's legacy might be.

7. THE APOTHEOSIS OF HOMESTUCK

There’s a lot of discussion about how to continue Homestuck. How to do it justice. What post-canon might look like, and what it might not. What fan comics, what fan fics, what semi-official works truly live up to the spirit of its characters and its multiverse.

To be clear, those discussions are awesome. I’m so glad those things exist, and it’s wonderful to see them unfolding.

But I don’t want the process to stop there. I'd be disappointed if it was only about adding to and re-articulating Homestuck itself.

I want this—

—This multifaceted, complicated, emotionally laden thing that is the experience of engaging with and creating with and interpreting Homestuck—

To go out into the world and to be infused into the world, to become waves spreading further and further. I want to experience the Homestuck artistic movement, the Homestuck school of thought. I want it to be an influence on the fiction of the coming generation of authors, and the next, and the next.

I want Homestuck to be one of those albums that's too obscure to be known by the general public, but everyone who listened to it went on to start an enormously successful band.

Homestuck can appear like a thing that was conjured out of the ether, but it isn’t. It’s a product of a particular time.

But that in itself is profound. When you create art, you reach back to all the things that have shaped you, and you listen to what the world around you needs, and you try to say what needs to be said. Which means you're a part of a history and culture that needs to say those things, which will be different from the things that needed to be told yesterday, and different from the stories that will be needed tomorrow.

There’s no otherworldliness to it, no platonic other reality. But for all I've talked about art being made of choices, there's still something transcendent here.

To make Homestuck—and to make art inspired by Homestuck—means being a node in a web formed of millions of people, where a light passes down the chain to you, and for the briefest of moments, you get to be filled with its presence, before it moves on to the next person in the chain.

That light isn't yours. Not really.

But at the same time, you do get to choose how that light manifests.

And to engage with that process consciously—to think deliberately about what we want to create—that gives us power and agency over that process, our sense of the world, and ourselves.

So let’s do this. Let’s make the thing that Homestuck is telling us can exist, the thing it’s paving the way for, the thing we know in our soul can come to be.

Let’s make the next Homestuck happen.

—Ari

POSTSCRIPT

“To put out a manifesto you must want: ABC

to fulminate against 1, 2, 3

to fly into a rage and sharpen your wings to conquer and disseminate little abcs and big abcs, to sign, shout, swear, to organize prose into a form of absolute and irrefutable evidence, to prove your non plus ultra and maintain that novelty resembles life… I write a manifesto and I want nothing, yet I say certain things, and in principle I am against manifestoes, as I am also against principles… I write this manifesto to show that people can perform contrary actions together while taking one fresh gulp of air…”

— Tristan Tzara, “Dada Manifesto 1918”

"The cyborg is resolutely committed to partiality, irony, intimacy, and perversity. It is oppositional, utopian, and completely without innocence....the cyborg would not recognize the Garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and cannot dream of re-turning to dust...This is a dream not of a common language, but of a powerful infidel heteroglossia. It means both building and destroying machines, identities, categories, relationships, space stories...I would rather be a cyborg than a goddess."

— Donna Haraway, "A Cyborg Manifesto"

“What we need is works that are strong straight precise and forever beyond understanding... let each man proclaim: there is a great negative work of destruction to be accomplished. We must sweep and clean…to divest one's church of every useless cumbersome accessory; to spit out disagreeable or amorous ideas like a luminous waterfall, or coddle them—with the extreme satisfaction that it doesn't matter in the least…freedom: Dada Dada Dada, a roaring of tense colors, and interlacing of opposites and of all contradictions, grotesques, inconsistencies: LIFE.”

— Tristan Tzara, “Dada Manifesto 1918”

“These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they are not original with me,

If they are not yours as much as mine they are nothing, or next to nothing,

If they are not the riddle and the untying of the riddle they are nothing,

If they are not just as close as they are distant they are nothing.”

—Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

𖤓

#homestuck #homestuck analysis #what comes next after homestuck #the future of homestuck #homestuckian art #you are actually 100% sure walt whitman said that

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toorumlk · 5 days

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Hi I'm so freaking obsessed with your twitter.

Also what's your favorite Romione moment in the books and why?

ohohoho thank you, friend, i’m quite proud of some of the stuff i’ve posted on there B)

and as for my favourite romione moment in the books, when i read the question i first blanked out for a couple minutes, thinking of a bunch of smaller, sillier scenes. but then i remembered that i do have a favourite and it’s from chapter 11 of DH, when remus visited the trio at grimmauld place and filled them in on he goings on of the war -including the implementation of the muggle-born registry. ron’s response upon hearing this (after his immediate outrage) was

and it’s not just the hand holding and the “‘you won’t have a choice’ said Ron fiercely” that played out so vividly in my head like this:

but this scene demonstrates so perfectly the political weight of this pairing (muggleborn/blood traitor) which i think is the immovable narrative foundation of romione. all of their silly moments and idiosyncrasies aside, there is genuine narrative purpose behind this love. ron has always had an astute understanding of the blood supremacist politics of the wizarding world (need i remind that he was ready to curse shitco at the ripe age of 12 for calling hermione the in-universe slur) and just how wrong it is. ron is a pure-blood wizard and by design has so much privilege in this society bc of it, but by virtue of having parents like arthur and molly, he’s grown up knowing the importance of fighting against blood supremacist ideology. always.

so, after hearing about the completely horrifying muggleborn registry ("People won't let this happen," said Ron. "It is happening, Ron," said Lupin.), he immediately turns to his muggleborn best friend and love of his life and says “i’m making you a family member, i’m going to use the protection my family-name has and use it to protect you from the awful injustice of our situation, no you won’t have a choice but to let me help you”

i remember having such a… visceral reaction while reading this scene like holy shit .. these kids, THESE KIDS!!!!! this is the bone-marrow-deep love that makes me feel insane. this dynamic of the blood traitor/muggleborn always there, from CoS all the way to the epilogue. We get to see that romione is the story’s pure blood/muggleborn that finally made it (rip jily and tedromeda :(). we see it in hermione keeping her muggle last name after they get married (oh my god these two actually got married) and we also see it in the hyphenated Granger-Weasley (granger being first!) in their kids’ last names (oh my gof these two had TWO kids). they are a true symbol of change and progress in their world.

also this is one of those moments where i’m so glad that our only window to romiones relationship development is through harry’s narration because it so brilliantly shows the readers this blossoming love story instead of just telling us about it because harry obviously doesn’t have access to the inner thoughts of his two best friends, he can only witness them fall deeper in love. showing the audience acts of love is always more powerful and my god is this an act of showing your love to your beloved.

(and not to go on an unrelated tangent, but this is exactly why i could never ship my girl hermione w any DE or DE-adjacent character. no fucking way. not when the concept of a muggle-born registry exists in this universe, not when the antagonists in this story wish to eradicate people like her from their society. idk about the rest of y’all but im going to keep taking the narrative seriously bc the worldbuilding obviously has real world ties/implications and i like engaging with the canon. tangently to the tangent, i saw someone (a ron basher) on twitter say that ron, OUR RON FROM THE ABOVE EXCERPT, was “one bad day away from becoming a death eater” ohhhh ohhh i ought to beat you with sticks bc HUH? this is the same kid who said he would’ve boarded the train back to kings cross if he got sorted to slytherin, the house notorious for birthing DEs, at the tender age of 11)

anyways, all this to say is that romione is incredibly, realistically, materially romantic and i love them and i love their love <3

#romione #harry potter #harry potter and the deathly hallows #pro romione #bc duh #romione meta #hp meta #harry potter meta #toorumlk #nusreplies #my art #bc the hands #ron weasley defense squad

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superectojazzmage · 2 years

Text

Saw someone on Reddit theorize that the reason the Halo show is Like That is because it was supposed to be a Mass Effect show but they couldn’t get the rights so they just licensed some other famous science fiction game series, did some rewrites, and went from there. And I’m intensely disturbed because of how much sense this theory makes, because so much of the show feels like “Halo pretending to be Mass Effect”:

The general focus on internal, smaller-scale human conflicts, intergalactic politics, and relationships with the bigger alien threat building largely in the background.

The Covenant’s motives and reasons for attacking humanity being built up as a mystery like how Mass Effect makes a big deal out of nobody knowing why the Reapers do what they do (in contrast to the Halo games, where the Covenant’s motives are more or less known from the start). Also, how the Covenant aren’t really humanized in comparison to the games, being portrayed more like inscrutable beings using brainwashed human servants like the Reapers.

The frank depictions and discussions of sex and nudity. Halo’s generally always avoided outright sexual content beyond the occasional silly joke (e.g., “he was my lover!”), whereas Mass Effect never shied away from that subject.

The sheer fact that Master Chief fucks at all, and especially that he fucks a woman aligned with the aliens (and is speculated by some to be originally intended AS an alien). Fucking aliens is one of the bread-and-butters of Mass Effect, but can you ever imagine that in a Halo game beyond obvious non-canon gags like Johnson hugging the Elite in CE?

The portrayal of AIs. Cortana is a mix of EDI (AI made by morally dodgy group that slowly aligns with the good guys) and SAM from Andromeda (implanted into Chief’s nervous system rather then just carried in a chip like in the games). More vaguely, the Spartans’s portrayal as basically human robots “rediscovering their humanity” feels eerily similar to the Geth and their whole arc of developing individuality, with Chief filling the role of Legion.

Halsey acts a lot like a female Illusive Man, manipulating people for “the greater good” and lacking a lot of her more sympathetic traits from the games. Similarly, the guy playing Captain Keyes looks and acts A LOT more like Captain Anderson from Mass Effect (seriously, Danny Sapani is the perfect pick Anderson aside from getting Keith David to reprise the role; he’d be an amazing casting choice if this were a Mass Effect show). And just to cap it off, this Makee character is suspiciously similar to Benezia, serving the villains, the sex appeal, and it would explain why so many people get the vibe that she was intended as an alien.

The fact that the whole plot is kicked off when Master Chief goes to colony to find it was attacked by aliens and touches an ancient alien device that gives him a vision… just like Commander Shepard going to Eden Prime and touching the Beacon at the start of Mass Effect.

The way Parangosky is portrayed, arguing with and seeking respect from a Council while also covering for undercover black ops stuff would make a lot more sense as the Citadel Council and the whole subplot in Mass Effect of humanity having to prove themselves as newcomers who have only just got onto the Council (which would also explain Parangosky being made a lot nicer then in canon Halo; she’s a stand-in for the first human councilor in Mass Effect, taking elements from both Anderson and Udina).

This one is kind of a stretch but Kwan and the Madrigal subplot feel ever so similar to Tali and the Quarians (younger girl from a culture on the outskirts of galactic society leaves home and ends up working with her peoples’s perceived enemy and learning they’re not so different — again, lining up with the ”Spartans as Geth” idea). Kwan also seems to take a bit after Ashley, being survivor of the heretic Geth Covenant attack on Eden Prime her hometown and having similar ”angry tough girl” characterization.

Like, no, completely unironically I am one hundred percent sure that this was a Mass Effect script at some point in its production. If so, man, BioWare really dodged a bullet for once, huh?

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leesmustardgarden · 7 months

Text

Gardener/Botanist Reader Headcanons

P x (gn) reader

A/N: Completely self indulgent. I love plants, flowers, mushrooms— any sort of flora mystical or otherwise. I think, considering how much was delegated to the puppets the need for gardeners would be less and less. That aside, people are stubborn when it comes to art and caring for such plants is, in my opinion, nothing short of art.

Warnings: Game spoilers just all around, P and Gemini are a little stupid in this one (I am very fond of them), Lots of bouncing around concepts, tell me if I need to add more

The art of gardening was dying amongst the people of Krat, despite its rich ecosystem and peculiar plants, as it had been delegated instead to the Puppets of the city

When the puppet frenzy set in, almost all of the knowledge gained from Krat’s flora died with its people and with its puppets

Except you had survived, taken in by Antonia in the hotel, and offered her your services as thanks for the safety and security the Hotel provided

You were close with Antonia, saw her almost as a peculiar aunt. In turn she was fond of you and loved to share any of Krat’s secrets during the few times she could muster the strength to visit the gardens or you took a break and stepped inside.

When P first came by and stopped at the inner gardens, you gave him a once over before bluntly telling him not to mess about the bushes. You weren’t otherwise perturbed by his presence.

One of the few things Antonia seemed to hesitate speaking about was Gepetto, and so you had your reservations about a puppet made by him. He seemed… nice, though. Polite. Definitely very sweet.

He had come to check out the puppet dummies Eugenié was talking about, and was intrigued by you.

You kept him coming back to the garden, but most times he’d make an excuse about wanting to try out a new weapon of sorts. Not that he needed to make one— as long as he didn’t out right hurt the plants you didn’t mind.

Honestly avoids touching the plants incase some complication arises and they die or something. Doesn’t want to disappoint you, the silly guy.

Every subsequent visit comes with his awkward (albeit endearing) attempt to get to know you, and what starts off as a tentative friendship blooms into mutual pining.

P is a quiet visitor when he’s in the gardens, content to ask a question and hear you ramble on for however long you want to.

That doesn’t mean he won’t indulge your questions.

He’ll spend just as long recounting his adventures in Krat if you ask for it, sheepish and sweet as he censors the more… unsavoury moments of his journey.

In game, your character gives a bit of exposition to the flora of Krat. You tell him the certain conditions some plants thrive in, talk about the weather conditions in relation to that, etc. but you also talk about the meanings of each one. It’s from you he learns to communicate through flora.

More than that though, when you mention something specific of certain flora, it becomes a little sidequest for him. He’ll take back a little piece of it to show you and you start trading him items every time he does.

Not wanting it to be a one-sided thing, you give him pressed flower charms, amulets, floral accessories, and even some shiny things you’d picked up like quartz.

The greatest reward is maybe like a little gardener costume. To match with you, you know.

And listen, whatever you give P, he treasures. If you gave him a spare gardening uniform he’d wear that the whole way throughout Krat he’m so silly.

There’s a lot of clumsy and endearing gestures from his end.

One time he accidentally misunderstands you and makes a bouquet asking for your hand in marriage and you about have a heart attack.

You explain both the message and meaning of the bouquet to him, and while he isn’t fussed or embarrassed at his mistake he makes note of it

As he progressively becomes more human, his expressions more lively and his voice more open, your relationship develops further.

His own interest in flora flourishes. He starts trying to record the plants he comes across somehow— either by learning how to draw or asking Venigni to make some sort of camera.

He often thinks of you when he finds a peculiar plant, wondering if it would be ok to take it to you. If he had the means to just take record of it instead he’d show that to you

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t get you flowers still though. He’ll pick out flowers while weighing in his mind if it’d disrupt the ecosystem too much, and once he has them he does his best to arrange them in a pretty manner.

Gemini actually helps him here, giving him ideas for things like the wrapping, telling him to do things like use newspapers or something of the like to bundle them up

At some point the two idiots genuinely consider breaking into an arts and crafts shop because Gemini thinks it might be a good idea, and P just doesn’t know enough to argue that it isn’t

“I mean, the shop is closed down right? Nobody would mind if we just stole a ribbon… or two! Nobody’s using them anyways!” — Gemini

When he regains Carlo’s memories, he feels a little embarrassed about that and refuses to ever mention it again. Gemini makes fun of both of them somehow without being ashamed

When even Gemini fails at figuring out how to decorate flowers, P goes to the other Hotel inhabitants

Sophia’s got such a lovely eye for them, and knows how to arrange a bouquet beautifully and loves to help, and Antonia finds the whole thing adorable and loves to tease P lightly but offers genuinely good advice

Polendina is the perfect butler of course, so he knows his bouquets and is happy to help with them, and while he’s seen metal more than he’s seen flowers at the factory, Pulcinella is just as good

God forbid he asks Eugenié or Venigni though. They might be great at what they do but they’ll put together the most foul colour arrangements known to man.

Eugenié finds out about one (1) poisonous plant and decides it’s a great idea to make a whole bouquet of them. Venigni just picks out the flowers he likes the most, or the ones that match with his outfit, without… really knowing how to match it to his outfit.

I don’t even want to bring up Geppetto. Man would probably sit P down and spend hours agonizing over the arrangement of the petals and pollen like the little control freak he is.

But it gives P a nice break from Krat’s troubles, and your joy at the bouquet makes it worth it every single time

By the end of it, the flowers spill into the hotel, spotting the place with life and colour that makes it feel like maybe the world isn’t as dead and gone as it might be

#lies of p x reader #pinocchio x reader #lop x reader #Lee’s writing ✍️

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djarinslover · 6 months

Text

Missed You

The ask for this fic

Pairing; Nami x Fem!Reader (no y/n)

Warnings; canon violence, swearing

Word Count; 2.3k

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for getting this out so late ☹️ inspiration was sucked from my soul for a while bc of course it was. I hope you like this, my Nami anon!

A loud laugh emerges from your throat as Sanji spins you around, showing you how he'd win a woman over just through dance. The fire is burning brightly, the drinks flowing and the laughter infectious. You all had stopped to visit this island that Luffy knew of from Shanks; it was considered a "party" island due to the constant drinking, dancing and just vibe of fun that everyone felt when staying. No one objected when Luffy suggested taking a break there for a few days.

Aside from Nami and Zoro, you all were getting rowdy. Yelling, singing way too loudly and poorly, dancing all over the place with strangers and drinking too much. It felt nice to let go for just a night. Until Nami had said, "I thought having another girl around would calm things down but you're just as bad as the boys."

You didn't see anything wrong with blowing off some steam but the comment was a dagger to the heart. You tried to shake it off as you dance with Usopp, your best friend, but it lingers in the back of your mind for days afterward. You thought maybe you'd forget about since you were very drunk when she said that but it made quite an impact on your behavior around Nami.

You and Usopp came as a packaged deal, which Luffy had no problem with when you all met. He allowed you to join his crew, which was nice since you knew a thing or two about fixing up wounds and they definitely needed a doctor onboard. Never knew who they'd get into a fight with these days. It was a bonus you got to spend the days with the redheaded navigator, Nami. Being the only other girl onboard, the two of you bonded. Well, bonded as much as Nami would. She let you sit with her while she charted out paths, figuring out the best direction to go in. She said it was nice to have another woman around, that the energy was too "masculine" until you came along.

A crush started developing on Nami, to your slight terror. Nami could be cold at times, which left you questioning if she actually liked having you around or not. She was sarcastic, quick witted with a sharp tongue, and she wasn't afraid to tell someone the truth. You felt like you never knew where you stood with her. So when she had said you were as bad as the boys, you thought she couldn't stand you. It hurt but it gave you the push to get rid of the silly little crush you had.

After that night, you began avoiding Nami on the ship, turning down any moment to hang out with her. You were still polite, making small talk when you had to and relaying information when needed but you didn't spend any unnecessary time with her. She eventually stopped telling you that you could stay by her side as she navigated; she began only speaking to you when it was needed. You thought maybe this would help buy any feelings you had for her but it seemed to only amplify whatever you felt.

You were longing to make her laugh, to have her flash that little smile at you, to have those small lingering touches on your skin. You wanted to go back to the way the two of you had been. But it felt like maybe the damage was done. The two of you would exchange nods with awkward slight smiles, avoiding touching each other when in a small space. The boys finally seemed to notice the tension, Sanji being the one to point it out. Usopp felt hurt that you didn't come to him with what was bothering you. You were practically his sister; he wanted you to tell him everything.

"What's going on with you and Nami?" Usopp corners you in your room, demanding answers.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Everything is fine." You flash a tense smile, forcing yourself to look happy.

"Oh, come on. I haven't seen you two giggle and talk like you do. What happened?"

You sigh, caving rather quickly. Usopp could always read you and there was no sense in trying to keep up appearances in front of him. "Nami said something a few days ago that hurt me. I figured she didn't like me so I've been avoiding her."

"That's crazy! Of course she likes you!" You shoot him a frown. "Captain Usopp never lies!"

Rolling your eyes, you brush past Usopp to head out onto the new island Luffy had landed on. You needed more medical supplies and didn't want to talk about this situation anymore with him. "I'm heading out. I'll see you later."

Usopp wilts as you go, upset and not knowing what to do.

You're strolling around the island humming to yourself, admiring the people as they went about their day. Too occupied with watching other people, you're not paying attention to where you were walking, ending up bumping into a rather large woman. She was tall, muscular, and her eyes were flaming with rage.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."

The woman gets in your face, steam practically coming out of her ears as she stares down at you. "How could you not see me standing here?!"

"I wasn't paying attention, I'm sorry."

"You're about to be sorry!"

She swings at you, a hefty fist meeting your cheek with a heavy thwack. It makes you dizzy, sends you stumbling backwards. You hear your name being called by someone from the crew, though you were too disoriented to figure out who it was. You shake your head to try to clear your vision, seeing double of the woman who hit you. You could see she was winding up to hit you again. Your vision stops spinning, and you manage to duck the next hit, throwing your own punch into the woman's face.

Your punch doesn't land as hard as you had hoped; it seemed to only make the woman angrier. She lands hit after hit on you, and all you could think was that this happened all because you accidentally bumped into her. You're unable to defend yourself, too disoriented to make your own punches. Eventually you feel her get pulled off of you, Zoro's voice loud while Luffy's was soft and gentle. You could see Sanji and Usopp leaning over you, faces pinched tight with worry. They were the last faces you saw before passing out.

Nami was startled by the boys bustling to the ship, voices raised and frantic. She looked down to see you limp in Zoro's arms. Confused, she met them at the deck to see what was going on and why they were running around like chickens without heads.

"What's the problem? She drink too much?" Nami asks.

"She got into a fight," Zoro says with a clipped tone.

"What?!" Nami says, alarmed. "With who?"

"Some woman. She just started hitting her for no reason," Usopp says as he stares down at you.

Everyone crowds into your room, watching as Zoro gently lays you down on your bed. Sanji comes in with a cool cloth to lay on your forehead, dabbing it softly to see if you would respond to the stimulation. You just lay there, still and too quiet for everyone's liking, your face purpling with bruises.

"What are we going to do?" Luffy asks, frown deep on his face. "She's our doctor, she'd know what to do."

"Yeah, well she's not here to tell us how to help," Zoro grunts. "We'll just have keep eyes on her until she wakes up. Hopefully it won't be long."

Nami bites her lip, watching your sleeping face. "I'll take first watch."

The boys nod, leaving her alone to watch over you. She took the cool cloth from Sanji, pressing it against your forehead and neck at times to keep sweat from sticking to you. She sighs, slumping down to be beside you. "This is going to be a long night, huh?"

The hours you spent unconscious turned into days. The crew began to get extremely worried and scared. They didn't know what to do, how to wake you up or if they should wake you up. Throughout the days they took turns on sitting with you, pouring water down your throat and keeping you cool so as to not catch a fever. Your face wasn't as badly bruised anymore, so they had hope that you were recovering and would wake up at any moment. They decided if for one more day you stayed unconscious, they would seek help from someone else. Nami thinks they should've done that from day one but the boys thought you were fine for the night.

Nami was sitting with you again, holding your hand. She traced patterns on your palm, sighing softly. "You know, it's been awfully lonely without you here. The boys are great, sure, but they've got nothing on your jokes." Nami stares at your face, a small smile on her lips. "I miss hearing you laugh at Luffy and Usopp. I miss that cocky smile you give me when you make me laugh. I miss hearing your voice . . . Wake up soon, okay?"

She stands to get you some water before freezing as your eyelids open slowly. "What else do you miss about me, Red?" you croak, voice hoarse from days of not using it, lips curling into the smile she was talking about.

"Oh my god, you're awake!"

Nami doesn't know what to do; she wants to hug you, she wants to get the boys, she wants to cry with relief. Instead she grabs your hand again, sitting down on the bed next to you. You try to sit up, grunting with effort as you push up. Nami helps until you're comfortable.

"How long have you been awake?"

"Eh, I heard something about my smile and then you said you missed my voice. Figured I should let you hear it."

Nami tries her best to not roll her eyes even as a smile cracks her face. "I was telling the truth. I missed you a lot these past few days."

"Days?!" you gasp.

"Yeah. That woman really kicked your ass."

You groan, rubbing your face. "Oh my god, no wonder I sound like I smoked all of Sanji's cigarettes. And why my head is pounding."

"Let me go get one of the guys, they can get you something."

"No. I just want to be with you a little longer," you plead. "Please."

Nami nods, squeezing your hand gently. You two sit in silence for a bit before you turn to look at her, a question on the tip of your tongue.

"Did you really miss me?"

Nami seems shocked. "Of course I did."

"I just thought . . . I annoyed you, like the boys annoy you."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you said I'm just as bad as them."

Nami's face turns a slight shade of red, embarrassment making her body run hot. She remembered saying that when you were all drinking but she didn't think you remembered or even heard her. Her head jerks up. "Wait, is that why you've been avoiding me?"

"Well, yeah. I figured I would give you some space. You just seemed so annoyed with me that night."

"Oh, I . . . I was joking. I didn't truly mean it. I like that you're like them, that you can be carefree. I like that you aren't afraid to put them in their place and I like that you're funny and passionate and incredibly smart. I like everything about you. I . . . like you."

It was your turn to feel your face flush. Whether it was excitement or embarrassment, you couldn't tell. Your hand feels sweaty in Nami's grip but you don't want to let go. Not after what she just told you.

"I like you, too, Nami."

You both look at each other, gazes hot and full of excitement. Nami brushes hair off of your forehead, leaning in closer. She bites her lip, hesitant to say whatever she was going to say. You figured you knew what she was going to ask, so you asked first. "Will you kiss me?"

She surges toward you, lips meeting yours with fireworks exploding behind your eyes. It felt like all your puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place. Nami pulls back, resting her forehead against yours as you both breathe heavily, lips tingling with the pressure of having hers on yours. Her hand squeezed, like she was communicating with you. You both had silly smiles on your lips, giddy from the high of finally confessing to one another.

"I'm glad you're awake."

"I'm glad I am, too."

"Hey, Nami. I'm here to-" Usopp stopped short, pausing in the doorway of your room as he looked at you two.

Nami pulls away, her face bright red as she avoided his gaze. "Uhh . . . I was going to come get someone. She's awake."

"Yeahh, I can see that. Luffy owes me ten Berry."

You look at him in alarm, his signature smirk on his face. "Yeah, we bet whether one of you would confess or not when you woke up." He turns to walk away, yelling out, "Hey, Luffy! Pay up, man! The Great Captain Usopp never loses!"

You can't help the giggles escaping you, because you knew your best friend meant well and he just wanted you to be happy. Looking down at your hand, which was still intertwined with Nami's, you knew you were happy. And all it took was a stupid fight.

"Let's go get you some dinner, yeah?" Nami says, standing up to help you stand.

Nami helps you to the galley, where everyone is gathered for whatever delicious smelling food Sanji had cooked up. They all had big smiles on as you walked in, happy to see you well. And doubly happy to see you holding hands with Nami.

Usopp turns to Luffy. "Told you."

Luffy grumbles as he pays up, making you and Nami laugh. It was good to be awake, you thought, bringing Nami's hand to your lips to press a kiss to the back. She beams at you, smile bright enough to outshine the sun. You wouldn't change a thing about your crew.

#nami x reader #nami x reader fic #nami opla #opla #one piece live action #nami one piece #nami fic #x reader #nami x fem reader

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jpitha · 20 days

Text

Between the Black and Gray 30

First / Previous / Next

Fen could only describe the next few days as odd. Around her extended family Zhe started to change. Her language became more gruff and she carried two soar-knives. They were thin, razor sharp leaf shaped blades connected to her wrists with a reel of monofilament wire. She showed Fen how they're used. She can toss them lightly or with force and they fly from her hands and soar across a room. If they don't find a target, she can swing her arms and cause the monofilament to fly around, causing mayhem where they touch. They were originally developed by the Gren who never really developed traditional throwing weapons, but their bladed weapons were bar none. Fen thought it odd that they made the soar knife one that could be thrown, but Zhe explained that it was developed after the Gren made it to space, so it was probably an accommodation for microgravity.

Regardless of why it was developed, it was a wicked weapon and Zhe was a master in its use. Fen started carrying around her battle rifle as well, slung to her back. It wasn't out of place, most of the pirates were armed on the Heap. Fen offered Northern a pistol to carry, but she turned her nose up at the weapon. "The day I need a gun to defend myself is a sad day Fen." She refused to elaborate.

Everyone onboard was friendly, but standoffish. Fen was willing to chalk that up to them being new on the Heap, but Zhe was worried. "Sure, they're careful about visitors, but I'm family for Ancestors sake. Once I vouch for you, it should be songs and drinking time. Instead they're... polite." Zhe's ears twitched, irritated. "Something is going on."

"Like what? Do you think Hemmi is causing trouble?" They were back onboard the Frigate. Northern wasn't connected, so it was just some rooms and a kitchen for them. The airlock was sealed though.

"Or in trouble. If he was here, I'd have a better handle on everyone. Hemmi has been in charge for cycles. He's practically an institution."

Northern glanced at Fen who tried not to make a face.

"What?" While they were with the pirates, Zhe also seemed to become more aware. It was fascinating to Fen. She was practically developing into another person - or her real personality was starting to surface.

"I wonder if we arrived at a bad time, Zhe. It feels like leadership on the Heap is changing."

Zhe's tail started to flick back and forth. "You're thinking a coup? Hemmi wouldn't stand for it, he'd space everyone he could find that was planning to oust him. It's not like he's never done it before."

Fen blinked, "He... spaced people?"

"Sure, how else are you going to send a message that insubordination won't be tolerated. Hemmi is in charge, what Hemmi says goes."

Fen leaned forward, fascinated. "Hemmi is like your father, right?"

"Like? Hemmi is my father." Zhe smiled.

"K'laxi don't normally care about that sort of thing. At least my famililal line didn't. There were the adults, there were the kids and there were the elders. Who came from whom was never discussed."

"Hemmi was not into that whole thing. He cared about the kids he sired and where they came from. Moms thought it was silly, but he always ran paternity tests. I was Hemmi's kid and he was raising me to lead after him." Zhe turned away from them. "Then, I left to go straight and I know it broke Hemmi's heart. I hope he's all right. I want to see him."

While Zhe was brooding in the kitchenette, there was a repeating tone over the speakers. Northern looked up and made a face. "Fen, that's a radio beacon. We're being hailed."

Fen unfolded her pad and tapped and slid until she found ship controls, and then tapped and slid again until she found the radio. The signal was scratchy and weak, from far across the system. "-dentified frigate, unidentified frigate, this is Hemmi Navarren and I'm hoping you're here to lend me a hand." His voice sounded out of breath and tired.

Zhe's ears pricked and she shouted. "Daddy! It's Zhe, what's wrong?"

There was a pause on the line. Fen had thought it was cut, but then there was a shuddering sigh. "You came back sunbeam. You came back. Ancestors, it's good to hear your voice." As soon as he heard Zhe's voice he sounded stronger, as if he was given a burst of energy. "Listen sunbeam, there's trouble. Rev knows about it, but he has declared himself to be neutral. Have you been aboard the Heap?"

"Yes Daddy, everyone seems standoffish, but they were polite enough."

"That's because they knew what was happening, and didn't want you to know. I imagine they were hoping you would come, and then leave right away."

"Wait wait wait, everyone was treading on eggshells because they didn't want Zhe to know? Why?"

Even through the weak radio signal, everyone could hear Hammi's grin. "Because Zhe is merciless. Once I turn her loose, It will be like a hull breach. It will be like a hurricane." He pronounced the human word oddly, like he wasn't used to speaking Colonic. "Zhe hon. They tried to kill me. They nearly succeeded. I beat them back and spaced the rest, but my runabout is damaged. I'm printing some parts to fix the wormhole generator, but I won't be able to link to the Heap until tomorrow. Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything Daddy." Zhe's voice was a tight whisper, and her furred hands were already gripping the soar-knives.

"Go take care of them. Leave Rev, leave Elmar, and leave Xiian."

"See you soon Daddy."

"See you soon, sunbeam."

The line was cut. Fen listened to the backround of radiation of space for two beats before she looked over at Zhe. She was already making her way towards the airlock. "Zhe! Wait!"

Zhe turned and whipped her face around to Fen, her mouth a snarl, and her ears vibrating. "Fen, either come help or lock yourself in the frigate until I'm done. I've got work to do."

Fen spun her rifle to the front and racked a fresh round. "You're not doing this alone. If you're sure this is what you need to do, I'm with you all the way."

For just an instant, Zhe's face registered something Fen was surprised to see. She saw, anger. Anger at Fen coming along? Fen found it odd, she was having an easier time reading body language. She was always decent at it, but now it was like nobody had any secrets for her. She then softened. "It will be dangerous Fen."

"The way everyone here is frightened of you? The way Hemmi said you were like a hurricane?" Fen winked. "I'll come along. I need to make sure you survive to meet Hemmi at the dock."

Zhe turned to Northern. "And you?"

Northern held up both her hands. "And ruin my clothes? These are the latest from Hyacinth. No, I'll go become the ship again and keep an eye out for people trying to make a getaway, and waiting to hear from your Dad."

"Thanks Northern, thanks Fen." Zhe pushed the cycle button on the airlock. "Let's go make sure my Dad has a place to come home to."

As they stepped into the Heap, there was a K'laxi that Fen didn't recognize standing around. His gun - a human pistol modified for K'laxi use - was in its holster around his chest, and his tail was limp and his years droopy. He was clearly bored. Zhe flicked the soar knife at him and took his head off before he even registered their presence.

With a twist of her wrist, the soar knife reeled itself back to her hand, the blood flying off as it returned. "This way Fen." She pointed towards one of the doors over to the side. Striding up to it, the door slid open automatically.

"Oh Hey, Fe-" Another K'laxi's head removed before they could even finish their sentence. As they continued down the hall, Fen would see someone, kill them, and continue on. Fen followed mute, wondering what was going on. Surely there would be an alarm by now? Wasn't there some kind of central administration? Was the Heap really just a pile of ships loosely tied together?

They reached a bar or cantina or something. There were a few dozen people inside eating, drinking, playing games, nothing special, nothing specific. Zhe walked in and scanned the crowd. She gestured for Fen to stand back. As they did the bartender looked up and said, "Hey Zhe, are you here-" As their head was removed.

Zhe flicked both soar knives out and spun. This time, there was enough people that the screams could be heard. Fen would stand and gesture with her arms as the nearly invisible monofilament wire careened about the room. Tables, chairs, lights, flesh, nothing stopped it. People would stand up to reach for their gun and their top half would slide off their bottom half. They'd drop to the floor and try and shimmy away, and the blade of the knife would find the back of their neck. All Fen could do was watch and see if anyone got away.

None did.

Eventually, the screams turned to gurgles and whimpers, and then stopped. Zhe reeled the knives back to her hands and turned. In the corner was Rev, who was standing still as a statue, his hand still holding his drink, halfway to his mouth.

She was next to him in a flash, one of the knives in her hand millimeters from his eye. "Hemmi says you live." She looked down at his arm. "But living is a spectrum, isn't it?" She twisted her wrist awkwardly and the hand holding the drink popped off like it was a toy. To his credit, Rev didn't scream, but Fen could see the color run from his skin under his fur. Zhe reached into a pocket and slapped a portable med over the stump. "If I find that you reattached it, I'll take another and cauterize the stump with a laser." All he could do was nod.

"We're not done yet, Fen." Zhe didn't even look back as she left the bar.

They continued on, and there was a sound like thunder, distant and rumbling" Northern's firing the slug throwers." Zhe's answer was distant, distracted.

"Sorry ladies, had a ship try and make a break from the Heap. Zhe, do you want it destroyed or just disabled?"

"Disable it. No sense in wasting scrap. We'll take care of the crew and strip it for parts later. If nothing else, it'll have a wormhole generator." She stopped and thought. "Actually Northern, can you hole it? We can patch a hole, and that saves us the effort of boarding."

"If I couldn't do that, I'd have no right piloting a frigate, Zhe." They heard a sound like a single loud muffled thump, like someone dropped a dictionary in the next room. "They're holed. I can see them venting atmo. Should be gone by the time you're done with your massacre."

"Thanks Northern" Zhe continued on. "That ship probably held Xiian, daddly will be sad he died, but he'll understand."

"Who is Xiian?" Fen had decided a while back her only job was to follow along and give Zhe someone to talk to when she needed it.

"He's the one who tried to usurp daddy last time. He kept him alive as a warning."

"A warning about what?"

"A warning to others about what happens when you cross Hemmi Navarren. The idea was that anyone who got ideas would speak to Xiian and he'd set them straight. Worked for a few years, until it didn't." Almost as an afterthought, an alarm sounded throughout the Heap. Zhe looked up and frowned. "That'll be Elmar. She thinks that I won't kill her."

"Why would she think that?"

"She's one of my moms."

"Oh." K'laxi mating practices are... chaotic. Part of the reason that they didn't tend to place a lot of emphasis on who came from who was the fact that that nobody was ever really sure. Hemmi was unusual that he would run paternity tests to find 'his' kids, but apparently he never did that to find out which one of the females birthed them.

Zhe broke into a run and she took off down a hall. Fen ran to catch up. "Zhe, it seems like there's not a lot of people here?"

"Yeah, I think most of them left when word of the coup got out. People either loyal to Daddy but who didn't want to get involved, or people who wanted to just wait for it all to blow over. Makes our job easier at least. Hey Northern!" Zhe had toggled her comm. "Anyone else try to leave?"

"No Zhe, not yet. Though, I think I see your dad's runabout. I just caught a glimpse of a ship linking in nearby. They're a good distance out though, and keeping station."

"Yeah, that'll be dad. He's giving me a chance to finish the job."

"You have an odd family, Zhe."

"Oh, they're fine once you get to know them Northern. We'll have a reunion soon."

#humans are deathworlders #humans are space orcs #sci fi writing #humans are space oddities #humans and aliens #jpitha #writing #humans and ai #humans are space capybaras #humans are space australians #Between the black and gray

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1julak1 · 5 months

Text

"..Kimi wa dekinai ko" pt. II

_____________________________

Word count: 2700

Category: smut

• fingering • drunk sex • cumming inside kinda without consent • non-established relationship (yet) •

Characters: Michael Afton x afab reader + William Afton

Plus, I wanted to tag @emotionalflamingo since he/she was waiting for it!!

💗💗💗

Enjoy!

Trough the years, YN and Michael became best friends. Bestest of friends. Each of them thought of the other as absolutely irreplaceable, they always sticked together, trough good and bad times.

And that stayed even trough the hardships of high school - if anything, their bond grew even stronger. Everyone, at some point, thought they were a couple.

And honestly.. that would be completely fine with Michael, considering how much he fell for YN, even if he didn't seem to really understand it. He always saw the stolen glances and lingering stares as something completely.. normal and platonic. He never really considered that he fell in love. Probably because the poor baby boy has never been in love before.

But there was someone else who noticed.. And it was no one other than William Afton, Michael's father.

The first time Michael invited YN over was when they still were in elementary school, and it was because they were working on a project together.

It somehow happened that YN stayed overnight, and William found her sleeping on the floor, on a matress, in the morning.

He didn't have the problem with them sleeping over, he had a problem with Michael letting his guest sleep on the floor.

Despite some of Michael's complains, she found "mr. Afton" to be a very kind and polite man.

YN quickly got used to William's company, and she became a regular guest at Aftons' household.

Though as time passed by, William started noticing Michael's odd behavior. How he stared at her, how he fixed his hair whenever he was about to open the door for YN, and how nervous he was getting sometimes!

Well, about the 'staring'..

It was evident that trough the few years that passed YN has.. developed, as every young woman her age. Though, what William found quite pleasing, she didn't seem to feel the need to show off as some girls did. Her casual behavior and way of being made William appreciate the girl as his guest.

Also Michael changed quite a bit. And, as his father put it, he didn't sound like a "dying seagull" anymore.

He also changed his hairstyle a little, which quite pleased YN. Because.. he didn't look so silly anymore.

Their high school life was going completely fine, except.. there was one thing that was keeping them a little.. parted.

It wasn't about the lack of time, because of the amount of studying they must've gone trough to put the ends together and get trough each year somehow. This was a little more.. complicated.

It was about the way they've been spending their free time.

- You sure you really don't wanna go? -

YN asked Michael, as she put lip gloss on her rosy lips.

Michael stole a glance at her figure, hugged by an irritably short, black dress, with a cut leading to the half of her thigh. He swore the only thing he could think about seeing her, was how he just wanted to slam her on the cupboard and..

- Michael..? -

The man jumped out of his thoughts, and looked over at YN's eyes, looking at him with concern.

- Yeah, I don't wanna. You know, i understand you're 18 already, and all, but are YOU sure you wanna go out again..? That place you're going to with those friends of yours seems.. sketchy. -

YN wore on a sweet smile, and Michael knew he wouldn't be able to deny her anyways.

- Aww Mikey.. it's just that one time, i promise -

- Yeah, of course -

- Well.. I'll be back by midnight, okay? See ya! -

And there, she was gone. And even though she promised it would be the last time, she said that 3 times this week already.

•••

It was half past midnight when Michael woke up to the sound of something tripping down in their shared apartment. And when he scrambled out of his bed and room, he noted that this so called "something" was in fact YN.

- Hey, easy there -

He mumbled as he walked over to her, to help her stand back on her feet. Michael clearly could feel the smell of alcohol from her breath.

- Mikeeeyy~ -

She giggled, trailing a finger down his shirt-covered chest, making butterflies fly all over it. He held her hand in place, but she just took it as an excuse to rest her weight over him entirely, making the man's heart tremble and pump the blood all the way down his body, so somewhere he didn't really desire for it to go.

YN trailed her hand even lower, smirking and letting out a chuckle as she got acknowled of his arousal.

- Always so straight forward, aren't we, Mikey? -

She got so bold, to the point where she slid her warm hand into his boxers, palming him softly, but with firm movements.

Michael whined, his knees almost giving up under him. He has never been touched by a woman before. Partly because he kinda hoped for a situation like this to occur. But he was extremely unsure now. YN was drunk after all. But the way her hand felt around him.. it was heavenly. The girl smiled up at him slyly. She knew how she was making him feel.

- Aw Mikey.. You've wanted to fuck me for so long, haven't you? -

She sped up the movements of her hand, making the poor boy moan in pleasure.

But then her ministrstions halted.

- Use your words please, Mikey.. -

- Yes..! Oh fuck, wanted to fuck you so bad.. -

He was embarrassed by how much power she held over him. But, it was also arousing.

- Want you to fuck me too, Michael.. -

The girl whispered, before pulling him in for a kiss, their tongues dancing together, as YN's hand left Michael's boxers. She led him into his bedroom, and dropped on his own bed with him. They kissed for what felt like a long, lingering while, before they broke apart so Michael could spread needy kisses down the girl's body. She whined prettily for him as he removed her dress, revealing that she had no underwear underneath.

- And to think my father says you're such a good, nice girl.. Where are your panties, huh? "Princess"? -

His voice was sharp, but not as much as the push of his fingers inside the girl's core. Though it didn't hurt, completely the opposite - his fingers slid in with ease, as there was enough lube provided by the girl's evident arousal.

YN let out a pleased moan, bucking her hips forward, and fucking herself on his fingers. He pushed her down with his free hand, stopping her movements.

- What's that, huh, honey..? Stay still, let me take care of you -

He muttered, as his touch moved up her body to her torso, squeezing the plushy flesh of her breasts, as his lips pressed over her neck, feeling like molten lava. Then, Michael latched onto one of her nipples, sucking on it leisurely as his fingers pumped deep inside her silky wetness.

YN was squirming around, sweet noises escaping her sinful lips with each detailed push of Michael's digits. He moved them apart, scissoring her open, as the girl let out a symphony of moans. Michael then retracted his fingers from YN, licking them clean right in front of her eyes. He then pulled his shirt off over his shoulder, showing off the plates of his chest. He wasn't extremely muscular, but their shape was promising, and the gentle valley of his stomach - very enticing. Also, the bulge in his boxers was obvious now.

- M-Michael.. -

YN whimpered at the sight, not believing how lucky she was to belong to someone like him. Even if only for the night.

- I know. It's okay. I'll give you what you want -

He then slid off the last garment he had on, letting his cock free of the confinements. It stood up proudly, the leaking precum a sure evidence of his excitement.

The girl marveled at the view, saliva gathering in her mouth. She'd need to give him head, she thought, even if not tonight. For sure there'd be a chance some other day. Just imagining the taste, the size of it spreading her jaw wide open..

If heaven existed, YN was sure it was just that.

She was so lost in the lustful thoughts she didn't even realise that Michael was already waiting, pressed up onto her slick entrance and looking at her like a puppy who was denied a treat. All because he wanted to be 100% sure of her consent - even if she was drunk and didn't really know what she was up for.

Feeling the responding roll of her hips Michael stilled her, planting two hands firmly on either side of her waist. He swiftly pushed in, chunk by chunk, watching his girth slowly disappear inside her sleek heaven.

Her pussy really had a mind of it's own. Every move of each muscle, every contract, he could feel it in the depths of his soul. It was like an alluring paradise, sucking him in like it was meant to lure him in and never let go.

Slowly, Michael started moving his hips, savoring the way YN's inner walls felt, pressing against his cock and dragging along it. For YN, every, even slower move, felt like literal heaven. She felt the tip kissing her cervix, pressing deeply in the best way possible, in a way that had her seeing stars. She arched her back, willing to take more of him in, even though he was buried to the hilt inside.

Michael continued to move swiftly, the skin slapping noise becoming more and more audible, bouncing off the walls.

As well as both of their moans, needy, whiny, desperate.

YN pulled Michael into a silly kiss, their tongues entangling together as Michael's ministrations stuttered. He reached between the girl's thighs to gently stroke her clit, as his nirvana hit him.

He spilled inside of her, mewling out praises about how amazing she was, as he slowly moved his hips again, despite her clenching on his cock because of the orgasm that ripped trough her too.

They both were panting, completely spent after such a vigorous activity. Michael fell on top of YN, taking her into his arms and hugging her tightly, as he fell into a deep slumber.

Last thing YN heard before everything faded to black was Michael's peaceful heartbeat.

•••

After the events of their night together, everything between Michael and YN seemed to become.. awkward. Michael avoided the girl as much as he could, as if he was ashamed or regretted what they did.

YN was disappointed by his behavior - she figured out what happened after she woke up after the night in Michael's bed - and apparently Michael wasn't there. She thought that he felt something towards her, so after he avoided her like that.. she was a little disheartened.

Winter holidays were quick to come, and both Michael and YN got back to their homes for Christmas.

William noticed his son's odd behavior - he didn't mention YN anymore in their conversations, he didn't mention a thing about buying her a christmas gift like he always did.. exactly, nothing. This worried William, so he decided to "discretely" check on Michael's situation.

- Hey, kid.. did something happen? Why are ya so off all of a sudden? -

William asked one evening, when they were sitting down, eating supper.

- Me? Why? Everything's alright -

Michael answered, playing with the food miserably laying on the plate. William sighed, looking at his son with disapproval.

- What happened with YN? Why aren't you talking about her at all? And why haven't she visited yet? -

The man asked directly, looking at the boy with intense pressure set on him.

Michael knew there was no use hiding the truth anymore.

- I fucked up. Alright? I just.. did something I shouldn't have. And I regret it now. There's no way I can look her in the eyes after what happened. -

William abruptly raised an eyebrow. He didn't except his son's first step with YN would be.. that.

- So you two- nevermind. I understand. I think you should talk with her. If you don't want to come off as rude and disrespectful. I can imagine what she feels after doing this with you and being completely avoided. I'll be direct, son, you're making yourself look like an asshole. -

Seeing that Michael was processing the thought in his head, William continued.

- As soon as you get back, you should talk. And apologize for your behavior -

He advised, taking a sip of his tea. He pat the boy's shoulder and set his cup down.

Michael only nodded, too lost in his thoughts to answer.

But either way, knowing his son, William knew he'd make a good decision.

•••

After New Year's Eve, it was time to get back to the apartment, and school, of course. Michael was getting nervous as hell, knowing he had a big, serious talk to go trough.

As he got on the bus to the town, he immediately spotted YN, sitting alone. He walked up and sat next to her, after setting his things on a shelf above the seats.

- Hey.. -

He spoke softly, entwining his hands and fidgeting his fingers - something he always did when being stressed.

- Yeah, hey -

YN answered politely, looking to the side at Michael. And oh if her heart didn't start racing at the exact same moment, cheeks tinting pink.

- Listen.. I'm really, really sorry about what happened. I know you probably like me too much to admit to my face that i'm a piece of shit, we've been friends for so long.. I know that you probably see me as some kind of a monster now. But I swear, I didn't, by any means, want to make it seem like I used you. I would never do such thing, I-- -

Michael got so lost in speaking that he didn't notice that YN's hand crept up his arm and rested on top of his hand.

- ..And when have I ever complained about what happened? Have I ever accused you of taking advantage of me? I never said I didn't like what happened between us -

Michael's eyes opened wide and his mouth hung open for a moment before he composed himself.

- So you're not mad at me-? I'm glad -

He smiled and sighed with relief. A deep groan came out of YN's mouth.

- God damn it, Michael! Don't you even understand why I'm saying this!? Are you really this stupid?? -

The boy blinked in confusion, a little clueless to why she was mad all of a sudden.

- I see I have to be the one to speak up, because you never will. I have FEELINGS for you, Michael. I'm IN LOVE. And that's why I let that entire thing happen! -

Michael stared at her in shock, forgetting how to speak and think for a solid moment.

- I'm.. I'm sorry, YN.. I'm really sorry for being an idiot like that.. You really should have planted your feelings on someone else -

He chuckled softly, as he took her hand in both of his.

- I'll make sure to take you out on a nice date when we're back in town. And when there's time -

He smiled at her, and looked at her face, that was the most beautiful thing he has ever seen - her soft features basked in the soft sunlight.

- Do I need to explain that I love you too? -

He asked ironically, laughing as she nudged his side with her elbow. He exhaled happily as YN settled her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes. He looked at her for a moment, before closing his own.

The last thing he heard before he fell asleep was YN's soft, steady breath.

___________________________

Goddamn it took me long to finished. I think it all doesn't make sense but i'm happy for making it this long 😔

Stay tuned for next parts!

(though i think I'll be taking care of the request first)

#fnaf #fnaf smut #fnaf michael afton #fnaf afton #michael afton #smut #michael afton smut #michael afton x reader #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddy's michael afton #fnaf x reader #fnaf x y/n #fnaf x you #fnaf x female reader #michael afton x yn #michael afton x you #Michael afton x female reader

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the-s1lly-corner · 4 months

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GENERAL JAX HCS

mix of a bunch of stuff, probably going to be writing random stuff while waiting for requests to come in so i have something to do side note i never actually felt a knot in my neck form, only wake up with them after getting them in my sleep... until today, felt one form right in the back of my neck while i was just. standing and oh my god it sucks so much i hate knots but actually feeling it. develop. right there. sucks more i think anyways this is a mixed bag of just basic jax hcs + stuff that can tie in with other characters or the reader, we'll see since i write these notes before doing anything else

would this really be a jax hc post by the silly corner if i didnt mention the fidget headcannon? literally the hc that i bring up the most in my posts when theres readers who have accessories or tails or what have you?

i think hes going to mess with anything he can get his hands on; usually passing them between his hands or perhaps tossing them around in the air and catching them.. if its something bouncy hes going to be bouncing it along the ground while he's walking.. i think sometimes with other characters, he does try to mess with them out of habit (plus given how he snatches zoobles arm it kind of. shows hes comfortable doing that sort of thing, you know?)

sometimes messes with ragathas bow, or zoobles antennae (though with zooble its more on purpose and to annoy them).. i think you get the idea

speaking of ragatha i think they would be good friends, i mean i personally think if ragatha didnt like jax she would keep her distance from him (though to be fair we still only have the pilot so far + i think ragatha would still be polite if she didnt like him)

as for his dynamic with zooble i think they kind of egg each other on, but on the rare occasion they do agree on something they do so begrudgingly

i think his ears twitch when hes thinking or when hes irritated, not huge movements... mostly little... twiks, you know?

i dont think he really has fur personally, and if he does its really short and smooth... in my opinion he looks like he would be made of the same material as those small squishy animal toys

these ones, i got a handful of them and theyre genuinely so soft and squishy, me thinks jax would feel like these things

on the off chance he needs to cook for whatever reason, hes a terrible cook. like i think he can make one meal but outside of that hes a disaster in the kitchen... also doesnt make a good kitchen partner because hes going to think its funny to hand you the wrong thing when you ask him to pass something

malicious incompetence but hes doing it to annoy you and will probably give you the right thing after a few rounds of messing with you

no one is safe from his antics, assuming he and ragatha are good friends, shes still subject to his jokes at the bare minimum

so.... if youre friends with him youre at least going to go through the same thing

i dont think he would be a good secret keeper most of the time. like yeah sure if its something serious and important i think he would put aside his douchbagie-ness for once and keep it

but if its something outside of that? yeah no you're have more luck confiding in caine, who imo would pounce on the opportunity to gossip

probably shouts random stuff, like "hey caine, (reader) thinks youre (insert outrageous lie)!" just to mess with you. does this to other people, usually ragatha or gangle... sometimes does it to kinger, i think... only reason he doesnt do it to zooble is because they will get his ass, and hes giving pomni a 'grace period' before he decides to drag her into his shit

hes an ass but i dont think he would just jump on someone/j

speaking of, while he can be mean to some people i do think he has his limits, like hes not going to kick you while youre already down or make fun of you for something you cant really control or manipulate you by hanging something over your head (see the secret keeping thing, while he will tease you about more basic stuff if its something serious hes not going to do it imo)

you know?

though i do think hes the type to steal something from someone in order to make them talk to him; especially if he has a crush on someone... hes just a little shit like that

has this LOOK on his face when the person comes to retrieve their thing, and tbh... i can also see him waving it around over their head (hes tall, and if they can still reach it he probably jumps.. gets on his toes.. stumbles away and holds them back ect) just to keep them around for just a little longer

whether this is actually successful in getting with the person romantically depends... personally it wouldnt work for me but hey, some people find that behavior endearing and/or will be able to eventually pick up on what hes doing

does not like being vulnerable, this goes for really anything regarding feelings as he thinks it ties in with weakness (spoiler, it doesnt)... probably has a "eeeewww feelings..." mindset (though might still let you vent to him... will act uninterested but if he really didnt care hed just walk away.. more actions than words, this one is)

rarely talks about how he actually feels about things if the feeling in question is anything less than indifference or amusement... though hes not opposed to expressing anger or annoyance... will let you do what you will with that information...

naturally because of him being weird about his feelings, romantic feelings fall into the "eeeeeewww feelings..." category so hes not going to be blunt, again, actions over words here... and even then the actions here are mostly him messing with the person and trying to get them to spend time with him as a result (even if its not... hanging out..)

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #digital circus x reader #jax x reader #jax x you #jax imagine

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emilykaldwen · 27 days

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

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

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

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

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CHAPTER SEVEN - THE LOOK YOU GIVE

Abby and Helaena find their voices in different ways, and we have new arrivals at the Red Keep.

Abby pressed her hands against her bared collarbones, feeling the prickle of heat that crept down her cheeks and flushed across every bit of skin that was revealed by the square cut neckline of the new gown. Wylla Karstark’s ruby red pout was pulled into an amused smile while she tugged at the laces of the other girl’s bodice. The pale blue taffeta had a satin shine and was, by far, the loveliest thing she’d ever owned. The neckline and cuffs of her fitted sleeves were edged with the finest ivory lace. Her golden red curls hung freely down her back, with delicate, mother of pearl combs keeping her hair from her face and the light, ivory veil that covered her hair in place. She watched Wylla move in the reflection of the mirror, wishing her own hair could look as thick and lovely as the elder girl’s raven curls.

“You look lovely, my lady.” Wylla’s northern accent was a song in itself, her amusement nothing but lighthearted. “You might make him swallow his tongue, since he already can’t keep his eyes off you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly, Aegon’s…” Abby bit her lip before Wylla tsked at her like a cat so she could dab some coral paint onto her mouth. Abby remained still and silent until she was done. “Aegon does, well, I mean I do catch him looking. But,” her brow furrowed and her hands fluttered and smoothed over the bodice of the dress. She missed her woven belt, and the feel of the tiny mends she’d made in the fabric.

“But what?” Wylla asked with a finely arched eyebrow and promptly reached up to pinch Abby’s cheeks until they went a deeper pink. She’d been here only a fortnight, having come south with her brother while he discussed some sort of trade agreements, and was promptly pulled into service by the queen. Better than a Hightower cousin, in Abby’s book. With Wylla, she didn’t feel spied on like Lady Penrose, nor belittled. In the short time they had known one another, Abby thought she might be making a friend.

‘Maybe', came the shy, giddy thought, 'she could be a sister.’ She loved Helaena, who had been her sister and companion, with all her heart, but Wylla had quickly filled the empty spot in Abby’s chest that she suspected her own sister, Corynna, should have filled.

It was a strange feeling to not have to take care of someone. While she was still struggling to get used to the idea of being waited on, she wouldn’t deny that there was something in her that ached to be cared for. Wylla’s no nonsense and relatively pleasant manner, and surprising sarcasm, was a delight and a surprise and she found herself hanging on her every word, looking to her for guidance in only these last few days.

“But what, my lady?” Came Wylla’s repeated question, and her cool fingers touched her chin, rubbing off a bit of stray lip paint with her thumb. Abby crinkled her nose and huffed.

“But I feel as though this is too much. That I shouldn’t be… that it’s unseemly to attract attention.”

“Och!” Her fingers flicked the tip of Abby’s nose. “What southern nonsense are you spouting now? You’re betrothed to a prince, are you not?” Abby nodded. “You want him to admire you, and no others, right?”

A heated sensation curled in her chest thinking about Aegon looking at other girls, and resolutely ignoring her. “Well, of course I want him to admire me. I want to please him.”

“And he should also please you, that’s what my mother always says. A woman takes her own pleasure in a marriage, just as much as the husband, and if you flush any redder, you’ll turn into one of those apples, I’m sure.”

Abby nodded again, pressing her hands once more to the expanse of collarbone on display. She felt so silly being self-conscious about her dress. It was nowhere near as revealing as some of the dresses the ladies of the court wore. Nowhere near as revealing as what some of the women she’d seen Aegon flirt with wearing. Collarbones and shoulders and the swells of their breasts teased in the candlelight; Aegon flush with wine and preening beneath the attention.

“Mayhaps I should tug the shoulders down some more?”

Wylla did little to disguise the indelicate snort she let out and Abby felt her hands tug along the tops of her sleeves. “Won’t work on this dress but maybe you should push your breasts up.”

“My what?” Abby squeaked, her hands now pressing against her perfectly concealed bust.

Wylla rolled her eyes, and shoved her hands down her own top to adjust her breasts. “Now you try.”

“I… Oh, just…” Muttering soft curses beneath her breath, she reached down into her tightly fitted bodice to push her breasts up so they swelled ever so softly, framed by the lace. “Do you think he’ll like this?”

“My dear girl, he won��t know what to do with himself. Lucky for me, I get to watch. Now come on.”

Abby’s fingers carefully clasped the thin, silver chain around her neck. The charm was the shield and rivers of her house, tiny against her decolletage. It was so delicate she was always afraid of snapping it, but it was the one bit of jewelry she had. So fretful over herself, Abby did not immediately notice Helaena falling in step beside her, dressed in pale pink and silvery blue, sleeves puffed at her shoulders and elbows. Abby noticed her breasts looked nice in the wide cut of the neckline, not as deep as her own.

“It’ll be better once you have the jewels on you,” Helaena said as if picking up Abby’s self-conscious thoughts, or maybe she simply understood the look. “I like it when Aemond looks at my breasts. Aegon likes breasts, he talks about them all the time. Aemond says Aegon talks about yours a lot.”

Wylla, half a step behind, positively cackled. “Oh, this is going to be glorious.”

Abby knew she was as red as her hair. “I-I can’t do this, I have to change.” Helaena grabbed her by the arm and jerked her back, her other hand coming up to straighten the necklace around Abby’s neck.

“No you don’t. You change nothing, do you understand? There is nothing lacking, and there is nothing wrong with you,” Helaena said softly, brushing a kiss at the corner of her mouth.

She opened her mouth and then shut it with a click of her teeth, nodding mutely and took a deep breath. “I’m not this nervous seeing him day to day,” she said softly.

“Nor when you pulled him behind the tapestry outside mother’s room to kiss him,” Helaena said knowingly, a smile playing across her face. “Or when Aemond found you pushing him up against the bookcase.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Abby could see Wylla’s face going red from how hard she was trying to keep her grin at bay. Failing, of course, but she appreciated the effort. She shifted on her feet and smoothed her fingers over the delicate satin bodice once more. “I don’t think that’s true. Tis I who…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely into nothing. “It’s rather unbecoming. He never initiates anything. He’s exceedingly good about it.” Which continued to confuse her to no end because she’d seen the way he’d ogle serving maids and the other ladies, not to mention how he did, in fact, like kissing her. She’d seen him reach and pinch a lady’s hip while passing, that stupid and devastating smirk crossing his features. His hands would encompass her waist or cup her cheeks, but other than that, he surprisingly did not reach for her.

He also didn’t complain when she reached for him. Aegon didn’t resist when she was the one who dragged him into quiet spots, grinning at her giggles and returning her kisses.

“It’s Aegon. He’s a fool, and he drinks too much, and if you don’t think he’s as nervous about you as you are of him, then I don’t know what you’ve been paying attention to our whole lives.” Helaena’s tone was gentle, if firm, as if patiently explaining to a child that the sun rose at dawn and set at dusk. Her lavender eyes looked down the hall towards the grand staircase and then reached up to adjust one of the combs in Abby’s hair. Helaena’s own silver-gold hair was braided back from her face, a vine of pearls woven into it. Guilt stung her that she hadn’t been the one to do Helaena’s hair.

“So you’re saying he’s too nervous to, um…”

“Accost you?” Wylla supplied helpfully. “In a good way.”

Abby huffed. “Yes. Accost me the way I want to accost him. No, surely there’s a better word than that.”

A smirk crossed Helaena’s features, wicked and lovely across her pretty mouth. “You want him up your skirts the way you want to see beneath his breeches.”

“Helaena!” Abby gasped just as Wylla let out a bubbling screech of giggles, unable to contain them. Helaena joined in the mirth and Abby growled at them both. “I am not dignifying that with an answer.”

The Targaryen princess, a dragonrider in her own right, with a mount older than most, leaned in to brush her cheek against her own, mouth close to her ear. “I know you were thinking about Aegon when we practiced kisses,” Helaena murmured, mirth in her voice but even amidst all the teasing, Abby didn’t feel belittled. “And you’ve been putting it to good use.” She pulled back, and Abby breathed through the heated pool in her belly and all the squirming wriggling that came with it. “It’s Aegon,” Helaena repeated.

She nodded. “It’s Aegon.”

“He calls his horse Mighty Mighty, and if he could get away with it, he’d likely go sleep in the Dragonpit next to Sunfyre.”

Abby felt herself smiling at that, a soft hint of a giggle escaping her. “Mighty Kostōba, the mighty mighty horse.” None had the heart to correct him when he was young, but the eventual teasing still made him growl. Helaena pressed her hands to her shoulders, turning her back towards the stairs and pushing her forward, smacking her bottom for good measure and earning a yelp for the trouble. The princess grinned, tongue poking between her teeth and blushing, Abby returned it, heading through the growing throng of people moving through the corridor.

“You’re not used to this, are you, my lady?” Wylla murmured beside her.

“Abby, please,” she returned with the anxious thread still in her voice, picking up her skirt out of habit. Thankfully her skirts did not trail. She wouldn’t want to ruin the finery worrying about picking her way through the city.

“Mmm, we’re in public now,” Wylla said but bumped her shoulder against her and the warm fondness usually reserved for the clutch bloomed in her chest at the elder’s camaraderie. “How scandalous.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Abby giggled, inclining her head in greeting as they passed Lord Tyland on the stairs, who only spared a surprised look at her as he headed up. “You’re ridiculous and I love it, truly.” She felt the northerner keep close and Abby reached a hand behind her to take Wylla’s and give it a reassuring squeeze. The Keep was a lot, she knew, and she’d grown up there. She couldn’t imagine how much it was for a woman from the edge of the world and silently hoped that chaperoning them through the city would not be too much.

It was then her eyes fell upon Aegon, lounging at the foot of the stairs against the bannister, arm slung over the carving of the dragon that reclined along the the end, its forelegs and head resting at the pillar. His moonlit hair was a cloud of soft waves around his head, his pale skin pink and very scrubbed clean. The leather jerkin he wore was new: buttersoft black leather with shining, golden clasps in the shape of dragon heads, their gaping mouths swallowing the flame closures. The shirt beneath was red, of all things, instead of the green his mother forced him and Aemond into. As crimson as the Targaryen dragon embolized on the banners around them, the cuffs of the linen were tied with gold lacing that criss crossed their way up his sleeves, his arms crossed while he waited. The golden belt around his waist was carved to represent dragon scales, and a dagger in a matching scabbard hung from it, the pommel also a golden dragon. Even the leather trousers he wore, shoved into shining black boots, had the same gold lacing up the sides.

She bit her lip, admiring him while he hadn’t noticed her approach, until she saw that his gaze was towards a group of women laughing near the doors. The fluttering, heated squirming in her belly increased, and she made a sound in the back of her throat, aware of it only because of how it scratched.

“Did you just growl?” She barely heard Wylla mutter before she was making her way down the stairs.

“There you are!” Abby declared, a smile on her face, feeling the chain of her necklace slide against her collarbones, feeling the warm metal of her sigil charm fall into the slight space between her breasts. Her voice felt too loud, for she did her best to ignore the other gazes that turned in their direction, focused only on Aegon who craned his neck at the call before he jerked up from his languid position to turn fully towards her.

There was a deeply satisfied feeling that trickled down her spine at the way his head meant to turn before looking back again, his lilac eyes widening and turning fully toward her. She smiled far more genuinely this time, feeling the flutter start up again as she approached and took the hand he offered her. “You look very handsome,” she told him softly as he simply gaped at her, her own mouth dry. Her belly fluttered again, and she reached up with her free hand to hook her fingers in the gold necklace he wore, the sapphires winking in the light streaming through the windows. She used her hold on it to tug him down enough to brush a soft kiss against his cheek, leaving behind just a slight shine of the coral paint over the flush of pink that suffused his own cheeks.

She heard Aegon exhale a muttered curse that had her swallowing, his hand warm where it enveloped hers, and he turned his head as she pulled back so his nose could bump against hers. It surprised her, and she let out a soft chuckle that had a grin spreading slowly across his face. Sharp and playful, safe and edged in danger all the same.

His pupils had blown black, the lilac a vibrant ring.

Abby rocked back on her heels, smiling back at him and let go of his necklace.

“Good thing we’re taking the damned carriage,” he said, his thumb stroking against the palm of her hand while he guided her down the last few steps.

“Why is that?” she asked and Aegon tugged her closer so she could slip her hand into the crook of his arm. They were being watched - they were meant to be watched - and she wanted to hide her face against his arm, but instead she only tilted her head towards his as he inclined his own.

“Because I fear someone would try to pull you from the horse and spirit you away,” he said, a sidelong glance towards the guards. She squeezed his arm, her other hand coming up to press against his chest while they made their way out the main doors to the courtyard. The usual smell of the baking red stone had given way to something that was earthier and fresh - the storms the previous few days having washed away the dust and dirt that clung to the air.

The carriage was waiting, the pair of horses attached pawing at the ground, their bay coats freshly brushed and harnesses clinking with the shakes of their heads. The Cargylls were both mounted on their horses as their escorts for the outing, Ser Harrold beside them, his polished helm gleaming beneath his arm.

Kostōba, Aegon’s horse, nearly as precious to him as Sunfyre, stood patiently beside the carriage, reins held by one of the stablehands while the footman stood at the open carriage door. The stallion was a gift for Aegon’s eighth name day nearly a decade ago, and had grown larger than most of the other horses in the stable that didn’t belong to the Kingsguard. His coat was a creamy gold color, dappled in a way that made it seem like he had scales of his own. Kostōba’s eyes, bright and brilliantly blue, took in his surroundings, and he let out a soft sound when Aegon whistled to him.

Abby’s fingers tightened in Aegon’s arm when he started to pull away, confusion tripping at her words. “A-are you not, are we not riding together?” The previous warmth had given way to an icy discomfort, and she reached up to press a hand to her belly, her fingers scraping against the fabric with nervous tension.

“We’re going into the city, so I thought you’d feel more comfortable riding with Lady Karstark.” He avoided her gaze, looking at some other spot on her face. His eyes darted lower, along her low neckline. Heat prickled against her skin, but she was not as giddy for it now.

“You said we’d be riding in the carriage, Aegon.” She hated how unsure her voice sounded in her ears, and she dropped her hands from him and instead held her skirts. A deep breath, and a glance at Wylla to give her a slight, reassuring smile. “Is this because we’re not alone? Because of last time?”

Last time they’d come from the Dragonpit had resulted in them being caught upon arrival, Abby half dragged across his lap, her fingers in his hair and his hands bunched in her skirts. The Queen had subsequently forbidden them from riding Sunfyre together. Abby’s feet were to remain firmly on the ground until the wedding.

She’d been the one to initiate that as well.

Aegon shook his head, a sound escaping him, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Immediately, she felt her mouth water, wanting to bite on the tip of his finger, and she allowed him to tilt her head back. The jealousy that lingered hoped those ladies saw this; that he touched her so intimately and not them.

“I meant what I said about rather you being in the carriage than someone thinking that you’re ripe for the picking.” While it was endearing in its own protective way, it now rang hollow to Abby’s ears. They were burning beneath her curls and the soft, ivory veil that hung around her.

“We have the Kingsguard, Aegon, I don’t understand. For that reason, I shouldn’t leave the Keep at all.” Aegon pulled away, brushing a kiss against her forehead, and she longed for more. She longed for his lips in other places. “Aegon-” she made to follow him but Wylla caught her elbow and ushered her towards the footman.

“Get in, make yourself cozy, I’ll handle this.” She said it so matter of factly that Abby could only stare at her. Wylla merely smiled back, bobbing a curtsy, and gathered her dove gray skirts in hand, marching over to Aegon.

Abby climbed in, but lingered in the doorway to watch in fascination as Wylla Karstark hissed something to Aegon, unafraid of whatever royal protocol should be followed. There was some gesturing, and she watched her lady point toward the carriage, angling her way into Aegon’s space, not to flirt, but very clearly to intimidate. Aegon seemed to hesitate, and then shoved the reins back in the stable boy’s hands, tenderly petting the stallion’s neck and murmuring to him, before he marched towards the carriage. Abby hurriedly drew back and took her place against the far corner from the door, smoothing her skirt.

“Better this than me getting Ser Harrold,” she heard Wylla mutter, half in the carriage to glare at Aegon who was behind. “I’m not afraid of some pampered southern boy, dragonriding prince or no.”

Wylla gave her a smile as she climbed in and Abby stared at her in confusion while Aegon followed, throwing himself into the seat across from her as the door latched shut.

“Kostōba not so mighty today?” she asked, her hurt feelings demanding she needle him, even as her usual cheerful mask slid over her features. Aegon barely spared her a glance, pouting like a child instead of a man grown.

The carriage jerked as they headed through the gate and down the road. Wylla had turned her attention to unlatching the lattice covering on the window to peer out, the illusion of privacy appreciated. Aegon’s neck was as red as his shirt. He was clearly refusing to look at her and it wasn’t the first time he’d done this. In fact, Aegon had jumped from any casual touch she gave for the past few months. It was why they hadn’t ridden on Sunfyre together until they’d gone flying on the picnic and he’d apologized to her. Where she’d kissed him. In the subsequent weeks, between kisses she’d stolen because it was her stealing all the kisses, and dragging Aegon behind blind corners, although he never complained.

“I meant it, you know. That you look handsome today.” While she didn’t mind silence, she didn’t like this silence. The type where it felt like there were teeth along the edges, chewing into it if they weren’t careful. “I don’t know why that seems to have offended you so much.” The words came out a little harsher than she meant, her arms wrapped around herself and her gaze turned away.

“It didn’t offend me. I just thought that you’d like some privacy.” There was a crack at the edge of Aegon’s voice and it drew her gaze to the prince. Her betrothed. The one who tasted like whatever sweets he’d stolen from her, and whose hands felt like they’d swallow her whole, so hot that she could feel them through the layers of her gowns.

Abby turned from the window to look at him and met his gaze. Not as black as it had been in the hall. His eyes always went dark when she kissed him, so she knew that it was supposed to be a good thing, and she couldn’t understand why he was acting like this. She had been agonizing for days about this. She had just been lamenting to Wylla and Helaena about this and thought ‘This is just silly, Aegon cares for me, look at how he watched me come down the stairs’ but his mercurial behavior was nearly as bad as his mother’s.

The comparison was on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she met his lilac gaze with her own, blue eyes fixed upon his face, and said, “One moment, your hands are in my hair, and you look at me like I’m some sort of salvation or that you want to devour me. The next moment, like just now, you couldn’t get away from me fast enough. Lady Wylla had to threaten you to get in here-”

“She did no such-”

“I absolutely did,” Wylla interrupted. “Oh, wait, I’m not supposed to be listening.”

Aegon’s mouth snapped shut, and Abby didn’t glance over at the other side of the carriage. She kept her eyes on his. “If you don’t want me, then we’ll turn the carriage around and tell your mother.” She smoothed her hands over her skirt and took a deep breath. She was worried that tears would threaten, but her eyes remained mercifully clear and she raised her eyebrows at him. Aegon was staring at her, the pout faded from his sullen expression to look wide eyed in surprise. “We can. You can stop this. It’ll fade away, only just a rumor. A dalliance. There is no shame in being a prince’s momentary plaything, since we haven’t… I kissed you first, after all. I have only ever kissed you first and I will not let you keep doing this to me-”

One second, Aegon was frozen in his seat staring at her, the next, his hands grabbed hers and yanked her to him. Abby fell into him with the rocking of the carriage, and before she could straighten herself, Aegon kissed her.

Aegon kissed her first.

One large hand wound around her back while the other cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in the hair that escaped her veil. His mouth wasn't as soft as it had been before, this time moving as if he would claim her here in this carriage. She gasped when he tightened his hold against her, and he used the opportunity to slide his tongue between her parted lips, to curl it behind her teeth. She swallowed his sigh, her fingers bunching up the soft, red linen of his shirtsleeves.

Wylla’s presence was forgotten. All that existed was the way Aegon was kissing her like he was starving, as if someone had tried to take her from him - like in a song, like she was the source of every breath he needed. When they finally parted, Aegon tilted his head back against the side of the carriage, watching her with half lidded eyes and his mouth smeared with coral lip paint.

He hummed and she could feel it vibrate through her and she found herself humming in return, still holding herself with her grip on his arms. “I’ll fight anyone who suggests you’re a mere dalliance,” he said with his voice heavy. Abby reached up to cup his chin and stroke her thumb along where the color had smeared, wiping it away.

“So you’ll fight yourself, Your Grace?” She couldn’t help but point out that kissing her senseless was well and good, but her heart still felt sore and confused by his treatment.

Aegon scoffed and drew her closer with his fingers still cradling her head. She felt warm, and soft, and the sound that escaped her was equally so - a little mewl and a question she didn’t have the words to voice but that he seemed to understand because he licked along her cupid’s bow, teasing her and nipping at the swollen pout of her lower lip. “This is why I am the way I am, hunītsos.”

“I don’t understand,” she murmured with a shake of her head. Aegon’s fingers tightened briefly and drew a soft gasp from her when his grip tugged at her scalp. She shivered and his eyes glanced down to her low neckline, his teeth scraping over his own lower lip like he wanted to bury her face between her breasts. The understanding of why Wylla was in the carriage with them nudged at her, because had they been alone, Abby didn’t think she would even deny him. In fact, she thought she might even invite him to do so.

“What don’t you understand?” he asked and his fingers slowly loosened from her hair and pet her curls back into place before drawing his fingers slowly down her jaw and along her hammering pulse in her throat. “Do you not understand how badly I crave you? Because I thought that I made it abundantly clear.”

She blushed and shook her head. His thumb stroked along the front of her throat and she stilled, the weight and warmth of his hand making her tremble, the ache in her breasts taking her aback. “Sometimes, maybe. I’ve felt very…” She tried to find the words amidst her shyness. “I’ve felt like I’ve been chasing you, that I desire you more than you do for me.”

The wicked smirk she adored cut across his plump mouth and he squeezed her throat gently, pulling a gasp from her. “Abrogail Strong, I desire and crave you to madness and if I let myself go, I fear that I won’t keep myself from devouring you whole.”

Helaena pretended not to notice that there was a smudge of what looked like strawberry jam on the corner of little Floris’ mouth. Instead, her eyes took in the way one of the girl’s black braids was a little looser than the other. It lacked symmetry in a way that made her fingers itch to fix it. The girl’s dark eyes were wide with excitement and she could hardly keep still - a grasshopper bouncing on her feet and trying as hard as she could to contain herself in their presence. It did little to stop her from darting her gaze around, little mouth parted in wonder. She supposed the Red Keep was a magnificent sight to one who’d never seen it up close like this, let alone on dragonback.

Helaena’s lavender eyes slid to the elder girl.

Cassandra, the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters, was more sedate in her observations. She did not share the same bubbling excitement as her little sister, and the black traveling gown she wore underscored the radical differences between her and the butter yellow clad Floris. Despite outer appearances, there was a blatant curiosity in her gaze as she took in the bustle of the courtyard; the Baratheon caravan had arrived ahead of the ladies, and the last of the trunks had just been carried inside to their new lodgings. Now it was courtiers and guardsmen, and servants all.

She felt Cassandra’s eyes fall on her critically, not unlike other ladies at court. Helaena had grown used to their gazes and the fact she did not fit the mold of a princess. She was not vibrant the way stories of her elder sister painted her - The Realm’s Delight, laughing and shining and riding and dancing. Helaena was quiet, far preferring the solitude of the garden to being in crowds, but she made every effort to be nice, to be friendly, and while she’d never heard a whisper about some perceived cruelty, Helaena felt as if she couldn’t quite get it.

She could not mirror the way Cassandra Baratheon looked to her, a golden necklace made up of antlers around her regal throat - a look that even a good week in a carriage could not take away how utterly put together she appeared..

How much of a princess she looked.

‘Sharp and soothing,’ Helaena thought. ‘The mint winds and chokes like ivy. The children can’t breathe, it’s bursting from their mouths.’

She blinked, shifting, and her shoulder brushed against Aemond’s where he was a warm presence beside her. His mouth was pressed in his usual stern expression, but at her movement, he lifted a hand to touch between her shoulder blades.

It was moments like these where Helaena felt most grateful for Aemond. Not when he was railing about their future together, the one that he’d decided and she didn’t deny, or about his place in life. It was the softer moments, when it felt like before: before the loss of his eye, before Vhagar, when it felt like her brother was there beside her once more. Quiet in his companionship, unwavering in his support, near supernatural in his understanding of her.

This was the Aemond she missed. The Aemond she cared for, the Aemond who was so absent.

Emboldened by the moment, Helaena straightened, a smile soft on her face. She did not need a crown or a herald to announce her place.

“It is our pleasure to welcome you both to King’s Landing. I hope that your journey wasn’t too difficult,” Helaena said, pushing past the urge to scream nonsense and make scary faces at them both to send them running all the way back to Storm’s End.

“We saw a bear!” Floris exclaimed with bright excitement. “Didn’t we, Cass? It was huge! I thought the guards were going to kill it, but they managed to chase it -”

“What my sister means to say is that the journey had its moments, but thankfully was uneventful, your Graces,” Cassandra cut in, a hand placed on the younger’s shoulder and a smooth curtsy performed. Her voice wasn’t unkind, but perhaps the long journey had made Lady Cassandra less tolerable to her younger sister’s excitement.

“Hmmm,” Aemond said, and Helaena smiled. Floris’ gaze was darting back from Aemond’s face to Helaena’s hands and she felt her brother shift beside her uncomfortably. “If you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to her grace, Queen Alicent, to be greeted.” Floris’ eyes went wide and Aemond was already turning on his polished boot to lead the way.

Cassandra’s own eyes widened some, her hands spasming against her skirts before reaching for Floris’ hand, jerking her behind. “Come along and don’t gawk,” she hissed softly, and Floris whined in response, a grumbling, “Not so tight, Cassa.” Helaena pursed her lips and followed Aemond, leading the pair.

It was, amusingly enough, Cassandra who let out the first quiet gasp entering the entry hall to Maegor’s Holdfast. The ceiling rose up so high that it was obscured with shadow. It was the early afternoon and the place was bustling with courtiers and administrators, all giving Aemond wide berth as he cut a path like a shark through the water.

“Your rooms will be within the ladies apartments,” Aemond explained when they reached the second landing. He paused, gesturing to the right. “It’s where the unmarried attendants of our mother’s stay.” His voice was even and steady, ever the proper one, ever the confident speaker. Ever everything, that was Aemond. Yet it rankled her that he would take charge of this when it should be her.

‘He’s only trying to protect you’, Helaena thought and while he was good at that, while she was grateful for it, Mother did the same. Everyone did the same.

“However, since you shall be serving me,” Helaena said, raising her voice and plastering a smile on her face, remembering that smiles could be heard in voices, “And Lady Abrogail, you shall come to us in the mornings for duties once things are settled. No need to worry about that now.”

Floris nodded excitedly, but her sister looked on more sedately, her expression polite. “Is it possible to have our own rooms until you… have everything sorted?” She asked. “I hope you can appreciate that given our station and our familial connection, such things would be appropriate.”

Familial connection? Helaena thought. She did not look at Aemond, not needing him to think he had to step in for her.

“I appreciate your concerns, Lady Cassandra. If you are concerned about your sleeping arrangements, you may bring it up with our mother, the Queen.” Helaena smoothed her hands over the soft pink of her skirt and gestured for them to follow. “This way!” Her voice rang through the hall and she fell in step beside Aemond, head held high.

Wylla stepped on her heels again with a half-distracted ‘sorry’ that Abby waved off, again. King’s Landing was bursting with activity that threatened to rival the crowds that were sure to arrive in the next moon for Aegon’s nameday tournament. The festival was to go on for a fortnight at least, as apprentices across the guilds presented their masterpieces to be judged and reviewed. It meant that the stalls were filled to bursting and more had sprung up in every nook and cranny and side street of the city. From finely woven fabrics and dyes, to ropes and carefully crafted saddles, the market was bright and loud with the calls of commerce.

Aegon’s right hand gripped her left, fingers entwined, and kept her between him and the stalls rather than risk losing one another in the stream of traffic down the center lane. They paused in front of a smith, the heat of the forge not as uncomfortable in the heat of the city for the breeze that kicked through.

“Oh, he’s a handsome one,” Wylla murmured, and Abby followed her gaze to the handsome smith covered in sweat and black soot, his linen shirt soaked, his arms bulging with the effort of hammering. Abby giggled softly, humming in agreement. She glanced at Aegon, who was perusing over the line of daggers on display, and noticed his own gaze flicking towards the blacksmith with clear appreciation.

Abby hummed and leaned over to brush her mouth against his ear. “Do you think he’s prettier than me?” she whispered.

Aegon didn’t glance at her, he didn’t even pause in his dual inspection of the merchandise nor the man before him. His tongue darted out, pink and wet, to slide along his lower lip in thought as he reached for another dagger. “I think he’s taller than you, which has its own advantages, especially with those shoulders,” he told her softly, tapping the hilt of the dagger. “Open, I want to see if it fits you.” She held out her free hand - she still hadn’t let go of his and he had not let go of hers - and he pressed the dagger into her palm, instructing her to wrap her fingers around it. “Sometimes one needs a good handling.”

Abby’s gaze flicked up at him, Aegon’s lilac eyes fixed on adjusting her grip. “I don’t usually hold a dagger like this. Aemond did teach me properly. Also, are you implying that I couldn’t give you a good handling?”

“I don’t think you are big enough to pick me up over your shoulder and slam me down on something.” Aegon’s lilac gaze met hers from beneath the soft bits of silver hair hanging in his eyes and he pulled the dagger from her grasp and set it back down. Even as she blushed, Abby didn’t look away. She smiled prettily at him instead and was pleased when he grinned back. She liked this side of him. No, she adored this side of him. The way he flirted, and held onto her, and the way it felt as easy as breathing between them like it always had. Only now, her gaze was more obviously drawn to that infernal tongue of his that kept swiping along his lower lip.

He was doing it on purpose. She was sure of it.

“I feel like you’re challenging me, Your Grace. Must I also now throw myself in the training yard and hope that I grow as big and strong as my brother? I think you’ll be sorely disappointed.” Aegon snorted and picked up another dagger. This one had an ebony handle carved with grooves for the fingers to fit and a thick silver inlay that encircled it and along the guard. “I don’t need a dagger,” she protested when he had her hold it and frowned at the fit.

“You see,” he murmured, releasing his hold on her hand and having her properly adjust her grip. “I already know you can handle me, my Lady. I think you’re a natural at it, even small as you are. But if you’d like to be handled, be exposed to new ways of doing things…new techniques…” He trailed off and made an approving sound at how she was holding the weapon. Somehow it made her flush all the more. “I’m at your service to give you whatever demonstration you desire.”

He met her eyes then, mouth twitched in a slight grin, but she saw the nervous look in his gaze.

Abby pushed up on her toes to press a kiss on his smirking mouth and drew away before either of them had a chance to deepen it. “I’ve been told I’m a very astute learner, and I always like to learn new things, especially with demonstrations.” Flushed, she reached for Wylla who was still admiring the blacksmith and took her hand. “We’re going to look at the fabrics over here.”

She’d much rather they do that than make a scene in front of the attractive blacksmith.

“If you two wanted privacy, then we’ll find it. I’ll stand guard outside the carriage door. Or, he’s the prince, I’m sure he can just get a room somewhere.” Wylla’s look was innocent and compassionate when Abby looked over her shoulder to glare at her, cheeks flushed red. “You know, people like us don’t marry for love often, but if you have that with one another, there’s no shame in being so affectionate before marriage.” Wylla nudged her shoulder against hers while they plucked at the delicate spools of ribbons and carefully embroidered lace.

“Being accosted in front of the blacksmith is something I’d hardly call simple affection,” Abby said.

“Weren’t you only just complaining that he didn’t accost you?”

“I need to find another word for that, and yes, I know I was! That’s not what I mean.” Abby ran a length of silky, vibrant green ribbon through her fingers, and tried to find shades of red and blue to match. “I just mean there’s a difference between doing it in public! And…”

“And?” Wylla prompted, plucking up a spool of black linen thread in hand.

“And I simply get very flustered. That’s all.” She reached into her the small purse hanging off her arm to retrieve the delicate fabric samples the seamstress had brought the previous week. “I need embellishments to go with this.”

“Oh,” Wylla breathed and ran her fingers gently over the ivory satin. “Abby, these are lovely.”

“Do you think so?” She held the pieces up to the spools of lace. “I’m half tempted to simply make my own lace but that feels so extravagant and excessive.”

Wylla clucked her tongue. “Must I remind you again, Lady Strong, that you are marrying Aegon Targaryen, Prince of the Realm? You will become a princess on your wedding day. You should have extravagance and excess because if you don’t have it for that occasion, what occasion will you allow it?” Her voice was not quiet and Abby noticed the pair of girls managing the stall perk up from where they were attending to another lady and her daughter at the mention of marrying Aegon Targaryen. The other customers looked at her as well, and Abby smiled politely back and resumed her perusal of the lace embellishments. She let her veil fall forward enough to hide some of her face, uncomfortable with the attention now that Aegon was not distracting her, moving easily through the crowds as if he were born for it.

That’s because he was born for it, she reminded herself.

“These look a bit like dragon scales, don’t they?” Abby ran her thumb gently over the uniquely shaped scallops of soft lace, mind thinking of decorations and embellishments and appliques for the gown that they were making. So many Myrish knots to embroider. She knew there was more fabric on its way, and that the delicate and sought after Myrish lace would be beyond comparison but presented with what was before her, Abby’s mind turned in contemplation. “Excuse me, my lady.”

The woman did not appear much older than Wylla, with a shock of golden curls peeking out of her little white cap. She was the younger of the pair who were manning the booth, and she bobbed awkwardly behind the counter.

“I am no lady, milady,” she said, her accent a proud, Westerlands clip. “Neva, if you please. Is there anything that you like before you? This isn’t everything we have but-”

Abby smiled, raising a hand to slow the girl down. “Neva, is this all your work? It’s absolutely beautiful.”

She glowed as bright as her hair, nodding exuberantly. “It is, milady! I’ve been an apprentice for nigh on ten years. I’ve submitted my masterpiece for guild acceptance.”

She couldn’t help but keep smiling back at the excitement Neva shared and gestured for the threads that Wylla was picking up. “Well, I’ll take these, if you’d be so kind, as well as… well I don’t want to take the whole spool of this.” Abby pursed her lips.

In the pause, Neva continued. “I can also make custom pieces, should you need something particular, milady.” The girl blushed but pushed on. “I did hear you mentioning a wedding, but I wasn’t dropping eaves! So if there is something in particular you’re looking for.”

Abby hummed softly, fingers still holding the delicate spool of scalloped lace edging. “I would like that very much. If you have more samples, I want you to bring them to the castle a sennight from today. The seamstress is coming back to do a fitting and I would like to look at what we can make. Is that too soon?”

The blushing cheeks of the Westerland girl went pale before flushing even deeper and she looked as if she was about to burst like a Dornish fire flare right there in the street. “Milady, I don’t know what to say! Yes, yes I will certainly be there. Thank you…” She trailed off suddenly, eyes widening before dropping into a curtsy, followed by the other women behind the booth. Abby felt Aegon brush against her back as he leaned over her shoulder to pluck at the lace.

“Pretty,” he said. “Do you like them?”

She nodded. “I thought the-they would look nice for my wedding dress. Do you like them? I want you to like them.” Abby tilted her head to look at him, teeth catching at her lip while Aegon’s cheeks flushed lightly pink.

“Aye, I like them.” His voice was soft and he gestured to the lot, almost negligently. “And the ribbons? We’ll take it.” Aegon spared a look at the gaping Neva, plucking the bag of gold from Wylla’s hands and tossing it to the girl.

Abby blushed, glancing between the gaping girls and Aegon, who was already looking around. “Thank you, Neva,” she said, which seemed to pull the other girl from her shock and start plucking items. “I do hope this isn’t all of your hard work.”

“Oh, no, not at all, milady.” She was positively glowing. “Good fortune to be sure."

[Chapter Eight]

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

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