#BUT THE SECOND HALF LOOKS LIKE A DARK WEB TO-DO LIST

[the-bloody-sadist]

Guys I would like to propose a conversation on why whumpblr has the most wholesome fandom coding and yet every whumpblr introduction post I ever see sounds like this:

“Hiiiii everybody! I’m new here, nice to meet you! I’m a bit shy, but I’ve been around for a while reading whump posts and thought it was finally time to join in! Here are some of my favorite tropes!!!!! ❤️😘🥰💕

LIMB CHOPPING, ANAL FISTING UNTIL PROLAPSE, TOE REMOVAL, REPEATED HEAD TRAUMA AGAINST THE SHARP CORNER OF A WALL, CRITICAL ORGAN ABUSE, FORCED CONSUMPTION OF BROKEN GLASS

If you guys are into that, let me know!! 💕💕💕💕 I follow back!”

You guys sound like the sweetest serial killers in the world

[training4theapocalypse]

Never Been Kissed (Adrian Chase x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: SMUT, Second chance romance, Canon typical descriptions of murder and violence, Oral (fem receiving), P in V, Safe sex (male condom), Multiple orgasms

Summary: You're a PI who joins the 11th Street Kids after a chance meeting with John Economos on the dark web. Unfortunately for you, your ex-friend-with-benefits Vigilante is here too. (Based on this ask by anon)

A/N: This took a hot minute. The M&Ms were originally cigarettes but these days I'm a healthy queen free of nicotine -purr.

Masterlist

Join my tag list: @likeficsinthewnd, @she-wolf09231982, @pretendfan, @lolitstiana, @countlambula, @chiaraanatra, @stainedpomegranatelips, @navs-bhat, @ohnoitsrosie, @daisydark, @angrydragon90, @intense-sneezing

Chapter text:

The dim fire exit sign outside the back of the abandoned video store flickers as you suck a peanut M&M between your tongue and the roof of your mouth anxiously. You hope your contact hurries the fuck up - if he makes you wait any longer you’ll finish an entire party bag from nervousness.

It was stupid, really, even reckless, to meet a stranger from the dark web. But when some guy called TechConomos_11 had responded to you in a chat room where you were discussing the intel you had on some sinister goings-on in Evergreen, you knew you had to meet him and his team.

Because you’ll be damned if anyone catches the escaped gorilla before you.

There’s a clink of a padlock and chain falling to the floor, the sound of a heavy emergency exit bar being pushed down and when the door opens you’re face to face with a large, bearded man wearing glasses. 

“Are you the PI?”

If you had to draw a sketch of what you thought a guy you met on the dark web would look like, he would be it. Not a neckbeard, exactly, just someone with the distinct aura of having too much time spent in front of a screen.

You nod. “TechConomos?”

“Call me John. Come inside - the team’s all here.”

You shove the half-empty pack of M&Ms into your bag and he leads you through to the back office. 

“This is Murn, Harcourt and Adebayo.” He gestures to his three associates sitting in the office who each acknowledge you in turn. “And these guys-”

“Fuck it! Fuck, fuck fuck!”

The yelling draws your attention to the window separating the office from the rest of the video store and it’s like a knife in your gut when you see him.

Vigilante.

“Ugh, fuck! It hurts to walk!” Vigilante whines as he limps around. He turns to pace some more but stops in his tracks in alarm when he sees you. He immediately dives to the floor, launching himself behind a desk in a futile attempt to hide.

Vigilante is the last person you expected to - or wanted to - see here. It’s not his usual MO - normally he’d be out hunting thugs and drug dealers. What was he doing caught up in this operation with some tech guy and a team who you suspected were either current or former soldiers?

There’s a roaring laugh and your eyes find Peacemaker, doubled over in his chair, laughing like an idiot at Vigilante sprawled on the ground. 

That explains Vigilante’s involvement. Looks like his idol, Peacemaker, is finally out of prison and the first thing he does is rope Vigilante into whatever this is. The whole thing stinks. Why is there an entire team with two capes looking for an escaped zoo animal? Any why did one of those capes have to be Vigilante? 

You close your eyes and groan. “You didn’t tell me you were working with them.”

“You know each other?” asks Harcourt.

“Just Vigilante.” You sigh and follow them into the video store.

“Hey, asshole,” you say, peering over the desk Vigilante is hidden behind. He looks up at you and props his masked head up on his arm casually as if you didn’t just see him throw himself there a second ago.

“Oh, hey!” he says, feigning pleasant surprise.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“I hurt my pinky toe.”

“Yeah? Which one?” You walk around the desk and stand at his feet to get a better look.

“Nononono! Wait!”

You clock the way his visor-covered eyes dart down to his right foot in panic. 

“Woah, did you think I was gonna kick you or something?” Sure, you have beef but you’re kind of offended he’d think that you’d harm him on purpose.

“No…” he mumbles sheepishly.

“Asshole.” You roll your eyes and sit on the hard wooden surface, turning away from him to face the team.

“Who the fuck is this?” Peacemaker asks Murn before looking between you and Vigilante. “Do you two know each other or something?”

You don’t deign to reply.

There’s a squeak of a chair being dragged on linoleum as Vigilante pulls himself up onto a seat next to Peacemaker with a wince.

“Economos says you want to join the team,” says Murn. 

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“I know everything that goes on in Evergreen.”

“And?”

“I have information and skills that I want money for. Obviously.”

“How much?”

You were talking about splitting the reward for the gorilla but Murn’s expectant look makes it clear this is a contract. What’s that saying again? A contract in the hand is worth a gorilla in the bush? … Something like that.

“Well, what are you paying him?” You cast your eyes at Vigilante who shrugs. Unbelievable. “They’re not paying you? Idiot.”

Murn and Harcourt glance at each other awkwardly. “This is strictly off the books,” says Murn.

“So you were just going to take advantage of him? No way. I want my pay backdated for all the intell I’ve found for you. And his too for whatever it is he’s doing for you.”

“How do you guys know each other?” asks John, pulling up a chair behind his laptop.

You look at Vigilante warningly and answer before he can open his fat mouth. “I’ve sent some work his way once or twice. And compensated him fairly for it,” you add pointedly.

“Oh, they’ve definitely fucked,” laughs Peacemaker.

“Shouldn’t you be in Belle Reve?” You glare at him.

Peacemaker ignores the question. “Did he keep the mask on with you too?” He pouts faux-sympathetically.

This catches you off-guard. Not Vigilante and Peacemaker fucking - Vigilante is so obsessed with him that you guessed it was only a matter of time.

But he did keep his mask on.

Vigilante groans and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and staring determinedly at his injured foot.

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Enough!” Murn gives Peacemaker a severe look before turning his attention back to you. “John says you know the location of what we’re looking for.”

“I’m not telling you until you get me up to speed with what you’ve got so far. John wouldn’t tell me shit online. Call it a show of good faith.”

“And we’re supposed to just take your word that you actually have useful information?” asks Adebayo.

John opens his mouth to reply but Vigilante beats him to the punch.

“She knows,” says Vigilante, finally looking up. “She’s… she’s a good PI. If she says she knows, she knows.”

“Well, we can’t divulge state secrets just because Vigilante vouches for you. Tell us the ‘where’ and if it checks out - you’re in,” says Harcourt.

You look around at this unlikely group. If you want to catch the gorilla you need their help. You need their weapons. You need their money.

“It’s at the Glan Tai bottling plant. You heard of it?”

“Pulling it up now…” John types on his keyboard. “It makes sense, Murn. They’ve got the production, the distribution channels… This is probably it.”

Distribution channels? What’s the gorilla at Glan Tai got to do with distribution? 

You keep your face neutral - if there’s one thing you’ve learned from this job, it’s when to sit back, shut up and listen.

You try to piece things together as Murn talks about ‘butterflies’ and their ‘food source’. Economos checks highway CCTV footage and confirms that your intel is correct. This is extremely lucky for you because you’re clearly talking about two entirely different things. You wonder if these ‘butterflies’ are some kind of parasite-induced sleeper agent. And maybe the food source is a drug to release them from their fugue state?

“...And the gorilla?” you ask eventually.

“What about the gorilla?” asks Harcourt.

“The gorilla is at Glan Tai.”

“There’s a Butterfly gorilla?” asks Vigilante excitedly. “That is so cool!”

“Is that even possible?” Harcourt asks Murn who nods.

You’ve seen some shit but a gorilla sleeper agent takes the fucking cake. They all seem totally unfazed so you pretend to be too.

“So, what’s our next move? When do we start killing these aliens?” asks Peacemaker.

Aliens.

You discreetly scan the others. Nobody else bats an eyelid at Peacemaker’s use of that word. 

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

“You two get some rest, come back tonight,” says Murn to Peacemaker and Vigilante. “And you - you’ve got evidence of what we’re doing here?” There’s no point in lying so you nod. “Bring it back here so we can destroy it. All of it.”

You, Peacemaker and Vigilante, leave the video store. You cross the street to get to your car but Vigilante calls your name. You turn around to see him hurriedly limping over while Peacemaker climbs into the Vigilantemobile.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re part of the team now.”

“I can’t return the sentiment.” You scowl at him. Peacemaker beeps the horn of Vigilante’s car. “You’d better hurry up - you don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.”

“We’re not in a relationship. You know I only wanted to be with-”

“Don’t you dare.”

“C’mon, can’t you at least tell me why you stopped answering my calls?”

“I already told you - I’m not going to wait around my entire life for a guy who won’t even show me his face. Or tell me his real name.”

“I can’t -”

“Save your excuses for someone who gives a shit.” Peacemaker blasts the horn again. “At least I know you keep the mask on when you fuck him too. It’s not like he’s seen your face.”

Vigilante’s visor-covered eyes avoid contact with yours. His hesitation is like a punch in the gut. 

“He’s seen your face?” You don’t mean to whisper it. The words just spill from your lips like you’ve been winded.

“Not like that. That was just a meaningless threesome-”

“But he’s seen it?”

He nods.

You push him aside to throw your car door open and get in. “Fuck you, V.” You slam it shut and drive away, not even bothering to glance at him standing haplessly in your rearview mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening, you and John cross-check your intel. It’s becoming clear that this is way out of your fucking league. But if Vigilante can do it, you can too.

Right?

“You want some peanut M&Ms?”.

He accepts a handful gladly. “Why is so much of this about the fucking gorilla?” John asks with his mouth full, looking over your shoulder at your laptop screen.

The necessity of any quick thinking on your part is interrupted when you hear Murn’s voice ringing from the back office.

“You told Vigilante to kill Peacemaker's father?!” 

You and John drop what you’re doing and peer tentatively around the door of the office where Murn is berating Adebayo.

“I didn't tell him to… I just kinda put the idea in his head,” she explains.

“That Peacemaker would be better off without his father?”

Oh no.

“Where’s Vigilante?” you ask suspiciously, joining Murn as he stands with his arms crossed. He looks furious.

“He’s in jail,” mumbles Adebayo. “I might have suggested that if someone were to go in and kill Peacemaker’s dad, all our problems would go away.”

You run your hands through your hair.

“How could you manipulate him like that?” Your combat boots squeak on the floor as you pace across it, catastrophising aloud. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Vigilante is very fucking easy to manipulate. And he has a record. What if he kills someone in prison and gets locked up for life? Or what if he gets himself killed trying?”

“Peacemaker’s gonna see right through this. He’ll know exactly what you tried to do,” says Murn to Adebyo sternly.

They’re fucking crazy. 

“Who gives a shit about Peacemaker? Vigilante is locked in jail with the White Dragon!” You plead urgently. Vigilante is in real danger and all they care about is Peacemaker’s feelings.

“Economos, can you get Vigilante out of the system before he screws us worse than we're already screwed?”

John sighs. “I don’t even know this guy’s name.”

The four of them look at you.

You cross your arms. “I can’t tell you his name.”

“Guess he’s gonna die in prison then -”

“Last name Chase. First name Adrian.” You blurt out his secret that you’ve been holding deep in your chest. “But you can’t tell him I told you. He doesn’t know I know.”

You crowd around John’s laptop as he pulls up Adrian’s file. 

“We shouldn’t be looking at this,” you say as you stare intently at his mugshot - the mugshot you’re so well acquainted with. You’d rather die than admit how many hours you’ve spent sitting at your desk late at night, looking at his police record on your laptop.

And suddenly, it’s like you’re back in bed with him, as he stares breathlessly at the ceiling and you lie there naked on top of his bare chest, looking into his masked face, picturing that very same mugshot underneath it.

“Guess again,” Vigilante says. You can tell even under the mask that he’s grinning, enjoying your questioning.

“Hmm… are you a doctor? You’ve stitched yourself up a lot.”

“You think I’m a doctor and live here?”

Vigilante watches as you make a show of pursing your lips thoughtfully. The warm afternoon sun streaks through the gaps in his blinds onto his bed. It makes it look like there’s a golden halo around your messy bed hair. He tucks a small strand behind your ear as you walk your index and middle fingers along his chest and down his shoulder. 

“Maybe a fireman with these big strong arms?”

He likes you when you let your walls down like this. You’re almost downright playful when he’s satisfied you - a personality trait he still hasn’t extricated from you outside these four walls.

“Man, I am so good at this secret identity thing if I can keep it a secret from a PI.”

You laugh. “I guess so.”

He didn’t know that you had long known his real job. And his real name. Or that you’d trace your fingers over his face on your laptop screen as you tried to reconcile it with the masked killer who was content to let you into his bed but never his real life.

“Wasn’t he our busboy at Fennel Fields?” Adebayo’s question snaps you back to the present. 

“Can you pull him out?” You ask John.

“It’s… done.” He says, with a final click of his keyboard. “Let’s just hope he hasn’t done anything stupid. Yet.” 

Harcourt shrugs her leather jacket on. “I’ll pick him up.”

Great - first he reveals to Peacemaker who he is and now Harcourt who he’s known for a hot minute is about to see his face too. 

You frown. “He’s gonna be really upset we know his identity.” 

“You wanna come and soften the blow?”

“I’ll drive.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harcourt sits in the passenger seat of your car outside of the Evergreen Police Department. You’ve been sitting here quietly in the dark, staring at the front doors for almost an hour.

“So what’s your deal with Vigilante?” She asks, finally breaking the silence.

“I told you - I threw some contract work his way. Used him as a bodyguard from time to time when I needed the extra muscle.”

“And then what? Why did you call him an asshole?”

“Because he can be an asshole.” 

“That doesn’t sound right. A psychopath maybe. But an asshole? I don’t buy it.”

You keep your eyes focused on the police station door to hide your face. “He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.” You swallow with difficulty. “He just has a code. Lots of quirky little rules he has to follow that makes it difficult for someone ordinary like me to be - I mean, to work with him.”

“Like not revealing his secret identity.”

It’s not a question but you nod all the same.

“So this is your first time seeing him without his mask?”

“That he knows of.” Your forehead touches the cool glass window. It’s like if you stare hard enough at the door he’ll appear in one piece. “I had to do my background checks.”

The doors open and you see Adrian Chase in his cardigan and jeans walking out into the dark night, illuminated by the fluorescent streetlights.

He’s alive.

You roll down your window and he stops dead. He stares at you in shock with his lips parted slightly - unsure whether you recognise him or not.

Harcourt stretches across your seat and calls to Adrian. “We’re here to take you home. Get in.”

When he climbs into the back seat of your car you both turn in your seats. You breathe a sigh of relief seeing him up close - physically he’s unscathed.

“He’s still alive…” He says. “I’m Adrian.”

“Okay,” Harcourt says simply.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” you tell him.

He looks up at both of you sadly over his wire-rimmed glasses. “I think I might have made things worse.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After you drop Harcourt off at her motel, Adrian gets into the passenger seat. You let him give directions to his apartment, even though you already know where he lives.

“This is me,” he says when you pull up to his building and park in the spot you’ve parked in on countless occasions.

“I know.”

“Right. Yeah, you’ve been here.”

“A couple of times, yeah…”

His stupid code. You could know where he lives but never see his face. And now you can’t stop yourself from drinking him in - his slightly stubbly chin from his day spent in prison, the way his curly hair is all messed up. He groans heavily and leans his head back against the headrest. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“The guys know how you ended up in jail - they don’t blame you.” He doesn’t say anything. You search his face as he stares gloomily ahead. “What happened in there, V?” you ask.

“I tried to provoke Peacemaker’s dad into a fight. It worked at first - the Aryans took the bait but his dad saw right through it. I think I’ve fucked up the whole mission.”

So Vigilante went into a viper pit unarmed and provoked a bunch of nazis into fighting him.

Deep down, you know it’s fucked up to be attracted to someone capable of such violence but if you’re honest with yourself, it’s what drew you to him in the first place. You knew about the headlines before you met him. And the idea of him taking on a dangerous prison gang really shouldn’t make your heart pound the way it is right now.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “You don’t have to be sorry about that.”

You’ve never touched his hair before but you want to stroke it and comfort him. Tell him that it wasn’t his fault and it’ll all be okay. But he interrupts your train of thought before you can reach your hand out. 

“I meant I’m sorry about us.”

Why is your first instinct to tell him that it’s no big deal that he broke your heart? Stupidly, you want to protect him from it - from the hurt he caused you. Comfort him, put his feelings before your own just because you can tell that right now he needs it.

But it is a big deal. 

As soon as you remind yourself he couldn’t trust you enough to let you in, it feels like your heart is shattering all over again, mourning what you could have had.

Trust.

“I told the team your name so they could bail you out,” you admit, desperate to get the fact that you betrayed him off your chest. “I was worried about you locked up in there.”

He turns his head to look at you properly for the first time all night. The streetlights are reflected in his dorky little glasses.

“You knew my name?” He doesn’t look betrayed - he just looks surprised. “How…?”

You lift your finger from the steering wheel to point at his apartment. “Anyone with your address could find out who you are. And your full name appears on my checking account when you cash the checks I write you.”

“So you know… everything?”

“Yup.”

His eyebrows knit together in a plea. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” 

“I wanted you to tell me. I wanted you to want me to know.”

“Knowing my secret identity would put you at risk.”

“That bullshit and you know it, V. I don’t need you to protect me.”

“Yeah you do - that’s why you had me come with you on jobs.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Then why did you hire me?”

“I was curious about the man behind the headlines, I guess. Then I nearly went broke trying to spend time with you. Do you honestly think I wanted to give you a cut of my contracts for months? ”

He presses his palms into his eyes, pushing his glasses up out of the way and trying to make sense of it all.

“So those jobs were just you finding a reason to hang out?” He drags his hands down his face.

“Well, not at first. But then we started sleeping together after jobs and I wanted to keep doing that.”

“I would’ve wanted to be with you even without those jobs.”

“Oh yeah? You’d have taken me out on a date as Vigilante?” He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again - as if reconsidering whatever he was about to say. “After all that time you still didn’t trust me enough to take off your mask. The last time we saw each other I practically begged you to show me who you are. Then Peacemaker comes back in town and you - what? Just rip off your mask and spill the beans without a second thought?”

“I was being tortured by Goff-”

“The senator tortured you?”

“Well, the Butterfly who had taken over his body. But yeah. He - I mean she - ripped off my mask and tried to cut off my pinky toe. Peacemaker was just there.”

You feel sick thinking about him being tortured. Then you feel sick about feeling sick. It’s not just normal empathy. You want revenge. But you know you shouldn’t care this much. Not when you’ve been broken up for so long.

“Shit, V. That’s horrible.” 

“Besides, if I was gonna show someone my face it would have been you. Not Peacemaker.” He looks at you sadly. “I wish you hadn’t left.” 

“And I wish you had given me a reason to stay, V. I deserved someone who could trust me. And you… you deserved someone you could be yourself with. We couldn’t be that for each other.”

The hurt on your face is plain for him to see - there’s no point trying to hide it. 

“I do trust you. It’s just…” He hesitates. “You’re the only person I know who thought I was cool.”

“Adrian… that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Adrian.

It’s the first time you’ve ever called him that and it makes Adrian’s heart leap. Like the two sides of him have finally met you. After all this time.

“It’s not. Everyone else who knows me as Adrian knows I’m a loser. And I thought if I told you I was a busboy with no friends, you’d think that too.”

“You have friends.”

“Yeah, right.”

“The guys in the video store? They were so worried about you in jail. They like you a lot.” He allows himself a small smile like he doesn’t really believe it. “And I…” You pause. How do you feel about Adrian? “I still think you’re cool.”

“You do?”

He looks at you like he can’t believe you’re actually saying the words he was afraid you’d never say.

“Of course I do. You’re still the masked Vigilante of Evergreen. And I’m just… ordinary.”

He scoffs in amazement. “You’re not ordinary - you’re like the smartest person I know. And you don’t need to hide behind a mask to do your job. 

“I’m not that smart.”

“I mean, you found out more about the butterflies than the US government.”

You bite your lip, trying not to smile. “Can I tell you something? And you won’t tell the rest of the team?”

“You can tell me anything.” 

“I didn’t know what butterflies were until today.” He looks extremely confused so you press on. “I met John in a dark web chatroom when I was researching the missing gorilla. And I thought you guys were looking for it too.”

He laughs. A merciless side-splitting laugh that doesn’t take your embarrassment into consideration at all. But it shows off his beautiful smile. And when you see it you can’t stop yourself from joining in too. It’s so ridiculous. You wanted to find the gorilla, and maybe get your PI business mentioned again in the local paper. Now you’ve been roped into saving the world with a black ops team and Vigilante.

You both try to regain your composure and stare at each other, catching your breath. He shakes his head, grinning.

Christ, look at him.

“I sometimes wondered if you wouldn’t remove your mask because you were just a bad kisser. I mean, I saw your mugshot so I already knew you were pretty.” You can’t help but tell him. You know the grainy photo on his record like the back of your hand but in person, he’s frankly gorgeous. 

“Thanks, I know.”

You laugh again. “And modest.”

“You think I fund being Vigilante on a busboy salary? I get a lot of tips.”

“It all makes sense now. The only thing that doesn’t make sense is why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Because she didn’t want to wait around for an idiot who wouldn’t even kiss her.”

You stare at each other in the shadowy silence for a few moments. 

“It’s late, we should both get some rest.”

“Wait, don’t go.” His hand touches your thigh and it feels like there’s an electric current buzzing between his hand and the fabric of your jeans. The atmosphere almost crackles, like lighting about to strike in the middle of a storm. It’s the first time he’s touched you since you walked out on him six months ago and never went back. “It’s super late, you should crash at mine.”

“If I come upstairs we both know what’s going to happen.”

He tilts his head and you watch dimples form as the corners of his mouth turn into a mischievous smile. “That’s kind of the idea.”

“A bad one. We need to work together.”

“When has fucking ever stopped us from completing a job?”

“It hasn’t. But when we stopped seeing each other… I was really cut up. I couldn’t concentrate on work for a while. It’s why I needed the reward for the gorilla so badly.”

“Then we just won’t stop this time.”

“Adrian… I’ve only just pulled myself together again. I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do.”

He removes his hand from your leg to unclip his seatbelt. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Adrian gives you an apologetic look. 

You stare at his lips. They’re just there. His whole face is out in the open. And now his lips, and the rest of him, are about to leave your car and you never know when you’ll see him unmasked again. He opens the car door.

“Wait -”

He turns back around in his seat.

“Let me find out if you’re a bad kisser. At least I can tell myself I’m not missing out on anything if you are.”

“You’re gonna be so mad…” He cups your face and brushes your cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m a really good kisser.”

You smile and his lips meet yours. 

It’s nothing like you imagined.

When you had sex it always felt urgent, even dangerous, getting into bed with a masked cape who was wanted for murder. More often than not he fucked you from behind, tugged fistfuls of your hair and slapped your ass. 

But his kisses… his kisses are soft and slow. And good.

You’re totally screwed.

He sucks your lip gently and then his tongue traces across yours. You urge yourself forward in the driver’s seat closer to him, bringing your hand up to cradle the nape of his neck and lace your hand in his soft hair.

Warmth spreads in your chest when he deepens the kiss. You secretly hoped he’d be like this when he was unmasked. Your hot and rough encounters were always fun but in your heart you always wanted him to want you like this. Deeply. Reverently. 

You break apart and press your forehead against his with your eyes closed, feeling your heart hammering against your chest.

“What’s the verdict?” he asks.

You open your eyes to see his green ones searching yours from behind his glasses. He lets out a long, happy exhale when he hears your seatbelt unclick.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrian’s bedroom is neat, clean, with framed vintage comic books on his walls and illuminated by a lava lamp on his bedside table. Details you remember from previous visits but barely register this time as you both burst through his bedroom door while he kisses you. Refusing to take his hands from your body, he kicks the door shut behind him forgetting about his injured foot. He regrets it immediately.

“Fuck!” He pulls away and winces.

“Careful,” you soothe, shrugging your jacket off onto the floor and he lifts your shirt off. As soon as your skin is uncovered his mouth finds it. He drags his tongue across your collarbones and between your breasts, nudging the cup of your bra aside so he can find your nipple.

His warm mouth feels almost too good to be true as he sucks on the hard, pebbled skin and moves on to taste every inch of your exposed chest, his deft hands unhooking your bra and tossing it aside quickly. 

The entire day could have been a crazy fever dream. You’ve gone from your heart sinking at the very sight of him to it fluttering like crazy as you lie back on his mattress so he can pull your jeans and underwear off.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he says, sinking to his knees between your legs at the edge of the bed.

Even though you’re completely naked on his bed while he’s still dressed, you somehow feel less on display than he is right now without his mask. It feels taboo watching his jaw muscles tighten as he works his mouth all over your inner thighs. There’s something so controlled about the way he meticulously kisses the sensitive skin at the crux of your thigh that makes your lip quiver. 

You’ve spent enough time around his quick reflexes to know Vigilante is going to be skilled at eating you out but sometimes, especially in the depths of your despair during your breakup, there was a niggling inkling at the back of your mind that the mask might just be a convenient excuse not to. 

You had suspected, or maybe even hoped, when you hooked up that he had come really, really close to rolling up the bottom half of his mask and tasting you. More than once, you had caught a fleeting glimpse of him at odds with himself, his eyes behind his visor staring at your pussy and his neck muscles contracting as he swallowed thickly, strengthening his resolve and deciding to protect his own identity instead.

But tonight - finally - his tongue slides between your folds and you let out a low whine when the furnace-hot heat of his mouth besets itself over your clit.

Adrian groans when he tastes your arousal flooding his mouth. His hands cup under your ass as he pulls himself closer. You dare yourself to run your hand through his hair again, your fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. It still feels like it shouldn’t be allowed but he doesn’t seem to mind at all as his lips suck on your swollen clit.

“Fuck, Adrian…” His real name still sounds foreign on your lips, like you have to make a conscious effort to say it. 

Adrian looks up at you over his glasses, his pupils wide in the dim violet light of the lava-lamp-lit room. He takes in your glowing face and chest as you lie propped up on your elbows, enjoying the sight of him on the floor between your legs.

His fingers knead the soft, pillowy flesh of your ass like he doesn’t want to let you go anywhere ever again. And you don’t want to. Fuck the mission. Can’t you just stay here forever? In Adrian’s bedroom, panting while his tongue runs firm circles over your clit.

When you roll your hips in encouragement, he lets out a soft little moan sending vibrations over the bundle of nerves - it almost makes you dissolve right there and then. 

“I can’t believe I let you… fuck - let you get away with not doing this before,” you whimper. “So - s’fucking good, V.”

“Adrian,” he says and the tiniest absence of friction when his tongue leaves your clit makes your fingers tighten in his hair, urging him to return to your aching pussy.

“Adrianadrianadrian,” you babble, scared that his lips will leave you again. No more V. No more Vigilante. Just Adrian. Here. Eating your pussy like it’s you who’d been depriving him of this for months on end. Pleasure rises deep in your core like the tide getting ready to crash against the cliff face.

Your brain becomes fuzzy as increasingly desperate noises escape your throat - something strangled between a whine and his name. You squirm against his tongue as he relentlessly continues, determined to draw from you the orgasm that you’ve been desperate for since he kissed you in the car and you realised his mouth would feel like heaven.

The pressure of his tongue against your soaking wet pussy makes you writhe in exhilaration. You barely notice his fingers digging harder into your skin as you arch your spine and throw your head back.

Your thigh muscles tense and relax, trembling on either side of his face. “Adrian, I’m gonna - gonna cum…”

Instead of responding, he sinks two fingers deep inside your cunt, giving you something to squeeze around as every muscle in your pelvis tightens. He curls his fingers slightly and it’s just enough to push you over the fucking edge.

The purplish glow of the room turns blinding white as waves, hot and wet, break over you and your body floods with ecstasy. Your whole lower body stiffens as your walls clench around his fingers and you grind your pussy against his mouth.

Fuck, you’ve been missing out. You haven’t been with anyone else the entire time you’ve been apart and it’s like your body has been crying for exactly this moment without you realising how much you needed it. Needed his mouth on you.

The room comes into focus again gradually as Adrian gives you a last few slow, gentle kisses before sliding his fingers out of your still-twitching centre.

You breathe heavily and look at him kneeling on the floor.

He looks stupidly pleased with himself, the corner of his wet, glistening mouth upturned in a self-congratulatory smile at the way he’s taken you apart piece by piece. You can’t help but giggle from endorphins buzzing through your body. It makes your abdomen hurt from all the tensing you were doing. 

Adrian slaps the side of your ass and gets to his feet, undoing his belt buckle. “C’mon, bend over,” he grins.

You sit up, shake your head and smile. “Nuh-uh, I wanna see your pretty face when you cum.” He blinks a couple of times dazedly. “Did you forget about your mask for a second?”

Adrian clears his throat. “Uh...No?”

He so did.

“C’mere.” You hook your fingers through his belt loops and pull him closer. You kiss the light trail of hair covering his hard abdomen while your fingers work to undo his jeans and pull them down to release him from the confines of his boxers.

God, you missed it. He has a pretty face alright but his cock is fucking perfect.

Your cheeks grow hot feeling him so close. You grip his hard length and draw your tongue across the tip, tasting the salty bead of precum. 

“Take your top off,” you say, looking up at him before running your tongue along his shaft, keeping eye contact.

He grips the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it off over his head. Seeing him in the purple glow, every contour of his sculpted abdomen illuminated sends burning heat to your pelvis. You never thought you were into muscular guys, not until you saw Vigilante take his suit off for the first time. Now you’re not sure if you could go back to anything else. Anyone else. 

You swirl your tongue around the head of his cock but he interrupts you.

“I need to fuck you. Please.”

At this point, you’re so turned on it’s an offer you can’t refuse. You release him and scoot back on the bed. He goes to crawl on top of you but flinches when his injured foot meets the mattress.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just need to - ah fuck.”

“It’s okay. Here, lie down. Let me go on top.”

He does so with relief and you swing your leg over his thighs.

“Better?” 

“Fuck yeah,” he says, looking at your naked figure sitting on top of him.

You reach into his bedside drawer where you know he keeps his condoms. Your fingers skirt over what you suspect are bags of candy until you find the corrugated square shape you’re looking for. You take it out and roll the condom on him.

“Okay, easy,” you say, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. He throbs under the grip of your hand in anticipation. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“You were totally cool with me over-exerting myself on the floor a second ago.”

“I was talking to myself,” you smirk. “It’s been a while.”

You ease yourself down onto his cock, feeling the beautiful stretch as you adjust to his size. 

“Shit…” he breathes, clamping his hands down hard on your hips, forcing you to bottom out. His eyebrows knit together and he sighs through parted lips, feeling the way your walls stretch around him. He looks so beautiful - you can’t stop looking at his lips.

You lean forward, planting your hands on either side of his head so you can lean down and kiss him. The taste of your juices registers on your tongue as his enters your mouth. You deepen the kiss and Adrian responds by jerking his hips up needily, pressing into your g-spot.

You moan and suck on his bottom lip, gently rolling it between your teeth as he pushes into the most sensitive part of your centre. Searing heat burns low in your belly, spreading to your thighs. You push yourself back up to ride him and grab his wrists, dragging them from your waist to grope at your chest.

“Fuck, you look so hot riding my dick.”

“Yeah? Rose-tinted visor isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?”

You’re teasing him but it seems to spur him on, as he squeezes your tits and jerks up into your bouncing hips. Every wet slap that meets your ears only increases your neediness for him. It burns brightly in your core, making you wetter and even more desperate for your next orgasm.

Every roll of your body sends his cock plunging into you, pushing against you at the perfect angle. God, he feels incredible. Your walls start to convulse around him, clamping down and gripping his cock as your second climax rears its head.

“Adrian, fuck, I’m close…” you plead, frantically chasing your high, wildly gyrating and bouncing in time with his thrusts.

“Say it again.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna-”

“No, say my name,” he says, through gritted teeth, his neck muscles tightening in the soft light. 

His neck.

“Fuck, Adrian.” You lunge forward and bite on his neck. He grabs handfuls of your ass, anchoring himself into you as he thrusts savagely upwards sending pleasure rocketing through you. Fuck he’s deep. So fucking deep.

His name leaves your lips over and over, broken and ragged as every jerk of his hip knocks the air out of your lungs. Bliss ignites and your cry of pleasure is muffled as you moan and run your tongue over his neck, smelling his aftershave mixed with his musky sweat. An explosion, more fierce than any grenade blast bursts through your centre as he pummels his cock with unparalleled force and precision, even as you squirm and shake, unable to keep moving your own hips in time with his.

With every ounce of strength you have you lean up on your arms to look at his face. His eyes are squeezed shut and his facial muscles contort as he sucks through his teeth.

“Cum for me, Adrian,” you murmur sweetly in his ear and he opens his eyes, giving you a terminally helpless look as he slams his hips into your hot, wet cunt and you squeeze around him as tight as you can. With a final thrust, you feel his thighs tighten and his cock pulsing inside you as he cums.

You flatten your body back on top of his - the warm, damp sweat between your chests feels strangely pleasant. His fingers trace circles up your spine, gently tickling your back. Adrian turns his head to kiss you and you both lie for a moment, enjoying the feeling of his lips on yours.

After what feels like a long time of lying in quiet elation, you make yourself climb carefully off of him and roll over, resting back on his pillows.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says and you lie back watching him dispose of the condom, taking care not to put any pressure on his bandaged toe. He launches himself back on the bed with a thud making you bounce on the mattress. “Good, you’re still here,” he says, leaning on his elbow and looking down at you.

“Where else would I be?” you laugh.

“Well… you usually leave right after. Except that one time I accidentally bought peanut M&Ms.”

You look at him apologetically. In fairness, the mask was hardly an invitation to spend the night - what was he going to do? Sleep in it? “Do you have peanut M&Ms?”

He nods to his bedside drawer and you open it to see that it’s stuffed with the little yellow bags.

“You like peanut M&Ms now?”

He pulls a face. “No way dude, they’re so gross.”

“Then why…?”

“I guess I always hoped you might change your mind and come back. So I bought them whenever I thought about you.”

You look at the drawer - there’s practically enough that Adrian could have made a trail of peanut M&Ms from your apartment across town to his. “You would have made a really sweet boyfriend,” you sigh.

“Well, I mean… I still could,” he says in a would-be nonchalant type of way, pushing up his glasses with his finger and avoiding your gaze.

“Yeah?” You weren’t sure if he’d be open to picking up where you left off. But it feels right when it didn’t before. Now you know him. Really know him. 

He pulls his eyes up and meets your gaze with a smile. “If you want me to?”

“I’d like that. A lot.”

“Sweet,” he says with a wide smile, not bothering to hide how giddy he is.

You open the packet. “For the record, I’m not just staying because of the M&Ms this time.”

“I know.”

“And I’m glad you’re on the team.”

He nods happily, watching you pop a few into your mouth. “Hashtag me too.”

[chickenparm]

tartag x reader, first kiss after a spar

i'll do you one better :^)

Childe/gn!Reader 669 Words - SFW (Touch-starved Childe. Mentions of blood, kissin', and fightin', not in that order and not mutually exclusive.)

---

Something is deeply wrong with Childe.

If you said that to anyone who tangentially knows him, who has crossed paths with him, who has looked at him, well... They'd laugh in your face for stating something so obvious.

And you've always known. From the moment you met, you knew from the get-go that Childe isn't quite right. And there are any number of traits you could list off that would support this point.

The times where his eyes would look through you, unseeing as his mind flickers off to somewhere else, just for a moment. When he'd laugh a little too loud, smile a little too wide, none of it feeling real. When his eyes would hold dark circles and he'd wave off your concerns by mentioning it was a late night at work.

You patiently avoid mentioning the manner in which he checks every alley, examines every shadow.

Maybe all of this blinds you to the fact of another glaring point of wrongness. Of when he doesn't always dodge away as quickly from your knuckles cracking into his cheek. How he takes a little too long to break from a grapple.

The moment his eyelashes flutter for a half-second when your hand squeezes around his neck.

It's how you've got him now. One knee buried in his gut to keep him from taking a full breath, the webbing of your thumb pressed to his adam's apple, fingers pressing in on the thrumming artery at the side. Childe always insisted on no weapons, only your fists against his own during your friendly spars.

You think you're starting to understand why.

Leaning a little closer, you regard the glassiness of his eyes, the blood that's staining his teeth from a nosebleed, the rabbit-quick thumpthumpthump against your fingertips that press into his pulse. Childe's arms splay from his sides, an open display of submission to your victory.

Anyone in their right mind would tell you to get off, to be an honorable winner and accept victory with a little more grace. But you're far too distracted by the way his throat bobs beneath your hand and his tongue sweeps blood from the back of his teeth.

Childe could break free - he's done it before in this way - but his eyes slip closed and he exhales the smallest amount through his nose. The breath trembles, far too akin to someone that's indulging in a dessert they've been craving. A treat; a delicacy.

Your fingers squeeze, his diaphragm stops moving beneath your knee. The thudding against your middle and ring fingers skips before resuming in double-time. Childe is far too accepting of any of this, as if he wants it.

Needs it.

The taste of his blood on your tongue is sharp; iron-and-salt. You don't care for the sting of your own split lip. It means nothing when your tongue licks the blood from his teeth and his own greets you like a lover would. Slow, languid, dragging the moment on and on as surely as he drags his tongue against your own.

Childe moans into your mouth, tipping his chin up and practically offering himself to you. Take it all, give me everything, you think he'd say, if you weren't keeping him so occupied. Surely he'd beg if you pulled away and denied him even the harshest of contact between the two of you.

He'd appreciate that, you think. If the only touch he can get from you is something brutal, then Childe must be taking what he can get. It stings as surely as your lip does that Childe is so desperate for physical contact that he'd seek it in violence.

You'll indulge him. Not because it's some kind of favor, but because if Childe is so starved that anything is better than nothing, then you will give him everything. Your touches don't have to be all hard edges and blunt force. You can be soft with him, too.

Something is deeply wrong with Childe. You can't fix it, but you'd like to try.

[thatcatsalem]

lily of the autumn equinox; the web of curses

Pairing: Sukuna x OFC (Yuri)

Disclaimer: This particular piece is AU, where Sukuna is a sorcerer, Yuji’s older half-brother, and gotten his cursed energy from his mother.

Warning: Spiders, Strong Language, Canon Violence.

Summary: Sukuna calls her Higanbana which is Japanese flower of dark symbolism, and it means “flower of the autumn equinox”; Spider lily.

On a rainy day in Tokyo, when the world was busy condemning Russia for invading seaside city of Crimea in the power grab, Sukuna Itadori was having a coffee. It was a drip coffee, served in a dark black mug, and he begrudgingly had to admit that overpaying for this was somewhat worth it.

“Coffee here is sufficient,” noted Kento Nanami, finishing his sandwich, and Sukuna attempts to not roll his eyes. Sufficient either meant mediocre or truly phenomenal in Nanami’s case. Even though Nanami was often doing exasperated him, Sukuna could not complain - on his list of shittiest sorcerers, Nanami was not scoring too high. Leadership board right now belonged exclusively to Satoru.

He fucking deserved it.

Cup of coffee clutched in hand, Sukuna takes a tentative sip before glancing out the window. It’s a cold day. Thankfully, inside the small shop is warm from all the people and steam.

Yet Sukuna stills abruptly, shoulders tensing in agitation. He knows that he’s is being watched before turning his head around. Can feel the weight of sharp eyes, and how the space between him and danger grows smaller, and he notices a woman gliding towards them.

“Morning gentlemen,” she acknowledges them politely, hands clasped behind her back, “Nanami, you looking sharp,” she beds over and leaves a kiss on sorcerer cheek. Sukuna cannot explain why he felt a flare of genuine envy but one look at his senpai makes him take that thought back. Nanami is always stoic and rarely shows any sign of fear or discomfort, but for a section of a second it was clear that he was unnerved by the presence of the woman.

She looks directly at Sukuna, unblinking and unnerving. At the moment in time, stars have aligned perfectly, creating an absolute point.

Under no circumstances was Sukuna Itadori to be considered soft. He is intimidating, mean and outright bully, unless, of course, you ask his younger brother who would die on the hill of “he just needs warning up to!”. He is incredibly powerful for someone quite young, and prides himself to be a master of combat. And for someone so terrifying, he is absolutely embarrassed to admit that for the first time since his puberty he is speechless at the sight of girl.

She is stood by the table, tight black dress hugging her pale body as a glove, sleeves almost covering dark nails, sharp like claws. She definitely was not purebred Japanese, as it was obvious by her porcelain features that she was most likely a foreigner if not a migrant.

“Kumo-san,” Nanami stands and bows in greeting, yet she doesn’t reciprocate, only sits down on the vacant chair, picking up dust from her dress. She is wearing heels and she has metal spiders hanging from her ears. Now to think about it, she had impressive amount of rigs on her fingers, most of which resembled some form of a skull, spider or something equally creepy.

Sukuna never felt remorse for killing a spider, but something told him that kind of behaviour won’t fly past her.

“This is Sukuna Itadori, semi-grade 1 sorcerer; he is accompanying me on this mission today,” introduces him Nanami, and Sukuna makes no movement towards shaking hands or bowing, only staring the woman down. She is not an easy person to intimidate, and he finds that incredibly annoying.

“Nice to meet you,” she says in perfect Japanese, but she does have a slight accent that hinted that it was not her first language. She has piercing in her nose that she was able to hide masterfully, and Sukuna could see outline of a tattoo on her collarbones and was immediately intrigued. It wasn’t such a big deal for a foreigner to have tattoos but it still was rare sight in Japan.

“I have heard of you, Sukuna Itadori,” she says with slight tilt of her head, “Rumours say that you have been on the streets killing curses since you were barely twelve.”

She does not break the eye contact.

“I expected a more menacing presence, I confess.”

“I can show you menacing.”

She irks an eyebrow, malicious mirth in her face.

“Oh yeah?”

He doesn’t respond. Jaw setting, he glares at her. She returns the frigid stare with burning dark eyes. Nanami pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

“Itadori-san,” there is underlaying warning in his tone, “please show Kumo-san your outmost respect. She is a powerful sorceress, and is also semi-grade 1.”

“No need for flattery,” scolds him Kumo-san, finding her coffee more interesting than either of the men, “but it’s now grade one sorceress, if you must.”

Sukuna thinks that he would like nothing more than to see that smirk disappearing off her face.

[emilykaldwen]

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

Rating: Explicit

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

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

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

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

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

AO3 Link

Author's Notes: We are back from hiatus on APRIL 26, 2024 with Chapter 16! Hope you join us! These will continue to be crossposted so instead of seeing my usual AO3 link with snippet, you will see posts like these so you can continue to read on AO3 should you wish, or on tumblr!

we are now in the 'oh my god these two are so fucking feral for each other it makes them look dumb' era and SPICY SPICY! plus djkfhsdf some cute things I'm sure you've been waiting for.

Translations: Dhá chroí mar aon ní amháin - two hearts as one Prūmio ezīmus ñuhus - half of my heart

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - Your Love Is Like Sunlight

Pride is taken and love is given.

Aegon had wandered through the mass of small folk without a care, a grin across his face as vendors hawked and goods were sold, as people came out to rejoice for his day. Alyn had fallen in step beside him, following him and Aemond into the tent where Daeron was waiting. His little brother, dark blonde hair mussed from sleep, was furiously polishing Aegon’s new armor.

Not even the thick, red and black canvas of the tent could block out all the sounds of the crowds pouring into the arena that morning, but once the flaps closed, there was a kind of muffling effect to it all that made Aegon feel like he’d entered another world.

“How lucky,” he’d told his baby brother as Daeron jumped to attention and went about his duties. “That I get Ser Gwayne’s prized squire for this tournament.” The boy had preened and glowed beneath the attention in a shy, nervous way that belied his newness to the position at large. Aemond posted beside the trestle table, helping himself to watered wine and the platter of cold meat and cheese while Alyn lingered near the rack holding Aegon’s sword.

“Two swords, hm?” he’d inquired, admiring the balance on the blades with a critical eye. Which was really only Alyn trying to pretend he knew exactly what he was talking about when it came to the elegance of worked steel. It wasn’t even Valyrian steel.

“Aegon’s rare moments of overachieving,” Aemond drolled. Aegon rolled his eyes, ignoring Alyn’s soft snickering, while Daeron went to work, his gaze drifting to the second rack where his suit of armor rested, the breastplate his brother had been working on reverently placed back where it belonged.

“You are the king’s eldest son. You think the men you’ll liege over would respect a lord who’d never donned a suit of armor?” The Tower had snapped at what Aegon thought was a simple question as to why. It was a strange feeling when he was a dragonrider of all things, bonded with the greatest creature to exist. He was a god amongst men.

Once, custom dictated that a dragonrider must always be in the Dragonpit should the call to arms sound, but his mother had put her foot down when Aegon had asked. Which hadn’t really mattered, since on days where his melancholy threatened to smother him, he’d sneak out to sleep with Sunfyre anyway. Days where he felt like he would burst from his own skin, rend his flesh with claws of his own, where he swore in his dreams he was Sunfyre himself.

This day, Aegon did not have claws and fangs, nor could he breathe fire. With both feet firmly planted on the ground, he would don the armor of his mother’s people, of mere mortals. He shifted as Daeron tugged on the red padded arming doublet he was wrestling him into with a kind of single minded efficiency that strongly reminded him of Aemond. They both poked their tongues between their lips, eyes squinted in focus. It took everything in Aegon not to reach up to ruffle his baby brother’s hair and instead kept uncharacteristically cooperative at the boy’s assistance.

Warmth spread through his chest while Daeron straightened the padding and examined the red fabric for wear and tear now that it was on him.

“Can you move, Aeg?”

He twisted at the waist and raised his arms up and down to show that he could and Daeron went to the pieces of polished black armor. The finely crafted plates layered together like dragonscales of his very own, edged in beaten gold, and over his chest, a dragon was etched into the metal. Aegon was still surprised how perfectly the armor fit. He flexed constantly under Daeron’s questions and it was so different from the training breastplate he wore that would have to last through the growth spurts of his youth. This suit of armor felt like a second skin, as if he was covered with his very bones. He flexed once Daeron had finished, lifting his legs and bending around to ensure that all was where it was meant to be and he grinned at Daeron.

“Well done, squire,” he complimented. Daeron’s beam made him look younger than his two and ten years, and as brilliant as the sun. “I think you’ve earned a place with us to go mucking around Flea Bottom, hm?”

“Thank you,” he said shyly, blushing at the praise, and preening a little even though the only audience was Aemond and Alyn. “I’d hate for you to make a fool of yourself on your nameday in front of everyone.” The cheeky look in his cornflower blue eyes had Aegon lightly swiping at him, the boy dancing away while Aemond made an annoyed sound.

Aegon snatched a piece of meat off of his brother’s plate. “You know, Aemond, if you’re going to be a miserable arse, you don’t have to be here. Go sit in the box with our mother, let all the pretty girls stare at you. I’m sure it would be more fun. I was certain that Maega Stokeworth was trying to figure out how to swoon in your arms.” Aemond had found himself beneath the center of attention in a way he’d never encountered since the court had begun to fill in the past few weeks. “Or better yet, let Karstark be your shield once more and you can swoon into her arms.” It hadn’t been missed that his brother had gone straight for Abby’s lady as soon as the proverbial sharks had begun to circle. Aegon would not deny his surprise, but he kept it to himself. It wasn’t everyday his brother and his violet gaze targeted someone he wasn’t intendending to declare an enemy.

Unless declaring Wylla Karstark his enemy was a form of foreplay. Perhaps a northern custom he wasn’t aware of but surely Aemond knew everything about. Mating habits and rituals and all that.

His brother rolled his eye but the pink that tinged his cheeks had Aegon smirking in satisfaction as he looked over the drink available. Cider had been his choice since Mother had forbidden wine. A carafe of it had made it into the tent, the Arbor red he preferred calling to him. His fingers clenched and he went for the water instead. He needed his wits about him.

“And miss your great debut? I hear Vance has been known to fight with a pollaxe and you’ve only matched against blade and the morningstar.” Aemond’s unimpressed commentary on Aegon’s resurgence in training for this event dripped through every word and he scoffed.

“Are you truly belittling me for participating in my nameday tournament while you peacock around going,” Aegon lilted his voice to match Aemond’s slightly higher tone. “Fuck tourneys, I want a war and a real fight, watch me jump around the training circle with Criston Cole.”

Daeron giggled, sweet boy that he was, and even Aemond’s glower was softened at the long missed sound.

“I’ll fight in the joust at Harrenhal,” Aemond declared, his mouth curling in satisfaction at the sound of surprise Aegon made.

“You? Joust? But you hate jousting.”

“I wouldn’t want to face him in a joust,” Alyn offered with a serious look. “You’ve met your brother, right?”

Aemond shifted in his chair, chin tilting slightly with his own hint of preening. The curl of his mouth turned deadly sharp with satisfaction. “Well, well, looks like you should be trusting Hull’s judgment more than I gave him credit for. It seems he’s not the fool I thought.”

“To finally be recognized by the One-Eyed Prince!” Alyn said, clasping his hands together in prayer. “Warrior, you have heard my prayers to have my statement of the obvious that I have eyes and know when to not engage with the scariest cunt in the room is taken seriously.”

Aegon veered to the left as Aemond chucked a piece of meat at his friend, Alyn’s locs swinging with the motion, and with an open mouth, he caught the piece in his mouth, but gasped and choked briefly from the speed at which Aemond threw it. His brother looked stunned, getting up to thump Alyn on the back. Aegon glanced down at Daeron, his brother only a scant few inches shorter and promising another growth spurt.

“So proud of the progress they’ve been making.”

“Aye,” Daeron said seriously. “But I’m still your favorite.”

Aegon tapped the side of his nose and poured Daeron a cup of wine and another for Alyn, who’d coughed up the projectile. Aemond was now examining the blades for himself now that Hull wasn’t in danger of expiring.

“I still think you should go with the single blade and shield.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“It’s flashy.”

Aegon’s face contorted into confusion. “Of course it’s flashy. What? I don’t get to be flashy, you twat? Is this because you’re jealous my dragon is lovelier than yours?”

“Don’t you compare anything to Vhagar, you golden peacock.”

“Oh please, Vhagar’s more wrinkled than Beesbury’s ballsack.”

Aegon saw a flash of light as the tent flap opened, but it was Alyn who startled to attention, cutting through the bickering loudly. “Lady Abrogail!” Aegon jerked his head around, watching as Alyn hurried up to the slight figure who just entered the tent. He sketched a bow before her, Abby’s eyebrows raised in amusement as he took her hand to press a kiss to it. “It is a pleasure to finally put a name to the face, my lady. The prince’s songs of your beauty do little to match the vision you present.”

Whatever demands Aegon was about to make for Alyn to stop with his charms died on his tongue when he took Abby in, lined by the sunlight coming through the part of the tent flaps. Her wrap gown was nothing she’d worn before and it took Aegon a moment to realize it was similar to Rhaenyra’s gowns. There was nothing of his mother’s influence or of the Riverlands about it. The silk blue as a robin’s egg, the lining of her belled sleeves a warm sunset orange-gold, and the belt cinched around her waist was a wrap of golden metal etched with decorative roses and weirwood leaves. A heated sensation curled through Aegon’s chest when he caught sight of the numerous golden dragons embroidered along her body: over one shoulder where the dragon’s head rested over her heart, wrapped around one arm, down along the drape of fabric and across her skirts.

Not just a dragon. It was his dragon. Sunfyre decorating his bride’s gown, so everyone knew she was his, his to protect, his to care for, his to hoard. The place inside his bones where Sunfyre fused into him purred.

Her hair was a cascade of copper curls, a loose knotwork of braids twisted along the crown of her head, the cinnamon sugar of her freckles were dark against her softly flushed cheeks. Woven into her braids was a strand of sea pearls interspersed with topaz gems that brought out the river blue of her eyes. His eyes darted to the necklace she wore, the warmth of it a contrast against her lightly flushed skin.

He still needed to get a necklace for her. One that was wholly from him.

“Off,” Aegon barked at Alyn as if he were a pup begging. “All of you out.”

“Mother said you’re not to be left alone with Abby,” Daeron chimed from where he was putting away his armor polish. “She was very insistent, but said I’m allowed to leave you two alone after you're married.”

Aegon stared at Daeron, blinking in confusion until he caught the scent of Abby’s rose and red currant perfume.

“It’s alright,” she reassured. Aegon felt his cheeks flush while Abby stroked her hands admiringly over his armor plated bicep. “I’m nothing if not a proper lady. Besides, I brought Aegon a present.”

“Would that be proper?” Alyn asked innocently, his meaning clear. Aegon growled, feeling Sunfyre huff in his throat, a heated thing in his chest. Abby’s cheeks flushed but she paid Alyn no mind, reaching beneath the fold of her gown. For a moment, Aegon thought he might catch a glimpse of creamy skin and the little freckle along the edge of right breast, but she pulled a folded scrap of fabric out instead.

Aegon thought of the tourneys they had watched when they were little, of knights coming to the stands and the royal box to curry a favor from one of the ladies. Ser Criston would wear his mother’s favor, Ser Harwin a boon from his elder sister. How daring they all looked, wearing those favors meant to keep them safe and bring them victory.

He didn’t see so much as heard Aemond’s low voice and the rustle of the tent fabric as he pushed Alyn and Daeron out of the tent, leaving him alone with Abby.

“You made me a favor?” he asked, so soft that he could barely hear his own voice. Abby’s teeth caught at the plump red of her lower lip and with careful fingers, unwrapped the gift.

The leather braid was multicolored, the red, blue and green of House Strong snaked with the black of House Targaryen, silver charms woven into it etched with tiny runes. On closer inspection, he realized they were like the runes on the gold chain that Lyonel Strong had worn. Aegon recalled how they danced in the candlelight as the two of them sat at the table on his nameday not long before he died, and Aegon had promised not to tell that Lord Lyonel was helping himself to the strawberry cream cakes that the Maester said he wasn’t meant to have. The favor was woven and twisted into a complicated knot, foreign in its design. It was familiar, tickling at some distant memory he couldn’t quite place, but knew he had seen it somewhere before. Abby held it in her hands and he touched it, taking it in hand and he could see that it hung on a leather cord to hang around his neck.

Emotions seized at Aegon’s throat. A sense of longing that he couldn’t quite place, grief at the loss of the man he had once known, and a strange sort of trepidation that curled through it. ‘I’ll protect her, I swear it’.

“It’s…” Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips and Aegon’s mouth watered at the sight of it. She looked up at him beneath her lashes, her eyes so blue they looked like sapphires. “Dhá chroí mar aon ní amháin.” She paused, and then said it once more with a scrunch of her nose as she pronounced it slightly differently. “Two hearts as one, interlocked with no beginning and no end… I worked on it all night!” she added in a rush. Aegon could see her hand shaking and the twitch of her fingers from nerves. “What hurts you hurts me and the charms are protection to ensure that you’re safe and-”

Aegon closed the distance between them, his hand cradled her cheek while the other held the knot between them. He took advantage of her parted mouth to lick his way inside, and steal the taste of her mint and honey tea she drank in the mornings, of the sweet cream she slathered on her bread, of whatever taste that remained that was hers. She whimpered into his mouth and he drank it greedily, a growl low in the back of his throat. He stepped closer so there was no space between them, and Abby arched into him, uncaring of the armor that separated them.

“Prūmio ezīmus ñuhus,” Aegon breathed into her. The words unbidden, a spell, a promise, a declaration. His hand was trembling and he could feel her shaking against him. When he dared to open his eyes, her own were heavy lidded and looking back at him, the slightest pull of confusion creasing her brow. Her heart shaped mouth was red and kiss swollen, trembling as he was. “Half of my heart,” he whispered, the very thing pounding in his chest, his throat, the blood rushing through his ears that he felt dizzy with it.

He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.

Three times to matter. Three times to make it true.

“Aegon.” Abby’s voice cracked on the end of his name and she reached up her free hand to curl against his cheek and pull him closer again. She nuzzled her nose against his and tried to speak, but her voice cracked again, wordless.

His words, however, did not fail him. Aegon’s fingers stroked against the soft curve of her cheek, brushing away the copper of her hair from where it had fallen into her eyes.

“I love you.”

Let him be the first to tell her, for she was always the first to say so many things to him.

Her eyes widened, the smile spreading slowly across her face, and Aegon felt as if the sun broke through the storm clouds, the warmth of her as reassuring as Sunfyre. Her eyes crinkled and Aegon could feel his own crinkle in return as he smiled back at her, basking in the warmth between them.

“I love you.” Soft voiced but there was no lack of confidence, no indecision in the return of the declaration. Favor still clutched in her hand, Abby’s fingers dove into his hair, pulling him closer.

Aegon tilted her head back, touch reverent and mouth hungry, to taste the words for himself.

The silver necklace Abby wore was one meant for the Lady of Castamere. It belonged, by rights, to her grandmother, Dalla Swift, and was meant to pass onto her uncle’s wife when he took the seat. It was, however, the necklace her mother had worn on her wedding day and Abby’s fingers toyed with flame hued carnelian. It hung, smooth and flat backed in a lay of silver along her neck. The delicate silver chain was deceptively strong, strung with smaller carnelians.

‘Strength and bravery,’ her mother had told her of the precious stones she would wear. ‘Courage and joy.’ Abby ran her thumb along the smooth surface. ‘Brave, my little river lion. The fire of my heart.’

Helaena tugged at the ends of the braid slung over her shoulder, clad in a pleated gown of midnight blue with dragon pins at each shoulder, the fall of blue silk brushing against her shoulders. Rubies on a twisted band of woven gold were braided around the crown of her head, a veil of sheer red falling around her like a shield. Her mouth was pinched, brow furrowed, and it was clear the princess was at the end of her patience with the crowds.

“I will leave after Aegon’s gone,” Helaena murmured when she saw the concern on Abby’s face. She sunk further back into the low chair she sat in, her left leg bouncing. Abby reached into the basket at their feet and pulled out the half done embroidery that she’d been working on. Butterflies and beetles glimmering in jewel tones. She pressed it into the princess’ grasp, stroking her fingers along the back of her hands with a tapping motion.

“I’ll let you know when it’s his turn. Just focus on this.” Helaena’s mouth twitched as she clutched at her embroidery hoop, and Abby chanced a glance in the row behind them.

The royal box was an elegant thing. Rectangular with four massive stone columns at each corner carved with snarling dragons circling around each one. The roof was made of terracotta shingles coming to three points for the two lower levels on either side of the main royal box. The Targaryen banner flew from the highest point, with three banners each on the other two: Stark, Tully, and Arryn on the left, and Lannister, Tyrell, and Baratheon on the right. The view of the pitch was unimpeded from either end, and allowed those in the stands around them to view their liege.

King Viserys sat in a padded chair like a chicken in a nest, his crown of gold heavy on his brow and a cup of wine in hand as he inclined his head towards Lord Otto and her grandfather. The Queen was resplendent in a gown of verdant green, braided cord across the shoulders of the gown and snaking down her bodice in a mimicry of flames. Her auburn curls were free down her back save for the delicate twists that held it from her face and held her crown of state in place. She was smiling at Lady Lysa beside her and Abby was startled with how young the queen looked. So used to the cold remoteness of her cousin, the laughter spilling from her mouth was a rare sound.

She swallowed and turned away, uncertain how she felt about the sight.

“Have you had a chance to talk with Lady Alys yet?” she asked Wylla to her left. She looked beautiful in her bronze brocade surcoat, striking against the black kirtle beneath with bronze embroidery along the arms. Her thick hair was braided into cauls on either side of her head, much how she’d seen Lady Lysa wear her hair. Abby wound one of her own red curls around her finger and wondered if she too could pull off such an elegant style. Pearls draped around the crown of her friend’s head, little treasures nestled in the expanse of raven wing hair.

“Briefly, during the feast,” Wylla said and the pair glanced down towards the seats to their left. Harrion was easy to spot with his height in the crowd, his head inclined to the smaller figure beside him. Alys Bracken, his bride to be, her dark red hair caught in a snood - less delicate than the nets favored in the crownlands and the Queen’s court. She was a tiny thing compared to her betrothed, and Abby smiled as she saw the woman reach to touch Harrion’s arm. “She’s nice. Quiet.” Wylla pursed her mouth a bit in the expression she wore when she was trying to find something tactful to say. “Are all girls from the Riverlands like that?”

“Mmm, not if you were speaking with Melony Piper last night,” Abby grinned. Wylla was brash, and Abby wondered if her mother was such a way as well. “It is difficult sometimes to find one’s voice when everyone is so loud.” She clucked her tongue and took a sip of the strawberry wine that had come in for Aegon’s nameday, feeling rather smug about engaging with House Buckler on trade agreements. It was good wine, less heavy than the Arbor Red that Aegon tended to enjoy that was too dry for her tastes. “Why, I do think you fell rather quiet when Aemond pulled you onto the floor.”

“Och! Are you going to start with me?” Wylla’s attention pulled from her brother to smooth her hands over her black skirt and her pale cheeks flushed a touch. “It was very nice of him to ask me to dance-”

“Nice, was it?” Abby would not forget how Wylla had teased her so, pulling the details of the clandestine affair that had gone on in Abby’s bedroom by the firelight. “Did his hand stay in its proper place, or did you encourage him.” She put on a low mimic of Wylla’s brogue, sounding more Riverlander than Northerner as her lilt came on stronger. “Oh, Prince Aemond, your hand is so warm-”

“Prince Jacaerys!” Wylla’s voice came out high pitched and a little strangled, loud enough to carry over the din. There was a chair that separated him and Helaena before the King, for when Aegon and Aemond came up after the melee, he would take it as his place of honor. In the meantime, Helaena was, as she put it ‘staking her claim until her brother proved himself worthy of it’.

Jace was reclined in his chair, his head bent towards Baela’s. His jerkin was dark red leather edged in black, the buckles were shining silver seahorses. “Lady Wylla,” he smiled, a look so familiar it made Abby’s chest ache.

“Are you not competing today?”

Baela laughed and Jace rolled his eyes at her before returning to Wylla’s question with a sly grin that she recalled from their youth. It generally predated some sort of mischief, Aemond often its target. “I would, but since it is my Uncle’s nameday, I thought it would be in poor taste to upstage him.”

“Upstage him?” Baela snorted, reaching down beside her to lift one of the little vases that the vendors were selling among other things. A crude painting of a yellow dragon was splashed across the red clay and a black figure holding a sword was positioned for battle. “How could you upstage the man whose liking is splashed across a dozen pisspots?”

“They’re too narrow to be pisspots,” Helaena said mildly. “But they’d be perfect for the foxglove and oleander growing in Visenya’s garden. I could show you, if you’d like, cousin.”

Abby gave the princesses a sidelong look, but was pleased to see Baela’s expression was one of amused appreciation and Helaena’s own smile was small. Jace looked confused and uncertain of what he was meant to do before huffing and helping himself to some more finger foods from the low table. Abby hummed, her own smile crossing her face as the trumpets sounded for the first round of contestants. Squires marched out onto the pitch carrying the banners of their knights. Warren Fossoway was no longer among their ranks - he’d been knighted only a few weeks ago and would compete in the melee. Many of the women around her cooed over the sons and brothers proud on the pitch with their standards.

“Oh!” Abby leaned forward, touching Helaena’s arm to draw her attention before pointing. “There’s Daeron!”

The youngest Targaryen’s blonde hair gleamed golden in the morning light, proudly bearing the blood red, three headed dragon upon the field of black for his eldest brother. Ser Gwayne had let the boy squire for Aegon this day, and Daeron looked so proud and so serious all at once.

“He looks like Aemond,” Wylla said with a soft laugh. “They both have that same serious look.” Abby giggled at the comparison. Even this far away, it was undeniable.

“He has my hair though,” Helaena chimed in, waving out to Daeron with a beaming smile amidst her discomfort of being in the crowd. Her hands clutched back at her embroidery hoop as a wave of cheers rippled through the crowd again as the standards were placed in pairs of who would face off against whom.

“What is it that you’re making?” Abby looked over to see Jace leaning over to admire her embroidery. He’d slid over to Aegon’s empty chair, while Baela remained in her own chair, speaking with one of the ladies that had accompanied her, Zara Celtigar. “Would you show me?” Helaena nodded and Abby was relieved to see her focus on Jace’s question and interest. She recalled when they were young, that Jace had joined them on their explorations into the mud and underbrush for Helaena’s interest, always asking her questions about what she’d found and what she was looking for. Tension riddled through her own bones at what Jacaerys and Baela’s arrival would mean, but the fear that Jace would have turned cruel over the years felt silly now. Hopefully it would remain as such.

First on the pitch was Ser Warren Fossoway, the gleaming gold and red of Cider Hall embolized on his shield. His squire, a sandy haired boy who had served as page for Lord Otto, bounded in front of him proudly as the heralds announced him with trumpet and drummed fanfare. She did not know the boy’s name, but his preening and excitement was adorable. Warren’s light brown hair curled along the back of his neck, his armor heavy plate that suited his broad frame well. As his opponent, Lord Ryam Merryweather, called for a favor from his lady wife, Warren approached the royal box, his helmet beneath his arm. The squires got out of the way, perching with the heralds

“Princess Helaena!” he called, cheeks flushed from the excitement and a boldness that Abby wasn’t entirely surprised by. Helaena’s head jerked up from where it was bent next to Jace’s, startled at the public address. “It would be a great boon to my spirits if you would grant me your favor on this day!”

Her round cheeks went flush pink, and Abby wondered when the last time Helaena had snuck off to trade favors with the knight before them. The princess handed off her embroidery hoop to Jace and reached into the basket for her favor. She pulled out one of the twisted bands of flowers and ivy wrapped with ribbon, normally used to crown the lances of the jousters than for a melee fighter but it worked all the same. Ser Warren would be able to hook it on his belt without issue. Helaena rose smoothly, approaching the railing and tossing the favor down to him.

“I hope this protects that pretty face of yours, Ser Warren!” she called down to him, anxiety pushed away and teasing in her tone. “It would be a pity to lose such handsome countenance to some knightly foolishness.”

Warren caught the woven circlet and sketched a bow, sending a wink up at the princess before going to meet Lord Ryam out on the pitch.

“I’m sure Warren appreciates your blessing,” Abby teased her sister. Helaena rolled her eyes and took her seat once more. Jace’s lavender eyes were narrowed, brow furrowed as he looked from Helaena to Warren as the knight swung his sword with a great yell and the bout started.

Abby winced at the first screech of Lord Ryam’s blade across Warren’s shield and the wave of excited hollering that washed across the arena. She was giddy with the excitement that it spurred on. Gone were the tangled snake nest of nerves that fostered in her belly from the feast. Here, there was comfort being in the relative privacy of the box. Yes, the eyes of the realm kept gazing up, pointing and whispering, but there were men drawing blood in the arena below, and Abby could pretend they were pointing at anyone else but her.

For his first tourney, Warren stood his ground. It took everything Lord Ryam, an experienced tourney knight with a decade and a half on the younger man to land each blow. Each white flag for the knights were slow to come. Twisting and turning, it was an exciting start to the melee events and finally, Warren struck the last blow: a clang of castleforged steel along the back of Lord Ryam’s shoulders. Lady Lysa, from her seat behind the queen, stood and cheered along with the applause of the rest of the court. Even Ser Westerling, stoic as he oft was, shouted, “Well done!” that carried over the crowd.

Helaena shifted in her chair and Abby glanced over at her. Teeth caught on her lower lip as her occasional paramour bowed to the royal box and Abby noted the flush on her cheeks.

“I didn’t know Warren Fossoway became a knight,” Jace said casually. Heleana did not clap, but held her hands before her, a broad and encouraging smile on her face, eyes dancing with curiosity.

Helaena shrugged. “It’s well earned, mind you. Ser Warren is the attentive sort. Not even Aemond could cow him.” She settled back in her chair to focus on the embroidery in her lap. “He’s worked hard for it and he makes quite a handsome figure in his armor.”

On her other side, Wylla muffled her snort into a cough and Abby silently handed her a goblet of wine with an amused shake of her head.

“What was it like twirling about the feast in Aemond’s arms?” Abby asked as the next competitors took the pitch. Her heart thrummed in her chest, her cheeks heated when her thoughts strayed to the feel of Aegon’s mouth on hers, the taste of him, the feel of his armored arms wrapped around her. She sighed, soft and distracted before her bright blue eyes landed on Wylla, who was giving her a knowing look.

“I will throw you from this box, lady. I’m not drunk yet.” She took a swallow of the strawberry wine, making an intrigued face at the taste and then another sip. “Did he get under your skirts again?” Wylla asked quietly, leaning her head closer so as not to be so easily overheard.

Abby’s cheeks flushed. “So did Aemond pull you on the dance floor to argue with you, or to be his human shield?” Their eyes met, both challenging, but there was no bite beneath their words. She would not be dissuaded from her line of questioning.

The crowd cheered as Ser Corbin Manderly knocked Ser Janos Farley’s helmet from his head.

Wylla’s cheeks, fair as the winter snow, flushed pink. “He said, rather dashingly, that he knew I’d be a good dance partner because I would not bore him with inane conversation. I then proceeded to tell him how I never, ever wanted to sew the beads upon your wedding slippers ever again. I did it for the love of you, but you better not ask for beaded slippers for any other dress or for your children or anyone else.”

“But I didn’t ask you for beaded slippers, you offered.”

“I will throw you from this box.”

Abby giggled and took her own sip of strawberry wine. “You’ve said that already. We need to get you new threats.” She glanced down at the pitch, clapping along with the crowd. “So you explained the intricacies of beaded slippers. You danced quite a bit, so he must not have been dissuaded.” Aemond and Wylla had danced several turns before he was pulled to dance with other maidens of the court. He’d not danced with anyone else even half as frequently as he’d danced with the northerner.

“He was quite pleased to discuss the original plans of the Aegonfort,” Wylla huffed, but there was a smile dancing about her red lips. The kind of womanly secret Abby had been jealous of in Cassandra Baratheon. The kind that Abby wondered if she held now. Wylla clapped politely as the knights finished, Ser Janos the victor this time around. The expression she wore was a pensive one, uncertainty creasing at the corner of her eyes. Reaching over, Abby stroked the elder girl’s arm, comforting if not sympathetic, as she was uncertain if Wylla needed sympathy so much as reassurance.

“Aemond is mercurial and moody, and knows everything, but he is, above all else, honest.” Abby’s fingers brushed at a loose thread on the bronze silk of Wylla’s gown. She had never been to the north, but Wylla had spoken of it lovingly, with a homesickness laced with the kind of frustrations one developed with a need to see the world. “I know this place is one of duplicity and confusion, but you can believe me when I tell you that Aemond plays no games. His intentions are what they are. He finds deception in such things to be foolish.” Abby grinned then. “Why be underhanded and duplicitous when he can simply threaten or show he knows more?”

Wylla snorted. “He knows everything about the Aegonfort.”

Abby shrugged, grinning. “He plans to be an unparalleled military man, you know.”

Their conversation was cut short as the trumpets sounded, louder now than they had been for the men who had come before. It was the Targaryen herald song, the drums thrumming through the stadium as the people rose, cheering for Aegon Targaryen, son of the king. Abby’s heart pounded in time with the beat, slowly rising to her feet with a grin, cheering along with the rest of the crowd that chanted his name. ‘Aegon! Aegon!’ They shouted. ‘Prince! Prince!’ Her feet took her to the railing, if only to get as close as she could, the breeze tugging at the loose curls that hung down her back.

Daeron looked so serious leading the way, carrying Aegon’s Targaryen standard to be hung, the breeze catching at his curls. This was not his first tournament, nor, Abby surmised, was it even his tenth. He carried his duties with the experience of a squire far older than he. As he hung the standard up and stepped back, Aegon grabbed his hand to tug him close, lifting their joined fists in the air together. Even with all his experience, the boy was not immune to the cheering and shouting chants of his own name as the brothers stood beneath the crowd, Aegon sharing this moment with his littlest brother. Daeron broke out into a grin, his own cheering as the people of King’s Landing, the lords and ladies of the realm who had come down, shouted out their wishes.

Aegon was so handsome. Everything narrowed down to seeing him standing there. His armor was a burnished black, the plates of it layered like Sunfyre’s dragon scales. The pauldrons were layered similarly, broadening his already broad shoulders. The gold chasing glimmered in the sunlight, his helmet beneath his arm. His silver hair shone golden beneath the light, pulled back from his face in a few small braids that Aemond must have done for him so his hair would not fall into his eyes beneath the helmet.

He turned from the crowd to approach the box as all the contestants did, his lilac eyes meeting hers. A flush unfurled beneath her cheeks even if all he did was smile so wide that his eyes squinted with it.

“My lady!” he called, his voice nearly lost to the noise of the arena. “The joy on your face could outshine the sun itself!” Abby heard Wylla scoff behind her, but paid her little mind, teeth nibbling along her lower lip. “Are you truly so happy this day?”

“I am, my prince,” she called down to him, feeling Wylla slide the braided ring of flowers into her hand. Abby toyed with the favor. She wanted to call down to him that she was so happy because he told her he’d loved her. He had said those words to her, confessed them to her first and she was drunk with it, giddy and incandescent. She wanted to kiss him again, to taste the promises on his pouty mouth, but all she could do now was toss the favor down to him. “And if you wish to keep me so happy, you will come back to me safe and victorious!”

Aegon’s smile took a mischievous edge, a rakish glint in his eye. “I do wish it, my lady. All you must do is command me.” He tucked the favor onto his armor, turning his gaze to meet his father’s. He crossed his arm across his chest in a sign of fealty and bowed before giving her a wink and going to stand by Daeron who held his swords in hand. Further down the pitch, Abby could see Aemond and Alyn Hull standing safely out of the way. Aemond looked serious, face pinched in concern as Alyn hollered his cheers of encouragement.

Abby watched as Ser Edmund entered, the cheers for him quieter than the people who cheered for their prince, but the sound of it joined the excitement of the match to come. His squire was one of the Piper boys, only a little older than Daeron and no less experienced. Edmund looked like a knight from a song, his light brown hair golden in the sun, the placid smile on his face making it seem as if the accolades of the crowd bored him. His armor was bright plated steel, elegant in its simplicity, but the strange eyes that made up the Vance coat of arms unnerved her. They reminded her of the unblinking eyes on the older carvings within the Red Keep: sightless, with their wide, frozen gazes.

His page carried his arms for him, the two handed greatsword nearly overwhelming the boy. Aegon stood with Daeron on the other side of the platform where the standards were set beside the officials for the match. He barely spared the elder man a glance, busy flexing his hands and adjusting his gauntlets. Daeron had his brother’s swords sheathed and ready.

Anxiety curled in Abby’s gut. Aegon had a natural talent with the blade, had found great joy in it when he was younger, like any boy would when they found themselves handed something sharp and deadly and taught to wield it from some of the best swordsmen in the realm. Regardless of natural talent, Aegon had not spent the past three years throwing himself into blade mastery. Not the way Aemond had.

A hot hand found her own and Abby blinked when Helaena appeared at her side and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“You’re giving Mother lemons,” she whispered. Abby felt her cheeks flame deeper but she did not spare a glance over her shoulder.

“Let her. The realm enjoys my foolish childishness,” Abby murmured. Helaena chuckled, but her form grew tense as Edmund Vance’s eyes cut in their direction. The knight approached, bowing before the king and the court.

“Congratulations on your betrothal, Lady Abrogail!” he called up, his eyes flicking towards Aegon. “I do hope to deliver His Grace back to you in one piece!”

Her fingers scraped against the stone railing she leaned against, the smile still firmly on her face. She ached to claw at him again, to peel back the layers and reveal the ugliness that lay beneath.

“That is too kind, Ser Edmund. I only hope that you are prepared to fight your first dragon.” She tilted her head. “They are fearsome opponents.”

As if on cue, Sunfyre’s call came from the dragon pit, loud even as Aegon’s mount was confined. He’d broken out that night months ago when Aegon and Aemond had fought, and was under even more guard to ensure he did not break free again.

Aegon’s grin was bright and full of what might have been boyish innocence had he been anyone else. Instead, there was something invitingly dangerous about it. It made her belly feel as if it was turning circles, the embarrassed flush morphing into something wanting and excited. His eyes met hers, his lilac gaze bright as the pink streaked across the sky at night.

The herald called the start of the match and the two men were on each other like Braavosi dervishes. Vance, with his greatsword glinting in the light, and Aegon meeting each strike with the clang of his own steel. He wielded an arming sword along with a slightly shorter sword and it was a sight to behold to see him in true combat and not just in the training yard with padded armor. Abby exhaled slowly, too breathless, too anxious to shout for him, but her eyes did not stray.

Her heart was in her throat. Ser Edmund was fierce and well practiced, a tourney knight several times over. Each powerful swing had her gasping in fear. Each clang of Aegon’s swords against his had her trembling. Edmund had reach, but Aegon had a ferocity that was less polished, more wild than his brother. He dove under swings instead of jumping back out of harm’s way. Abby had watched him in the training yard sparring against Harrion Karstark, the northman a powerhouse of grace and battle readiness. Aegon had held his own, although different from how he did now.

The crowd was a wave and a roar of cheers and hollering as if this was the best fight they would ever witness. Let it not be said the people did not enjoy a drama, or the sight of the king’s son, a fierce warrior.

Abby’s teeth caught at her lower lip, worrying the pink flesh with her nerves and excitement. Vance swung and a scream caught in her throat when the sharp edge of that great blade knocked Aegon’s helmet from his head, sending it flying and skipping across the ground and too far to reach. Abby heard Alicent cry out in worry, but there was no tearing her gaze from him.

Sweat dampened his silver hair, the fine braids Aemond put in doing their work to keep his vision clear. A laugh escaped him and then Vance’s gauntlet knocked him about the face, sending him reeling back.

Aegon laughed as the knight before him advanced, spitting blood on the ground from his. He twirled his swords lazily, arms open as if he meant to embrace Vance. The man swung, and Aegon abandoned his right blade, tossing it behind him in the dirt. His left sword came up to block the swing as he stepped into Vance’s reach. This time, a wordless cry ripped from her, more inhale than exhale. Helaena gripped her hand tightly, reassuringly, but was otherwise silent in her observation.

She’d seen Aegon pull the move before. It was not something taught by Ser Criston. No, this was purely Aegon, who spent his time in taverns and brothels, coming home with split lips and bruised egos. As Aegon stepped into Vance, his left blade blocking the elder’s sword, he turned. It all happened so fast. One moment they were both upright, the next, Vance was flying over Aegon’s shoulder, his greatsword falling out of his reach and even from the dirt of the pitch, Abby swore she could hear the ring of metal armor as Ser Edmund Vance hit the ground so hard his own helmet careened off, leaving the man red-faced and gasping.

“I don’t need to take his hands.”

“And what have you decided to take instead?”

“His pride.”

Aegon still held his arm in his grasp, looking down at him. He shouted something but Abby could barely make it out over the roar of the crowd, louder than dragons. His hands jerked and twisted Edmund’s arm in a sudden motion, the knight howling in pain as his arm fell limply to his chest, broken. The herald was declaring Aegon the winner. Vance’s page was running out to the field with two other men as Daeron ran to his brother, cheering and pumping his fists in the air. Aegon embraced him, spinning him around as the pair cheered, shortly being joined by Aemond and Alyn.

Abby’s grip on Helaena’s hand eased and her whole body trembled as the tension bled out. The heat remained though. The twisted tangle low in her belly was warm and syrupy and this time she screamed out his name, like one of the small folk in the stands, her grin so bright it might have hurt if she even registered it.

“He really did it,” Baela said. “And fucked his sword arm while he was at it.” It was only then that Abby registered that they had been joined at the railing. Jace on Helaena’s other side, Baela beside him, leaning over the railing like she could get closer. Wylla was to her left, clapping and shouting along with the rest of the crowd. “Fuck. I owe Lannister ten dragons.”

“I won’t say I didn’t think he had it in him…” Wylla began, a teasing note in her voice. “But your betrothed was in fine form today. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” Abby repeated with a faint voice, her eyes affixed on the man below basking beneath the accolades and triumph. It was the second time in as many days that the realm cheered for him in a way he was so deeply unaccustomed to. Aegon reveled in it, blowing kisses to the crowd and waving both hands.

The favor she had publicly given him was still affixed to his belt and he unhooked it, twirling it thoughtfully around a finger before flinging it into a section of the crowd. Abby watched the scramble it caused but the crowd was too thick for her to see who had come out with the prize.

“The Golden Sunfyre indeed,” Helaena grinned. “Although more like a Golden Peacock. Abby, you don’t seem to mind, do you?”

She glanced at her. “Did you enjoy dancing with Jace at the feast?” She was no longer the only one who could be teased, and she’d make sure the rest of them knew that. It was nice, getting to have something to poke at the others about.

Jace’s face flushed. Helaena raised her eyebrows, a smirk playing across her soft features.

As the boys below disappeared back to the tents, Abby turned to take her seat. Her eyes caught the Queen’s from where she sat on the right side of her husband. There was a vague air of annoyance on her face and Abby was immediately concerned it was due to her.

‘Why should I be concerned about cheering Aegon on?’ Abby thought. It would have been a poor showing indeed if she had not. She squared her shoulders, inclining her head. Aegon had shown up sober and ready to make a good impression, both things she thought would soften the queen’s edges.

“Quite the show,” her grandfather said from where he sat on Lord Otto’s other side, an indulgent smile on his face. “Prince Aegon is quite the creative warrior, and practiced with the crowd.” He raised his goblet to the king and queen and Lord Otto. “Congratulations on raising a fine young man. To Prince Aegon on his nameday indeed.”

“Ah, that he is. We’ve minded him well, and he’ll make a fine lord, having minded the example I’ve set.” Lord Otto choked momentarily on his goblet of wine. The queen flushed, plucking at her skirts while she hesitantly returned the smile, as if expecting a jest, but found none.

“Thank you, Uncle. He is… still a rambunctious boy in many ways. But it seems my hunch was right that a gentle hand was what he needed.”

Abby sucked in her lips to hide the smile that threatened at the uncomfortable looks that her grandfather was pretending not to notice while he commented on the taste of the wine. Her heart ached with it. The presence of Rodrick Reyne had been a balm to her soul. To have someone in power care about her wellbeing in such a genuine way as he had shown her in the days that he’d been there felt as if it had started to heal something she did not even realize was broken. He did not care about her becoming Aegon’s queen, or the games that were being played. He just wanted her to be happy.

She reached back, squeezing Wylla’s arm before looking over at Helaena. “I’ll accompany you to Aegon’s tent before you go back to the castle, now that the important show is done with.”

Helaena’s relief at escape was palpable, naked on her face and she shoved her embroidery back into the basket, smoothing her hands over her skirt. The queen’s brow furrowed.

“Helaena, darling, are you well?”

The princess plucked at her skirt as she bobbed a curtsy. “A headache from all the sound,” she said. It was a familiar statement and while it did little to ease the concern on Alicent’s face, understanding shone and she nodded. Lord Otto’s concern was also there as he noticed them moving towards the back of the box. He waved to one of the servants lingering along the side of the box.

“Have the cook prepare Helaena some sherbert and send it up to her rooms,” he ordered. Helaena’s gaze brightened at the prospect of the spiced compote and she shuffled over to press a kiss to her grandfather’s cheek.

Arm in arm, Abby and Helaena exited the royal box. Her heart thudded like the drums between her ribs and she felt Helaena tug her back when she walked faster.

“Give him time to get out of his armor first,” Helaena said softly.

Abby gave her a look, prim and proper. “And what if I want to help him out of his armor?” The princess scrunched her face up to hold back her laughter. The guards outside Aegon’s tent bowed and opened the flap to let them inside the dim interior.

Aegon was indeed in the process of getting out of his armor, Daeron tugging at the shoulder strap of the cuirass with a concentrated look so far removed from his boyish glee that he’d shown just moments before.

“I can’t believe you used the same move on him that Gabor put you through that table with!” Alyn crowed as if Aegon’s victory was his own. “I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face when you started laughing-” His words were cut off as Aemond punched his shoulder, drawing his attention to the tent opening. Alyn sputtered, jumping to attention and bowing like the most experienced of courtiers, rather than the smooth talker he’d been before. “Your Grace, Lady Abrogail.”

Abby tilted her head. “So I only get such gallantry from you if I’m in the company of the princess?” she asked, a soft, imperious tone to her voice. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Aegon smirk. “Such a shame.”

Alyn blanched, mouth gaping like a fish. “N-no, my lady! I never mean any disrespect. I…” The poor man was at a loss for words. Aemond was also looking amused at Alyn Hull caught on the edge of the unexpected teasing. Abby moved further into the cool confines of the tent, folding her hands beneath the long bell sleeves of her lapis gown. It was her first foray into the Targaryen styles that had been popular when Princess Rhaenyra was at court and a gown that she found quite comfortable in.

“Leave us,” she commanded, a smile playing on her face. “I would like some time alone with my gallant knight, and the princess needs her escort towards the carriage to go back to the castle.”

Aemond’s gaze shot over to Helaena, concerned before understanding. He grabbed Alyn by the shoulder and hauled him up. “We’ll escort her, since Prince Jacaerys lacks such manners.”

“Wylla is still in the royal box. I’m sure she’ll be lonely since we’ve left her to fend for herself,” Abby piped up. Aemond’s cheeks turned so red she thought he’d burst into flames, and he growled low before following Helaena from the tent. Abby looked at Daeron expectantly as he undid the second strap and was removing Aegon’s cuirass. “You too.” Daeron frowned, opening his mouth to protest, but Aegon rested a hand on his head, mussing his hair and pushing him away.

“You did well today, squire,” Aegon told him. “Go have some fun before you have to help Uncle Gwayne for the joust.”

Daeron squinted at the pair of them before shaking his head with the most put upon sigh Abby thought she’d ever heard before he scampered away. The flap closed behind him, cutting off the shaft of light that came in, muffling some of the revelry outside. Heat flushed through her body and Abby turned, studying Aegon half out of his armor.

He was still smirking at her, a dark look in his lilac gaze, his lower lip cut and swollen from the hit he took. Aegon turned and pulled over the chair to sit and work on his greaves, and Abby came to undo the rerebrace that protected his biceps. He smelled of sweat and the lavender mint of his soap. There was the subtle scent of something warm, something inherently Aegon that she couldn’t put her finger on, but had her belly fluttering and rolling with heat. It made her fingers tremble, the only sound the clinking of his armor as the pieces were slowly removed.

Abby moved to his other side to work on the braces, her fingers stroking over the braids in his short hair. “Aemond?” she asked softly.

“They work, even if my hair’s…” He waved a negligent hand and she stroked her hand over his head again.

“I think it looks nice. I’ll learn, if you’d like,” she offered. Aegon made a soft sound and handed her the greaves for her to put on the table so he could work on his other leg. Once both his arms were free of the armor, Abby leaned against the side of his chair to stroke her fingers over his hair again. Aegon nuzzled his head back instinctively into the touch. She remembered the shadowy night on Driftmark, the trembling fear she felt as her brother was accused of fathering heirs to the throne, of Rhaenyra demanding Aemond be questioned. Of feeling so lost in the midst of dragon fire.

Flame that eventually consumed those she held dear.

She slowly worked the braids free, tenderly untangling the twists with a sigh, as if she could breathe out the bad memories that lingered and threatened. Abby inhaled, letting the scent of him fill her gaps and spaces. If only she could crack open her body and bring him into her, caging him into the space between her ribs and lacing herself closed. Perhaps then this newfound feeling of safety, of acceptance, would never leave her.

How warm he was. More than warm, Aegon, like his siblings, ran hot with the dragonfire in their blood, and she hungered for his closeness as she always had. To keep her warm and comforted. He tilted his head back to rest along the back of the high-backed chair, a lazy smile on his face, eyes still heavy with the dark look that blew his pupils so wide the lilac was just a rim.

“I should call you kēlītsos, shouldn’t I? You’ve been flexing your claws and baring your teeth.” His voice was low and rough in that way that she adored. It had her breath hitch and the ache inside her grew. Arousal was thick in her veins, pulsing through her with each pound of her heart.

“What does that mean? Kēlītsos?” She had finally asked Helaena what hunītsos meant, blushing so deeply at being told it meant little rabbit that she swore Helaena to secrecy upon her coveted orb weaver.

“Little lion,” he said with a shrug, heavy lidded with the attention she was paying him. “Technically, little cat, but the point-”

Fingers in his hair, Abby licked her way into his open mouth without hesitation. No tender, shy touch of her lips against his. No, she was parched as if she’d been lost in the deserts of Dorne and Aegon was the only spring she’d seen in days. He tasted like salt and strawberry wine, of the copper tang of blood from his split lip. He growled into her mouth and she moaned in response, fingers dropping from his damp hair to his sweat soaked linen shirt. He was eager, giving in to the way she yanked him up to feel him against her, to lean into him on her shaky legs. Aegon wasted no time, his arm hooking around her waist to hold her close to him.

Her teeth caught instinctually on his lower lip and Aegon grunted with a note of pain. “Sorry,” she mumbled into his mouth, not really sorry at all, and Aegon didn’t seem to mind, for he growled at her murmured apology. All that mattered was the slide of his tongue against hers, the way the heat of him sunk into her, nestled there, and the heat that pooled between her thighs, of the way her hips pressed into his without nary a thought for what it meant.

Abby bumped back into the edge of the trestle table, the armor on the other side clinking with the jostle and tried to hoist herself up, but her gown was in the way and she didn’t want to let go. Aegon handled it, his broad hands grasping her waist and dropping her down on the table top. He broke the kiss, flushed face and nipping at the tip of her nose, grinning as she giggled at the playfulness. His hands played along the decorative metal and chain of her belt, stroking around to her back to toy with the clasp. Her eyes darted to his, drawn to the heated darkness of his gaze and the concentrated furrow between his brows as he worked the clasp. He held her gaze and her lips parted with each unhooked chain until they were undone.

‘Eyes on me’ she recalled, uncaring as he dropped the belt to the table, the slide and thump as it slid off. Abby swallowed, a whimper escaping her, nipples peaked against the fabric of her gown with that needy sort of aching that was spiraling through her.

“Aegon,” she breathed and arched into him, his hands coming up to cradle her jaw and caress her neck, fingers diving into the curls that flowed about her. Her hands trembled as she grabbed at his hips to pull him closer with all the imperious demanding she was capable of. He laughed into her mouth, and Abby swallowed it greedily while her hands worked at his own belt, the back of her hand brushing against the hard evidence of his own arousal. She whined again and Aegon brushed her hair from her neck to nip along her jaw and down the pulsing flutter of her heartbeat beneath her flushed skin.

“Abby,” he breathed back, his prayer answering her own. Hands tugged on the gown she wore, kindly undoing the ties that kept the wrap of the dress closed. The air hit her when the fabric was pulled away, baring her body beneath the airy linen that protected her skin from the scratchy underside of the gown. Abby shivered so hard her teeth chattered.

The feeling overtook her. It was a heady thing, like she’d drunk too much wine. Her hand lifted to tangle into his hair, his mouth dragging against the crook of her shoulder. Her other hand came up, pulling aside the collar of the loose linen shirt and she sank her teeth into the crook of his shoulder, biting into the salty taste of him. She moaned and growled as if she too were a dragon and Aegon gave a shout, a growl that sounded too deep, too inhuman to come from a human body before he snarled, his teeth locking onto her shoulder to make a twin. The sharp pain of his bite spiked hot and she bit harder into his shoulder to muffle her cry, the copper taste hitting her tongue as she broke skin.

His hands were yanking into her hair and she cried out when he pulled her off him only to take her mouth with his. He was frenzied with it. There was nothing gentle in the kiss and her own hands pulled at his shoulders, tearing into the linen shirt. Her legs came up, now free from the confines of the gown to wrap around his waist and pull him closer, feel the hardness of him press into the soft heat of her. She wanted him. She craved him. ‘Fuck what the queen says’, she thought with a possessed need that had been coalescing inside of her since the first time Aegon had kissed her beside the lake. She would have her husband now, open her body to him so he could never leave, so he would never stop touching her.

The cry that escaped her was bereft when he broke the kiss, both of their mouths red from the exertion. Aegon looked wild, a man possessed, his eyes bright as he licked his lips and leaned back to take a look at her. Abby leaned back so he could see her, the way she wanted him. The fabric was only on this side of sheer, the shadow of her form visible beneath - the dusky pink of her achingly peaked nipples, the gentle round of her breasts and the way the neckline of the shift was tugged down over a shoulder.

He growled low in his throat and leaned forward, pushing her back so she had to brace herself on her hands to keep from falling back. Aegon cupped a breast in one hand, his mouth capturing the other, the wet of his touch soaking into the material as he tended to the aching peak. It was heated and she whined, helpless to his touch and unable to reach for him lest she fall. She pulled her legs up to hook her ankles to the small of his back and hold him close, digging her hips into him to feel the thick outline of his cock pressing against her. She instinctively wriggled like a caught cat, rubbing herself against him for a way to relieve the ache that was driving her mad.

There was a knot growing in the syrupy heat of her belly and she gasped out, “Aeg, please,” but Seven help her, Abby didn’t know what she was asking for. Aegon must have, for his hand came up to press against her back to hold her steady and she immediately looped an arm around his neck while the other hand clawed at the linen of his sleeve, so hard she might have torn at the seams. It brought her closer into him and he encouraged it, his thumb rubbing over her other nipple in soothing strokes that made her shake. She felt a pang of jealousy at the idea of him touching other women like this, possessive with the need to have him all to herself, to let him forget about the faceless women, to make sure Cassandra Baratheon was a flitting memory.

Let her be filled with the womanly secret. Let her be the one he was mad for. Let her always be the one that he fought stupid men for, whose favors he wore.

The woven knot had slipped from his collar, brushing against her and she smiled, mouth brushing against the crown of his head. She pressed herself further against him and Aegon’s hips snapped into her, the groan he let out filling the tent as he switched the breast he tended to.

She wanted his mouth everywhere.

Abby’s hand wormed back between them, tugging at the fastenings of his trousers, eager to feel him, to feel the warm weight of him, to imagine what it would be like once he was inside of her. “Let me,” she begged. Demanded. Whined for with all the impatience of a child waiting for a treat. Her fingers found him, the warm velvet feel of his cock and the violent shudder that went through him. She cried out louder this time, his name broken on her voice when his teeth bit down on her breast from the shock of it before he soothed it with gentle licks of his tongue.

He was as thick as she remembered, her fingers unable to properly wrap around him and the feel of it made her light headed to wonder at how he would fit, when his finger stroking in had felt like an intrusion. Yet, she was eager to find out, hungry for it. With a grunt, Abby pressed her free hand against his shoulder to push him back, her breasts cold from the absence of his mouth. She needed space between them so she could see, so she could take in the sight of him, heavy and warm and what he would look like wrapped in her cool hand. It was an image she had been robbed of before.

She had only touched him once before in the night when he had crawled into her bed like a demon from Asshai, the kind that crept into a maiden’s dreams. It had not been as easy as this and she had barely been able to touch him properly, but had thought about it often in the weeks since. Now she could look at him and so she did, Aegon still holding her up with his hand braced against her back. A kind lover.

She was not a blind nor sheltered girl. Abby had seen the tapestries that the queen had moved into the gallery. The lurid Valyrian ones of men and women copulating in all sorts of poses. Of women embraced with other women, groups of them all tangled in a mess like snakes. Books of anatomy snuck from the library had also done little to prepare her for this.

He was flushed and thick, the tip of him beading with moisture and he bobbed as if seeking her hand when she reached down to touch him. A nervous giggle escaped her.

“Are you making fun of me?” Aegon asked, curious and teasing. “It’s just saying hello.”

She gently wrapped her fingers around him, another giggle escaping her. “It’s soft.” She did not know whether to meet his gaze or to keep looking at him to hide her sudden nervousness that did little to wick away her needy giddiness, her insatiable curiosity.

Aegon grunted, his eyes fluttering as her cool fingers wrapped around him. “It’s very much the opposite, kēlītsos,” he said in a voice so gravely and raw that it seemed to come from somewhere else. It hooked down into the knot deep in her belly, tugging at it like she might peak at the mere sound of his voice. Her fingers could not properly meet, and she felt truly dizzy. Aegon’s mouth was warm on her forehead, nuzzling into her and she sighed, eyes fluttering closed as their mouths brushed, the laziness of the motion contrasting with the frantic need that pulsed between them.

Tentatively, Abby’s hand began to stroke and Aegon’s shiver was delicious to feel, the whimper that escaped him like a wounded animal, broken and gasping against her mouth. She swiped the tip of him, gathering the wet that beaded there, and licked at the cut on his lower lip. Aegon’s eyes fluttered, the growl he made before rumbling through him.

She gasped, an abbreviated kind of giggle. “You sound like Sunfyre,” she murmured and Aegon chuckled, groaning low into her hair.

“You love him more than me,” he complained as his hot hand bunched up her shift, pushing away her blue gown some more so he could stroke his fingers across her belly. The muscles clenched and it was her turn to groan, an indelicate sound that had her jumping, her hips shifting and seeking that pressure again, the delicious touch that she had missed. “There’s not enough time to taste you.” He shook his head in annoyance, a glance at the hourglass on another table.

“Take me instead,” she said, her cool hand reaching to cup his face and draw his attention back to her. She looked up at him, beseeching. “I don’t care, I want you. I love you.”

An agonized expression crossed Aegon’s beautiful face, the feral edge he had when they first begun and the softness that came after, the fondness and love.

“Not now, not like this.” He was shifting her back from him, removing her hand so he could use both hands to tug the gown away from under her, pushing her around to tug it free. “When I take you, I won’t stop. We’ll be in bed for days,” he told her, serious, his gaze heated, his tongue darting out to lick at his lower lip. “Just when I taste you, I need more than the little time we have. I want to feast on you, not rush.” He took her gown and carefully laid it over the back of the armor rack.

Abby swung her legs, her blue eyes large and heavy lidded, watching as his hand wrapped around himself, tugging with purpose. She committed the motion to memory, tongue darting out to lick at her lower lip in an expression reminiscent of his. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders, and she was shivering not from cold, but from the heat coursing through her, the achy want that she could taste in the back of her throat and feel roiling and twisting in her belly. She reached for him, whimpering, “Aegon, please,” on her trembling voice and hooked her fingers once more into the linen shirt and tugged him to her once he was within reach.

She wanted to die when he kissed her. She wanted to drift into the endlessness of oblivion where nothing else mattered, where it was just the taste and feel of her Aegon, the feel of his body against hers, the shape of him fit against her, the only fabric separating them the damp cloth of her smallclothes. It wasn’t enough and she canted her hips, and Aegon rutted against her, the thick of him sliding along the shape of her separated by her small clothes. Abby couldn’t breathe, all she could do was taste the copper and the strawberry wine, the imagined feeling of Aegon slipping in and filling her up, right where he belonged. She craved the touch, craved his heat in a way she never knew she was capable of. Her legs came back to press against his hips, her feet hooked at the small of his back to trap him to her where he was hers, and only hers, and she belonged to him.

The familiar feeling of something building came rising through her, the gathering of a great wave to crash upon the shore. Abby gripped him frantically, tugging at his hair, pulling at his shirt sleeves, fingers scratching against his shoulders to keep from falling, even when it was all she wanted to do. Aegon rutted against her with the abandon she wanted from him, no care at all except the chase of pleasure between them as he nudged that spot only recently discovered. Her head fell back, eyes squeezed shut as she frantically sought her end and dimly, she registered Aegon consoling her, his murmured words against her throat where he’d bitten her, the mark red and surely to bruise.

“You are so beautiful, look at me,” he commanded her in reverent tones. She forced her eyes open, heavy lidded, to focus on his own distraught and desperate look. There was a sensation of insurmountable feeling as she teetered on the cusp, the world focused onto the look in his bright eyes, their gazes locked to one another. Aegon’s hand dipped between them, his rutting ebbing to be replaced with hot, calloused fingers dipping beneath the mess soaked linen. Her cry was loud, strangled, and it took everything to keep her eyes on his while he rubbed at the aching of her, fingers dipping teasingly into the heat and then she clenched on nothing, unfairly nothing, the rushing and roaring of blood in her ears and the gasping of air as she fell from the pleasure washing over her. That great wave that crashed against the shore was crashing through her.

She was vaguely aware of the way he tugged her smallclothes away, words spilling from him, “You’re so beautiful, this cunt belongs to me now, look at you,” and she nodded, whimpering over and over, ‘Please’ and ‘yours yours’ and ‘love you love you.’ She felt the heat of him rub against her, the sticky sound of it and Aegon’s own groan loud before something wet and full of heat brushed onto her. Abby watched him stroke his cock, the milky white spend of him falling upon her cunt, caught in the thatch of red curls and the sinful, delightfully reckless feeling of it all made Abby squirm. The feeling of him sliding over her heated skin, the way she was entranced by it was a feeling she couldn’t describe.

She reached down, swiping her fingers through the mess to stick them into her mouth, the way she had watched him suck her own taste from her fingers, her eyes never leaving his. In turn, she shivered as he dragged his own fingers through the mess he’d made of her. Abby canted her hip, wanting him to press inside but instead, he licked the taste from himself as well.

It felt like a ritual. Like something strangely holy, reverent within the indulgence of it. ‘Fuck what the septa said. What the queen said’, she thought savagely to herself. ‘There is nothing wrong in this, and I won’t be denied.’ She opened her arms to him and Aegon gently tugged her smallclothes back over her, petting her softly before stepping into her hold and wrapping his arms around her. Abby sighed and buried her face against the crook of his neck, her mouth pressed to where she’d bitten him.

“I love you,” he whispered into her hair and she shimmered and glowed in his hold, feeling his arms squeeze her in the clinging way he had not done for so long, like he was afraid she would slip through his touch.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck, trying to cast a spell that would embed the words into his skin, to be indelible, a tattoo that would protect him in the way her favor might not. “Can we stay here? I want to stay here with you.”

He chuckled, low and fond and stroked his fingers through the mess of her hair. “I’ll help put you back together. Pity there’s nothing to clean you with.” It was a lie, and he didn’t sound sorry at all, for her gaze drifted over to the barrel of water, soap and cloths in the corner. “You’ll just have to carry the mess for the rest of the afternoon.” Aegon sounded pleased with himself, and Abby squirmed deeper into his hold, blushing with it, shy and heady. “Come, let’s get you put together before Daeron comes back, and then we’ll go watch the jousting.”

There was a tenderness in the care he showed after it that warmed her, and Abby watched him with a soft, giddy feeling as he grabbed a comb from the table to start putting her hair to rights with unpracticed but eager attentiveness. She sighed and settled in to let him tend, and let herself drift into the afterglow.

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts! Please support by reblogging <3

I'd love to know your favorite bit: What did you think about Abby and Aegon telling each other their love? How great is Alyn Hull? He is my fave lil dude and I'm so happy whenever I write him. Or the way the group ended up watching the fight. I mean BAELA! she got involved! We love that for her.

[Chapter Sixteen]

[waiting-on-a-dream]

Prisoner 010: Okura Mayumi - Trial 2

General info

Verdict: GUILTY

Physical changes: Mayumi's hair is often tied into a braid now, laid over her shoulder. Unlike the rest of the guilty prisoners, her face isn't pale and she hasn't developed any eyebags. Its likely that she hasn't been plagued by nightmares. Her longer restraints are the only aspect of her uniform that has changed.

Behavioral changes: She's become more reserved and quiet, mostly only talking to Haku as he practices playing the piano. She spends most of her time in her room nowadays, only leaving to ask other prisoners specific questions, as if interrogating them. She just wants to learn the truth about this time.

After talking for a while with Suzume, she now seems to harbor some ill feelings towards her. The air is tense whenever they're in a room together. They always seem to be one wrong move away from snapping at each other. The other prisoners have tried to ask about it, but they refuse to answer. They've been left to sort it out for now.

Trailer art: Mayumi faces you directly, preparing a syringe of medicine with a grim and determined expression. Behind her, two hospital doors with tiny bloody handprints on the frosted window, as if made by children. Blood pools from the gap beneath the doors.

Voicelines

– Second trial trailer

People like you...shouldn't have the right to live.

– Character voice trailer

Its okay. He can't hurt you anymore.

Cover info

Canon Milgram song cover: Purge march (The song ended up being more about Amane defending herself, but I think the guilty part still works for Mayumi.)

DECO*27 song cover: Poison apple (The lyrics and MV gave off her vibes, so I assigned this song to her. Simple as that.)

Non-DECO*27 vocaloid song cover: The world's filth (The lyrics are peak Mayumicore. The music? Not so much. BUT THE LYRICS!)

Music info

Song title: Ecosystem

Song preview: We have no use for you if you can't contribute anything. Everyone has a duty to society. What's your role? To die quietly. GUILTY. GUILTY. GUILTY.

At some point in our lives, we have to ask ourselves. "Am I the kind of person that stands by and does nothing?" So, what's the answer? Prayers do nothing for anyone. Act upon your greatest convictions!

MV description: Half of her MV is filled with slightly faded pastel colours like her first MV. Starting from the scene when she's in her room, most of the frames are dark and foreboding. The last scene is back to being pastel, but the colours are brighter.

The MV starts with a young Mayumi walking through what looks like a career fair. A baker hands out free samples to an an eager batch of children before directing their attention to the cookies baking a nearby oven. A man dressed as a firefighter helps a young boy to am a hose at the "fire" of a fake building. Mayumi looks around with interest, stopping in her tracks when something catches her eye. A group of girls watching intently as a nurse demonstrates bandaging a man's forearm. Intrigued, she heads over.

A montage of Mayumi sitting in class as her teacher points to a food web drawn on a board. A well-dressed man giving a presentation in a meeting. An architect drawing out the blue prints for a building. A taxi driver picking up a couple from the airport. Mayumi peers at a display of fossils from behind a case of glass. Her brother pops up beside her, dragging his plastic dinosaur toy across the glass. She quickly pulls him away.

The camera cuts to present Mayumi searching up information on her victim. His mugshot pops up, along with a list of his victims. She searches their names one by one. Mio. Nozomi. Kagome. Missing posters turn up for all of them.

The audio of a dialing ringtone mixes with the song. Mayumi raises her phone to her ear, presumably calling someone. An elderly woman answers, her face blurred out. Mayumi twirls a bottle of medicine in her hand as she talks. The woman starts to cry, screaming something into the phone. Mayumi waits for a moment before hanging up. The camera zooms out as she continues to sit by her computer desk in the dark room.

A group of girls gathered around another girl, crumpled to the ground while holding a hand to her bruised face. Men gambling at a casino. A drunkard stumbling out of a bar. A news reported talking about a murder that occurred last night, showing CCTV footage of someone getting stabbed outside an office building. Mayumi's victim on his bed. His heart beat slowing to a stop. The ECG flatlines.

The camera cuts to Mayumi sitting by the defendant's table in the courtroom. The judge is her as well, along with the jury. Everyone in the court room is her actually. Judge Mayumi asks the jury to declare their verdict. Jury Mayumi stands up to read from the slip of paper in her hand. She opens her mouth and the screen goes black before their verdict can be revealed. End.

Author's notes

The second picrew didn't have a pencil skirt option, so I have Mayumi white pants instead. She still wears the same uniform as she did in trial 1 though, picrews just don't always work out.

Picrews used: - https://picrew.me/ja/image_maker/1458900 - https://picrew.me/image_maker/1820833

[alexwlchan]

Operation Cornleyed Beef: A Screwed Musical

After the family of Willie Watkins arrange a snap Broadway transfer for Operation Mincemeat, the Fortune Theatre is left scrambling to fill some star-studded shoes. With the original cast and covers heading stateside, who would play our iconic heroes?

Luckily, Seán knew a troupe who were always looking for work – the Cornley Drama Society, with whom he’d performed briefly before being expelled on the grounds of excessive competence. He gave them a call, and what luck! They were available immediately.

And so a week of intense rehearsals begins…

(The idea of Mincemeat staged by Mischief characters was put into my head last night and it’s so fun; thanks to everyone in the Mincefluencers Discord for egging me on. More ideas likely to follow!)

—

“So we need to start casting”, said Chris, speaking loudly enough to be heard on the next street. (And yet still unheard by half the cast in the room.)

“The first protagonist is Montagu, a suave, handsome, intelligent naval officer. Naturally I will be playi–”

“Hold on”, exclaimed Robert. “How come you get the lead role?”

“And the next lead character”, Chris continued, speaking just a little louder, “is Charles, the lolloping sidekick who has a single good idea in the entire play. Robert, you wanted to have a lead part, here you go.”

(One critic described their performance as “more antagonistic than with the original cast”. A second called it “a war crime”. Other critics were less kind.)

—-

“Next we need to cast the women, Jean and Hester. Jean is the plucky young tea girl who gets her hands dirty in the mission, and sings about how women should take men’s jobs. Sandra, you will be playi–”

Sandra burst into a big smile, imagining how Jean would steal the show, lost in a world and not listening to what Chris said next.

“–while Hester is the uptight, stuffy matriarch of the MI5 office, who will be played by Vanessa–”

whose face dropped visibly at this description

“–and who gets one of the most moving numbers of the play, ‘Dear Bill’.”

Vanessa’s smile picked up at this news, while Sandra scowled at the thought of being upstaged.

(Vanessa’s rendition of “Dear Bill” would never reach the solemn heights of the original cast, a reflection more on Robert and Sandra trying to overshadow her than her own performing ability.)

—-

“Next, we need to cast Spilsbury, a bombastic and enthusiastic mortician. Max is the obvious choice.”

Max beamed, just delighted to be included.

(This casting choice would cause some consternation for Chris on opening night – Spilsbury always entered to rapturous applause, causing Max to burst into a big smile, leave the stage, and enter again. Three times. One reviewer called it the highlight of his night. Another said that Max had “perfectly captured Spilsbury’s energy”.)

“You’ll also be playing Willie Watkins, an American pilot crashes in Spain – make sure you practice your American accent.”

(Max produced a number of accents with great enthusiasm, even if none of them were American.)

—-

“Moving down the list… Fleming will be played by Jonathan. We’ll need some gadgets for him, can you arrange that Trev–”

“I can do it!” exclaimed Robert, before Trevor could open his mouth.

“Wonderful,” said Chris, in a tone that implied Robert was anything but.

(Quite how Robert acquired a real exploding watch from the dark web remains a mystery, to both Chris and the West Midlands police. Unfortunately for Cornley, it exploded in Jonathan’s face five minutes before curtain up, and he had to be rushed to A&E – via the stage of “NHS The Musical” playing in the next theatre.)

(Trevor was sent on to read Fleming’s lines, which he did so in a completely deadpan tone. “And then he snogs a sexy lady with full tongue” killed the mood in the theatre, as well as the three dates happening in the front row. One reviewer would later compliment the juxtaposition of exuberant music with the flat delivery as the only thing he liked.)

(“At this performance, due to a technical issue in the props department, the role of Fleming will be played by Trevor. Now there’s a combination you don't have on your bingo sheets!” Chris pretended to laugh at this ‘joke’, with the laugh of a man who has complete disdain for all he addresses.)

—-

“Annie, you’ll be playing Bevan, the stern senior officer who chastises Monty when the plan goes awry.”

Annie let out a wordless acceptance, too scared to speak aloud when Chris was in the room.

(This same lack of confidence carried into the performance, which rather undercut Bevan’s sense of authority.)

—-

Dennis was the last cast member to be given a role, and Chris found several small, mostly non-speaking parts. Finally, something Dennis couldn’t turn into a disaster!

(Oh, the optimism. Dennis had a line in the opening number, written on his hands an aid Memoire. Unfortunately he didn’t write down the order, so he came out with “I do love it when … me … want to kiss the … ladies.” Vanessa looked even more mortified than usual.)

(During the second act opener, Dennis put his hands up, and kept putting them back up. Several other cast on stage were considering acts of violence, and not just in the lyrical sense.)

[pbandjesse]

It was a dark and rainy day. The rain makes me tired. I did get a little nap in though. And I got to have a hoagie so it's been a pretty good day.

I was going to drive James to work because of the rain. But when James woke me up I was dizzy I was so tired. And it wasn't raining yet. So James told me to keep sleeping. The next hour and a half helped me feel a lot better but I was sad I flaked on James. I would pick them up later.

The rain was very bad though even I was getting ready to leave. I was running a little behind because I had to fix the insoles in my rain boots and then I had to change my socks. But I felt good. My picture for today I am not wearing the sweater dress I had on top of this outfit. But I worked really hard and got very sweaty so I am glad I had the tank top and leggings on. This was a smart move on my part.

Driving the camp was scary. The rain would pick up about half way through and it was so thick that my cars eyesight was turned off. I couldn't see cars in front of me if they didn't have their lights on. I had my flashers on because I was nervous about being seen. It was slow going for sure. But I would make it safely and only felt a little stressed.

I let James know I made it safe. And I let Alexi know I was over in the eyrie. She let me know that she had a tour group coming through and to let her now if I needed anything.

I would be pretty self sufficient though. I had organizing to do.

I was slightly overwhelmed though. The eyrie is where all the feild trip program stuff is. But it is also a classroom. Except two years ago a tree fell on it and the power has been out since. So now it's just storage and it has become just. A huge mess.

So when I first got in there I would just walk around and try to make sense of what I could do. I started with making piles of boxes and then figuring out which programs or what. I collected trash and figured out different types of things and put them in different piles in the room. My big goal was just to get everything off of the ground. And I think it's a good job I was in there for a few hours. But I felt very accomplished while I was doing it.

I also was just absolutely getting covered in their webs. That was like a theme of the day. There were so many boxes though and so much of them just had nonsense in it. Some of them were just empty. So I tried to collect things and make decisions on what was worthwhile to keep and what wasn't. The buckets that we used the other week for the water testing program we're all wet on the inside and so I separated all the pieces out and decided that some of that material I was just going to put to the side.

Some of the issue really is that I'm not familiar enough with the programs to really make calls on what is actually supposed to be in all the boxes. Like Elizabeth gave me a binder but having a list of words doesn't always help me because I don't know what I'm looking at. So I tried to at least make it so that when she goes in to get stuff for a field trips it's a little bit more streamlined. And she isn't climbing over trash. The ground is completely clear now. And the back shelf and table have all of the boxes that I think are full. And then the two classroom tables have the things that need to be distributed. And then I put all of the craft supplies in one corner. And then all the empty boxes in the other corner. It was a really nice time honestly. I had a podcast going and I was enjoying the sounds of the rain outside. And I just felt very peaceful.

I took a break and got a message on eBay as an offer for a watch I was looking at. They gave me 40% off so that was exciting. And then I was looking on Tumblr for a second and there's the thing about the blue check marks and so I was joking around with James about buying those and. Then I go on Facebook and my mood just shifted.

I saw that was my sister's birthday. The second one since she died last year. And I don't exactly know what to think about it. I texted Jessie and James right away. And both of them asked me the same thing. How do you feel? And I feel weird. I like to tell people that grief is just love that you haven't been able to express. But I think so much of my grief is still tied up and anger and regret. Disappointment. That it still hurts. And there's so much I don't even know about hers though. I tried. There's a long time where I didn't try. But I did try for a few years. I thought that we were adults and that we could get to know each other again but I didn't happen and now it never will. And I know that my dad hurts. And my mom hurts. And Renee hurts. And Raeanna and Wilson. And I feel selfish. To be angry. But I think that's just the reality.

When she first died I said it felt like she was a bullet that ripped through everything. All the time. And I'm talking about before she died. She would disappear for weeks at a time and then all of a sudden she was all anyone could think about or talk about. He's doing something outrageous and she was a topic of conversation more than a person to me sometimes. There were years I didn't see her. Years I didn't speak to her. So when she died it was almost like well okay. Not every day changes. But I am a different person I'm a different person than who I was last year. I'm a person that she's never going to know. And that doesn't feel very good.

I don't even know where I'm going with us but I was sitting there in that classroom. And I just felt strange. I felt sad.

And then I couldn't focus on cleaning my building anymore. I was in there for 2 hours and I had to go and be somewhere else. So I walked back to my car and I drove around camp to go to the office to start cleaning out the attic.

This was much more straightforward. I understood about all the materials up there and most of it was just things that needed to be put back in their places. And so I was up there for two more hours and I was sweaty and covered in spider webs and dusty. But I was making really good progress. Alexi would come back and she saw the hard work that I was doing. And I pass a snack and a soda. And I really made it a space where you could actually find stuff. The one thing I didn't do was towards the end I was just pulling out any craft supply and making a big pile. And I sorted through all of that to find all of the drawing utensils but I needed to eat something. I had only had crackers and Skittles today. So I put all the other craft supplies in one cardboard box to be sorted later and I went to check in with Alexi before I left.

Alex you know that I was going to work on the map that they requested this weekend and figure out some books that we could possibly use for the Native American program. We chatted for a few minutes. I told her that I found a bunch of beans in the attic and she thought that was very strange. And then I left.

I hope things I wanted a hoagie so bad. They suggested we get some fancy ones right in our but I was like no you don't understand I haven't eaten yet I'm just going to get Wawa. And so I drove out to cockeysville and I got Wawa and I ate in the parking lot.

An accidentally made my own hot at first. Which I'm sure would have been fine but was not what I wanted. I just wanted a cold cheese sandwich essentially. But once you removed it was really good and I didn't like my chips but they were good on the sandwich. I watched a video and had my food and then I was just like I got to go home. I am so tired.

I would get home at 2:00. Parked the car and came upstairs. The matching pajamas I got for me and James came in the mail. And I brought that up. And I texted James that I was laying down till 3:30. I should come get them. Wasn't raining anymore but James said that the radar said it would again so that was the plan.

I slept hard. I wanted to keep sleeping. But I woke up all dizzy and had to shake it off. It was storming again and I needed to get my love.

Honestly I probably shouldn't have been driving I was so delirious. But I safely made it. And swapped to the passenger seat. I texted with Jess. She is planning a Disney trip for us for 2024 and was crunching some numbers of what we need to save. $100 a month. Can do.

And then James was there. And I was so glad to see them. They were so cute in their sweatshirt. Love my James.

We went home and I laid down and looked at videos for a little while. But eventually would get up to do some art.

While I'm trying to stick to a schedule to not fall apart when it's dark, I am going to be flexible with myself. Instead of doing st from 7 to 8, I started it at 530, worked until 6, had spaghetti, then back to art until 730. I'm just glad I am doing art.

I worked on some more random stamps. I have a few ideas I just want to play with. So I'm just carving and trying stuff. And it's fun. I also made this animal head circles I am going to see as Christmas ornaments. I think it'll look so cute.

James helped me finish the backs of those. Trimming strings once the glue dried. And then it was time to clean up.

I took a bath. I got bath milk/bubbles that smell like hot chocolate. And it was an excellent bath. And now I am moisturized and in my new jammies.

I am tired. I am feeling a little empty but most because I want to go to sleep.

I love you all. I hope tomorrow is a brighter day. I have the market and then we are going to have dinner at Jack's and Cindy's new house. I'm looking forward to it.

I hope you all have a great night. Sleep well!!

[pickledasparaguss]

Virtually all marketing strategies seek to take advantage of human psychology.  "Dark Patterns" in web and software designs are no different and need no regulation. - TECH BLOG POST 1

Before this class I would have never second guessed the information I was putting out online. There was one part in Woellner’s Ted Talk where she discussed how sometimes you don’t even have to type out your information when you’re signing up for something, sometimes it just automatically inserts the information in there for you. Allowing ourselves to become easily accessible to whatever form takes place on the other side of our screen has become a normal part of our everyday life in this day and age. I believe this has to do with the fact that digitalization and technology are here to make our lives easier in some capacity, so in order for our lives to become a bit less complicated, there’s a trade, that trade is our privacy. For some reason when I think about this idea the first thing that comes to my mind is Jean-Paul Sartre’s quote 

"Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does." 

I guess the reason why this quote comes to mind when I think about this topic is because although we are free to make our own choices, we are free to have such easy access to online browsers in order to alleviate stress and burdens in our everyday lives. We are also condemned to bear the responsibility of the consequences of these choices. We are condemned to understand that if we do take the risk of putting our private information out there, we must recognize the risks that accompany that. 

The article I decided to check out from the list was the one about DoorDash and how the food app is now warning people that if they don’t tip, then their food may be cold. I decided to take a look at this article because I’ve BEEN having issues with DoorDash prior to reading up on this. Although I have always tipped with DoorDash, a part of me wants to order something right now as I’m writing this blog just to see if the apparent “Orders with no tip might take longer to get delivered — are you sure you want to continue?” message will pop up if I input a $0 tip. 

As someone who works in the restaurant industry though, I understand where they're coming from. Personally, I make my living off my tips. However, I would never make someone feel bad for not tipping me, or deliver worse service. It’s not the drivers I have questions about with this but rather DoorDash itself considering I have tipped well and still have received my food an hour and a half later, on multiple occasions. 

This reminded me of what Woellner was saying about how these designers, you know, trick you in a way to make you feel bad or manipulate you. I think this example with DoorDash hits a few, if not all of the 4 points Woellner was talking about when it comes to dark patterns. I would say misdirection and the trick question are the closest ones. DoorDash will add the service fees and taxes after the initial price, PLUS you’ll be asked to tip on top of the already pretty high price. Then the “trick question” being “well are you sure you don’t want to tip? Your foods gonna get cold if you don’t.” So even if you don’t feel bad for the driver, they’re putting the onus onto the person ordering the food. 

Returning to the proposition, I would agree that yes, marketing strategies are known for taking advantage of human psychology because at the end of the day that’s what sells, may not be completely ethical, but if you can target a certain amount of people in order to gain profit and you can do that through algorithms and other dark pattern strategies and marketers have that option then it’s going to happen whether we like it or not. 

However, I think because we’re entering a whole new space in regards to technology, our world is becoming much more digitally advanced, far more than I think anyone, at least anyone I know, can comprehend. Saying that these software designs don’t require any regulation would be naive, because really, how can we be so sure that something so easily and globally accessible yet difficult to grasp is safe? We can’t. But that does bring up the next question which is even if we could get a hold on everything and create regulations, how would those regulations look? Would it even be possible especially with such algorithmic yet extremely popular websites like tik tok or instagram. 

"Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he is responsible for everything he does." 

We have the freedom to do and say and post what we’d like, but we must be aware of our digital footprint and the complications that may arise with it. I believe regulations, especially with how advanced technology is becoming is important, but the truth of the matter is there’s bad people everywhere that will try and continue to scam, belittle, and manipulate you, and hey, they could be in person or online. The most important thing is to be conscious about what you are viewing, what kind of information you’re giving out, and who there is to trust.

[not-a-space-alien]

Watch Your Step: Chapter 2: Come Out, Come Out, Whatever You Are

Hey everyone, I wrote a continuation of this!  This one is about 6.5k words, same ratings and notes apply

AO3 link

Also big thanks to @appelsiinilight for being my beta/sensitivity reader, and to @static-stars for talking to me a lot about chapter 1 and giving me great ideas! :)

Hope you enjoy!

UPDATE: adding link to the masterpost with chapter links, and letting everyone know you can request to be added to a tag list going forward :)

Masterpost link

Warning for this chapter: Suicidal thoughts 

Thistle hadn’t had much of a concrete plan.  He’d just seen a cozy-looking hole behind a cage it would be hard to grab him through, and bolted.

The giantess--Marcy was its name right?  Her name?--Marcy had half-heartedly palmed the grate.  She’d looked like she wanted to go after him but had no idea how, which was precisely the point of why Thistle had darted into the vent.

He stayed there, just out of sight, watching as she muttered to herself, pacing around the big square room for what seemed like forever, seemingly undecided on what to do.  She occasionally came back and spoke quiet, unintelligible pleas down the cold metal corridor.

Eventually, she gave up, turned the light off, and shut the door.

Thistle waited there, crawling forward and pressed against the cold metal lattice to peek out.  The room was dark and empty.  He waited until he was sure she wasn’t coming back, then wriggled back out through the loose corner of the grate.

Pain spiked through his wing as he fluttered down.  Until that moment, he hadn’t realized just how much the adrenaline, which was starting to wear off, had dulled the sensation.  The new wing the giantess--Marcy--had attached to him seemed to work okay all things considered… But the injury was still fresh, and the motion of pulling and pushing the grafted wing with his own half-destroyed wing, and using it to help bear his weight, put strain on it that started to get unbearable after a few seconds.  Not to mention the damage to the muscles in the area, and where the mantis’s forearm spikes had sunk into him.

Still, he could get a solid few seconds of airtime, which was enough to let him access pretty much any surface in the empty room.  He flapped intermittently, hissing in pain, and tumbled down onto the counter below, landing with an ungraceful oomph.  Panting, he looked around the room for anything that looked like it could be helpful…

He stared nervously at the tools on the table beside him, long thin metal things with sharp ends.  The corpse of a butterfly was also nearby, in a plastic cup.  Its abdomen had been cut off.  He made the connection of what the nearby pins must be for: securing it in place while it was dissected.  That must also be the purpose of the tiny blades and tiny, “Just small enough to reach in and take out your organs, Thistle, yes you specifically” tweezers.

He had been so sure for a split second Marcy had been going to cut his wings off, lying there immobilized in a clamp, and was still shocked at this point more physical harm hadn’t come to him...What could she have possibly taken him for, if not cruel experiments?  Why would she kidnap him just to play around with him on the table?  It hadn’t seemed like she was hurting him on purpose, for now at least, but the various gruesome implements around the room did not put him at ease.

He was so used to the idea of being captured having a very sinister ending, he couldn’t think of any other outcome...imagining spider webs and hooked, predatory talons, muscular coils and open maws and any other number of natural weapons that could easily end his life...but no one had ever imagined, or told him what a human being would actually do if it got its hands on you.  

They were too big for you to be a meal to them.  But a creature that large, and with so many unknown tools, and capable of having more complicated goals than the simple desire to fill its belly…  His imagination could come up with some very scary scenarios indeed.

He had to get out of here.

Nothing in the room looked both small enough to carry and particularly useful.  He couldn’t even guess what most of the things in the room were supposed to be used for.  To be fair, probably neither could some humans.

He examined what was nearby.  The metal tools were light enough he could pick one up, but not really wield it with any dexterity, so he left them there.  There was a big, thin black square that had a slowly blinking light in the corner, connected to a tray with a mishmash of raised buttons of different sizes.  He gently put his hand on one, depressing it until he heard a large click.  But still nothing happened.  There was another device nearby that seemed to have lenses of some sort, but again...no clue how to use it.  “Maybe it would be more intuitive if it were to my size…” he muttered to himself, like a scientist investigating. 

He walked over to a blue box with a clear lid.  He saw some circular objects arranged meticulously into a mesh of holes inside.  He cautiously raised the lid, sliding it to the side, and took one of the small circular things with both hands, raising it cautiously.  He was surprised to see it went on for nearly two inches, ending in a fine, hollow point.

Perhaps it could be filled with liquid?  Or some small objects?  A very small amount.  But it would fall out the hole in the bottom, wouldn’t it?  What could Marcy possibly use these for, especially at her size?  A careful investigation revealed the cylinder slid neatly onto the end of some handheld tool nearby, but he still couldn’t figure out what it could possibly be for since it didn’t seem to do anything.

Thistle held the object close to his body, not having any ideas what to do with it but now loathe to let it go.  He now had exactly one resource he could carry, and it was a small plastic cylinder with a hole in the bottom.  “It’s just you and me.”

The cylinder did not answer him.  He gave up on trying to find tools to aid him and turned his attention towards how to get out.

Marcy had exited through the door.  The enormous, very heavy-looking door.

Bracing himself for the pain that came with the motion, Thistle fluttered his wings to get down onto the floor, landing softly on two feet, curious little plastic cone still clutched in front of him.

He walked over and tried the most obvious thing first.  Unfortunately, the space under the door was not big enough for him to squeeze under.  He could wriggle his hand under there and briefly considered attempting to lie flat and force himself through, but that could end badly.

Next he looked up at the huge knob, almost as big as his whole body, halfway up.  That’s what Marcy had used to open it...maybe, if we were lucky, he could turn it with his body weight?

The useless plastic cylinder now forgotten on the floor, Thistle hyped himself up and leapt, using his screaming wing to propel himself up and latch onto the knob, spread-eagle on it.

Nothing happened.  He stayed hanging on it for a moment, wiggling, hoping to make something happen.

He gave up on the door quickly after that.

Surely there must be some other way out?  Or there must be something useful in here?

He looked around at all the boxes in the room.  One of the biggest ones had a shiny metal door and hummed quietly, air gently blowing out from the bottom.

Thistle struggled to fly up, taking a moment to let the pain in his wing recede, panting.  Then he examined the handle--again, bigger than his entire body.

The door seemed to be sealed somehow--maybe magic?  There was an edge outlining it that stuck to the frame without any obvious mechanics to secure it.

Thistle clambered over and put himself in between the handle and the frame, feet on the edge of the frame where it was attached, hands on the handle, and pushed with all his might.

The door swung open.  He scrambled to cling to the handle and peek inside.

The air that billowed out was cold, so much so that Thistle could see his breath in clouds in front of him.  And oh god--inside, there were rows upon rows of cups with more captives--butterflies, moths, aphids, spiders, flies…  A small light came on inside as the door cracked open, casting strange, angular shadows on the myriad of different insect bodies.  They were all in torpor, sleepy from the cold.

Thistle was half tempted to go in and start opening some of the containers, but then he thought about what might happen if the door swung shut while he was inside and decided against it.

He was getting nowhere down here and only discovering things that were increasing his urgency to get out of here.  He decided to fly back up into the grate, struggling to stay in the air long enough to grab the metal latticework and wriggle back into the metal corridor.  He backed away, feeling much safer now than out in the open.

He peeked down the tunnel.  It went on for as far as he could see, and he could hear a slight current of air moving down it, ruffling his hair.  “Worth a try?”

He discovered quickly that the metal corridor went back a very, very long way, and then started branching out into a network of tunnels.  Gusts of cold air would occasionally blast through them, but they weren’t so forceful Thistle couldn’t just press himself against the wall and wait for them to pass.  

The vents felt...safer.  They reminded him of the hive.  He could hide and skitter around in here.  They were sized for him, and not a giant.  But Thistle was about to experience a very, very long night.  The vents were a cruel mockery of the hive.  Instead of the natural, comforting, curving architecture of the hive, the entire thing was sharp, square, lifeless.  There was not a single thing to eat or drink, and nowhere to forage or hunt.  There was nowhere to seek real comfort and safety.  They had clearly never intended to house a living being.

He eventually started finding other outlets of the grate, more of the same: strange, huge rooms full of unknown equipment sized for giants.  He did not dare come out into any of them.

The only one he tried to get out of was the one he found that led to the outside.  He spent some time clawing at it, desperately trying to get it open, but it did not have a loose corner like the one he had come in through and he could find no way to pass through it.  It was tortuous, to see freedom so close, only to have to eventually give up and return to the terrible, cold and bare mockery of a hive.

It only made him want to go home even more.  But the reality of the situation was starting to sink in.  He couldn’t go home.  Even if he could find a way to make it there, he wasn’t allowed.

Because the hive didn’t have very many rules, but one of them was that if a human saw you, you weren’t allowed to come back.  Because you could lead them to it.  And as much as Mother was surely missing him and wanted him back, it was her job to keep the rest of the hive safe, and now he understood very well why she’d wanted him to stay away, for fear of losing him.

Thistle sank to his knees, leaning into the dusty metal wall beside him, and cried.  He imagined Marcy finding the hive, tearing it open with her great big paws and catching his younger brothers and sisters and putting them in little plastic cups in the great big cold box.  As much as he wanted to go home, the thought was so stomach-churning that he would rather die on the spot than let that happen.

Die on the spot...Another wave of despair passed over him.  Maybe that would be for the best, if he found some way to off himself.  He couldn’t go home, and what kind of life would he have here?  What kind of death could he have here?

Did he just live in the vents now?  The system of cruel metal tubes would be his home and his coffin.

He got up with trembling legs and walked further in.

****

Marcy came in the next day fully intending to just pretend the previous night hadn’t happened.  There wasn’t any evidence of it….in her bewilderment, she hadn’t even thought to take any pictures.

She opened the lab door to walk in and carry on, then looked down at something moving by her foot.

A loose pipette tip rolled away from her, coming to rest by the sink.  She looked over at the dissecting station, to see the box of pipette tips there lay open.

Marcy bent down and picked the tip up.  This hadn’t been there last night.  Right?  And she didn’t use the pipette tips very much, so she always kept the box closed.

Her focus shifted and she saw the fridge was open.  Just a crack.

Marcy dropped the pipette tip and rushed over.  Electric excitement surged through her as she saw tiny footprints on the counter, tracked in dust, and a matching pair on the fridge, along with a smeared handprint, the size of her thumbnail, on the handle.

“Oh my god,” she said, now pulling out her phone to take a picture.  “Oh my god, it’s real, it’s here, it’s still here somewhere.”

She pictured the little creature coming out of the vent after she’d left and playing with the various equipment around the lab.  She checked the fridge very carefully to make sure it wasn’t inside before shutting the unit.  The warmth creeping in had invigorated a few of the butterflies near the door, which unfortunately seemed like they had spent their night wildly smashing into the side of the container in the absence of anything else to do.

She jumped straight up when the lab door opened and one of her undergrads walked in.  It was Paul.  “Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, it’s okay.”

“Is everything okay?”

Marcy put her phone away, smoothing her hair, suddenly very conflicted again on whether or not to tell anyone.  She settled on a compromise.  “I...found a cool bug in the field yesterday, but it got out.  Let me know if you find it, okay?  And watch your step so you don’t squish it.”

Paul’s eyes lit up.  “Oh cool!  What kind?  Another mantis?”

“No.  I mean, yes.  Well, yes I found a mantis too.”

Shakily, she directed Paul’s attention to the gravid mantis she’d brought, using it to deflect further questions about what kind of bug he should be on the lookout for.

She was just thankful to have someone else there to help her feed the spiders today.  If she could get all her work out of the way quickly, maybe she could spend some time looking around more.  She suddenly remembered that the head of the lab would be working from home today, so she would probably have the lab to herself after Paul left.

“Do you have something going on after this?  You seem to be trying to get through these really fast.”

Marcy hadn’t even realized the speed at which she’d been moving her hands until after Paul said that.  She stopped and took a deep breath.  “Sorry.  I’m just anxious today.”

“Right, with the pandemic at all.”

Marcy stared at him.  She’d forgotten completely there was even a pandemic.  It seemed like an absurd thing for Paul to say.

“...Yes.  Because of the pandemic.”

They managed to get through most of the spiders.  No sooner had Paul excused himself to go to the bathroom for a minute before Marcy heard:

“Marcy.”

She stood up ramrod straight at the tiny voice, eyes flying to the vent Ardo had disappeared into last night.  And saw a tiny face, looking haggard and very, very dusty.

Paul came back into the room.  Ardo disappeared, fleeing back into the vent.

“You can go home now!” Marcy said, wildly failing to maintain an appropriate conversational tone.

“Oh are we done?” said Paul.

“I’ll finish up!  I’m sure you’ve got to get to class!”

“Not until 2.  I’m signed up for four hours today--”

“You can have credit for four hours!”  She hurled his backpack at him.  “You deserve a break!”

Paul looked at her weirdly as she practically shoved him out of the room.  “I’ll lock up here, don’t worry!”

She locked the door.

“I don’t think that’s what locking up is,” said Paul’s muffled voice.

“Bye!”

She waited until she heard his footsteps receding before turning back to the lab.

The face had reappeared in the vent.

Marcy spread her arms.  “It’s just me now.  Just us.  You’re safe.  It’s okay.”

It really shouldn’t be a surprise considering Ardo had presumably been crawling around in the vents all night, but they were so covered with dust they just looked like a dustball with two eyes.  The eyes disappeared briefly as Ardo blinked, watching her unsurely.

“It’s okay to come out.  I promise.”

Ardo did not move.

Marcy very slowly walked over to the vent, getting up onto the counter with the speed she would use to approach a frightened cat, not making any sudden movements.

Thistle fluttered back briefly as Marcy’s enormous face appeared in front of the vent, suddenly second-guessing himself.

But he’d decided a few hours ago that he couldn’t stand being in the vents any longer.  He was so weak from thirst, hunger, pain, exhausted from exertion and not sleeping a wink for over 24 hours at this point, emotionally spent and more afraid than he’d ever been.  He was ready to give up.

He would just have to take whatever the giants decided to do to him.  He needed help.  And he’d watched Marcy reappear in the spot from yesterday this morning, examine the clues he’d accidentally left behind, get excited and start babbling to herself… Whether going to her, and whatever other giants she would hand him to, would earn him help, or a painful death, or something else entirely--he didn’t know.  But if he stayed in the vents, he knew it would be a slow painful death, just lying there in the dust...He didn’t have many options, and throwing himself at their mercy looked more appealing by the hour.

He just wouldn’t lead them back to the hive.  He would take whatever torture they came up with, give himself to them and take that chance...but he wouldn’t lead them back to the hive and make his family suffer the same fate.

He swallowed nervously and stood, hugging his arms around himself, and approached the grate.  “I surrender,” he said, voice cracking.  “Please if you--If you can find it in your heart to be kind to me, I…”  He hid his face in his hands, stepping forwards.  “Please, please, I…”

Marcy thought Ardo might be talking, but it was too quiet to hear.  Trying to pop the grate off the vent might scare them away, so she talked to them in a low voice, trying to coax them to keep stepping forward.

Ardo timidly wiggled past the grate.  Marcy tried to contain her noises of excitement, lest she scare them off again, and cupped her hands under them.

The wings started up just as they had last night, but this time, Ardo whimpered painfully and fell out of the air, landing in Marcy’s hands.  It took every ounce of Marcy’s self control to maintain a calm, reassuring composure as the little creature plopped down, coughing and throwing dust everywhere.

Ardo looked up at her fearfully, hands leaving sooty streaks on her palm as they drew their limbs in towards themself. 

Marcy carefully stepped down from the counter, not breaking eye contact with the tiny person in her hands.  She ate up every detail she could see under the grime they’d accumulated from the air system. The clothes were filthy, of course.  Unfortunately it looked like there were small wounds on their chest and arms, under tears in the clothing, which had gotten infected, probably from the dust ground into them…  Their hair had dust bunnies stuck in it, although their face was mostly clear enough to see their expression, their little nose, the jawline streaked with grime...And looking at them again under the bright electric lights, she could make out some details that suggested to her that Ardo was male.

This delighted her for some reason, like a grandmother fawning over a “big strong” baby boy, as though managing to be male at that size was an accomplishment somehow.  She would be equally delighted in a different way if Ardo were female, she was sure.

“Did you have a rough night?” she said.  She exaggerated her facial features, trying to make him understand the emotion behind her speech, if not the exact meaning, like the way cats and dogs understand tone of voice.

Ardo responded in a series of short, anxious sentences in his own language, then seemed to lose his nerve.  He stopped and broke eye contact, looking off to the side and wringing his hands.  Marcy very gently moved him down to the table, opened her hands and settled him down onto it.

They both just stared at each other for a few moments, both seemingly equally incredulous with the other.

“Anonro hepimin malsuen. Mitimised viesisilda. Gentle.”  The tone of his voice this time seemed to imply a thank you.

“Yes,” she said, excitedly.  “I can’t believe this is working.  Fuck.”

“Fuck.”

Marcy froze.  “You did not just…”  She’d taught a fairy three words in English: “Marcy,” “gentle,” and “fuck”?

Man, if there were ever a sign she needed to listen to her mother and cut down on the swearing...

Ardo seemed thrown off guard by Marcy’s breaking into laughter, and she tried very hard to stifle it with her hand so as not to startle him.

There was a knock on the door.  Ardo darted away.

“Housekeeping,” said a voice.  “Do you need the trash--”

“We don’t have any trash!” she yelled, and Ardo flinched at the volume, crouching down and covering his ears.  “I mean--sorry--thank you!”

“All right, thanks.”

Marcy listened to the janitor move off, then returned her attention to Ardo.  He’d moved to the edge of the table, seemingly with escape being a reflex to the loudness, but he was cautiously paused now, waiting to see if it was necessary.

“Sorry,” she said.  She put her hands to her chest.  “Marcy gentle.”

“Fuck.”

Marcy bit her lip to keep from crying with laughter.  Then something amazing happened:  Ardo smiled nervously and laughed a little.

Had her reaction clued him in that he had picked up an expletive?  Was he just mirroring her?  Either way, they were making a connection.

She knelt down, putting her arms on the table so she wasn’t towering over him, and this time he didn’t back away.  And she just waited to see what he would do.  She truly didn’t know what to do, and letting him take the lead might help him feel some control over the situation.

Ardo flicked his wings nervously, looking conflicted.  Then, finally, he looked up at her hesitantly, cupped his hands together, and raised them to his mouth.  “Ĉuomipovas haiom daavo.”

“What?” she said.  “No, no, I’m not going to eat you.  Gentle.”

Ardo stood there silently for a moment, looking confused and disappointed.  He repeated the gesture, this time tilting his head back, then desperately pointed to the faucet Marcy had been using earlier, which was still dripping slightly.  “Daavo?”

“Oh you--You want water?”  She made a motion of turning the faucet handle, imitating the sound of water.  “Water?  Daavo?”

He nodded, looking relieved.  “Daavo. Water.”

Marcy moved to the sink, turning the faucet on, the cold water splashing down into the empty basin below.  She let him walk over the counter by himself...He looked incredibly wobbly, but she didn’t want to handle him more than he wanted her to.

Well, she wanted to.  She wanted to never put him down.  But she knew that would go poorly for both of them.

When he reached the edge of the sink, she offered her hand for him to climb into.  He knelt in it, and she lowered him down into the sink.

Oh the look of relief on his face--he must have been dying of thirst.  He went face-first into the stream of water, closing his eyes and letting it torrent over his head.  She kept her hand behind him in case he fell--that could be a disaster.  She had nightmare visions of him cracking his head, or somehow managing to drown.

She also kept an eye on his wings--surely they shouldn’t get wet, right?  He didn’t seem overly concerned about it though--although he did mostly keep them out of the water.

Thistle wanted to cry.  He’d never wanted water so badly in his entire life, and he’d never been offered such an enormous supply of it.  He didn’t even care if Marcy decided to reach down and squish him on the spot, just getting the water would have made coming out worth it.  It felt good getting all the dust off his face, too--he’d also never been quite this filthy before.

The euphoria was so much, lost in the sensation, that he didn’t notice himself slip.  The metal basin was wet and slick, and he did not have good footing, but he fell directly into Marcy’s hand, offered with a concerned exclamation from her.

The flow of water stopped.  He lay exhausted in Marcy’s hand, looking up at her upside down, suddenly bitter.  He was still thirsty, she had all the water anyone could ever need, and she wouldn’t share any more with him?  That was all she’d give him? Why was she so stingy?  He was small enough that he could never drink even a fraction of what she needed.

Marcy lifted Ardo, now sopping wet and slightly muddy, out of the sink.  He was looking at her disapprovingly, resentment plastered on his little face.

“Ah..”  Marcy kept Ardo in one hand and grabbed a roll of paper towel with the other, tearing some off and starting to towel him down.  She set him on the counter and patted him like she was drying green beans after washing them off.

Thistle wobbly climbed down from her hand, cupping his hands to his mouth again, and glaring at her.

“I was scared you’ll fall.”

Thistle repeated the gesture.  “Daavo. Water.”

“Uh…”  Marcy turned the faucet on and made a cup with her hands, then brought the puddle over to Ardo.  He eagerly knelt and dunked his head in it.  

“There we go,” she cooed, then gasped when he clambered up and into her hands, flicking his wings and ruffling like a bird in a birdbath.

Sitting in her hands, he cupped his own hands and made a little pool, raising it to his lips and drinking while looking up at her nervously.  She knelt down carefully, absolutely delighted, trying not to move too much.  “You like that?  Yeah?”

He splashed the water onto his face and started rubbing the strings of dust off himself, which swirled about in Marcy’s hand.

After a few moments, he seemed to become more aware of her watching him, suddenly self-conscious about letting her take him in her hands.  He climbed out of her hands, using both hands to wring his hair out, dripping tiny droplets onto the paper towels under him, clothes sopping wet.

She released the water into the sink, then detached a paper towel and continued to pat him down.  He made a distressed face and fended her off, stepping away and wringing out his shirt.

He fingered the hem of his shirt, looking at her hesitantly.

“What do you want?” said Marcy.  “Food?  More water?  Daavo?”

“Miolas iriekeren. Miolas foriri.”  He gestured broadly.

Marcy rubbed the back of her head.

Ardo turned to look at the whiteboard, where Marcy’s drawing from yesterday was still up.  He crouched and leapt, jumping in a flight-assisted arc that landed him on the marker tray.

Marcy came over and picked up a dry erase marker, uncapping it and setting it next to him.  He didn’t take it.  His forehead was against the board, his right arm clutching his left shoulder, body stiff.

“You okay there?”

She reached out and gently brushed his shoulder, and he shouted at her, turning away and crouching down, wrapping his arms around himself.

It must still hurt… she thought, noticing the way he cradled the side with the torn up wing.  Especially when he uses it. 

Marcy’s patch yesterday with the mantis wing appeared to be holding up, though.  She was a little sad it still caused him pain to use it, but it seemed too much to ask he would heal up that fast.

Marcy gently pushed the marker towards him.  “What do you need?”

Unfolding himself, still grimacing a little, Ardo wrapped his arms around the marker, wobbling a little as he tried to balance its weight.  Marcy used the tips of her fingers to help support its weight, lifting it and letting him control the tip.

He drew a square.  The lines were shaky, but it was definitely a square.

“The cooler?” she said.  “The cooler I put you in yesterday?”

Ardo struggled to draw a little circle inside the square, then extended a line down.

“A lollipop?”

The lines became a crude stick figure.

“You want me to put you back in the cooler?”  She made sure he wouldn’t fall, then retrieved the cooler and brought it over.

Ardo physically recoiled, looking at it with hatred.  “Foiguione!”

She put it down immediately, grimacing at how wrong she had gotten it. 

Ardo looked like he wanted to cry from how hard this was.  He pointed to the stick figure and said “Marcy.”  He used the marker to make a dot next to it.  “Ardo.”

“Oh!” she said.  “The building.  This is the building we’re in.”

He drew a line from the two of them to the outside of the square. With a motion arrow, like she had done yesterday.  He looked up at her and said, “Miolas iriekeren. Miolas foriri eseer.”

“Eseer…” Marcy repeated.  “‘Outside’?  You want to go outside?”  She pointed to the door.  “Eseer?”

“Outside.”

“I’ll take you outside.”  She lifted the cooler up again.  “Here, it’s safer this way.  Nobody will see you, and you can’t get squished.”

Ardo clutched his hands to his chest and backed away, looking fearful.  

“It’s okay,” said Marcy.  “Gentle.  Eseer.”

He shook his head.

Marcy bit her lip.  A dreadful little voice in the back of her head reminded her she could simply pick him up and put him in there anyway, regardless of what he wanted, which she immediately felt guilty about.

She put the cooler down and held her hand out.  “Okay.  I’ll take you outside.  Eseer.”

Marcy really wanted to put Thistle back in that horrid blue box he had endured yesterday, and he was painfully aware of the fact that the moment she decided to stop respecting him so much, he would be going into the box.

The box had trapped him face to face with the predator that had nearly killed him.  And moreover, it was basically a device for forcing him to trust whoever was carrying it, because he was not confident in his ability to push it open, especially if someone large on the outside wanted it to stay shut.  But inevitably he would be going in the box as soon as Marcy wanted, and for however long she wanted.

To his relief, she put the box down and held her hand out, speaking in loud gibberish that ended with “OUTSIDE.”

Did he dare hope this could end here?  If he could manage to get away from her and back to the hive alone, maybe nobody would ever know he’d been seen by a human.  More than seen...been handled.  Spoken to.  Mother would have a fit if she knew.

But if he came back alone...would she know?  Could he risk the hive like that, to save himself?

Thistle stepped into her hand, then knelt to avoid falling as the hand moved, jostling him.  Marcy held him close to her chest.

His stomach dropped as he saw Marcy’s other hand grab the handle of the blue box.

Marcy tried to keep the cooler out of Ardo’s line of sight, just because he seemed to hate it so much, but what was she supposed to do if she happened to pass someone in the hallway?  Stuff him up under her shirt?  What if something unexpected happened and he was in danger?  She was suddenly painfully aware of how many different things could hurt him, and to such a degree, and how she might not even notice most of them before it was too late.  She really wished he would get in the cooler, with its rigid walls.  And as much as she hated to admit it...She did want to make it harder for him to run away.  She managed to convince herself it was entirely for his own safety, and not for her own selfish curiosity.

But she was positive if she forced him in, she would lose whatever morsels of his trust she had managed to scrape together so far.  So she just kept it in one hand in case she absolutely needed it.

Thistle watched a bit bitterly as Marcy effortlessly pushed open the door he had struggled so mightily to budge.  The door opened onto a hallway--it reminded him a bit of the metal hallways of the vents, but these were obviously intended to be walked in by larger folk...They were cleaner, for one thing.

Marcy kept Thistle close to her body, hand half-raised to shield him from view, head down, and moved with shocking speed down the hallway.

It hardly seemed fair.  How could you be both that big and that fast?  Sure having long legs would mean bigger steps, but surely a giant was supposed to be a clumsy, lumbering thing you could run away from?  Not an agile creature that could just as easily snatch you up with fast reflexes as crush you with oversized--

Thistle put his face in his hands, initial terror at Marcy’s size coming back, even as her massive fingers curled around his tiny, vulnerable body.  “Please be careful.  Please be- Please don’t put me back in there.”

Marcy’s voice gently cooed what he assumed were supposed to be reassurances.

Another door, this one swinging open to bathe them in sunlight.

“OUTSIDE,” said Marcy, and Thistle felt himself move slightly as Marcy tilted her hand to let him see.

Outside.  The blue sky.  Trees.  Grass.  The faint tweet of birdsong in the background.  The light breeze.

Thistle bolted, out of those terrifying, powerful hands, into the open air, heading straight for the nearest tree.

Thistle had never been in a city before, and the visions of it in his blurry vision sent him spinning with confusion and anxiety.  There was grass, sure, but it was confined to little strips among a sea of flat, rocky-looking ground.  Trees, few and far between, occasionally burst up through this hellish vision, this nightmare of hard, endless ground that had absolutely no cover and looked painful to land on.

And he had never seen a car before, but seeing how fast they moved--if Marcy’s size and speed had scared him, well, how much more these enormous, shiny metal things?  He could tell instinctually they weren’t alive, but they certainly weren’t dead and inanimate either, which added another layer of terror and bewilderment to the whole thing.

Thistle pumped his wings to get out of here as fast he could, no idea where he could go, just away, needing something small and familiar and safe.  The tree was a good start.

His wing exploded into pain when he tried to up his speed, and he cried out, faltering in his flight path and spiraling down.  He heard Marcy give an alarmed shout and come up behind him.

He angled himself so he would land as close to that tree as possible, crashing ungracefully into the ground.  It was just as hard unyielding as it looked, and it raked onto the wounds from yesterday.  He cried out again, rolling over to right himself and hobble over towards the tree.

He reached it before Marcy did.  His vision was hazy from the pain.  He grabbed at its bark, knowing in his heart he couldn’t fly up it or climb it in this state, but desperate to do something.

He felt a great big hand at his back.  “No!” he screamed.  “Let go!  Let me go!  Don’t touch me!”

The hand withdrew.  Thistle slid back down, still clutching the tree.

He burst into tears, pressing into the tree, shaking.  Everything was so big here, in this world that wasn’t made for him, that didn’t care about him and would shred him up in an instant and barely notice, and he was alone and afraid and helpless and in more pain than he had ever experienced before.  He collapsed to his knees, sobbing.

Marcy watched Thistle try to get away from her, then seize up in the air, obviously struggling with his wing again, and crash land on the cement.  It looked painful and seemed to tear back open some of the wounds from yesterday.

This was the point at which Marcy decided that while she wanted to gain Ardo’s trust…  if she didn’t do something, there was a very real chance he was going to get killed trying things like that, especially outside and close to the road, and she needed to put her foot down.  Just...as gently as possible.

She knelt behind him as he pressed into a tree, trembling and shedding little tears.  She softly extended a hand to pull him away, but he shrieked and flailed so badly it made her second-guess her resolve.

She released him.  He wobbled, folded his legs under him, and wailed, looking positively overwhelmed

Marcy reached out, but he shied away from her touch, falling over and freezing on the ground, chest hitching with big, scared breaths.

She brought the cooler over and opened the lid.  “Come on.  Gentle.”

Ardo wrapped his arms around himself, looking at her with despair, and struggled to find words.

“Why don’t you want to go in?”  She reached over slowly, so slowly, and used a finger to encourage him to his feet.  “Hm?”  She motioned to the cooler.

Ardo wiped his splotchy face on his sleeve, hiccupping.  He bit his lip and made some vague gestures.

“Hm?”

He rubbed the nape of his neck, then held his arms up, folding his wrists so his hands faced down.  He moved them in a herky-jerky way.  “Tiurandega tiigacio. Predaovunim.”

“Your--You…”  The mantis, she suddenly realized.  She had stuck Ardo into the cooler yesterday right next to that mantis.  She had never even considered how scary that would be for someone his size.  Who knows what a predatory bug that big could do to him?

She turned the cooler on its side so he could see it was empty.  He rubbed his eye on his wrist, still breathing heavily, lip trembling.

“It’s gonna be okay,” she said.  “Trust me.  I promise it’ll be okay.”

Ardo looked away, not making eye contact with her, and walked forward unsurely into the cooler.  She very gently tilted it upwards, peeking inside to make sure he was okay.  He curled up in the corner, face in his knees.  A small smear of blood had appeared on the wall where his freshly re-opened wounds had rubbed against it.

She shut the lid.  The little fairy’s fear was suddenly in perspective now, holding this container with him stuck inside.  She could do basically anything to him, take him anywhere.  And Marcy knew she was going to be gentle with him, but he didn’t.

How scary it must be to be forced to rely on the goodwill of a stranger like that, a strange, scary creature who could treat you basically however they wanted, and having no idea what they were going to do to you.

Well, what she was going to do was her damned best to keep him alive, and clean out his wounds, and figure out what he ate, and maybe if she was lucky, get him to trust her enough to fall asleep.  Trying to keep the cooler as steady as possible, she walked towards her car.  The damn spiders could wait until Jackie got back from vacation.  She had something more important to take care of.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Vex, the Gloomiest build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Horace “Hozure” Hsu. Made for Riot Games.)

Writing this build in a dark room late at night, super tired and stuff... Stuck inside cause of this dumb virus... AFKing in TFT for a Prestige skin like a tryhard... It’s kinda aesthetic, ya know?

GOALS

Another person to kill... Shadow? Can you handle it? - You don’t need best friends: you’ve got your Shadow. He’s the only cool one, because he’s basically you.

Ugh. Can we get some rain clouds in here? - No one likes a debbie downer, but everyone loves a good scare!

Man, walking suuuucks - Nowadays even the anti-dash champion needs a resetting dash. “Do the thing, Shadow.”

RACE

I could make Vex a Harengon to justify her rabbit ears, but she doesn’t really do much “jumping.” That, and I didn’t buy Wild Beyond the Witchlight. So Halfling still works good enough for a yordle. Your Dexterity increases by 2, and while your movement speed goes down to 25 you have Halfling Nimbleness to move through people who are bigger than you. You’re also “Brave” for advantage against fears (when you hang around the Shadow Isles stuff really isn’t that scary) and of course have good ol’ yordle Lucky to reroll Nat 1s.

Halflings are normally pretty cheerful but Ghostwise Halflings are perfectly dark. You’d normally increase your Wisdom by 1 but I’d recommend increasing your Constitution instead. But I mean, it’s not a big deal if you take Wisdom instead. It is only +1. You also get Silent Speech to keep to team chat with 30 foot telepathy. I mean, they have to understand your languages but at least you don’t have to tell everyone what you’re talking about. And oh yeah you obviously speak Common and Halfling.

ABILITY SCORES

15; CHARISMA - Turns out when you don’t release any new yordles for (wait it’s been 5 years since Kled was released? Holy shit) people end up wanting them.

14; DEXTERITY - Just because you don’t like walking doesn’t mean you’re slow.

13; CONSTITUTION - Imagine dying like a normie.

12; WISDOM - Vex isn’t sad because she’s pessimistic. She’s just realistic.

10; INTELLIGENCE - You’re too cool for school. (And I needed everything else more.)

8; STRENGTH - Ughhh I don’t wanna lift heavy stuff! I’m tired...

BACKGROUND

I guess you’re technically a Haunted One, even if the black mist is the best thing that ever happened to you. You get proficiency in Arcana and Survival as well as two language of your choice to talk to your "allies.” (I guess one of them has to be exotic or whatever.) (I’d personally pick Sylvan as the language of yordles and whatever language the majority of your party knows as your second choice, but that’s just me.)

The thing that sucks about having a Heart of Darkness is that everyone keeps trying to help you, thinking that your sadness (and the living shadow on your back) is something to be fixed. I mean, at least you can get the NPC normies to help you, as long as you don’t spook ‘em. “No doctors! I told you: being sad makes me happy.”

(Artwork by @ToggleD0wnFall on Twitter.)

THE BUILD

or whatever...

LEVEL 1 - SORCERER 1

Starting as a Sorcerer for saving throws and stuff. Also proficiency in Intimidation and... Persuasion, I guess? Look, persuading people that you’re fine “no really” is a skill too.

I wonder what Sorcerous Origin we’ll pick... If only there was one based entirely on shadows and darkness... Oh hey Shadow Magic. As a Shadow Sorcerer you get Eyes of the Dark for 120 feet of Darkvision to see with your dumb Halfling eyes, and Strength of the Grave which will let Shadow take a hit for you. (As long as you make a good Charisma save.)

But of course the main appeal of a Sorcerer is the Spellcasting. You can learn 4 cantrips from the Sorcerer list and two level spells: For cantrips Mage Hand will let Shadow pick things up for you, Mind Sliver and Sword Burst will keep loud people off you both up close and from afar, and Prestidigitation will let you do all sorts of normie yordle magic. As for leveled spells Shield and Mage Armor are both kinda mandatory for some Personal Space.

LEVEL 2 - WARLOCK 1

What? Did you really think we wouldn’t get at least some support from adults? Work for that cool gloomy dude Viego and make a pack with The Undead. That’s because Undead are super dark and morbid and have a Form of Dread: as a bonus action you can turn on your Doom and Gloom for 1 minute. You get some temporary hit points, fear people when you hit them, and are immune to fears yourself. You can transform a number of times equal to your proficiency bonus and regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.

You also get Pact Magic, which is different from normie Spellcasting because you get the cool stuff done with just a Short Rest. Anyways you can learn two cantrips from the Warlock list like Minor Illusion to have Shadow trick some normies and Eldritch Blast to Eldritch while you Blast. You can also grab some first level Warlock spells like Hex to mark people you don’t like, and Arms of Hadar if you really need your Personal Space.

LEVEL 3 - WARLOCK 2

Second level Warlocks get their Eldritch Invocations for extra stuff that you don’t have to put effort into. While Armor of Shadows does exist it’s honestly better for you to cast Mage Armor with a spell slot, so with that being said take Agonizing Blast to agonize while you blast and Eldritch Mind so you can keep your concentration around annoying people.

You can also learn another spell like Hellish Rebuke, because people just keep barging into your Personal Space!

LEVEL 4 - SORCERER 2

Now that you can agonize your blasts it’s time to go back to Sorcerer. Second level Sorcerers get a Font of Magic for Sorcery Points which currently don’t do much other than give you more spell slots. You can turn your Warlock slots into Sorcery points though, which is good because they come back on a Short Rest but the rest of your magic does not.

You can also cast another spell like Earth Tremor, to slow people down with Looming Darkness and sunder the land with your edginess.

LEVEL 5 - SORCERER 3

Third level Sorcerers finally get Metamagic! Empowered Spell will allow you to maximize your damage and retain your role as an artillery mage. Alternatively if you want to guarantee fears in your foes take Heightened Spell to give them disadvantage to resist Shadow’s influence.

If you want Shadow to stick around then Dust Devil will swirl around for quite awhile. Alternatively Shadow (Magic) also teaches you Darkness for free, and you can cast it with 2 Sorcery Points to see through it! Your friends can’t see through it, but you can team up with Shadow for some powerful combos when you can see them but they can’t see you!

(Artwork by @jpdiasarts on Twitter.)

LEVEL 6 - SORCERER 4

4th level Sorcerers get the first of many Ability Score Improvements, but I can’t take Fey Touched every time for Flash. That, and we won’t give into basic yordle society. So let’s get value out of our Halfling race with the Second Chance feat. Along with +1 to your Charisma you can also use your reaction to make an enemy you can see attacking you reroll their attack roll, potentially making them miss.

Don’t use this against an attack that you can Shield against, but if someone gets a really good roll you can use this to get your Personal Space back! You can only use this once per combat though (it comes back when you roll for initiative!) so make sure to use it when it matters to keep your spell slots in check.

Oh and you can also learn another spell, and another cantrip! For your cantrip Shocking Grasp will help you push people away if they get too close (folk tend to react poorly when zapped by a tazer!) As for leveled spells Web will keep foes from dashing around, and is also pretty flammable. Huhn; wonder if that’ll be useful.

LEVEL 7 - SORCERER 5

5th level Sorcerers get gifts from the Ruined Queen Tasha in the form of Magical Guidance. You can use a Sorcery point to reroll a d20 if needed, potentially squeezing a success out. Don’t use this all the time (even if Warlock slots means you’ll have plenty of Sorcery points to spare) but this can be very useful in an emergency!

You can also learn third level spells and hey: Fireball may be a normie spell, but it’s still pretty effective. It’s maybe a bit too flashy to be Looming Darkness but it’s a good source of AoE damage which isn’t as loud and annoying as Shatter.

LEVEL 8 - SORCERER 6

All this time being a Shadow Sorcerer and Shadow hasn’t even done anything for us! Well how about you go out there and get some work done, Shadow? For 3 Sorcery points you can summon a Hound of Ill Omen to target a foe within 120 feet of you.

Shadow is basically a Dire Wolf except he’s Medium, has temp HP equal to half your Sorcerer level, can move through stuff (but takes damage if he ends his turn in stuff), and automatically chases whoever you told him to go for. Shadow will appear 30 feet away from the person you told him to get, and will chase after him like I said. All he’ll really do is attack the target you told him to though; he won’t even opportunity attack unless it’s the person you told him to chase. But if Shadow’s near someone they have disadvantage on their saving throws, which is pretty cool. (Unfortunately it’s only against spells, not your Form of Dread.)

Speaking of saving throws: Slow is a really great way to keep normies from running around doing annoying stuff. And you don’t have to hit Shadow with it which is pretty cool.

(Artwork by @Lauriquess on Twitter.)

LEVEL 9 - WARLOCK 3

Third level Warlocks get to choose their Pact Boon: if you want a really small Shadow go for Pact of the Chain, and if you want your cool necklace go for Pact of the Talisman, but we’ll be going for Pact of the Tome because you’re mostly a spellcaster really. (And we definitely don’t have enough cantrips.)

You get a Book of Shadows (See? Books can be cool!) with three cantrips: take Thaumaturgy to be extra spooky, Vicious Mockery for some sick teenage burns, and Sapping Sting to make normies fall over when you fear them. Some might say that 10 total cantrips by level 9 is a bit overkill but look on the dark side: you’ve now got a cantrip for basically every type of saving throw in case you can’t hit with Eldritch Blast!

Honestly none of the Pact Boons are particularly important for Vex so I picked the one that made the most sense. Feel free to take something more practical since 10 cantrips is admittedly overkill.

Oh and you can learn more Warlock spells, so now it’s time to finally take Misty Step. For Flash!

LEVEL 10 - WARLOCK 4

4th level Warlocks get another Ability Score Improvement: getting more Charisma for better spellcasting is probably a good idea.

You can also learn another spell, and hey look another cantrip. For your cantrip even if more damage options are kinda overkill by this point Chill Touch inflicts Grievous Wounds, which might be useful. You can also grab another second level spell and Blindness / Deafness (which is on the Undead list) is far more useful than any of the other normie options you’d have at this level anyways.

LEVEL 11 - WARLOCK 5

5th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation, and even if you’ve got a resetting dash you’re still a squishy mage. So grab Tomb of Levistus for Zhonya's Hourglass.

You can also grab third level Warlock spells now! Remember how I took Fireball and complained that it wasn’t a good replica of Looming Darkness? Well Hunger of Hadar takes your Concentration but it’s a lot edgier!

LEVEL 12 - WARLOCK 6

6th level Undead Warlocks have become Grave Touched by the mist, and can make mist of their own! Along with being able survive without eating, drinking, or breathing you can turn any of your damage into necrotic damage. If you’re in your Form of Dread however you can add one extra damage die to whatever you’re using to get people to buzz off, adding to that morbid and macabre aesthetic.

You can also add another spell and if you’re bored with Shadow being a wolf how about you make them a Summon Shadowspawn? Weaponize your Fury, Despair, or Fear (I’d honestly recommend Fury since it has good synergy with your Dreadful Aspect) and work together with Shadow to deal with all your annoying foes! I’d also suggest replacing Hellish Rebuke with Counterspell, because even if the former fits better the latter is way more useful.

(Artwork by Jennifer Wuestling. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - WARLOCK 7

7th level Warlocks can finally activate Shadow Surge. Relentless Hex lets you mark a foe with Hex and then dash to them. And technically you can move Hex around after the fact to reset your dashes! And while you’re at it you may as well grab Dimension Door for Summoner Teleport.

You could also upgrade Summon Shadowspawn to Summon Aberration if you so desire, but Summon Shadowspawn is more than strong enough and far more fun and thematic.

LEVEL 14 - WARLOCK 8

Another Ability Score Improvement. Yay. Cap off your Charisma for the best spellcasting you can get out of Shadow. You can also learn another spell, but we’re going to wait for...

LEVEL 15 - WARLOCK 9

9th level Warlocks get another Eldritch Invocation: even if it’s kinda ineffective Ascendant Step is still pretty useful to have Shadow carry you around. I mean yeah it’s slow but not that much slower than walking for you, and Shadow can lift you up in the air. “Shadow; carry me...”

You can also learn 5th level spells. If one guy’s being particularly annoying Negative Energy Flood can get them to shut up and work for you. Alternatively if you want more Personal Space Antilife Shell is on the Undead List and will make sure normies keep faaaaar away.

LEVEL 16 - WARLOCK 10

Are you ever so sick of everything that you just want to explode? Necrotic Husk has two benefits: for one you’re resistant to Necrotic damage, and immune while in your Form of Dread because being around Viego for so long means you’re used to his work.

But additionally when you are reduced to 0 hit points you can use your reaction to drop to 1 hit point instead and cause your body to explode! Each creature of your choice within 30 feet of you takes 2d10 + your warlock level in Necrotic damage. You do gain 1 level of exhaustion after using this, and after using it once you can’t do so again until you finish 1d4 long rests. So I’d perhaps use Strength of the Grave first unless you really need to lash out.

I hope you weren’t expecting more spells because you aren’t getting them from Warlock: just a cantrip. By this point we’ve honestly got far too many cantrips so I dunno maybe just grab Prestidigitation again and swap it out from Sorcerer when you get the chance.

(Artwork by @DukkoArt on Twitter.)

LEVEL 17 - SORCERER 7

Finally back to our yordle roots: 7th level Sorcerers get 4th level spells like Storm Sphere for a sphere of darkness and angst. But I mean the real benefit is that you get more Sorcery points let’s be real.

Oh and you can swap out Prestidigitation for Gust I guess. Spooky winds and stuff. Either this level or next level depending on your DM.

LEVEL 18 - SORCERER 8

Your last Ability Score Improvement... You’re gonna have to ask: what’s more important to me? More Metamagic, or more Eldritch Invocations? If Metamagic is to your liking take Metamagic Adept for Careful Spell and Distant Spell along with two more Sorcery points to use on them. If you like Eldritch Invocations though Eldritch Adept has a ton of options as a level 10 Warlock. I won’t tell you what invocation to take (they’re all great boosts but none of them shout out at me as something you should prioritize) as there are plenty of options to make your own Vex now that they’re all grown up.

I can at least tell you what spell to take: none of them! Wait until next level!

Oh and you can swap out Prestidigitation for Gust I guess.

LEVEL 19 - SORCERER 9

9th level Sorcerers can learn 5th level spells which means you’ve finally caught up to your Warlock slots. And look at that: the good wish Tasha gave you one last way to weaponize Shadow. Bigby’s Hand does a bunch of cool stuff and is pretty much the ultimate way to make Shadow crush some normies. (Most literally.) Alternatively if you want to borrow from Viego Enervation will let you heal from the mist and also do some damage. Great if you’re stuck in a corner with a bunch of annoying normies.

LEVEL 20 - SORCERER 10

Our final level is the 10th level of Sorcerer for one last spell, one last cantrip, and one last metamagic option! For your metamagic it’s honestly about time you take Quickened Spell to up your DPS. For your cantrip take Mold Earth to dig holes in the sand and brood. And as for your leveled spell? Honestly I just like Synaptic Static, and there isn’t much else I want anyways.

FINAL BUILD

PROS

We’re all doomed. But you’re more doomed - 5th level spells pack more than enough punch, and you’ve got plenty of them. Warlock slots will always be at your fingertips, and Sorcery points give you plenty of flexibility too!

I can feel it: someone’s happy over there! - Along with giving you a temporary hitpoint shield Form of Dread puts a nice bit of CC on all your abilities. Keep enemies scared and sad with tons of Doom and Gloom!

Ugh. Stop copying me Shadow! - Hounds of Ill Omen are cool. Summon Shadowspawn is also cool. Bigby’s Hand is especially cool. And hey: even your lower level Concentration spells like Hex? They’re pretty cool too.

CONS

Ughhhhhhhhhh this is gonna take foreeeever! - You’ve got limited fumes, even for a coffeelock. Form of Dread has limited uses and there’s only so much spell slot melting you can do to get your magic back.

I’m dancing... Happy? - You’ve got a really boring set of really normie skills... and if you’re playing Vex the way she’s meant to be played you’re probably not going to use any of them except for Intimidation.

Yup; the glass is half empty - Half your levels are Sorcerer levels, meaning you’re squishy. You’ve also got Mage Armor on which guess what: also means you’re squishy. People who hit teenagers sure are lame but it’s really not hard to Power Word Kill you.

But I guess you’re pretty cool overall. Shadow’s an alright partner and you can spread Ruination even without Viego. Trudge around and get people to frown for once. There’s nothing wrong with being sad, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting the world to be sad. But do try to at least be happy out of character, because we play games to have fun. I mean, who’d play a video game that just makes you depressed and angry?

(Artwork by @AzzylumArt on Twitter.)

[earnestly-endlessly]

if you don't mind, could we have a fic rec list where Moira is a character and has a respected role (cherik or otherwise)? I always feel that she deserved so much better and is overly bashed in the fandom when she could honestly be greater

Yes!! I love when people appreciate Moira. She was really done dirty in the films so it's great when a fandom acknowledges that and takes matter into their own hands. I'm sure there are many more fics out there where Moira is appreciated but these are the ones I found. The fandom doesn't have many Moira centric fics out there, but there are plenty where Moira is appreciated. I'm especially a sucker for fics where Moira and Erik are reluctant friends, or begrudgingly respect one another lol. I hope you like these.

Moira appreciation fics

Domestic Disturbance - pocky_slash

Summary: "My wife kicked me out."

Only half of that sentence is a lie, although after the shit Nick's been pulling this week, Moira can't say she doesn't feel the urge to do some kicking.

Still Standing - heyjupiter

Summary: It's been over forty years since the last time Moira MacTaggart saw Raven Darkholme. Now CIA Assistant Director MacTaggart is visiting the mutant terrorist Mystique in her holding cell, hoping to get some information from her about the Brotherhood of Mutants and the so-called "mutant cure." She may get more than she bargained for.

Riding Lessons (The Indian 841 Remix) - heyjupiter

Summary: There's a motorbike in one of the Xavier garages and the person offering lessons is not the person you'd think.

"Oh, come on," she says. "I work for the CIA." Why does everyone always forget that?

Continue Firm and Constant – aesc

Summary: Moira hasn't seen her old partner in saving the world from threats human and intergalactic, Erik Lehnsherr, for a few years. When she finally does see him again, she finds a man different from the one who's been with her down in the dark and the dirt and the blood... or maybe he isn't so different after all.

rooms/shares - pocky_slash

Summary: Erik is single, working a cube job he hates, letting his master's degree in mutant studies collect dust, and living on his best friend's couch. When she kicks him out, he's forced to trawl Craigslist for the least-offensive rooming option within his meagre budget. He never expects a response from the persnickety, high maintenance ad he replies to as a joke, but it's possible this too-nice apartment and mysteriously absent roommate might be the answer to all four of his problems.

No Yesterdays on the Road - pocky_slash

Summary: It's been two months since Cuba and things are settling down for Charles, Erik, and the beginnings of their mutant school. Right up until Charles disappears, that is. Faced with the possibility that a bitter Emma Frost has kidnapped Charles, Erik is forced to team up with Moira to hunt down the remainder of the Hellfire Club. From there, they hope to locate Frost and retrieve Charles, without killing each other along the way.

(Or: Erik and Moira Drive Across the Country and Talk About Their Feelings.)

Unfinished Business - pocky_slash

Summary: It's March of 1963 and Charles Xavier's life seems to be falling into place. Sebastian Shaw is dead and he, Erik, Moira, and their team and young pupils are well on their way to opening their mutant school for fall enrollment.

Everything would be perfect if it wasn't for the childhood nightmares that Charles keeps accidentally projecting to the house, the odd dreams that leave him sleepwalking through corridors that haven't been used in decades, and the children's insistence that the house is haunted by a ghost that roams the halls at night. Erik thinks Charles is seeing things, Moira is afraid that the strange occurrences have something to do with the mysterious man trying to woo her, and Charles just wants proof that it's not all in his head.

Sequel to No Yesterdays on the Road

Rumor Has It - blueink3

Summary: "Did I hear the doorbell earlier?"

"Yeah, but I'd steer clear if I were you. It seemed a little tense. I don't know what's going on, but there's a kid out there who looks freakily like the prof."

Nearly six months after Cuba, Charles' life is turned upside down for the second time. Though he's slowly learning to adapt to the first, he's not sure he can handle the second. Luckily for him, there are a few people out there more than willing to help.

Incy Wincy Spider - Tawabids

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr is a renowned homicide detective, with his husband Charles at home and his partner on the job, Moira MacTaggert. When a twisted serial killer starts targeting mutants, Erik and Moira are the perfect team for the job, especially since Erik himself is the mutant poster-boy of an NYPD trying to improve their image.

But what they don't yet know is that the serial killer is an old soul out of Erik's past, and his next move is to pull Charles into his web.

Handle With Care - pocky_slash

Summary: Moira thinks Erik Lehnsherr is a liability despite his skills and knowledge, but she's not above using Charles Xavier to keep him in check.

Barflys - pocky_slash

Summary: The truth is, Moira really is Erik's only friend. And she does occasionally have good advice. Like when she lets him know the hot guy in the corner booth is definitely checking him out and he should definitely hit that.

Stage Left – Sixthlight

Summary: Young Scottish soprano Moira MacTaggert is a rising star at the New York Metropolitan Opera, tutored by the mysterious Opera Ghost. At least, he would be mysterious...if her childhood friend Charles Xavier didn’t keep pestering her about the brilliant mutant mind he can clearly sense hiding in the opera house, and Moira was too stupid to tell the difference between an Angel of Music and someone hiding behind her mirror.

Note: Thanks @lead-acetate for recommending this fic 

[thunderheadfred]

🤚The Second Worst (Pt. 1/?)🤚

Part 2 of my Shigaraki Thesis Headcanons. HC's // The Second Worst: 1 - 2

The half-mad ghost of Shimura Tenko is in love with you, and your life is about to become a tragic wreck. -- AKA here's when I gave up on bullet points and went off the fuckin rails

I'm self-conscious about writing so much, so uhhhh, please be kind, hahaaa. This is rather long and involved. Are these still even HCs or just a self-indulgent AU outline? There are some mysteries we may never solve.

This is on AO3 now, if you prefer reading there. Anyway. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

You met Tenko before the League existed.

Believe it or not, there are a million ways it might have happened, but in the end: you were both bargain-binning in Akihabara.

You reached for a copy of a collectible bullet-hell cute-'em-up (near-mint! CIB!!!) and accidentally bonked hands with a complete stranger. He flinched about five million feet away from you. Ouch. You're just a nobody, quirkless and average, but you didn't think you were THAT repulsive.

(You're not. Hell, even if you were, this guy couldn't care less. He barely registers that you have a face.)

(Shigaraki is accustomed to getting in and out of this shop in seconds. He always comes in before anyone else and goes straight home. -- Is that really home? Is 'home' a real place? -- ANYWAY he's already pirated this shit, god, why does he even care? He doesn't need to be here. Father doesn't like it. Is that why he's here? Just to do something Father doesn't like? That's pathetic.)

He's had at least ten complete internal arguments with himself before he so much as looks at you.

You know in the tenth of a second he actually meets your eyes... this fucker is going to fight you to the death over this game.

- - - The death match ends in a draw. He was not expecting you to know the first fucking thing about this game. Nobody knows about it, even in Japan. Who the fuck do you even think you are? Oh, no, he's still taking it. But... maybe he can show you how to play it it. He'll give you a little taste, just to make you jealous. He's got his hoodie pulled down like he's going to commit an act of terrorism. What little you can see of his face looks twitchy and messed up. If you have any survival instincts at all, they're kicking in right about now. But... why not. You're not going anywhere with this dude unsupervised, so you suggest a crowded web cafe down the street. The cafe has the necessary console... but the retro gaming booth is laughably small. The TV is about four inches across and you end up having to practically sit in his lap. You were sure this guy was a nasty fucking creep, but he's................ only mostly terrible. Way too angry, for sure. Has no idea how to have a normal, friendly conversation. Inadvertently insults you every other sentence and seems to have a deep-seated persecution complex.

You'd prefer to be mad about the awful company, but... he's obviously deprived of human contact. When it's established that you two share a lot of media fixations, he calms down and starts treating you a little more like a human being. Or at least like a fellow elite.

Wherever he came from, he doesn't seem to want to go back. He keeps pushing you to play one more level, pretending he wants to beat your score. You feel kinda bad for him. You get the distinct feeling that his life is a disaster. He looks like he's never had a full night of sleep in his life. He trips your trigger hairs in that 'is he gonna follow me home?' kind of way, but... up close, he's a lot more depressing than scary. At the very least, you want to buy him a stupidly cute dessert. Just... as thanks. For letting you try out the game and stuff. It's not a big deal, so just pick a flavor, okay? The world isn't actually that awful, y'know.

It's not even that impressive... Definitely not a great cafe. But he takes practically a full hour to eat a single slice of strawberry cake.

When the hoodie comes down. He's all shriveled and dried out, like someone left him him in the desert to die. He chews on his peeling bottom lip and nervously scratches his neck. He doesn't thank you for the cake. Which is fine. It's not a big deal. Actually, you wish he would eat faster; you feel weirdly responsible for him now.

Under all that mess he's... gorgeous? His hair is stunning: a bright, gleaming silver that catches the light. His bone structure is flawless. If it weren't for all the scars and the misanthropic slouch, he'd look like a fairy fucking prince.

You were not prepared for that. In another life he could have been a model, the type of guy who would never even look at you. But something bad happened to him. Something... very bad. Do you even want to know? You have no idea how to ask. Has anyone ever been nice to him? It doesn't seem like it. Should YOU be nice to him? You sort of want to try. - - - This becomes a regular thing. This weird little secret. You should probably tell someone when you see him, just in case you don't come back one day, but you say nothing; how the hell would you explain why you want to see him so bad? You don't know his full name. Maybe he's on a watch list. When he gives you a long string of random numbers so you can schedule meet-ups (is THAT his e-mail, really?) he tells you to just... call him Tenko. Or whatever. It doesn't matter. (He sneaks out when Father is deep in his plots. As long as he comes home on time, it doesn't really matter where he goes, right?) He brings a different game every time. He has an insane collection. Where does he get the money for all this? You know he doesn't work. God, is it drugs? It's probably drugs. Wherever these hidden gems came from, he proudly shows them off to you, like he's never had an audience before. It's sort of cringe-inducing, the way he one-ups and rubs every little victory in your face, desperate for attention.

But at the same time, you are becoming too... something...to mind. Do you... like him? He's not funny, but he thinks you are. His mouth is huge when he laughs. He seems to hate everyone but you, and you've had to earn the distinction of being merely tolerable. Still, he gets really excited about random shit like the garage kit black market and haunted dolls and the price of weed on the dark web.

And... strawberry cake. The realization hits you both at the same time when the waitress brings one piece with two forks. God, what the fuck, are you... are you dating? Quick, think. You look forward to seeing him, and don't even mind sitting close to him anymore. Sometimes you push your leg up against him just to see if he'll still flinch away... and he doesn't.

You jealously notice the way he touches everything but you: with delicate precision, one finger at a time. His large, elegant hands always have a pinky up like he's aspiring for a fiefdom, and you wonder what his skin feels like. You go home and dwell on the way he plucks flowering weeds out of the pavement in front of the cafe. The way he stands rooted to the spot as you leave, just... looking at nothing, unsmiling.

You watch his lips too much, and not just because you want to buy him chapstick. You catch him gaping at you all the time. You thought he was just creepy like that, but maybe... Yeah. I guess you are dating him. Shit. - - - Okay, so, yeah. Bringing him back to your place was definitely a bad idea. You know you shouldn't trust him, even if he is... apparently... your boyfriend? Sort of? You still don't have his phone number. So. Um. What now? You order overpriced pizza and queue up a campy horror movie. What the fuck are you even doing. You don't really think he's going to murder you anymore, but... still. Is the suburban massacre scene gonna give him ideas? Turns out, no. He doesn't like gore, even when the blood is neon pink. He gets upset. Like, really upset. Shaky and green, like he might puke on you. He can't stop scratching that scaly spot on his neck.

Tenko, are you crying? Fucking hell, did you just trigger him? Of course he has a traumatic past, it's carved all over his face. You're so fucking stupid. You don't know how to make it right. You want to hug him, kiss him... anything. But he's never really touched you, and you're too afraid to push now. It ruins the whole night. He leaves without explaining anything. Doesn't even say goodbye. He just. Leaves. Maybe you'll never see him again. Maybe that's for the best. Your chest hurts. - - - He shows up at your door a few weeks later. You haven't heard from him since that disastrous movie night. You had pretty much accepted that you'd broken up with a boyfriend you never actually had. But no. Apparently not.

This time, he’s brought his own entertainment. He's holding a boxed set of some show you're not familiar with. You're distracted by these weird little half-gloves he's wearing, like a cyberpunk hacker. That's a new look, and even if it's a bit edgelord adjacent, he makes it look cool. You tell him as much. It's the first time you've let on how attractive you find him. He's wearing a tight black shirt with a deep, deep V-neck. That's distracting too.

He clears his slender throat and doesn't look at you.

You try to apologize for before, but he's acting like it never happened. What are you even talking about? Have you seen this OVA or not? Get out of the way and let him in already. You've watched three episodes now, but you still have no idea what this stupid anime is about. You can't pay attention to a single frame. All you can think about is how his arm has crept up behind your shoulders. A few inches more and he'll be holding you. Does he... want to hold you? You lean toward him so slowly your spine creaks. One molecule at a time. After a thousand years, your head slides nervously under his chin. His arm comes down, locking you in, fingers clutching your sleeve in a death grip. Even that snobby little pinky. His head tucks down into you hair. A sharp collarbone bites into your cheek. His heartbeat is hard, fast, and irregular. There's not a scrap of fat on him, and as you wrap your arm around his stomach, you think you see a twitch in his pants. Is that just you being desperate? Or... hopeful? This is really happening. --- Soon, you learn that Tenko is a clumsy kisser. It doesn't matter; the fact that he's kissing you at all is good enough for now. His lips are dry, but not half as dry as you expected. There's a slick of menthol helping things along; he's been using something medicated on his lips. Plus, his mouth tastes like he drank a gallon of mouthwash.

All this thrills you more than a little, because it means he came here wanting to impress you. Wanting you. Full stop. Underneath that minty sting is a strange, worrisome aftertaste, like something rotten. Your brain fires off an alarm. Stop kissing him. Right now. This thing will make you sick. But his hands nervously slide over your body... and you decide not to worry about it. Instead, you kiss him deeper. He makes a sweet, startled little noise. Your brain is a fucking liar. It occurs to you he's probably never done this before.

When you lace your fingers in his and try to pull one of his gloves off, he rips his hand away.

Don't. That’s the only explanation he gives.

No need to ask if it's a quirk thing or a trauma thing. Judging by how jittery he gets, it's probably both. You remember the way his hands almost float over objects without ever holding them. Maybe his touch is dangerous. Maybe that's why his face looks like that.

Maybe you should learn more about him before things go way too far...

No. It can't be that bad. Now that he's in your arms, everything frightening about him evaporates. He's vulnerable. He's alone. He's shaking a little. Has anyone else ever seen this side of him? You want to keep him all to yourself, just like this.

So what if he has to touch you with gloves on? You've heard of worse quirk-related inconveniences.

It's okay, Tenko. Do you want to keep going?

You put his hands back on you and wait for him to kiss you again. It doesn't take long.

---

You open his pants. He's long and thin, calloused even here. Every part of him feels untouched, unloved. You hold him tight and squeeze.

It doesn't seem to occur to him to please you in return. He looks afraid. Confused. You're sure you scared him earlier with the glove thing. Is this too much? No. He gasps and leans into you. The tiniest, broken please.

He cums in your hand right away, face buried in your shoulder, his eyes wet and hidden.

I have to go, he says. Over and over and over.

It's okay, Tenko.

You know he doesn't want to.

- - - - - (oops I wrote more)

[pinkbunnygirlwattpad]

I’ve been writing a fanfiction based off this image for DBD Ghostface and I think it’s going pretty well. I still have to write the rest of it, reread it and edit it but it’s going pretty well. I think I might be half way through it but idk depends. Underneath is about a third of what I have so far.

Warning: Stalking, Danny being a pervert, murder(?), mentions of sex, other things

Summary: Reader is a closeted age-regressor but Danny is nosy so he’ll know

Daddy’s Little Girl

Danny had been stalking you for a while, much longer than any of his other victim but that was because you were special. He had seen you whilst he was at some house party with cheap liquor and horny idiots practically fucking on the walls and floor, he bitterly thought that it was more like an orgy than the drinking fest the host wanted it to be. Your friend had dragged you to the piss poor excuse for a party and one look into those round, doe eyes had given him the feeling he had when he saw someone he knew had to be one of his victims. He examined you closer while you were there and saw how your whole being exuded purity, from the way your hair looked so soft and the way your skin looked like a blanket made of silk. It was your face that really made him want you, though. Your lips were parted slightly, and you had slightly chubby cheeks, giving them a squishy, bouncy texture that made you look more like a child. But what made him really hooked was the innocent gleam in your eyes when you looked around the room.

 He followed you throughout the night and it made him much more excited about what he was going to do to you when he saw the oblivious state you were in with every guy who flirted with you. It would be so easy to trick you, unlike his previous victims who would have never been interested in some reported with a heart of gold, you would immediately fall for that shtick. He wanted to have sex for the pure gratification of corrupting you. Clinging to your friend all night had made it hard to get close to you but no matter, not when he could stalk you, find out your interests and then sweep you off your feet.

 It had not been hard to find out about you, it is what he does best. You were too busy worrying over your friend to notice a mysterious figure behind you. Danny even had fun of being obvious about it, but you didn’t notice a thing, a kind of obviousness that was hard to find in Roseville where all the people were cut-throat due to the high population of rich people in the area and harsh jobs that were specialised in that area. Your friend wouldn’t help either due to their pathetic drunken state. Thinking in this direction was getting Danny worked up and would leave him with a boner if he were not careful.

 After some time and a quick walk down a path in the nearby woods, you were home in your cottage with a white-picketed fence, beautiful flowers of all colours blooming in the front and some along the stone path leading to the back. The fences seemed to be more for décor reasons than serving an actual purpose since Danny knew that this particular land was quite spacious. You lead your friend inside and, from the window in the front, Danny observed you catering to your very drunk friend. He noted that the inside of the house were pastels and had lots of fantasy, fairy, cottagecore and light academia vibes. He did have to admit, even though he didn’t care for interior design aside from to keep up appearances, he appreciated something so beautiful like that.

 Now knowing where you live and marking it down in his black, pleather (he may kill people, but he wasn’t so heartless!) journal, he left for the night to get some rest. This was the first time in awhile he felt this excited for killing! Don’t get him wrong, killing was fun but it got monotonous to kill the same types of people over and over again. It was exciting to spicy his routine up a bit.

 Danny had been stalking you for 3 weeks and 4 days. He had taken pictures of you throughout that time, at your job, with your friends, when your alone and even in the shower! He did feel guilty about it for a few seconds before he decided that he was entitled to see your body if you had bad security in the first place that allowed people like him to get in. During the duration of this time, he had begun to psychoanalyse you and what your behaviour means, how your body language was an indication of your emotions and built a profile for you within his mind palace (it was easy with his photographic memory). You were so wholesome most of the time, whereas you did occasionally participate in conversations of kins, for the majority, you didn’t want to talk about sex or anything that came anywhere close. Something he also observed was that you had a tendency to not talk in ‘big words’ a lot of the time and he could list so much more that you did but that would be ranting. You bought many plushies, colouring books and ready-made snacks like chicken/tofu nuggets and yoghurt pots, stuff traditionally children liked. Although it made sense seeing how you were the go-to babysitter for the majority of your co-workers and friends, as well as distant neighbours and relatives. Plus, who didn’t enjoy hugging or collecting plushies? And Danny himself was a big fan of ready-made meals due to the time consumed by his work and ‘hobby’.

 Packages were often delivered to your house, at least from what he had seen but maybe it was a wave of them at once, like a spree shopper may do. The thing that intrigued him most to the contents of those deliveries was the way you were very protective over them, not letting anyone see even though you thought you had nothing to worry about. It made him want to know what you might be doing with them or what was in them. For all he knew, it could be something from the dark web, something disgusting and vile that would make you a devil in angel form. Entertaining this idea made him more desperate to find out what it was. And he would.

 He had snuck into your house after you had gone to work so he knew he had a long time before you came home. Once he was inside after going through your unlocked window, (what a forgetful, little thing) he saw a pile of discarded clothes. Approaching the crumpled garments, he picked up a shirt and smelled it. Yep, it was dirty laundry. It sent a shiver of excitement up Danny’s spine from excitement. Oh, what a naughty bunny you were, leaving him such a tantalizing gift. If he didn’t know better, it would seem like you were hoping to rile him up. During this stalking periods as he called it, you became dissimilar to his previous victims who pull a dark desire straight from the depths of his heart where his sick fantasies were locked from the world, you made him want something different than what he already experienced with them. He thought that it could be a new way to kill you, one only for you and designed to be the perfect art form in which to send you off to the afterlife. Of course, he was beginning to realise it was different to this. But back to why he was there.

 Looking around, he spotted one of the boxes that had been opened on your bed with objects seemingly thrown haphazardly into it. He nearly ran up to it he was so exhilarated from the rush of finding out what you were hiding from him. Not that he couldn’t make as much noise as he wanted, your cottage was 40 minutes from the outskirts of the city, which wasn’t the safest environment anyways, and 3 hours away in all other directions from anywhere containing sane, human life.

 Once within reaching distance, he picked it up without peaking in and sat on your soft bed. His hands were trembling from a strong surge of adrenaline and, without wanting to torture himself further, began to look through it. He prayed to find anything that made you deceitful and like him but what he saw wasn’t what he expected.

 Adult pacifiers, shortalls, sippy cups and more items similar to them were inside it. His initial thought was that you were into age play, but he doubted it, even if you were, you wouldn’t use anything this expensive in your casual hook-ups. Now that he knew what was in the box, he had even more questions which wasn’t what he had expected. With a new determination, he had arranged everything back into its original position and left your cottage to collect his thoughts and write down his questions at his base of operation. As he was driving back to the house he bought, he went down to his basement where he kept all his hunting equipment locked in. Looking at the corkboard he used to pin information about his current target, he methodically updated your information. As he did, he realised that he couldn’t stop smiling. This was new, having reached this level of excitement from his victim, it only made his obsession grow bigger for you. Oh, how you would regret going to that party that night.

[btsbling]

Unspoken Words

🥀 pairing: Kim Taehyung x Fem!Reader

🥀 genre: High school!au, soulmate!au, fluff

🥀 summary: The first words that would be exchanged between you and your soulmate is tattooed on a body part

🥀word count: 1.77k

©️ Btsbling (i do not own BTS members or Taehyung)

You stared at the clouds above you, feet dragging heavily as you blew out a breath. You held a half eaten sand which in one hand and scrolled through your phone with the other.

Music boomed softly through your ear buds as you made your way to school. Autumn was approaching as you walked down the path filled with palettes of orange leaves.

Very soon, winter break would be arriving. Your last year in high school was dawning on you. In a couple of days there would be an early graduation party. You could see the faint outline of your school building as you walked closer and closer. You unconsciously rubbed the tattoo on the inside of your wrist

“hey, title of my sex tape”

You chuckled as you recalled the day you had gotten your tattoo for the first time. It was your 15th birthday as you felt a tingle or two on your wrist. You were worried and out of it, not knowing what was happening to your body and unfamiliar ink started to appear on your body. Especially when it wasn’t the most innocent of comment.

You had gotten stares from your tattoo that was mostly visible. You rubbed the soft skin and brushed over the words. You hated the tattoo that was carved on you in the beginning, hating how sexual it was related to. However, slowly you begun falling in love with it.

You searched on the web, and after finding out about “soulmates”, you couldn’t wait to find yours as the tattoo was the key to your destined partner.

As you approached the gates of high school, you drowned out the sounds of chatters and gossiping with your music. You had spent the last three years, hiding in the shadows. Sure you didn’t have many enemies or anything “dramatic” happen to you. You were used to the silence you often engulf yourself with.

You sat in your seat, watching as people engaged in their own physical activities. The teacher infront of you was boring and you desperately wanted to skip class and return to your comfortable bed. You sighed as you felt the wind blow softly across your face when suddenly abrupt cheers erupted from the field below.

Your chin was nestled comfortably on your palm as you watched as he dribbled the basketball, before getting into position and scoring successfully. His teammates surrounded him in a big team hug, each head dyed with a unique hair dye.

But his silvery grey hair caught your attention as he threw his head backwards to laugh at a comment from his teammate. You felt your pulse quickening. You had never actually spoken to the cute alien boy before.

But you remembered the day you first met him. It was during first year. The thundering sounds of the rain pattering on the ground mocked you as you raised your palm to the sky. You had stayed back to study own your own but had completely forgotten to pack an umbrella with you in the morning.

You chewed on your lip, mentally listing out possible ways of avoiding the rain. Which seems to be quite big of a challenge. I could take the road behind the school? It’s kind of dangerous but i wouldn’t get drenched at all—

You nodded to yourself, feeling as if it was the best possible route, but as you stepped out of the school, you felt someone behind you and you looked behind to find Taehyung smiling at you with a gummy square smile, he opened up his alien designed umbrella, gesturing for you to take it.

You were hesitant, but he didn’t seem to back out of his offer. Once you took it from his hand, bowing to him slightly, he only flashed you another cute grin before running out into the rain. You tried calling out for him, but he was soon out of your sight.

Soon, you began learning his name. Since he joined the popular group of boys in your school it wasn’t very hard to do so. You constantly spit him walking down the hallway, beside your class as he spoke animatedly with his 6 other friends.

You didn’t know when you started falling for the popular “kid”. Maybe it was his square boxed smile that caused butterflies to erupt in your stomach, or the way he was always willing to help anyone in need. You constantly caught him patting the neighbourhood cat, and helping an old lady cross the street while helping her with her groceries.

His hair made you want to touch them and nustle into them and his vibe was so warm, you’ve always wanted to give him a hug.

But of course, you were a “nobody”. A shadow. There were tons and tons of girls that were willing to follow Taehyung to the ends of the earth. They were way better than you and you didn’t deserve a man like Taehyung.

So you could only look away from him. Keeping to yourself.

Not noticing the way he stared at you.

You rubbed you’re arms up and down, nervously standing in the corner of the room and staring at the sea of people infront of you.

The music boomed loudly as people gathered and danced together. It was the night of the graduation party, you weren’t really the type who would attend parties but seeing as this was your last year. Here you were, dressed in a fitting red silk dress that showed your curves perfectly.

You fidgeted with your dress, everyone was dressed in suits or formal dresses. You started zoning out at your corner.

Your hand lazily holding up a plastic cup of juice, as you leaned against the wall behind you. You had let down your wavy long hair today. You tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear and focused on the crowd in front of you.

You could recognise that bed of hair from anywhere.

He slapped the back of Jungkook as he snickered adorably. Taehyung was dressed in a suit, his hair styled slightly, making him give off a charismatic vibe Your heart raced as you eyed him up and down and when he looked in your direction for a second, you could only look away to avoid eye contact with him.

But when you turned back, you found almost a ring of girls surrounding Taehyung. Pressing their breasts together in hopes of catching his eye.

Your heart ached at the sight even thought you knew he wasn’t even yours. You shook your head, your eyes looking away and spotting the stairs that led up to the school roof.

You sighed and walked slowly to the roof, your heels clicking onto the floor.

Taehyung gazed at your form, the group of girls pressing up against him, attempting to get a smile out of him was getting on his nervous.

As he spotted you leaving for the roof, he quickly excused himself with a forced smile and quickly disappearing from the sights of his fangirls.

he had always noticed you.

Probably after he had lent you his alien themed umbrella

He didn’t expect you to look for him, holding a bag of homemade desserts and his properly folded umbrella. You awkwardly rushed out a “Thank you for yesterday” but he heard it loud and clear. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, he didn’t understand why he found you absolutely adorable.

He knew you were quiet, a shadow. But for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It’s been the same for the past few years. Sure he had dated others to get his mind off of you, but it always went back to you.

Taehyung read the tattoo on his finger,

“i came alone”

as he met up with his friends. Most of them have already found their own soulmates and he was excited to meet his.

But the moment you entered, everything else and anybody else disappeared. Your silky hair was down in beautiful waves, and the red silk dress you wore made you look more angelic than ever. Taehyung quickly looked away, a slight blush adorning his cheek. he could only hope that the dark dim lights of the hall would hide the obvious blush.

he tried to keep up with his friend’s conversations but the moment he could sneak a small peak of you left his heart racing.

Taehyung climbed up the staircase leading up to the roof, slightly panting as the nerves got to him.

You heard the door open and close behind you. Quickly whipping behind to check who it was, you were surprised with the sight infront of you.

it was him

you nervously fidgeted,

did he come up here with someone else?

but he montioned if he could sit next to you. You quickly opened your mouth to gesture to him.

“I came alone” you said

he smiled reassuringly and sat next to you, he placed his finger on his lips, pretending to “brainstorm”

“hey, title of my sex tape” he said with a large smile, proud of his dirty joke.

Until the both of you realised what had happened

the two of you glanced at each other with wide eyes, you quickly covered your mouth, in shock of what had just happened.

Taehyung pulled away from his daze, his hand reaching out for your cheek.

“May i?” he asked softly.

You nodded your head, not trusting your voice at the very moment.

With soft movements he slid his hand to rest it on your cheek, smiling as he felt you nuzzle into him almost naturally. He shifted closer to you, your legs resting upon his thighs as he gazed at you with eyes filled with nothing but adoration.

“You’re everything i could every want Y/n, i’m so glad i finally found you” he whispered before resting his forehead against yours.

your eyes widened as you realised that he actually knew your name. Your eyes filled with happy tears, happy to have found the person that you knew, you were going to love with all your heart.

“same here tae”

Taehyung’s eyes dropped to your lips and you gave him a nod of approval, he leaned in and captured your lips with his.

You felt a spark in your heart, feeling a connection to him immediately.

As he broke away, he took your hand in his. There was an obvious size difference, but he linked them together as you laid your head against his shoulder.

Words that were once unspoken, are now the reason you are able to smile wholeheartedly.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Soulmate September

Series Summary- a collection of one shots exploring different ships and au concepts. The list I created and am following can be found here.

Day Three: A Storm of Stars

 Summary: Soul tattoos don’t fill in until the other person knows without a doubt that their partner is the one, when everything they are become so ingrained in each other’s lives that their souls become entwined. For Virgil and Logan, this doesn’t happen until well after they’ve been married. When the moments do arrive however, they both know they could never be happier.

Warnings: none, If there are any please let me know!

Ships: Analogical (Virgil x Logan)

Prompt: Tattoo that becomes colorful once you meet soulmate

WC: 2645

AO3

Logan’s eyes snapped open as a loud crack of thunder shook the house, rain pelting against the roof and making the tiles creak. His popping joints added to the symphony as he stretched his way into a sitting position. Reaching over to the bedside drawer he fumbled a bit before finding the small remote and clicking on the web of fairy lights strung in the far corner, immediately bathing the room in a pleasant blue glow. He flipped his pillow over to the cool side and took a second to fluff the other pillow a bit, moving it over to be closer to his and smoothing the bedsheets. 

The motions were automatic after so many years of practice, going back to he and Virgil’s first sleepover when they were still guaranteed a juicebox and cookies after school. It had stormed then too, Logan waking up to find his bed crowded with a shaking Virgil and his trusty stuffed tiger, who though was quite courageous had realized she was no match for a storm and had convinced her charge to seek shelter with Logan instead. Smiling softly at the memory Logan settled down to wait. He knew as his husband had grown older he wasn’t afraid of storms anymore so much as his anxiety ran with endless possibilities of what they could do to them or the house- which Logan was often inclined to agree with but played his role of devil’s advocate for the sake of Virgil’s well-being.

Right as he was beginning to wonder if he should leave to go and collect Virgil, the floorboards in front of his door squeaked in protest. A moment later a figure bulky with sweatpants and a hoodie slouched into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him and practically diving into the bed and under the blankets. The bed springs creaked along with the roof tiles as they both fidgeted and fussed trying to get comfortable, Logan biting back a small laugh as Virgil nosed his way underneath his chin. His soft hair tickled Logan’s lips as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head and wrapped his arms around him. Finally they were still, Virgil’s breathing slowly matching his own as he made sure to take deep calming breaths.

The rain was already quieting, the storm moving on and leaving the two night owls to their bubble of peaceful warmth. Logan readjusted slightly as Virgil snuggled in further, hoodie sleeves riding up as he snaked his arms around his waist in an attempt to pull them closer. Logan did laugh at this, planting another kiss firmly on the other’s forehead.

“I think if you squeezed any tighter we’d fuse, stormcloud. How are we supposed to compose an email when our absence excuse would be cuddling too hard?”

“No such thing,’” Virgil mumbled. “I’ll cuddle you as hard as I want and they’re just gonna haftadealwibit.”

The last half of the sentence trailed off into near indecipherable gibberish but Logan understood well enough. “You are exceptionally adorable when you’re tired. As much as I hate that storms cause you anxiety, I'm glad that nothing else has changed.”

He grinned as the side of his neck where Virgil’s face was pressed against warmed and quietly congratulated himself through the disappointment that he couldn’t currently see Virgil’s crimson face. ‘Still got it’ he thought to himself as he wiggled a bit to try and find a comfortable spot where Virgil’s rather bony arms weren’t poking into his ribs, failing miserably until he managed a sigh. “I’m sorry stormcloud, I’m getting a bit of a cramp. Why don’t you lay on top of me instead; that’s comfortable for you as well isn’t it?”

Humming in confirmation, Virgil leaned back and let Logan flip onto his back. A moment later he let out a small groan of surprise as Virgil flopped solidly onto him, burrowing into his chest and holding Logan tight by his sides. Smiling, he brought the blankets up over them both and carefully tucked them in, bringing his arms out and resting them on Virgil’s shoulders to make sure it didn’t slide off. 

“Thank you for always doing this.” Logan scrunched his brow at the frustrated tone in Virgil’s voice. “And don’t you dare say ‘why wouldn’t I’ because you always ask and I always say it’s because I’m too old to be afraid of storms and then you logic your way around me because I’m too tired to argue. This is just something I always thought I’d grow out of.”

“Sometimes we grow out of fears, sometimes not. The ones that linger aren’t something you can help or should blame yourself for.” Getting no response other than a frustrated huff, Logan continued, beginning to hum and rub soothing circles on his back. “Whether the fear is rational or not- and whether or not the threat is real- I will always be here to protect and support you however you need. Seeing as I’m not exactly in the best shape for fighting crime or fending off rabid dogs, comforting you through a storm is something that I love that I’m able to do. And I will continue to love doing it because I love you and would rather you be here with me seeking comfort than by yourself too stubborn to ask for help.”

“Logan?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“You’re making it really hard to be edgy and self-deprecating right now.”

“Heaven forbid.”

Virgil snorted, knocking the top of his head gently into Logan’s chin until Logan sighed in mock exasperation, craning his neck to kiss him softly on the forehead so he’d settle back down. As he laid his head back down onto his chest a warm, tingling sensation spread from underneath Virgil’s cheek and covered his collar bone and part of his shoulder. Gasping he nudged the other up, poking more insistantly when the stubborn emo refused to disentangle himself. Ignoring Virgil’s confused look as he made to pull off his shirt he practically whipped it across the room and placed a hand to his soul mark, eyes shining as he took in the sight. 

His mark had always looked so odd to him, big blobs of shapes over his right shoulder and collar bone with jagged black scars streaking from them and down his chest. He could never even begin to picture what it could be, though a friend suggested once that it might be a warped forest of some sort, doubtful as his tone had been. Instead, his warm fingers traced over jagged streaks of lightning, such a bright purple they nearly glowed in the dark. The blobs above them had filled in with every shade of gray he had ever seen, broken occasionally by shadows of purple and blue where the lightning was. It was unexpectedly beautiful, his vision blurring with tears as he realized what this meant.

“I always knew.” He looked up as Virgil spoke in a hushed whisper. “I always- but you just felt so safe and you never...you always make me feel better about it and so safe and I guess-”

Logan opened his arms and Virgil gratefully dove back into them, catching his cheek with a kiss on the way down. They resettled quickly, the rain nothing more than a gentle patter against the roof letting them rest easy. Cracking an eye open, Logan strained to look down as Virgil laughed and held him tighter.

“Of all the things that keep me up at night, I’m so glad I was right about this.”

Logan smiled and hugged him closer in turn. “I agree.”

----- -----

Virgil sat up slowly, blanket falling from his shoulders and pooling around his waist as he struggled to cross his legs in the tangle. After a minute of failing miserably he huffed and flopped back, kicking both legs up as far as they would go while catching the blanket on the bottom of his feet and then kicking forward violently to dislodge them. Unfortunately the trick failed, landing more fabric between his legs and scrunching his pants uncomfortably in the process. Scissoring his legs just twisted everything around more and by the time he was halfway through attempting bicycles the situation was hopeless enough he considered just going back to sleep and dealing with it when he woke up. He had closed his eyes to do just that when he heard a muffled snort from the doorway, picking his head up to peer at Logan through squinted eyelids.

“Would you like some assistance?” Logan asked while making a half-hearted attempt to school his features.

Huffing, Virgil flopped his head back onto the pillows. “Clearly I have everything under control.”

“Falsehood. Your wiggling was very impressive but the blankets quite obviously won in the end. Was falling back to sleep after a ten hour nap and a failed battle the plan from the start?”

“No one likes a smartass Lo.”

“And yet your love for me persists.” Smiling lightly, Logan made his way to the side of the bed and climbed on, swinging his legs up and over Virgil’s stomach and plopped down gently with his hands splayed over his chest. Grunting out pseudo complaints Virgil reached up and took both of the hands in his own, giving each a kiss in turn before settling them back just below his collarbones. The sight of Logan blushing- bright enough to be visible even in the dim room- was one he would never grow tired of.

“Illogical as it may be.” He agreed. “Is that why you love your darling husband? I’m your most difficult logic puzzle that’s guaranteed to last a lifetime?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “No, that’s absurd. I love my husband because a pain in the ass though he may be- he’s a constant I find myself unable to live without.”

Feeling his own face heating up Virgil longed for his hoodie to hide in, especially once Logan’s expression turned smug from rendering him speechless. “Logan, it’s much too early for you to be this smooth.”

“Virgil, my love, it’s seven in the evening.”

Virgil blinked. “Wow. you weren’t kidding when you said ten hour nap.”

“I never kid. It’s important to be one hundo percent, one hundo percent of the time.”

“Who gave you that one?”

“Patton.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t trust the dad-friend for flashcards, starlight.’

Flushing slightly, Logan disentangled their fingers and rolled off the bed. “Duly noted. Now please get up, we have plans.”

“We do- ah!” Virgil found himself face down in his pillow, having flipped around with Logan’s rather aggressive flourish of snapping the blankets out from around his legs. Remembering that they had, in fact, had plans for the night, Virgil rolled out of bed as quickly as he could with apologies already hot on his tongue. “Logan I’m so sorry I thought that was tomorrow and I had stayed up late for stupid reasons and I hope we aren’t running late do I have time to change-”

“Virgil, breathe.” Logan cupped a hand to his cheek and gently ran a thumb under his eye. “I assure you we have plenty of time and I’m very glad you got the sleep you did. I would have liked you up earlier only to see your lovely face and to make sure your sleep schedule wasn’t ruined. But if you slept that long you must have needed it, and I certainly am not going to fault you for that.”

Closing his eyes, Virgil took a breath and held it for a second before breathing out slowly. Logan’s hand left his cheek and he caught himself leaning forward to chase the warmth, his resulting blush filling that void for the time being. 

“Do what you need and then come in the kitchen; I made fried noodles.”

More awake now than ever Virgil hurried to the bathroom. Logan’s cooking was the best he had ever had and he’d be damned if he was late for noodles.

-----

A cool breeze rustled through the thick grass and flipped over the corner of the blanket Logan and Virgil had set up an hour before. Sputtering, Virgil flipped it back from his face, spitting bits of dandelion fluff out of his mouth in the process while pointedly ignoring Logan’s snicker. He pushed his hoodie closer to the corner to prevent further mishap and snuggled closer to his husband for warmth, head resting comfortably on one arm with his other wrapped around Logan’s shoulders. 

Logan lay on his side with his head on his shoulder, the bottom of his cheek pressed into the still black soulmark that traced a shapeless blob from the top of his elbow to the nape of his neck. Soulmarks filled in based on the other soulmates feelings- when they truly felt like they had found the one. Of course that was a romantic conspiracy for the most part and to Virgil it seemed to go against the entire idea of fate. If you could choose your own, then what was the point of the marks? 

Choosing not to think about it for the time being, he continued staring up at the sky. The night was clear and this far out not much light pollution tainted their view of everything the night had to offer. Stars glittered for miles with barely there colorful space dust in between if you squinted. Logan had told him what it actually was once- something about it being high temperature nebula gas absorbing starlight- Logan had explained it much better in the past.

Logan always explained everything better.

“You’re quiet tonight.” Logan remarked.

“I’m sorry- just thinking.” 

“Mm, don’t be sorry.”

They laid in silence for a few more minutes before Virgil decided to speak up. “They always make me feel really small- stars I mean- and I know I am small compared to everything but all that just leads to...existential dread I guess. Seeing everything laid out, it’s beautiful, but it’s also a bit daunting.”

“Virgil, if you’re uncomfortable-”

“Lemme finish first before you do the sweet thing you do where you overanalyze everything for the sake of everyone else’s comfort.” Seeing Logan smile and roll his eyes he continued. “I always feel small looking at them, but it never matters because you make me feel big. Like I could take on the entire world even when the anxiety’s being a bitch.”

He felt Logan smile against his arm...and then it started to tingle. Tiny pinpricks raced up and down his arms from his shoulder to his neck and he quickly disentangled himself and started blindly slapping at his mark to get whatever bugs off that had decided to ruin the moment. Noticing Logan had his mouth covered with his eyes wide in shock staring at his arm he quickly looked down and gasped with his own.

His unsightly black blob of a soulmark, which he had long ago stopped trying to guess at the shape of, was now a glittering galaxy. Striking blue and dark purple swirled in intricate patterns behind stars that shined so brightly on his skin he would swear they had been plucked from the night sky and flicked onto him. The tingling finally stopped, the whole field seeming to hold its breath along with the both of them before Logan finally broke the silence with a hoarse whisper.

“In an entire universe I found you.” Snapping his head up, Virgil saw tears gathering in his husband’s eyes. “I was sure I already knew but- I’m so happy I found you.”

Laughing wetly Virgil dove forward, knocking them both over and half in the grass but neither could bring themselves to care. Under the stars, with Virgil himself wrapped in a galaxy, he had never been so happy to have an impossibly small space in Logan’s arms to call his own.

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