#*sad jams to the power of two*

[jarotopal]

Me at the end of tonight’s Acolyte episode

[damneddamsy]

second sight | cregan stark x oc (part vii)

a/n: today on the fluffiest of Stark fluff, Claere goes on a vacation, Cregan rides a sky-cat of a dragon and nearly dies

The brisk winds howled through the open window like a mournful cry, and outside, from the distant courtyard, the sound of Luna's thunderous roar cut through it all—less of a roar to strike fear and more of a longing cry for her rider. It was a sound that used to evoke awe and power toward the open skies; now, it only underscored the emptiness extending between the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, and everything else.

Claere sat by the ledge, uncaring of the chill that bit through her thin gown, her chin resting on her arms. She watched Luna far away, the great white dragon shifting, discontented, wings twitching with the desire to take flight. Her violet eyes shimmered, tears welling at the corners, though none fell. Being a Targaryen meant that a dragon was more than a mere beast. To her, Luna was everything—a best friend, a daughter, a sister, a mother, a reflection of her soul in flesh and flame. Blood from her blood, fire from her fire, they were bound in a way that no human could ever understand.

The ache inside her mirrored that of her dragon. They were both grounded now, for nigh on a week, bound by the silence and influence of Cregan’s absolute command.

Cregan noticed her before he spoke, lingering in the doorway, watching as her delicate frame seemed even smaller against the vastness of the window. She was morning mist, exquisite and evasive, even in her sorrow—more so, perhaps, for the sadness that clung to her like a delicate veil. The faint sunrise caught the tear-stained glint in her eyes, the pale sheen of her skin, her braided silver hair framing her face like a crown of misery.

His heart wrested into itself. He had seen her like this once before—when she had been a stranger to him, when he first tried to coax her to eat, to bring her into the warmth of his home. It felt like a lifetime ago, though the same sadness hung over her now, albeit for different reasons.

Silently, he approached, his footsteps careful on the stone floor. He didn’t announce himself; he knew she’d sensed him long before he arrived.

"Good morrow, love," he greeted her softly, voice low, though he received no answer at first. He undid his cloak to lay it behind a chair. "Slept well?"

She didn’t turn, didn’t flinch, as per usual, her focus fixed on restless Luna below. The chill seemed not to touch her.

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the tray laid out nearby, a modest feast meant for two. He had hoped to tempt her with familiar comforts, a simple offering to break the silence between them.

“I thought we could break our fast together,” he ventured, a hint of hope in his tone.

"I’m not feeling up to it." Her voice was quiet, a mere breath against the wind, but there was no malice in it—only exhaustion.

"Don't punish your appetite for your temper with me," he advised, reaching across the table to caress the back of her head. "Dreamy girl."

She leaned her head away. "I do not have a temper."

He chuckled. "Very well, your grace."

He moved beside her, unbothered by the refusal, his eyes drifting to the spread of food laid out. A variety of her favourites: ruby apples from the capital, freshly churned butter spread over oat bread, honey and blackberry jam, all carefully selected for her. He gave a slight smile and plucked a little lemon posset from the tray, a rare luxury, one of the few delicacies he knew she held fondly from her days in King’s Landing.

“Do you remember this?” he asked, placing the pastry near her. “I had it recreated by the cooks—increasingly annoyed them until they got it right.”

For the first time, Claere turned her head, her eyes falling on the delicacy before flicking to him. The vaguest spark of something—amusement, maybe—crossed her features, but her words were far from sweet.

“Sweetsleep this time, my lord?” she asked, her tone laced with the sharp edge of memory.

The barb of her accusation cut deep, reminding him of the last time—of how he’d slipped the essence of nightshade into her drink to help her sleep, of the guilt that had haunted him since.

But he indulged her grudge, forcing a wry smile to his lips. “I'm afraid it's only lemon and cream, some sugar,” he said lightly, leaning into her. “I have learned better than to drug a dragon to sleep.”

"You're a funny man," she said, surly.

"I try my best."

She said nothing more, but to his relief, she reached for the candied slice of lemon over the posset, without hesitation, and scooped a small serving into her mouth. She chewed slowly, turning back to the window, still impassive, though her silence felt less hostile than it had in days.

Delighted, he plucked a few cranberries and placed them on her plate, slathered a thick layer of jam over the bread and urged it to her mouth.

She squinched, turning away. "I'm no whingeing babe."

“There are worse fates than having me as your meal steward,” he teased, bringing the bread closer.

“Eat it yourself, if you’re so proud of it,” she muttered, pushing the bread back to him.

Cregan dropped the bread onto her plate with a quiet huff and brushed the crumbs off his hands with exaggerated impatience. She gave him a sidelong glance as he walked to the chair beside her, pushing his own plate away.

"I won't eat either then," he declared, settling into his seat with a resolute frown.

Claere sighed, casting him a brief stare, her sweetly obvious annoyance softening, though just barely.

“Stubborn northerner,” she mumbled under her breath, her fingers resuming their idle tracing of the stone ledge.

Cregan leaned back, arms crossed, watching her with wary purpose, a flicker of a smile barely contained at the edges of his lips. “If we both waste away, who’ll keep the lords at bay? Or shall we leave Winterfell to your dragon's mercy?”

Her eyes flicked to his, a fleeting vulnerability cracking through her cold demeanour. She said nothing, but after a lengthy pause, she reached for the jam bread, biting into it without looking at him. Bite after bite until it disappeared.

Stifling his laughter, Cregan joined her side by the window, his arms resting on the ledge beside hers, though his gaze remained fixed on her rather than the courtyard below. He couldn’t help but observe her closely—the delicate lines of her face, the way the sun caught in the silver strands of her hair, the way her lips pressed together, lost in thought. She looked better, eyes alive with violet lustre, healthier now that she was sleeping again, but the distance between them had only grown.

Cregan’s gaze drifted down, his hand instinctively reaching for her side, a gentle brush of fingers over the fabric where he knew the wound lay beneath. He lifted her tunic just enough to check the bandage, his fingers ghosting over the bare skin, where pale scars were knitting around the bruised edges. She barely flinched, but he felt her inhale, the subtle tension rippling through her at the touch. He could see the bruises fading, the wound healing, yet something in her still seemed fragile to him—like glass forged too thin.

For a long moment, he simply rested his hand there, his warmth seeping through to her skin. Soon, he replaced his touch with his lips, pressing it there, as if chasing away the pain.

“It’s mending well,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, though his gaze never left her face.

He reached out, almost hesitant, brushing a loose curl from her temple. That distracting, unfamiliar, sweet perfume wafted from it; he always wondered what it was. No flowers or fruits of Westeros had borne that scent.

“You know,” he began, his voice gentle, “I only forbade you from flying north of the Wall. The skies beyond Winterfell are still yours.”

She remained quiet, her fingers tracing the rim of the weathered stone beneath her arm, but her eyes stayed on the horizon. The thought of Luna still lingered in her mind, but so did the fear—the fear of what would happen if she gave in if she let herself ride again, let herself be consumed by the thoughts of what lay beyond the Wall.

She let out a sigh. “What good is flying if it only starves her more?”

“We have an abundance of harvest. Luna’s hunger won’t tear this place apart,” he countered softly. “But your silence might.”

Claere’s lips parted, a breath of disbelief escaping her. She glanced at him momentarily, the softness in her gaze returning—wounded but filled with love she couldn’t voice.

Her slender hand lifted, fingers spreading open as if cupping something fragile, something long gone.

“When Luna hatched,” she began, her voice distant, “she was small enough to rest in my palm. I used to carry her with me, perched on my shoulder like my little protector, curled into my hair while I slept, watching over me.”

Claere’s eyes shifted to the woods beyond, where Luna prowled like a moving mountain, her growls echoing to the castle. She extended her arm toward the dragon, her fingers curling slightly as if trying to hold that immense creature from afar, to fit her once more into her hand. A wistful smile ghosted across her lips, barely there.

“But she grew… and too fast. By the time I was six, she was larger than Syrax, with white wings wide enough to block out the sun. I never spent a day apart from her. Not once.” Her voice lowered, and she dropped her hand. “And now…”

She trailed off, unable to finish the thought. It hung between them, the significance of their distance bearing down on Cregan.

He watched her, his brow furrowed, discomfort knotting in his chest, wishing for an answer he could not seem to give. There was a pain in her words, a longing he couldn’t soothe with talk of duty or love. She had always been more than a wife or a lady to him; she was fire itself, unbound and untamed. But that fire was darkening, flickering behind her impassive mask.

He could not tell her what he had seen in her sleepless nights—the agonies that had hollowed her, leaving her a shell of the woman he once knew. The hysterical way she used to tear at her hair, crying out in the darkness for things she would not speak of in the light. No, he couldn’t bear to tell her those things. Not now, when she was finally starting to pull herself back from that abyss. It was better she stayed in the dark about his fears.

Cregan straightened, unwilling to let this silence continue. He needed to act; to pull her from the depths she seemed to be sinking into once again. He had been a Lord long enough to know that sometimes it was better to take action when words failed.

“I think…” His voice was measured as if considering his words carefully. “I think perhaps Winterfell has kept you in its guard for too long. A change of scenery might be what you need.”

Claere glanced at him. “A change of scenery?”

He nodded, meeting her gaze with quiet resolve. “Castle Cerwyn. It’s only a few hours on horseback. The old Lord Cerwyn was a second father to me, and his son—well, he’s closer to a brother. It’s a smaller hold, warmer, quieter. We could ride there. Bring Luna with us. Let her stretch her wings over something other than these walls.”

There was a pause, and then, in a softer tone, he added, “And it might help you find some peace… beyond what the Wall takes from you.”

Her lips thinned, not quite a smile, but there was no outright refusal in her eyes. She turned back to the horizon, watching Luna flap her mighty wings below. They could nearly feel the snow and winds she buffeted out from so far off.

“Castle Cerwyn,” she repeated, the name sounding foreign on her tongue. “I wonder what awaits me. More Northern lords suspicious of my sanity and dragon?”

“A kind hearth,” he said simply, his tone warm but insistent. “A quieter place to breathe, to think. And Wolfswood meadows wide enough for you to fly as high as you wish, without fear of where you’ll land.”

At the mention of flying, Claere’s eyes sparkled. He saw it—the briefest spark of yearning. She still longed for the wind, for the liberation that came with it, but it was evident something plagued her, something more than just Luna’s hunger.

Cregan’s hand lingered on her arm, his thumb grazing the edge of her sleeve, and though she didn’t turn toward him, she didn’t pull away either. Her gaze remained fixed on the distant horizon.

“Luna’s not the only one who’s gone too long without a proper meal,” Cregan rasped, his voice low and wanting, fingers gently sliding down to capture hers. His grip was firm but familiar, and his thumb stroked over her palm.

Claere let out a soft sigh, her brow furrowing as if she wanted to resist him, but her grip instinctually softened.

“You’ve gone past bearing, husband,” she muttered, trying to conceal the betrayal in her own hand that curled around his fingers.

Cregan leaned in closer, pressing his shoulder to hers, nudging softly. “A few leagues southwest of Castle Cerwyn,” he murmured, “is the Bay of Ice.”

Claere’s brow quirked ever so slightly, but she said nothing.

He continued, undeterred, his thumb still tracing circles on the back of her hand. “The waters are full of sealife… the kind Luna would love.” His voice was tempting, playful even. “I’d wager she’s never tasted anything quite like it.”

“She likes her meals well-cooked,” Claere replied, still distant, though her lips twitched upward. “She’s no sea dragon of Driftmark.”

“A dragon’s appetite has more range than we think, my princess. Fish, seals; they’ll do for a feast. You need only give her the chance.”

Claere turned to him, raising her brow. “You mean to tempt me with seafood, Lord Stark?”

Cregan grinned wide, his hand leaving hers to brush against her cheek, gently tucking it around her waist. “I mean to tempt you with the skies. And perhaps a bit of seal for Luna. The fresh air might do more than you know, then perhaps you’ll remember why you belong in the sky, not grounded here.”

Claere’s lips tensed, torn between her anger and the pull he had over her. “You’re more unreasonable than I imagined.”

“Possibly,” Cregan murmured, brushing a kiss to her temple, “but you’re still here.”

Claere exhaled, her resistance weakening as her fingers brushed the edge of his leather armour, her head leaning into his touch. She didn’t want to give in, but his warmth had a way of unravelling her walls. The thought of Luna and the open skies tugged at her, the hunger of her dragon like a quiet whisper in the back of her mind.

She finally turned her head, her gaze locking with his. “You’d risk the wrath of my dragon for a taste of the sea?”

Cregan smiled. “I’d risk far worse for you.”

X

Or perhaps he had spoken too soon.

The King in the North had faced many fears in his life, but nothing quite like the trepidation that settled in his gut now. He had vanquished his foes and withstood the bitterest winters, but the thought of mounting Luna—akin to her ancestor, Balerion the Black Dread—wore at his composure. He had never been afraid of beasts, direwolves or bears, yet here he was, feeling less a man and more prey in her amber gaze.

Luna was massive, far larger than he had truly reckoned. From a distance, Luna seemed a marvel; up close, she was a force of nature, a leviathan of Valyrian legend, a living mountain. Her scales glimmered pearlescent, like snow itself, but the beauty of her glistening hide belied the danger in every shift of her sinewy muscles, every glint of her amber eyes. Her wings were half-furled, like banners of war, and her teeth—gods, her longsword-like teeth—could rend the gates of Winterfell if she chose.

Cregan had seen Claere mount the beast with the same effortless grace as a songbird landing on a familiar branch, but now, standing before her, the very idea seemed mad. When he had agreed to ride on Luna to Castle Cerwyn, he had imagined it to be a piece of piss. But such was the conceit of Northmen; if he backed away or failed, he would never let himself live it down.

"Lykiri," he rasped under his breath with a palm stretched out, the one word of Valyrian he had committed to memory, praying it held the same calming power as when Claere said it. Perhaps Luna would smell her rider on him and go easy.

The dragon rose to her lasting glories, a low, thundering growl vibrating through her chest, and Cregan felt it in the marrow of his bones. She lowered her mighty head towards him, her crown of spikes and horns juddering, her jaws unhinging just enough to reveal rows of gleaming, deadly teeth. An inferno awakened from within her throat, ready to engulf him.

He could nearly hear his instincts begging him to turn and flee, sprint for the cover of the trees, and curse himself for ever stepping near this thing.

But he stood rooted in place, blood rushing wildly in his veins. Whether it was his pride or his love for Claere that anchored him, he wasn’t certain.

And then, from behind him, that voice—gentle but commanding, laced with a soft, knowing giggle.

“Lykiri, Luna. Laehossa ynot,” Claere said, the sound flowing from her lips in flawless Valyrian, like an old cradlesong soothing an anxious child. Be calm, Luna. Eyes on me.

The influence was instantaneous. Luna’s growl ceased, her jaws closing with a quiet snap, and her massive form seemed to settle into the ground, though her beady eyes still lingered on Cregan with wary regard.

“Bisa daor sagon ēza,” she murmured. This is not your enemy.

Claere approached her dragon with graceful ease, stepping in front of Cregan as if to shield him from any lingering suspicion Luna might harbour. Her dragon-riding leathers, much like the ones he had seen on her queen mother, were regal and sleek—grey furs and blue, tailored to fit her form, with high collars and silver fastenings that gleamed in the cold light. The cloak billowed behind like her own wings, a living emblem of her Targaryen bloodline.

"Gōntan ao bōsa syt nyke tolī, gevie Luna? Ēza ñuha valzȳrys ivestragī ao merbugon?" Her voice was soft, the words lilting and musical, almost tender. It was as though she spoke not to a beast but to a dear friend, a sister. Did you miss me too, beautiful Luna? Has my husband let you starve?

Luna’s growls turned into gentle rumblings, deep in her chest, as she drooped her massive head toward Claere. The dragon’s enraged eyes quieted, and her nostrils flared in recognition as she nudged her rider, a deep, affectionate sound escaping her throat.

"Issi ao sȳrkta sir," she whispered. You are healing well.

Claere raised her hand to Luna’s snout, fingers tracing the sharp ridges of her scales, and in response, Luna’s wings fluttered, that sent a ripping tide through the air.

Cregan stood there, awestruck. His wife, no taller than one of Luna’s fangs, looked like a mere speck of snow in front of the dragon’s mountainous form. Yet, in Claere’s presence, Luna preened like a giant kitten under her mistress’s touch. As Claere’s fingers journeyed down the spikes along the dragon’s throat, inspecting the long scarring wounds, Luna roared in what Cregan could only describe as bliss. He had never seen such a creature so utterly tamed, so devoted.

"Ssh," she shushed, giggling. She rested her forehead against the dragon's hide, breathing slowly. "Ivestragī īlva sōvegon arlī, ñuha riña." Let us fly again, my girl.

That smile Claere wore—for all his jokes and sarcasm, she had never smiled at him like that. Not before the Wall's shadow had held her prisoner or the morning after they'd made love. It was especially for her pet. He found himself growing jealous of that beast.

“She won’t bite,” Claere called out to him over her shoulder, amusement bright in her eyes. “Unless you give her reason to.”

“You don’t inspire much confidence, love,” Cregan grumbled, eyeing the dragon’s teeth again.

Claere tilted her head, the corners of her mouth lifting in that happier smile. “She knows you. She just doesn’t understand why you’re still standing there like a frightened little doe.”

“I'm no doe or little,” Cregan countered, though the firmness in his voice faltered under the pressure of Luna’s stare.

“You seem like a man who wants to run away,” Claere teased and held out a hand to beckon him. “Come close, wolf. She won’t let you mount her from there.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed as he stepped cautiously toward Luna’s side. The dragon shifted, her enormous wings stretching slightly, causing a gust of wind to blow through the woods. Her amber eyes locked onto him, and Cregan could swear they were measuring his worth.

“You are certain she won’t eat me?” he asked dryly, not quite hiding the edge in his voice. “She’s been starving for a week, and I’m just the right size for supper.”

Claere laughed, palming her mouth, a sweet dulcet that was full of life, he swore a winter rose stood to bloom by her feet.

Cregan eventually stood beside her, too late to question his choices, and the towering beast dwarfed him entirely. Claere had already started to climb up the ropes and nets affixed to the saddle on Luna’s back with the practised grace of someone who had done this a thousand times.

He, on the other hand, felt immobilised, staring at the sheer size of the creature he was about to mount. If the gods were real, now would be the time to give him hope.

“Do you need a hand, Lord Stark?” Claere called down, her voice still holding that sweet laugh.

“I can manage,” Cregan replied sternly, though as his hand grasped the first rope, he doubted his words. The first Stark to ride a dragon, he thought. He would not make a fool of himself.

It took every bit of his strength to pull himself up the ropes, feeling Luna’s immense heat and powerful muscles shift beneath him. The dragon made a thrumming sound—half-growl, half-sigh—and Claere stroked her, speaking softly.

“Luna, jaelagon,” she nearly sang out. Luna, wait.

Finally settling behind her on the saddle, Cregan exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “I didn’t think I’d survive long enough to make it up here,” he muttered, his voice thick with relief.

Claere turned about to face him, her silver hair catching the sunlight. “She likes you, though I’m not sure why.”

“Perhaps because I’m keeping her friend well-fed,” he quipped, his arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as Luna began to rise, wings readying for flight.

She laughed softly, a sound he didn’t often hear from her. “Maybe. Or perhaps because she knows I’d never let her eat you.”

Cregan’s grip tightened as Luna crouched, her wings stretching wide in preparation, leathern scales creaking like taut sails. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them, but Claere was unfazed, completely at ease atop the creature that could so easily rain ruin and destruction over cities. Cregan, meanwhile, could only marvel at her fearlessness, this strange and beautiful woman who, for all her quiet rage and somber smiles, steered a force of nature with nothing more than a whisper.

“You look as though you’re debating jumping off,” Claere teased again, turning her head slightly to catch a glimpse of his tensed face. “Still uncertain?”

“Aye,” he muttered, not entirely making a jest. “But I trust you.”

Her violet eyes softened, and the distance between them bridged for a brief moment. He pressed his lips over her ear, kissing her deeply.

And with a sharp Valyrian command—"Sōvēs, Luna!"—Luna leapt into the sky, her wings beating against the cold air. Fly, Luna!

They scaled up higher and higher, the icy winds biting at Cregan's face as the ground became a distant blur below. The sheer speed, the strength in every beat of Luna’s wings, made his heart thunder. He understood in that moment what it truly meant to ride a dragon. It was more than flight—it was dominion, unchallenged and absolute. The Targaryens didn’t just ride beasts—they commanded the very essence of freedom itself.

Beyond him, Luna let out an explosive roar that echoed into the heavens, a cry not of fury but of pure exhilaration. It reverberated through his chest, drowning out everything but the sound of the wind tearing past them.

And in front of him, Claere—his ever-composed, lady wife—was not the woman bound to Winterfell or its solemn halls. She became unrecognizable. Wild, untamed, she moved with Luna as if they were one. He could see the sheer ecstasy in her, an exuberance that was unburdened by duty, unchained from her past.

Claere twisted her head back to him with a grin, her silver hair whipping across her face. “Still believe you can handle it?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, she twisted a rein around her wrist and leaned forward, and Luna suddenly plummeted. The world spun in a violent spiral, clouds swivelling as they dived. His grip tautened, and a growl escaped his throat—half terror, half awe.

“Claere!” he roared, though the rush of air stole his voice.

But there was no fear in her. She simply laughed along, steering Luna suavely.

His stomach lurched as they hurtled toward the earth, but just as quickly, Luna swooped, her massive wings spreading to catch the wind and slow them to a smooth glide. Cregan couldn’t stop himself. The shout of fear turned into something else—an uncontrollable whoop of excitement that burst from his lips. This was living, this was it. He threw back his head, letting out a deep, throaty laugh, adrenalin flooding his veins.

Still breathless, Luna glided the clouds at a leisurely pace, and Cregan curved his arms around Claere's midsection, holding her closer.

"I think I’d rather be on a horse next time,” he breathed into her hair, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his words.

Claere twisted in the saddle, her smirk full of mischief. “You sound much braver with both feet planted, my lord.”

He barked a laugh, despite himself. “You scared the sense out of me.”

Her smile only widened, and for a moment, as they drifted across the sky, she seemed like the girl she might’ve been if things had been different—before duty, loss, and impressions. It struck him, how young she truly was, how young they both were. Six and ten, nine and ten. Merely children who had grown too fast for expectations. But that was the way of their world—of power, of society, of tradition, of ambition, of titles—that weighed heavy long before they could even begin to understand them.

Luna tilted her wings gently, and they coasted toward the golden horizon, irrevocable souls entwined with the wind.

X

The snow had melted by the time they neared Castle Cerwyn, the old stone fortress standing strong against the sprawling landscape. The castle, though smaller than Winterfell, carried the same powerful significance—an imposing sight against the bare, snow-swept hills. The black-and-silver banner of House Cerwyn—a crowned sword on a dark field—flapped fiercely in the wind.

Cregan’s eyes darted to the men waiting in the courtyard, their breath misting in the frigid air, and at the forefront stood Lonnel Cerwyn, tall, dark and broad, his thick furs making him look even more massive. His pale eyes, like chips of ice, were locked on them, his bearded face twisted into what looked like a permanent scowl.

As they dismounted, Luna’s massive form cast a shadow across the courtyard, her silver-and-pearl scales glinting against the sky. The dragon huffed, her breath steaming as she lowered her head, watching the newcomers with predatory eyes. Lord Cerwyn, his gaze moving from the dragon to Claere and then back to Cregan, strode forward with conscious steps, not wanting to agitate the beast.

“You’re late, Stark,” Cerwyn barked, his voice booming across the courtyard, rough as the northern cold itself. "Thought you’d flown off south, or maybe you’ve forgotten how to ride anything with four legs."

Cregan smirked as he helped Claere down from Luna’s saddle, although she didn't need it, his hand briefly resting on her lower back. She lingered near the dragon, her eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings as she edged closer to Luna’s side for comfort.

"No dragon's taken my wits yet, Cerwyn," Cregan said, unable to suppress a laugh. "I had half a mind to see if your lot’s finally learned what manners look like."

Cerwyn’s scowl deepened for a heartbeat, then cracked as he let out a deep laugh that could have shaken the very walls. He seized Cregan in a bear hug, slapping his back with enough force to knock the wind from his lungs.

"Manners, eh? If you’ve brought them with you, they’ll freeze before they reach the hall!"

Cregan chuckled, pulling back. "Some things never change. You’re still uglier than pig shit."

"Aye, but at least I’m not riding dragons, you mad cunt." Cerwyn’s grin widened as he looked past Cregan to Claere, his gaze gentling a fraction.

Turning his attention to her, Cerwyn’s mirth faded into something more respectful, though his northern bluntness remained. He bowed before her and shot her an exaggerated wink.

"You’ve made quite the entrance, Your Grace. No Targaryen has set foot in these halls—until today. Castle Cerwyn is all yours."

Claere, standing beside a rumbling Luna, felt the weight of his gaze. She inclined her head, her fingers briefly grazing the dragon's hide for comfort.

"Lord Cerwyn," she greeted quietly, her voice even, but there was a reluctance in her stance. "It’s an honour."

Cerwyn’s eyes flicked to Luna, the massive beast dwarfing the entire castle, and then back to Claere. “An honour? No, my lady, the honour is mine.” He took a step closer, his tone shifting to high earnest. “And I thank you for the Glass Gardens. Your gift will feed not only Winterfell but all of us in the hard seasons to come.”

Claere dipped her head in a bare curtsey, her eyes flickering with uncertainty, though she spoke evenly. "The North will need all its strength, Lord Cerwyn. Winter is coming."

Lonnel regarded her for a moment longer before turning back to Cregan with a knowing grin. “You never cease to surprise me, you gruff bastard. So how did you manage to charm the princess with all your brooding?”

Cregan crossed his arms, raising a brow. "Hardly a charm—more like persistence."

Lonnel snorted, amused. “Wore her down, did you? Poor lass.” He glanced at Claere, who gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.

Cregan chuckled, but his gaze drifted briefly to Claere, sensing her unease in the bustling courtyard. She stood poised but quiet, her hands occasionally brushing Luna’s scales as though seeking solace from the dragon’s proximity.

“Come on, then,” Lonnel waved them toward the castle gates, his grin widening as he added in a low tone, “before the snow buries us all.”

As they moved forward, the men of Cerwyn’s hall bowed deeply to Cregan, murmuring their respects with “Lord Stark,” while their gazes flickered in curiosity toward Claere. She received more nods and soft murmurs of “my princess” and “my lady” than she ever had at Winterfell, though the gestures only seemed to accentuate how out of place she still felt. She bowed her head in return, her hands folding neatly at her waist, but her silence remained. Cregan kept her by his side, not pressing her to speak, knowing well enough that she would adjust on her own time. For now, she was still the strange Valyrian witch of the North, standing tall and composed despite the swirl of hesitation beneath.

“We’ve plenty of meat and wine,” Lonnel added, clapping Cregan on the shoulder once more. “Though if you’re lucky, Stark, I’ll keep the jests about you riding the White Dread to a minimum.”

X

As the sky darkened above the Wolfswood, Cregan and Lonnel sat beneath the shelter of towering pines, just at the edge of a wide valley. Their breath misted in the cold air, and the sounds of the night around them blended into a quiet symphony of rustling branches and distant wolf howls. The hunting had long been set aside, and now they sat by the fire, its flickering light casting shifting shadows against the trees as they lifted their horns of ale, hands near-freezing in the brisk night.

Lonnel took another swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his gaze shifting to the horizon beyond. He shook his head, casting a sly glance at Cregan, his mouth tugging into a smirk.

"By the gods, Stark, you’ve gone and done it. Brought dragon's blood into your hearth. Tell me—what’s the princess like when that fire isn’t blazing for the rest of us to see?” He leaned in, his grin turning wicked. “Or does it blaze on, even in the dark?”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back against the trunk of a tree. "You’ve always had a filthy mouth, Lonnel. But she’s more than what you’d imagine."

"Oh, I’m imagining plenty." Lonnel laughed, his voice rich with mischief. "I see her there in Winterfell, all young and radiant. You’re telling me that’s what you bed at night? No wonder you’ve got that weary look in your eyes. Must take all the strength you’ve got, mounting a dragon till the dawn.”

Cregan shot him a playful glare. "Weary? I could still break you in half before you took a step. And I’d gladly do it too if you keep going."

Lonnel grinned, shrugging as he raised his horn of ale. "It’s her that keeps you on your toes, eh? Taming a woman with Old Valyrian fire in her veins… Gods, I can’t even get my own wife to listen to me, and Arelle's nought but Northborn. What chance do you have against dragon’s blood?”

Cregan shook his head, his expression softening. "There’s no taming her, and I’d be a fool to try. She’s wilder than the wind… and I wouldn’t want it any other way."

"Wild like the wind,” Lonnel mused, scratching his chin with a grin. “Or a storm? What’s it like, then? When it’s just the two of you?”

Cregan’s gaze shifted to the flames, reflective, an unknowing smile growing on his lips. Any mention of her only expanded his chest three times its size. "It’s quieter than you’d think. In those moments, it’s as if everything falls away. The world itself. She’s entirely… Claere. And she’s mine."

Lonnel raised an eyebrow, his grin easing to something softer, more genuine. "So the wolf’s got a heart, then, under all that steel and duty."

"Mind your tongue before I remember we’re only friends."

Lonnel snorted, draining his horn with a nostalgic shake of his head. “Friends, aye. But I remember when we were hardly more than lads. Drunk on bad ale and worse decisions. Gods, do you remember that girl?” He leaned in, smirking. “The one in Torrhen’s Square? Tall as a sapling, golden hair?”

Cregan laughed, rubbing his face, caught off guard. “Alannys.” He shook his head with a groan. “She took one look at us, decided I was the taller one, and sent you packing.”

“How tragic for Alannys,” Lonnel quipped, a wry grin forming. “She wouldn’t have handled both a Stark and Cerwyn in one night, I tell you that. Good thing I saved that coin for... Malia? Mylla? Fuck if I know.”

Cregan chuckled, raising his horn in a mock toast. “To bad ale and worse decisions.”

"And those poor girls who survived us." Lonnel laughed, clinking his horn against Cregan's. They let out a deep sigh in unison, leaning back. “Look at us now—wives, babes, duties. Gods, we’ve come far, Stark.”

"Too far, some would say.” Cregan’s smile faded, a sense of gravity settling in. “You took us in without question, Lonnel. For that, I owe you.”

Lonnel waved a dismissive hand. “You’re a brother to me. The gates of Castle Cerwyn open for you, whether you come with a pack of direwolves or a damned dragon. You know that.” He paused, his gaze falling on Cregan, more intense. “But you must also know why the whispers reached me before you did. The North listens, Cregan. And it’s hearing a lot more than just the flapping of dragon wings.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly, but he stayed silent, letting Lonnel continue.

“They say she’s been to the Wall more times than any crow has seen. They say she’s witnessed what no man should and kept it all to herself. Dark things, ancient things. And if it all comes back for her…” He let the words hang, heavy between them. “What will you do?”

Cregan’s jaw tightened. “I’ll do what I’ve always done.”

Lonnel chuckled, shaking his head. “Stand and fight, aye. It’s what we were raised to do. But this storm you’ve brought to your door, Stark… it doesn’t just take the one who called it. It takes everything in its path.”

Cregan stared into the flames, thinking about all that had passed in the recent weeks. “She hasn’t told me all of what she’s seen,” he admitted, his voice lower. “But it haunts her. It pains me to see her like that, Lonnel. That’s why I brought her here—to find some measure of peace.”

Lonnel eyed him, more serious now, then took a long drink, the mood sinking as the fire crackled between them. “She’s not just Lady Stark, Cregan—not just your wife. And you’ve more than love at stake. If whatever comes for her… you’ll fight back, I know it. But she’s a crown. And crowns bring war.”

Cregan’s eyes flickered, his face hardening as he looked into the fire. “The North has always known war. It's nothing new.”

Lonnel exhaled a bitter laugh, though his gaze didn’t soften. “Not this kind of war, my friend. Not one that comes from the dark beyond the Wall… or from the throats of ten grown dragons beyond the Reach.”

Cregan’s gaze hardened, resolute. He would not yield his wife for anyone or anything, kin or foe.

“Then let them all come.”

X

The sunlight felt like a rare gift upon Cregan's skin, the warmth cajoling him into a state of near-sleep as he lay across the tough leather rug, between the tall grass, his head pillowed on Claere’s lap, a contented smile playing on his lips as her fingers worked through his hair, weaving small braids with deft movements. Beneath his closed eyelids, the sun burned faint patterns, flickering with each shift of the sparse clouds above. Her voice wafted over him, soft but clear, painting tales of the Bay of Ice, of the frigid, salt-bitten wind, and of Luna hunting seals over those frozen waters.

"They think she swallowed a star," she told him, laughing, a fingertip tracing the length of his nose.

This was paradise. Perhaps it had found him before his deathbed. He hummed along, not truly listening.

He caught faint fragments of her words, the sweet dulcet of her voice rising and falling like a ballad, as she described House Wull’s hardy folk, their eagerness for Luna’s fire to melt the icebergs so they could fish the rich waters beneath. He felt half-lost in the weave of her tale, lulled by the warmth of the sun, the distant clicks of insects, and her fingers threading through his hair like strands of silk.

In a flash, his head slipped from her lap, his neck cricking at an awkward angle. He straightened, rubbing at the spot with a hiss, only to catch sight of her, already cradling a small brown hare, her touch gentle as she brushed its ears and stroked its belly. The sight of her, intent on the little creature, was enough to coax a grin from him.

“Another one for the cookpot then, my lady?” he teased, his voice low and affectionate.

Claere barely spared him a glance, scowling. “Don't be daft.”

Cregan chuckled, leaning back on his elbows as she continued fussing over the hare, her fingers tracing its paws as if in reverence.

“Strange, though,” he said after a moment, his tone more curious than jesting. “What exactly turns you from meat?”

She looked down, her expression thoughtful. “I realized very young that all the world is a balance. Give and take,” she replied with quiet conviction. “My dear dragon's appetite is ample enough; I’d rather give back than take more myself. With her takings are my denials.” Her eyes softened, a shadow of memory flickering there. “I’ve stayed away from it ever since.”

He tilted his head, struck by the dignity and care in her words, considering her. “And what of your tourneys, then? The royal hunts on your namedays? A fine feast without a kill—well, some would call it unseemly for a princess.”

She gave a light shrug, almost nonchalant. “I never had any such thing.”

The words hung there, simple but sharp. She didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the playful hare. And he knew better than to pry—the silences of her brothers in her presence, absence of her queen mother's well-wishings, the vacant gestures from her kin, all spoke of a girl with Targaryen blood, Valyrian heritage, truest claim left with the least, yet no more than a shadow in her family’s regard. She’d been raised like an instrument, a spare, the uncelebrated princess, a piece on a board she was never meant to play.

Breaking the silence, Claere spoke, her voice barely above a murmur. “Your namedays must’ve been different.”

Cregan felt a bittersweet smile tug at his lips. Anything to divert his pity. He let the memories flood back, the good ones.

“Different, aye," he sighed.

Claere let the hare hop off her lap, which then refused to run off, waiting on its hind paws by the edge of the mat.

“I was gifted a direwolf pup once, all fur and bluster. Only two weeks in, it was off like the wind. Ran as far as its legs would carry it the first time I made it wear a collar.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “It never came back.”

She laughed under her breath, a soft sound like water slipping over stone. “I should have guessed. But I could find you one if you wish it,” she offered, almost teasing. “The kennel master’s raising a whole pack of them now. They’re all tremendous, close to soldiers.”

He tilted his head back, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Another collar and another beast bound to run?” he teased, the light in his eyes warm. “Or perhaps I’ll forego wolves and settle for that dragon I was promised.”

“If you dare to face it,” she said, eyes narrowing with playful challenge. “The next clutch is yours for the choosing.”

His laughter rolled through the quiet woods, deep and warm. “So, you’d spoil me not just with Winterfell’s fiercest fire, but with her hatchlings too? You know, I think this northern air has made you a touch reckless.”

Her eyes glinted, playful, leaning closer as she matched his tone. “It’s only fair that I spoil you in turn,” she whispered, her voice silken, carrying through the hushed trees like a spell.

"Oh, my love, you've spoiled me very much."

He hummed, pleased, and then, without warning, pulled her close and rolled her beneath him on the soft leather rug. The breath left her in a misty gasp, her gaze meeting his—startled, but not resisting. His weight was grounding, solid and warm, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between them, the drift of his breath, the quiet crackle of the leaves around them.

Her gaze flitted as his hand moved to the hilt of the Valyrian dagger he carried, her gift to him from the time before, offered with silent promises of protection. He unsheathed it slowly, the blade glinting, and her eyes traced its movement, following as he held it between them.

“With this. A rare gift,” he murmured, “from a rare woman.”

His words were low, each syllable drawn out as he slid the dagger to the bow at her bodice, poised at the silk ribbon’s edge. With a slow, deliberate twist, he dragged the blade down, the tip of it sharp but light against her skin as the fabric came undone. Her breath hitched as she felt the cool brush of metal taunting her, each tug loosening her defences. The fabric loosened and gave way under his touch, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched his own.

“And now, sweetling,” he whispered, his lips brushing her ear, voice rough, yet unhurried, “how would you rescue yourself from me?”

He moved the knife lower, its edge trailing over the delicate fabric, a promise and a threat wrapped in tenderness. "Hmm?"

She gave a shiver, yet her eyes held his, and there was no fear there, only a steady defiance. His breath was warm against her ear, his voice a low rumble as he traced the knife along her bodice, a feather’s weight skimming her skin. But her gaze never wavered, the faintest glint of mischief sparking in her eyes.

In one swift motion, Claere twisted beneath him, and with a deft manoeuvre, caught him off balance. She rose, bashing the knife from his grip and flipping him onto his back with a victorious grin, sitting astride him.

Cregan gave a low laugh, a touch winded, staring up at her in bemusement. “You think to best me?”

Her mouth curled, fierce and gleeful. “Seems I already have.”

His hands slid up to cradle her face, and then he drew her into a gruff, enticing kiss, all hasty lips, quiet moans, his warmth a balm against the long palls she bore. She softened in his arms that scuffed into her back eagerly, her fingers trailing down his jaw, meeting his fervour with her own, as though she could draw every bit of the strength and surety he offered.

He paused, breathless, the dominating weight of her against him stirring him upright. With a steadying exhale, he pulled back, eyes still locked on hers, and reached to loosen his cuffs, the sound of each metal clasp a whirr of intent as he shrugged off the coat of plates, carelessly letting it slide off.

But when he looked up, it was her watching him, her loosened bodice held against her chest. Her gaze was calm, unguarded, a touch of wonder damping her expression as if she were seeing him in a new light, yet holding some invisible line between them. Cregan let his hands fall to his sides, sensing her hesitation, yet unmoving in his resolve.

“You think to leave me bested, then, after all this?” he murmured, his voice a teasing rumble that chased away the last shadows between them.

She raised a brow, lips curving. Her arms dropped, letting her bodice fall loose from her chest.

“Consider it a reminder of who you are dealing with.”

He laughed and leaned back on his palms, his candid gaze holding hers. “Then come closer, and let me be reminded once more.”

X

Even with the amicable airs of Castle Cerwyn, sleep evaded Claere like a wary shadow. She would lay awake, eyes tracing patterns from the night sky in the darkened ceiling, her mind tangled in dark memories and half-formed fears. More than once, Cregan stirred beside her, sensing her wakefulness. He’d gather her close, his hand soothing circles along her back, murmuring in that low voice of his.

“Sleep, love,” he’d say and kiss her hair. “It's all gone. You're far beyond it. I have you now.”

She’d push her face into the crook of his neck, his heartbeat steady under her cheek, grounding her, though the shadows still lingered.

Another night, he left and returned with a fur-lined blanket warmed by the fire, wrapping it snugly around her. He traced a thumb along her temple and cheek, eyes full of a patience that was, to her, an astonishment. Be it anyone else, they would have left her to find her own peace.

“I’ll stay awake for you, keep the shadows at bay,” he promised, half in jest, half earnest.

She reached out, her fingertips brushing the curve of his lips, a gesture that was as much for him as it was for herself. "Thank you."

A small smile lifted her lips, shy but true, feeling for once as if the weight on her shoulders had lessened, just a touch. In this moment, she knew she loved him—loved him with a depth that ran deeper than duty or bond. His patience was a balm, his nearness an anchor; it healed wounds she’d long since stopped tending to. And though she rarely gave voice to the feeling, it surged within her now, filling the cracks she had long since accepted.

In his presence, she realized, she was safe.

By the fourth morning, a softened tranquillity had woven through her—delicate, a return to herself. Breathing in the cool air of Castle Cerwyn, letting the scents of moss and pine fill her lungs, she felt her apprehension slip further away here, watching Cregan exult with his old friend Lonnel. She saw a side of him she’d never truly seen—unburdened, joyful—as if the duties that weighed him down in Winterfell had been cast aside, lightened in this place.

The aviary, her newfound haven, beckoned to her like a sanctuary of life and song. She spent hours among the birds, marvelling at the late Lord Cerwyn’s collection: songbirds that trilled melodies, fierce hawks, regal eagles, white doves, and her favourite—a grey parrot that greeted her with a soft hum whenever she hummed first. It was the gentlest of welcomes, and for a while, she felt just a nobody wandering among the trees.

"A lovely voice, Your Grace. I've only ever heard tell of it,” came a voice from behind her.

She turned, startled, to find Lonnel Cerwyn leaning against the aviary gate, a faint smile playing on his lips. She dipped her head in acknowledgement, still unused to strangers’ easy familiarity, and now hesitantly drifted along the cages, learning the birds.

As Claere continued to walk beside the cages, she sensed Lonnel’s presence still at her side, solid and patient. His eyes followed her gaze across the rows of birds, some chirping softly, others watching her back with colourful, attentive eyes.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “you’ve taken to our feathered friends, then? I wouldn’t have taken a Targaryen to like things caged. Would’ve thought you preferred creatures of… larger wingspans.”

Claere smiled, her gaze lingering on the hawk perched within, its fierce stare mirroring her own restraint.

“You’re not wrong, my lord. I believe they belong to the skies.” She paused, turning to look at him. “They’re creatures of flight; seeing them locked away feels strange. Wouldn’t they serve better if trained?”

Lonnel hummed, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Ah, but trust’s a hard thing in the North, my lady. We cage what we cannot lose. They might turn loyal, but even a hawk can strike when cornered.”

Claere’s gaze drifted to a small thrush flitting nervously in its cage, and her voice softened. “Even so. Let a creature soar; you might find it follows because it chooses to. Lock it away, and all you see is its shadow.” Her fingers grazed the bars thoughtfully. "It's why Luna never lived in the dingy lairs of Dragonmont. I left her to fly free wherever she wanted."

Lonnel studied her, a flash of understanding passing between them. “Perhaps we Northerners hold onto things too tightly,” he said.

Lonnel hummed thoughtfully, reaching into a cage to coax a hawk onto his glove. "And one of those beautiful things is Violet. Violet's been a hunting guide of mine for years."

She watched as he gently lifted Violet, her wings extending wide.

But as they unfurled, a sudden vision struck her: flashes of white feathers shifting into silver scales, the hawk’s call blurring into Luna’s roar. She could see it: a thousand wildlings pouring over the Wall, spears in hand, flames burning, their faces darkened under the thick coats. Another flash—the great walls of Winterfell loomed over her, blood staining the stones, and in the fray stood Cerwyn, his hands red and his pace relentless, sword in hand, facing a shadowed foe.

She blinked hard, the vision dissipating as quickly as it had come. Lonnel was watching her, the hawk calm in his grip.

"My lady?" he called, a tension lacing his tone.

Claere steadied her breath and lifted her gaze to him, her hand immediately reaching up to press against his cheek, her fingers cool against his warm skin, as if she were grounding herself. She didn’t know what part of the future she’d seen, if it was his, his children’s, or some fate destined for the next generation. But her heart trembled with the significance of it.

“Keep your heart steady, Lord Cerwyn,” she said as if speaking to him across time itself.

Lonnel’s face flickered with surprise, but he didn’t pull away. He only held her gaze, a silent promise passing between them, however one-sided it was, a confused understanding.

And then, with that quiet exchange lingering like the last note of a song, she withdrew, leaving him with the young hawk in hand, her footsteps retreating along the path of the aviary.

X

The grand hall of Castle Cerwyn was smaller than Winterfell’s, yet it brimmed with warmth, a soft familiarity that softened the edges of the North’s rugged chill. The hearth crackled with thick logs, filling the space with a heat that seeped into the bones, banishing the crisp cold outside. Long trestle tables bore the evening’s fare—a hearty venison roast glazed with honey and herbs, cheese pies, oatcakes with dried fruits, dark bread still steaming, and pitchers of spiced ale that filled the air with a fragrant bite. The scents were rich and earthy, consorting with the soft murmur of voices and laughter that filled the space.

Arelle, Lonnel’s wife, was glowing despite her swelling belly. Her hand rested protectively over her babe, the big smile on her lips a mere instinct. Her dark hair fell over her shoulders loosely, framing a face alight with contentment as she looked to Lonnel, who seemed unable to take his eyes off her. Their gazes would meet across the table, exchanging silent fondness, and Cregan found himself observing them with a stifled smile, reminded of his and Claere’s own shared moments. He had been fortunate enough to find something like that in his own time. Patience truly was a virtue.

Cregan reached for Claere’s hand beneath the table, a gentle squeeze. She bent her fingers between his, holding him tighter, squeezing back.

For the first time in weeks, they were somewhere uncomplicated, unburdened by towering walls and solemn silences.

Conversation flowed as if from a babbling brook, Lonnel regaling them with tales of old hunts and mishaps, each story coaxing a rare smile from Claere. Then, Arelle leaned forward, her eyes bright with anticipation.

“My lady,” she said, almost shyly. “Lonnel mentioned you were… quite exceptional with the harp. I’ve longed to hear you play ever since.”

Cregan felt his chest tighten, a flicker of worry crossing his face. He knew Claere’s songs were steeped in her visions and dreams, dark prophecies veiled in melody. But before he could speak, Claere interfered.

“It would be my pleasure,” she said, her voice gentle yet trusting.

Cregan’s worry ebbed as quickly as it came, replaced by admiration. She always surprised him. He’d seen her hands coax Luna's fires to life, and wield the delicate tools of her garden, and, now, he was about to see them breathe life into a song.

A harp was brought forward on the dais, its golden strings gleaming in the firelight, and Claere’s long, delicate fingers traced over them with an intimacy born of instinct. She began to play a soft tune, one that filled the hall like a lullaby, each note like a petal floating through the air, softening the stillness. Her melody was warm and peaceful—a rare sound from her, as though she was offering a glimpse of a world unburdened.

Her sweet voice, smooth as silk, joined the harp, and the words she sang wove into the room like a spell:

"In fields of frost and towering trees, a heart’s true kin awaits in peace..."

As her voice wove through the hall, soft and lilting, Cregan felt the world fade around them. Each note hung in the air, heavy with a sweetness he recognized as his own. Her words fell like secrets meant only for him, and as her gaze met his, a smile played at his lips, slow and sure. She was singing for him, he realized, in this open hall, like an unspoken vow carved into the heart of the North.

His chest swelled, a fierce, undeniable warmth sweeping through him. Every hardship, every moment they had faced together—the bitter nights, the bone-chilling dawns, the weariness—all of it had led to this calm, boundless love. Here she was, with a song that spoke of him, binding his heart to hers before the world as if none but they two could hear it.

Cregan held onto this moment with almost reverent care, a part of him feeling almost foolishly lucky. She was his, this woman of fire and prophecy, and though she bore shadows in her past, here and now, her voice was for him. And he knew, with all the steel and sinew of his being, that he loved her more deeply than he could ever say.

And he should've known, what he had been conditioned to consider beyond all this newfound devotion, that not all good things last very long.

As Claere's song drifted in the air, the hall doors opened, and the castle's maester entered, his face grave beneath the dim candlelights. He crossed the floor to Cregan, extending a parchment sealed with the unmistakable black wax of the Night’s Watch.

“Dire straits, Lord Stark,” he intoned, his voice respectful but heavy with urgency.

Cregan’s hand tightened around the parchment, breaking the seal as he read its contents. As he did, the lightness in the hall seemed to drain.

When he looked up, a murmur passed through the hall as all eyes fixed on him. He hesitated, then addressed his audience, his voice collected but cold. “A word from the Wall.”

Lonnel, his face creased with confusion, asked, “Wildling attack?”

“Worse.” Cregan’s voice was sombre, his face darkening. “They’ve overrun the garrison at Queensgate. A chieftain who calls himself Sylas the Grim led a force of three thousand through the breach.”

There was a ripple of reaction in the room. Claere’s hands stilled on her harp, her gaze intent. She’d heard stories of wildlings crossing the Wall, of skirmishes and raids, but this was different. This was an army. And this Sylas—a man none of them had known even existed—had crushed a garrison with ease and marched past the castles.

The maester’s voice interrupted Cregan’s grim revelation. “Sylas is bound southward, with his war band tearing through the lands of the Gift.” He paused, glancing at Claere. “They say he’s sworn himself to find the one who rides the snow dragon.”

Silence filled the hall, as heavy as iron.

“He rides,” Cregan declared, almost as if the words could summon the reality, “for the Dragon Queen of the North.”

A silence fell over the room, tense and laden with foreboding. Cregan stared at Claere, her face unreadable, yet he knew her mind was already spinning, parsing every implication, every thread of what this could mean. Lonnel’s earlier warning hung between them, and it felt as though every word had foreshadowed this moment. That grim prophecy that now took shape before them all. You’ve brought the storm to your door, Stark. It'll take everything in its path.

The carefree laughter, the warmth of the hearth, the taste of ale—all felt painfully distant now. War had reached their doorstep, a shadow from beyond the Wall. She had brought her dragon, and the storm had followed. And with it, the delicate peace they’d found here, so fragile, slipped through their fingers like the last light of day.

X

*gasp* storm's a-comin'... and it's coming for our girl. only a few chapters left! thank you for reading and keeping up!

a question for my loveliest people: what do you think is Claere's sun sign or moon sign? What about Cregan's?

[ taglist: @pearldaisy , @thatkindofgurl , @theadharablack , @cherryheairt , @beingalive1 , @oxymakestheworldgoround , @tigolebittiez , @cosmosnkaz , @lv7867 , @piper570 , @danikasthings , @acsc8 , @justdazzling ] -> thank you for your endless support everyone!

[izuizzy]

Introducing my Sonadow fankid, Talia! She's a part of my AU "Ultimate Lifespawn"

I'm love her ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (more info about her under the cut!)

Name: Talia

Age Range: 18-19

Pronouns: She/Her

Basic Info: Talia was born in secret research facility known as "Opus." Along with thousands of other test subjects, they were created by mixing Shadow and Sonic's DNA to become a counter to the Ultimate Lifeform. It was called Project Ultimate Lifespawn.

They were made to subdue the black hedgehog and/or destroy him, should he prove to become too powerful, or a threat to peace. Months of testing and several lost subjects later, the researchers found the five perfect candidates. Talia was one of them. However, the project still needed time, as the five subjects would either lose control of their abilities, or lash out dangerously. So more tests were in order so that they could be controlled. They were then put into a stasis, while the researchers began to examine them.

There time was up however, as Shadow discovered the research facility alongside Team Dark. They fought through robots and the research facility was destroyed by the end of it all. Having arrested and confiscated all of the research that remained, they stumbled across the five children.

Three of them perished as their stasis chambers malfunctioned in the fight in the research facility, but the other two were still alive. Shadow was prepared to end their sad lives and spare them, but Rouge insisted that they were only children; his children.

Thus Shadow reluctantly took the five children out of the facility and to Tails to further examine them, and once things were settled and they met not only one dad but two, they began living as normal hedgehogs ever since.

Extra Facts:

Talia is pansexual

Her favorite color is gold

Her favorite food is chili dogs and toast with jam

She smells like strawberries

Talia is the peacemaker/glue of her friend group; always trying to help the others settle things from petty arguments to big fights

She loves to dance and enjoys teaching others how to dance too

Always happy to help those in need and can sometimes rush in headfirst if someone is in trouble

Can be reckless and sometimes doesn't know when to stop

Talia has super speed and strength much like her dads. She can also use chaos control but feels nauseous when she teleports so she prefers to run to places

Very jumpy and is afraid of ghosts and horror

Her best friends are Amon (Knuxouge's kid) and Aurora (Silvaze's kid). They are considered the next generation of Team Hero

Is very smart but gadgets and technology aren't her specialty area in terms of her intelligence

Loves her aunt Amy and even emulated her hairstyle as a kid and it just stuck

Her main inhibitor ring is her hair tie (very rarely does she remove it, but even if she does she still has decent control over her powers)

Story / Art / Fankid by me @/izuizzy do not steal/trace/repost/edit/use

[tinycheesecakedetective]

Potential Swap AU pt. 3(OLD)

I'm still thinking about making this official, mind you. Anyways, welcome to my third blog about this speculative AU project thing. Which isn't so speculative anymore, surprise! I call it Exchanged Fates, and all past and future updates about this AU will have the tag #exchangedfatesau. Today, we've finally reached the last Beast-Ancient pairing, Shadow Milk Cookie and Pure Vanilla Cookie! A fair warning, this one is longer than the others, so be warned. I talk waaaay more here.

Preamble There's a reason why these two are last. Knowledge is a pretty hard virtue to make something out of, and it's even harder when Truth and Deceit are two classic foils. You can make the truth a problem, but lies are always going to be tricky to make a good thing. Initially, Truth would be made into Judgement, but I scrapped it once I realized I couldn't think of anything for Deceit. So I took a break for a bit. I had a birthday and then several historical events just slapped me in the face-

Eventually, I had an epiphany. And I'd like to show you all now, if you'll allow me to. Behold,

Pure Vanilla Cookie, Beast of Despair and Shadow Milk Cookie, Ancient Hero of Hope

...I can feel my Danganronpa phase resurface. No time to waste, let's begin with Pure Vanilla. Throughout the story, he's presented as a paragon character, the most virtuous of the ancients. And it's somewhat true, but there's more to him than just altruism. He's quite sharp, able to discern the plans of his enemies and very emotionally intelligent, but is prone to some self loathing and suffers from an inferiority complex. I'm not *quite* well spoken enough to make a deep analysis on him, although I wish I was. He's so interesting to me and the fandom kind of brushes him off as this sweet old man-twink. Now he is, but there's so much more going on with him. If anyone does a deep analysis into him, I want to know immediately.

Sorry! Got sidetracked there, anyways! Why despair, hmm? Let's head back to his negative traits, the self loathing and the inferiority complex. Pure Vanilla struggles with his self image, blaming himself for how the flour war turned out and feeling as if he failed to protect the ones closest to him. Even after restoring his kingdom, he struggles with these feelings. Granted, it's not as bad as it was before, but you can still feel bits of it in Odyssey and in Beast-Yeast. Despite this, he still pushes onwards, being a beacon of hope for many. But there's only so much the soul can take. Even he can recognize when someone has to be stopped for the greater good, even if they did mean the world to him.

Fittingly, if he was one of the first to gain his soul jam, he'll be the last to turn, how tragic. Pure Vanilla would try everything in his power to save his friends, and when his efforts are unsuccessful, he has to stop them alone. Of course, the former ancients try to turn him to their side, and the battle of wills is long and painful. Since the roles are reversed, Elder Faerie exists and tries to help where he can, but he can see the writing on the wall and prepares for the worst. Eventually, Pure Vanilla falls. Despite everything he's done, nothing changes. He isn't strong enough to save them, and he isn't strong enough to stop them. He's only delayed the inevitable for himself, and even now his soul jam has begun to corrupt. Forced to face his own helplessness, he turns, finally joining his friends in sowing chaos across Beast-Yeast.

The Timeless Kingdom, once a refuge for escapees of the the other kingdoms, becomes stuck in time. Y'know how Blue Diamond emotionally manipulated those around her to make them submit to her will? Imagine that but worse. The kingdom feels like it's frozen in time. Nothing ages or rots, just... distorts. The moment you step foot there, you can feel your strength waver. Walking around, you see people consumed by agony as they stay in place weeping aloud, their bodies warped by a deep sadness as their hollow eyes stare back at you. Unlike the other beasts, Pure Vanilla's palace is open for anyone to visit, almost like he's flaunting his strength. You'll soon understand why. If you make the dumb choice and see him, you'll find him kneeling behind a veil. He'll greet you and talk to you for a moment. But don't be fooled. He's still a beast, and before you know it, you're overwhelmed. Visions of your greatest regrets flood your senses. Every action you've ever taken, every right and wrong choice flashes right in front of your eyes. Fight all you want, you're eventually consumed by it all, and become like the other residents of this forsaken kingdom. Forever reliving your worst moments in a never ending mental purgatory. If some of this sounds familiar, I took some inspiration from Bloozstella's blue diamond swap AU for this, by the way. Go check that out if you have time!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Now... Shadow Milk Cookie. The fandom's new favorite blue gremlin/pos. He's clever, charismatic, perceptive as hell, a lover of the theatre, and very cocky in his abilities. The very first time we see him, he gets to work immediately, corrupting some fairies, tormenting Pure Vanilla Cookie, and taking over the faerie kingdom, and that's just him toying around with them all. Interestingly enough, despite being the embodiment of deceit, he shares more truth than lies with the players and the hero gang, revealing Dark Enchantress' plans and telling them that all the other beasts have been awakened after his temporary defeat. His lies have been fairly obvious for the most part, which is a bit strange. I wonder if there's a reason for that...

So... Why hope? Why in the witch's oven would I make such a menace hope? Because of how he handles the truth. In canon, Pure Vanilla doesn't handle the truth too well. He'll confront it, but he has a tendency to get consumed in himself or worry about how others would take it. Shadow Milk, even before he turned to darkness, feels like he would embrace it without hesitation and keep moving like a runaway train. Pure Vanilla is reactive, Shadow Milk is proactive, and his curiosity and determination could make him overcome any obstacle. Probably why he's so dangerous, asides from the immense power he has.

You can probably guess that my head canon for him is that he was the last beast to turn evil, so naturally he's gonna be the very first cookie to get his soul jam! And he starts in the Blueberry Academy. Kind of, it's not formed yet when he begins. Our shadow menace starts out as an aspiring scholar/adventurer and thrill seeker. He's definitely a nerd, kinda like Wizard Cookie, and begins his hero's journey exploring the world. On one particular expedition, he visits the continent of Beast-Yeast, but doesn't make it that far before passing out. He wakes up in the company of fairy cookies who took pity on him, and is taken to Elder Faerie. Unsurprisingly, he tells Shadow Milk Cookie to go back to Crispia once he's recovered because this place is far too dangerous for him and he'll die. Unsurprisingly he takes this as a challenge, and during his stay he reads up on the place in the library. Far too invested to leave, he starts exploring beyond the kingdom in secret, and finds the soul jam deep within the forest.

Eventually he gets caught, and Elder Faerie wants to take the soul jam away from him, but whoops! It's already attuned to Shadow Milk and there's nothing he can do about it. Realizing there isn't much he can do, he at least offers to train him to use it properly, prompting a few training sessions before sending him off. When Shadow Milk gets back, he doesn't establish a kingdom. Instead he goes to find others like him first. For his research, of course. Eventually he ends up forming the group of the Ancients, and finally establishes his kingdom. He doesn't feel like he'd have a traditional kingdom. Rather, it would be more like the Creme Republic! It's a hub of the arts and sciences, a place where the brightest and most creative cookies can show their talents to the fullest potential. He finally founds the Blueberry Yogurt Academy in his "kingdom", and he, alongside a personal council makes the rules. In reality, the council does all the work and he acts more as a figurehead so he can focus on his own personal projects. He's definitely the most hands on with his subjects, hosting events, mingling with the commonfolk, exploring, etc. At least before the Dark Flour War... But that's a story for another time.

~~~~~

Finally... I'm DONE. No more foundation, now I can just think and edit. Mystic Flour's part is outdated with her release and now I have to rectify that in the future. I hope you all enjoyed this miniseries! I will be taking questions on both this AU and Fading Letters. I'll try to answer any questions a lot quicker this time, and hopefully the rest of this month is uneventful. Please.

This is being posted at like, 1 AM in the morning, so good night everyone! Hope you have a peaceful night!

[st-va]

The latest Hunter: the parenting ep was so fucking cool, i think I was watching it for 2/2.5 hours with a friend cause we were analysing it so much. Forgetting the plot and all the amazing lore jam-packed into that ep, the ANIMATION? Holy shit! I didn't know that it could get better AND keep its quirkiness!

Who is the Ghoul analysis after the cut!

Okay so there are two forces at play in that house, throughout the whole episode there are hints of a werewolf - in the first room, that is the dinning room, there is a wardrobe that has scratch marks and the door underneath the first floor stairs(the one that big D came through) ALSO has them. Oh, it's also a FULL MOON.

Now, the ghoul and the warewolf could be working independently, completely unaware of eachother, but it is my theory that the warewolf is Matilda and the ghoul is Amanda.

There is a little time jump that skipped some interactions. After Elise stole the smokes and keys (staff access) from Giles, she must have given them to Grim. She, in turn, went to the Security room through the vents (she was said to be good at going through them and they said that the security room is the most ventilated room). In the map it is said that Matilda came to the kitchen from the security room and she has acquired Giles' smokes, meaning that she prob caught Grim sneaking and Grim gave her his smokes in exchange for silence.

Why was Matilda going to the Security Room? And moreover, when Kitten came to the kitchen Amanda said that they could let him in to the Security room (Matilda being against the idea). When the topic of the Hunting came around, neither of them really looked scared. Amanda was just standing there, looking a bit sad or maybe disapprovingly at Matilda, and Matilda was a bit disgruntled, but nothing more really.

Matilda also brought out the subject of "Is the Ghoul really that bad?", which is honestly sending red flags all around for me, to be honest. Sure, she might genuinely be afraid and is trying to be strong, but, honestly? She looked sad.

I honestly do not know how Matilda would have gotten access to the Archives. She couldn't have stolen Remoud's keys cause D stole them seconds before unlocking the door, sure as hell couldn't have stolen Occam's so that leaves Lord Fatigue and the doctor.

Lord Fatigue was with the boys and there was such a small window of opportunity to yoink the keys that it seems impossible, but the doctor is the other option and she hasn't gotten that much screen time, plus it would make sense to get rid of the Lord later. So I'm sticking with Lord Fatigue being the one who got mugged. Again, this part of my theory is very loose, I couldn't find any evidence.

I want to call attention to how fucking furious Matilda looked after they found Occam incapacitated.

I don't think that is the face someone being sad that her employer is knocked down a peg and won't be able to pay her on time hhh. Amanda's expression is on point, she looks terrified but I will choose to believe that she is seeing the consequences of her friend's actions, in order to help her. Remember, Amanda is the Ghoul and Matilda the Warewolf.

Matilda's expression could also be a symptom of a withdrawal. Now, I will be honest. I know the bare minimum of the lore surrounding Vampire: The Masquerade and my friend couldn't find the exact thing that happens to warewolves during a full moon in this setting, so I'm basing this on pure speculation, but she could be trying to refrain from transmutating and, without her smokes, that could be more of a mental feat.

Moving on, the most damning information that we got out of the episode was after Amanda was fried, she said Baba Yaga. Holy fuck. With how the Arcanum is, there is no way in hell they would let the "Help" know of such a powerful vampire. I really couldn't think of another way she would acquire this knowledge if she isnt connected to the Masquerade in any way.

When the gang went to the pub, Matilda looked tilted as all hell.

The Ghoul is currently incapacitated, there's no way in hell that Amanda did this. This kill was the work of the Warewolf, with how fucking violent it was. Connecting this with my previous conjecture that Lord Fatigue was the one that got his keys stolen, he is a fucking Lycanthropy professor! I think, in Matilda's eyes, he was a threat and she wanted to get rid of him because it was only a matter of time before he found out. Plus, she had to turn at some point and she would have already been furious that they have been torturing her friend.

It was a golden opportunity as well. From the beginning of the episode, we know that Spit has been experiencing Delirium, the fear that comes with seeing the supernatural and that fear is accompanied with memory loss of the actual event. Git was locked in the bathroom and so Matilda could go ham on taking her rage out on Lord Fatigue.

Whoo! This has been a long one, lastly I want to point out some small things that I appreciated.

Big D going into the Harry Potter room in order to investigate the claw marks.

Marcus and Harry being complete bros and going to lift instead of dealing with an emotion situation.

Boy

Brock not sitting down when they were all gathered in the Dining room at the beginning and later saying that his kneecaps were flattened.

D's booty shorts

Honestly, this series is amazing, I don't think I've ever watched something this high quality with this much love, thought and humanity being put behind it. The work that Alfabusa and the gang are putting into making every single frame a banger is phenomenal! I really do not understand how they keep on improving.

What did you guys think? Am I mentally deranged, or am I and my friend onto something? Please tell me what you think of my lil Game Theory and if I missed anything!

[luimagines]

Oohhh! The recent anon asks about both music and swimming have given me so many ideas!

For swimming the idea that hylians are denser and weigh more for their body size is super interesting! (If I'm interpreting that correctly) It would be interesting if the others who aren't as familiar with humans are just kinda baffled by how little the reader weighs in comparison to their size. I could totally imagine reader just getting picked up randomly by members of the chain. (Mostly Wild and Twilight mostly I'd imagine but I also see Sky joining in from time to time. That man is a gremlin when he wants to be.) Just full on circle of life Lion King style. Reader is just very done with these antics.

Also wouldn't it be so sad that the boys never got to experience the joy that are musicals. :c Twi would probably be the most chill about music growing up around humans and all. I could imagine someone in the chain coming across reader playing an instrument one day (we're going with violin for now since that's what I personally play) and it's just this beautifully haunting piece. And the Link is just frozen there like, "There must some sort of powerful magic at play with this piece!" But as he stands there not making a sound, holding his breath nothing continues to happen. And with a final flourish reader finishes and finally notices the Link there. I think there would probably need to be quite a bit of explaining on both sides.

Also what if there was a human hero!reader? They we're the one to save Hyrule but were never technically the hero. The proper Link of that era just up and left. Reader doesn't have the hero's spirit and can't even wield the master sword. I think it would be super interesting if they were from a time that was a lot more judgemental of humans so even after saving the country (which most people won't even acknowledge) reader can't have any peace. I also think that would raise an interesting counterpoint to some of the chain's preconceived notions that they have zero say in their quests. They would probably bond with Wind at least a bit though on account of them both not having the hero's spirit!

Hope you don't mind my excessively long ramble. I would have split it into smaller chunks but then I would have forgotten some part of it.

Have a lovely rest of your week and drink some water! <3 \(⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)/

I'm perfectly fine with long rambles! I'm glad to see you're interesting in this dumb au idea XD

Thank you for your patience in regards to me answering this. <3

Now I can't get over the mental image of Link holding up Reader like a child. He'd probably find it hilarious while Reader is two seconds from stabbing him.

In fact, I think Twilight would be the one to embrace music in a casual sense since he wouldn't have had the Hylian cultural ties. He grew up with humans. Music isn't necessarily sacred. Have fun with it! Twilight probably knows how to play the spoons and will drag Reader into jamming with him for the hell of it.

And Reader being the hero on top of the that?! Oh that would mess with their heads a bit.

Wind would probably latch onto that as well. Like, "neither of us were chosen, but that didn't stop us. You're more like me than they are!" And the betrayal a line like that would cause!

Some Link's would take a while to stop being petty.

[kaybreezy3000]

The Devil Within

A Five Hargreeve / Reader insert

Five Hargreeves has not lived an easy life and no matter where he ends up, things never seem to get much better for him.

Stuck inside a body that's his but not, Five is having a hard time moving on, but sometimes all it takes to totally flip a person's view of things is one very special dark and mysterious night.

-note: female OC will remain unnamed and mostly non-descript to give this one a sort of reader insert-ish vibe.

Warnings and extra tags: sexually explicit content, mind games, a little bit of Klaus and Dolores in this one, dubious consent, violent behavior, rough sexual behavior, Dominance and Submission, dirty talking Five, daddy kink, biting, blood, mild body dysmorphia, public sex, Five has many lovey issues but he's still our sweet boy so hang tight-he's going to pull you through all sorts of emotions with this smutty story😏

(23,127 words 4 chapters total)

(Chapter 1 and 2 post)

Chapter One: Bad Boy; Good Man

It was October thirty-first. Just twenty-nine days after Five Hargreeves had the pleasure of turning what he’d estimated was the equivalent of the age of eighteen. He was stomping down a dark alleyway, hands jammed in his pockets, shoulders hunched, with his eyes staring blankly at the wet cement in front of him.

Like normal, Five wasn’t in a good mood, though there was no denying that he was doing much better than during the first October when he’d turned eighteen. 

That time, he’d been thin as a rail and freezing his ass off in an early apocalyptic winter. Huddling in his improvised shelter, he had tried to get as much comfort as he could by way of cuddling up to Dolores, but her painted plastic skin was as cold and unyielding as the air around him.  

All Five had wanted was to feel something good to help him through his pain, but he couldn’t even have that when faced with the grim reality around him, so he did the next best thing. 

He let go and lost his mind, so he didn’t have to be alone. 

Almost right away when he’d found he couldn’t get back to his family, Five had found Dolores and he’d made her his companion. He started having two-sided conversations with her to keep himself from going insane, but it wasn’t until that sad night of his eighteenth birthday that Five started to feel Dolores’s warmth for the first time, and he did after that for the next fifty-three years.   

He did what he had to. He survived so he could get back.

He was sure that if he did, he could fix everything.

Turned out, he did make it home to his family but not until almost a lifetime later, and fixing things isn’t exactly what Five would call what he did. Fucking it up royal was a better way of summing up what he and his siblings did, both in their own original timeline, then again in the past when they were in Dallas, and then when they were trapped in a hell of their own making in the Sparrow’s timeline.

Now, in a new world made by Reginald, dumped with almost nothing and with no powers to help them, Five was feeling just about as desperate as he was when he was that lost little thirteen-year-old boy, alone in a burning world of death and ashes. Here he was stripped of all scars and even the tattoo he’d had since he was a child. Everything was normal; it was fixed.

But mentally he was far from fixed.

Having to move in with Klaus since he wasn’t old enough to rent on his own was Five’s best option considering he had no others, but it was a huge slap in the face for the fifty-eight-year-old, once infamous temporal assassin.

As much as Five was happy that they were alive and the world didn’t seem to be on the verge of falling apart, sometimes this new existence felt like just another punishment for all his many wrongs and this night was just another bad one that he'd rather not be having.

It was lightly misting out. As he walked along in the dark, Five’s chocolate-colored strands of hair were beading up with tiny drops of moisture. 

It was damp and cold and well past ten on Halloween night, so of course that’s the night Five was forced out of his own apartment unless he wanted to continue to listen to his brother’s latest boy toy loudly moaning and groaning to the rhythm of Klaus’s headboard banging into the wall that divided their bedrooms.  

As Five trudged along, dead set on finding the closest bar to drown his sorrows in, he unexpectedly heard what he thought was someone crying for help.

He looked down the alley to his right just in time to see a huge man dressed like a gorilla raising his hand at a cowering female that he’d backed up against the wall of the building.

Five watched as he dropped his furry black mask on the ground and pressed himself against the girl, crushing her with his body as he violently groped her. She closed her eyes, her mouth opening wide in a silent scream as she waited for the blow from the hand he'd raised, but luckily for her, the crack of knuckle to bone wasn’t attached to any sort of pain involving her.

When she opened her eyes, it was to a young stranger in a dark suit, standing between her and the man, his head turned to one side, forced there by the creep’s large fist.

“Get out of here!” Five yelled at her, his face turned downwards as he held a hand to it.

Then like a scene from a movie, he slowly righted his head, his green eyes flashing with anger.

“Is that all you got? Used to hitting little girls?” he seethed.

The man looked totally pissed that Five had just gotten in his way. He puffed up and retaliated by tackling him. With a good seventy pounds on the teen, he hit him like a freight train. The girl scrambled out of the way as they barreled toward her.

Five grunted as his back slammed into the building.

The guy’s fist came flying at Five’s face at about one hundred miles per hour. At the last second, he ducked, and the dipshit’s fist crashed into the brick. “Fuck!” Spit erupted from his mouth just as blood erupted from his knuckles.

While he shook his hand out, Five spun from his grasp, grabbing the man’s free arm, hitching it high behind his back. The man launched his head backward, hitting Five on the top of the head but not as hard as he would have liked being Five was shorter than him.

Releasing the girl’s attacker, Five staggered back, his eyes unfocused but still managing to see a blunt object laying a few yards away.

Sprinting for it, Five picked up the pipe, swinging it upwards just as the guy was about to throttle him from behind.

The ring of metal to skull stopped the girl’s assailant dead in his tracks. 

The big creep crumbled to the wet pavement.

With his blood boiling and his body filled with adrenaline fueled rage, Five turned and started to stalk away, moving right past her, still clutching the pipe in his shaking hand.

He didn’t say a word, and the girl just stood there as if in shock wth her glittery halo crooked in her hair and the white feathers of her angel costume fluttering in the slight breeze that was moving between the buildings.

She reached out and grabbed Five’s arm, but he kept going and because of that her hand slipped down the sleeve of his suit jacket until her fingers brushed across his palm.

Five was not at all expecting her to touch him, and he was not ready for it when she latched on to him, not letting go.

Wound up like he could explode, Five spun around, verbally lashing out on her. “I’d think you’d have run off by now." The girl said nothing, so he yelled at her. "Go. Home!”

Still, she said nothing.

Her eyes seared into him.

She had the strangest look on her face; one Five couldn’t interpret and didn’t get the chance to because suddenly he was filled with extreme disorientation.

All at once, it was as if he was looking back at himself in a mirror but doing so while standing just as he was in that dimly lit alleyway.

As if that wasn’t weird enough, the man looking back at him was the real him.

Five was old again.

His face was dull looking and tired, with soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his hair was short and white, only peppered with dark shadows of what remained of his traumatic youth.

Five could even see his usual gray suit of choice and his favorite hat perched on top of his head, all paired perfectly with his neatly trimmed mustache bending with confusion as he tried to form the right words to express what he was feeling, but there was nothing that could explain it.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, looking like he was AJ Carmichael in his plastic baggie, gasping for air that was quickly running out.

"I... I-"

His stammering wasn't going to cut it, and he needed to get out of there, so Five yanked his hand back, the feel of his skin as cold as ice.

A few seconds later, stepping back onto the sidewalk on to the much brighter street, Five’s hand came up, rubbing his face, his trembling fingers lingering on his smooth upper lip.

He looked back the other way and saw the young girl dressed as an angel had disappeared. It was as if she took flight on her silly nylon coated wings, and poof, she was gone.

Weirder yet, the guy he’d just nailed on the head with the pipe was gone too.

A dizzying sensation ran through him. The damage caused by the gorilla man had left Five’s left eye starting to swell.

He needed ice and he needed to get out of there, but Five was stuck like he’d stepped in glue. He touched his fingers to the side of his face, grimacing when they brushed across the swollen socket.

Looking at the smudge of blood on his fingers that had gotten there from his split lip, Five’s mind spun. He couldn’t figure out what had just happened. Then, a rush of chilly air blowing out of the ominously dark alley swirled a tornado of leaves across the fresh spray of blood on his new dress shoes and the sight of that reminded him this wasn’t the best place to linger.

He’d just bashed a man’s skull in. That man was nowhere in sight, meaning Five hadn’t killed him, but still, he needed to go.

A couple dressed as ghosts passed by, the woman looking at Five worriedly and that helped snap him out of his bizarre state of confusion. Chalking up his moment of insanity back there to his concussed brain, Five took off again, grumbling to himself. “God, I fucking hate Halloween.”

A few blocks away and several minutes later, Five walked into a bar. Fortunately for him, since he was already sporting a nasty bruise around his left eye, most of the areas inside of the establishment were darker than it was outside. It was so dark that if not for the flicker of medieval-looking lanterns hanging about and all the strobing lights pulsing to the beat of the music, it would be nearly impossible to navigate his way through the crowd.

The place was packed with people in costumes, all crammed on the dance floor and areas around it. A couple of girls with hardly anything on were grinding on each other in raised cages, looking like some kind of goth version of beach barbies. Five gave them a dismissive glance as he made his way to the back.

This was not his idea of a good time, and it was not his preferred method of getting drunk but going home meant he’d have to deal with Klaus, so this was the next best option.

Away from the more aggressive chaos, Five sat down on a barstool that had just been vacated. Here he could see the action but not necessarily be an active part in it, and better yet, this is where the drinks were. 

Even before intervening to help the girl in the alley, Five needed something hard and strong to take the edge off, but since getting hit in the face by that girl's attacker, the urge to purge his woes had increased ten-fold.

“What the fuck was I thinking,” he said under his breath.

He asked it but the reality was, Five knew very well what he’d been thinking.

He had questionable ethics. Sure… But he also had a long history of being used and abused by others. When it came to defending people that were at a disadvantage and being taken down a bad road because of it, when Five saw that happening to that young girl, it reminded him of himself, and he had to step in to stop it.

It’s not like he hadn’t hurt people before, but not like that guy looked like he was going to hurt that girl. Five had killed plenty of women for no reason other than he was ordered to by his superiors at The Commission, but he had no choice. To Five, what it looked like that guy was trying to do once he knocked that girl out was truly sick. 

Five knew he was one of the bad guys, but he was better than that. At least that’s what he always tried to tell himself when it came to his propensity to overlook his many transgressions.

Just as Five’s mind was wandering back to his weird outer body experience in the alley, another young girl who shouldn’t be out on a night like this, sauntered past him, dressed as a naughty nurse.

The idea of asking her to bandage him up had Five pulling a smirk but instead of calling her over and trying to hit on her, he pulled his eyes off the tight uniform that was hardly covering her ass, he heavily sighed, then he stuffed a hand in his pant pocket and turned back to the bar.

On Halloween night, all women, young and old, got to play their slutty card with zero judgment and the men that were out got to enjoy the free show. The problem with that for Five was, he hardly felt he could do more than take advantage of the look but don't touch policy.

Even though they’d been in Reginald’s new world for over a year and upon arrival Five had been so thoughtfully given a slightly older looking body, he still looked at best the age of sixteen, hence his fuzzy math on figuring his current physical age somewhere around eighteen. When it came to pursuing relationships of the sexual kind that weren’t with inanimate objects, he was mentally closer to sixty, so add all that together and that made him the youngest old dirty perv out there, and even for him, that was a hard pill to swallow.

It’s not like he hadn’t tried to hit on women before while looking younger than this, but that never resulted in anything, and Five knew it wouldn’t. He was only doing it because he enjoyed getting a rise out of them. 

Hooking up was obviously one benefit of these kinds of places and nights like this when the tramps and vamps were abundant. If Five could get past his troublesome age hangups, he was physically legal now and he would definitely not be opposed to some meaningless sex that a one-night stand would provide him, but tonight, all he wanted to do was escape Klaus and escape life by way of good old-fashioned intoxication.

Eyes on the lit-up shelves of liquor behind the bar, Five called out his order to the man in front of him who had been giving him the side eye since he’d sat down. “Give me a shot of Jack and keep them coming.”

The bartender gave him a look. “Seriously?”

“I’m not joking," he curtly responded, then added, "You can really do me a favor and put it on ice if you really want to make it special. Then make the next one poured straight."

The tall man with black eyeliner and a mesh shirt that was draped in chains eyed Five up and down a few times, but despite his lack of ID and his beaten-up appearance, clearly the hundred-dollar bill he'd just laid down and his pricy looking tailored suit were enough to satisfy him that he was close enough to legal drinking age to be there.

“Don’t bleed all over my bar or puke on my floor, little man,” he warned before pouring Five his drink and his next shot, then setting them down in front of him.

Just as Five had drained his ice filled cup and placed the cool glass against his aching eye socket, he felt something skate across the top of his head and then a pair of hands travel up his back.

Reactively jerking his shoulders as his hand moved up to inspect his hair, Five turned to see a very pretty blonde smiling at him as she stood next to Klaus.

Five’s grumpy looking pout turned downright sour. 

“Great,” he groaned. “And here I thought you were staying home tonight.”

Holding what looked like their kitchen broom topped with tin foil to make it look like a shepherd’s hook, Klaus’s glittery blue painted lips spread from ear to ear. “Yeah, well… I changed my mind. It's Halloween and staying home on Halloween is for losers.” 

Klaus’s smile faltered the longer he looked at his younger-looking brother. 

“Did you get in a fight?”

Five’s fingers continued to feel around on his head, finally poking at the pointed horns Klaus had slipped into his ruffled mane. “Yes, I got in a fight and to answer your next question, I won. And to end this lovely conversation, you can take these back,” he said, starting to pull the devil headband off.

Klaus sprung forward, pushing the shimmering black horns back into place. “I can’t let you be the only one here who is not in costume,” he argued.

Swatting Klaus’s hand away, Five knocked back his next shot then dryly retorted, “I am in costume. I am a retired homicidal maniac.”

“I know you are, Fivey, and that is why you make the perfect little devil boy.”

That comment about his age and small stature only made Five feel even less friendly. Putting on an overly sweet smile, making himself look even more the part of the fiend who was dressed to kill in his fancy new psycho suit, he sniggered then said. “I left tonight to get away from you and your boyfriend, so do me a favor and please leave me alone. I am trying to get shit faced in this fine establishment just like the responsible adult I am, and I don’t give two shits about Halloween, and I never have.”

Klaus frowned. “Hey, man. Jake is not my boyfriend, he’s my fuck friend and he had to go to work, so I got bored,” he corrected.

“Whatever.”

“Not whatever…” Klaus defended. “Maybe I wouldn’t need to have people over all the time if you hung out with me more. It gets lonely there with you hiding out in your room, reading your nerdy stuff or playing hanky-panky, hide your wanky with Dolores.”

Five lowered his chin, glowering at his brother. “I only moved in with you because I had too. Since I am legally an adult now, I think our cohabitation arrangement has ceased to serve any valid purpose other than giving you someone to annoy.” 

Five perked up, his eyes widening as his head dropped to the side.

“Oh, and what I do in my bedroom is my business,” he hissed, “-and furthermore, by the sounds I heard coming from your bedroom, you are hardly lonely, so don’t give me that let’s go find the next big ball of string shit.” 

After chewing Klaus out, Five finally took in the full glory of what his brother was wearing. Totally blown away by the sight of it, his head cocked to the side even more, and he scrunched his face at him. 

“Klaus, what the hell are you supposed to be?”

Loving that Five seemed to forget that he was still wearing the devil’s horns he’d adorned him with, Klaus further distracted him by playfully bonking his shoulder with his shepherd’s hook.

Again, Five swatted him off, which was entirely Klaus’s intention to begin with, then totally disregarding Five’s increasing state of twitchy itchiness, he proudly twirled around in his frilly blue dress and even added little curtsy to top it off.

“I am Little Bo Peep. Isn’t it obvious?” he explained, his tone clear that his pretty ensemble should require no explanation.

Five’s bewildered expression melted back into his customary dry smirk. “Uh-huh…” he muttered just before he threw back his next round of Jack.

Even though Five had hardly bat an eye at Klaus’s friend, as he tried to turn back around to dismiss them, she proceeded to snake up to him, sliding a finger through one of his belt loops.

Five took one look down at her hand at his hip, then he narrowed his eyes at her. “Excuse me, Miss? Not sure you are aware, but you are invading my personal space.”

Not seeing the problem, the woman, dressed in a skintight catsuit, erupted in a bubble of laughter as she gave Five’s dress pants a little tug. 

“You are right, he is cute,” she said to Klaus before leaning closer to Five with the sting of alcohol on her breath hitting him so strongly it made his eyes burn enough that he had to blink the fumes away.

Despite how drunk she was and how aggravated he was getting, Five couldn’t help that his eyes flicked down to the mounds of her huge breasts spilling out of her velvety top. Momentarily unable to think of anything other than burying his face in her dirty pillows, his tongue slowly ran over his teeth and his mind went all sorts of naughty places.

With the hand he still had in his pocket nudging his dick into a position that would be less embarrassing for him if he inadvertently let his eyes linger any longer, Five looked back up again, his disinterest still evident in the hard line of his mouth as he posed the question, “Am I supposed to be happy that you think I am cute?”

Only after hearing that did Klaus’s friend look a little hurt, but that didn’t mean she removed her fingers from his pants or that she moved her body away from Five’s backside. 

“Klaus told me you might like a little company…” she dangled.  

“Did he?” Five mumbled, flagging the bartender for another.

As he set down Five's next shot, Five turned and requested a bottle of water as well.

About this time, seeing as Klaus was misinterpreting his slick plan to get Five laid as a done deal, the older looking Hargreeves started back peddling himself out into the crowd, easily disappearing in the lights and bodies moving to the electronic music thrumming through the bar.

Cat lady wiggled her butt, swishing her tail behind her provocatively. “What do you say, want to have some fun? I am really good company…”

“I am going to have to say no. I am all good on company, thank you,” Five returned, then picked up his next shot, flipping it back down the hatch as he shifted his weight forward on the bar stool to try to dislodge her hand from his waist.

Undeterred and obviously too drunk to read her own name let alone pick up on what Five was laying down, she squeezed in next to him, her thighs rubbing up on the side of his leg as her other hand fell in his lap, tickling down between his legs.

“I want you,” she purred.

“I am flattered but I am not interested, but lucky you, that guy over there probably is,” Five noted, tipping the shot glass dangling from his finger at the guy behind her that her cat tail endowed butt was ramming into.

“Awwww, but Klaus said you don’t get out much.” She tried to bat her eyes, but it came off more like she was having a stroke rather than sexy. “He told me this kind of thing is exactly what you need to work through all your demons.”

She rolled her body against Five.

Five straightened his back as he cleared his throat. “Darling, no amount of sex is going to exercise my demons and as much as I’d like to fuck you so hard that you won't be able to see straight for weeks, I have a meeting in the morning,” he effortlessly lied, trying to give her a gentler brush off.

To that, her face lit up excitedly. “It doesn’t have to take long. Klaus told me you are a virgin, so I am sure it won’t. If you want, I can suck you off in the ladies’ room, and later back at your place I can help relieve you of that other little virgin problem,” she dangled, her fingers getting even more frisky.

“As tempting as that sounds…” Five gently peeled her fingers from his pants. “Here,” he said, putting the bottle of water in her hands. “Drink this and go dance. I’ll catch up with you another night.”

“Are you sure?”

As warm and buzzed as Five was starting to feel thanks to the whiskey burning him from the inside out, his old voice of reason wouldn’t be deterred. 

This girl did not know who he really was or what he was capable of, and even considering her offer the tiny amount he was, was making him think it was time to go about ten minutes ago.

She was pretty. Young. Probably twenty-five or maybe a little older, she was lost perhaps, and insecure and very drunk. Five might be a fucked-up prick, but he wasn’t such an asshole that he going to shit on the kid’s feelings because he wasn’t into this. After all, maybe if it wasn’t Halloween, and maybe if she wasn’t doing this because of Klaus putting her up to it, and if she was someone older but not too old that it made it even weirder, Five would have said yes. Looking so young and lacking when it came to social graces, Five knew that he should be grateful for someone willing to look past all that. But…

“I am sure,” he calmly repeated, again ordering her to drink the water as he authoritatively pointed a finger towards the dance floor.

The girl looked smitten by his bossy behavior, but finally getting that Five meant business and not the business she was hoping for, she said, “Thank you. And...just so you know, I still think you are cute.” 

Then the kitty danced away on unsteady legs that Five was having a twinge of regret not having wrapped around him as he tried his best to fuck her pussy through the metal wall of one the bar's bathroom stalls.

Even though she was very inebriated and probably only did what she did because of his brother, the girl’s minority opinion of him had a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Holy shit did that girl have daddy issues,” he breathily mused.

Shaking his head and thinking about how much fun it would have been to be her ‘daddy’ for the night, Five paid his tab, then slipped past the dance floor, looking for signs of Klaus, but not seeing him.

He wondered where he’d ended up; whose bed he’d be landing in tonight, but really it didn’t matter so long as he didn’t bring back his conquest to their place because that would mean Five would have to sleep with ear plugs in and a pillow over his head all night.

As Five was midway to the door, he felt someone watching him. He stopped, cautiously surveying his surroundings.

He didn't see any threats but one of the dancers caught his eye. She was a hot little number. Slightly shorter than him, with soft looking hair and a white feathery skirt that covered her ass and not much more. 

Despite her attire, she was dancing alone and appeared perfectly content that way. Five couldn't see her face but her body language said it all. She was dancing for herself and no one else, and that made it damn sexy.

When she finally turned to face him, Five stopped breathing, his fists clenching at his sides as the flashing lights lit up her sparkly halo.

She was the angel girl from the alley, and she was dancing with her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her angelic looking face.

It made no sense after what had almost happened to her that she’d be there. 

In his periphery Five could see that two sleazy looking coyotes were circling her, trying to figure out how to slip in for the kill. As pissed as he was that she clearly hadn’t listened to him and gone home, he still wasn’t about to let them get to her before he took another bite out of her first.

He bolted through the crowd and slipped into the tiny empty space between her and one of the approaching stalkers, placing one hand on her shoulder. 

Her eyes flashed open and for a second and they seemed to glimmer with unnatural light, but Five quickly waved it off, assuming it was the glare from one of the laser lights flipping around.

“You’d think with what happened to you earlier, you’d prefer hanging out somewhere a little less dangerous? Like at home since it’s past your bedtime.”

“I could say the same to you,” she said, her smile as sassy as his words.

Five bit down his ire and gave her an overly sweet smile of his own. “You know that you have a couple of new predators stalking you,” he told her, indicating the two men sulking at the edge of the dance floor.

She turned to look at them. “And you thought you’d rush to protect me, again?”

She rolled her body with the music, their proximity so close that she was forcing Five to mimic the movement of her hips to keep from stumbling like an uncoordinated idiot.

“Something like that," he quickly shot back, "or maybe I thought the look of my beat-up face might remind you that you are luring in all the sickos again."

One of her eyebrows lifted just a little. “I am sorry about your face but are you trying to imply that you’re less of a predator?” Her hand brushed across Five’s chest as her eyes slowly ran over him. “Because… You look like the devil to me.���

Five’s hand moved from her shoulder to the small of her back, pulling her close. “Angel," he deeply growled, "I am one hundred percent a predator, but trust me, unlike with them, you’ll like it when I eat you.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head at him.

The gesture might have been dismissive, but her body language was anything but. She closed the minuscule distance between them, keeping her body pressed against Five’s as she took control of the dance they were doing, guiding him with a suggestive sway of her hips and her hands gliding across his shoulder blades.

Five did not like to dance and only did so when he was shit faced wasted, but he was buzzed and she moved like liquid silk, luring his body to forget it had bones.

As strange as it was, Five would have been content to stay there with her, just dancing and flirt fighting the rest of the night, but then the song shifted to a more bass laden sounding tune, and noting Five’s discomfort, the girl took his hand and led him from the dance floor. 

Her cool hand felt so good wrapping around his hot fingers, that alone was enough to make him follow but then she said, “Come on, handsome. You saved me, so I think that means I should at least buy you a drink.”

Five had known many compelling women but this little seductress leading him along had a very different kind allure about her and only part of that was in how she was so boldly handling him. Sure, Five had swagger, and probably a dictionary full of as many slights as he did pick up lines if he chose to deploy them, but there was something about the way this girl looked at him that made him feel sexier than he’d ever felt.

In a matter of minutes, Five had forgotten why he’d felt the need to confront her or protect her from the other men in the bar. Her face spoke of youthful innocence but everything else about her said differently and Five wanted to take care of her as much as he wanted to do very bad things to her.

Five knew something wasn’t right about that, but he couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Just like in the alley, he felt outside himself, only this time not necessarily in a bad way.

Chapter Two: The Devil's Advocate

After receiving their drinks, the girl took a sip, then gave Five a kittenish look that made his heart beat a little faster than it already was.

Though the girl was getting to him, Five did his best to feign indifference as he smiled back. “What happened to your wings,” he questioned as he looked at her shimmery white outfit while trying not to linger too inappropriately long on the tempting curves of her body.

“I parted ways with them because they were itchy,” she said with a pretty but sad sounding laugh. “Like you, I am more of a fallen angel type, so I fear the illusion I was trying to play off wasn't working that well anyway.”

Silence filled the space between them and Five looked down at the pink drink in his hand, his dark eyelashes fanning over his alcohol flushed cheeks.

“That bruising you’ve got going on really brings out your eyes,” she teased, reaching up to adjust Five's hair so everyone would be able to better see his two pointy devil horns.

Again, he'd totally forgotten that he was wearing the horns and since the girl seemed to be enjoying them, Five decided to leave them on as he huffed a little self-depreciating laugh of his own, then he sipped his matching fruity cocktail and said, “That's great. Just what I was hoping for when I threw my face in front of that gorilla's fat fist.” 

Being the perfect flirt she'd been since Five spotted her on the dance floor, the girl giggled at his grouchy response.

Not sure what to think of this young stranger’s forward behavior with him, Five gave her a sidelong glance.

She sat on her barstool, swirling the ice around in her glass with the glowing straw. Since it was even more crowded than when he had been over there before, Five didn’t sit, but leaned on the bar as he cautiously watched her. Thanks to the booze flowing through him, he felt at ease, but yet not at all, and that contradiction was making it hard for him to let his guard down enough to fully enjoy the girl's surprisingly not horrible company.

“If that hurts too much, I might be able to help,” she offered, clearly referring to his busted eye socket and swollen lip.

Five gave her a hard look. “And how would you help?”

“I’d take you somewhere private and I’d find a way to make you feel better. I owe you and I always pay my debts.”

Five frowned. “Am I missing something or are you looking to get yourself into trouble again?”

“You aren’t missing anything.” She flashed her teeth, her smile so innocent looking that again it was impossible to ignore that she was way too young for him to be checking out in the way he was.

Forcing his eyes off the barely legal eye candy next to him, Five pulled up his cuff to check his watch, noting it was after midnight.

“Like I said before. I would have thought you’d have gone home or called the police to report that guy, not continued with your evening like nothing happened," he challenged as he hesitantly glanced back up then even more firmly added, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but coming into places like this where losers lurk around every corner isn't a very bright idea."  

“What if I said that those kinds of losers were exactly what I was looking for before I found myself and even better catch?”

“I’d say you are fucked up,” Five replied, trying to laugh off her weird rebuttal, but as her hand came up and lingered near the knot of his tie, he stopped laughing and apprehensively asked, “What are you doing?”

“I am helping you.”

“I don’t need help,” Five sharply retorted, his smile beginning to melt away as a hard line drew between his eyes. He set his drink down, readying himself to scold her like an angry parent does a teenager. “I don’t understand why you are at a bar. There is no way you are twenty-one."

As he should have guessed, based on his own appearance, the girl looked very amused by him trying to put her in her place and that only irritated him even more.

“We have quite a bit in common and one of those things is me being older than I look," she said, simpering back at him. "Also like you, if I want something, I have my ways of getting it." She began to softly run her fingers up the back of Five’s suit coat, then to the back of his neck with tender strokes, teasing the ends of his hair. 

The sensation felt so foreign yet so comforting that Five reactively shut his eyes for a moment before quickly opening them again, only now they were filled with alerted suspicion, not the droopy look of contentment he had just so easily given himself over to.

“I don’t think you should be touching me like that,” he cautioned.

The girl looked unconvinced as she leaned into his ear, her cool breath adding to the tickling feel of her fingers splaying through the back of his hair as her nails delicately scratched his scalp in a way that made him want to drool it felt so damn wrong but good. Both feelings mixed, overwhelming Five as wonderful shivers shot up and down his spine.

Unable to fight it, he shut his eyes again. He wanted nothing more than to lose himself to this.

“Oh, I think touching you like this is exactly what you need,” she shushed as she watched him helplessly falling apart. “On top of that, I am not used to such interesting gentlemen like yourself stepping in to right the wrongs of this world for me. Meeting you was a refreshing encounter, and you make me wonder if this thing we have could be more than..."

As she pushed back away from him, Five opened his heavy eyes. The girl's smile was borderline silly as she rolled her eyes around as if thinking really hard about what she was about to say but then she baffled him even more when didn't say a word. Further messing with him, she looked at him again, then plucked the cherry from her glass and began twirling it between her luscious looking red lips.

It was more than clear to Five that she was toying with him but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t eagerly eating it up as he hungrily watched her every move and melted more and more with every sweet touch, she so willingly gave him.

“Wondering if we could what?” he anxiously asked when he lifted his gaze from her mouth to meet her mesmerizing eyes again. 

She said nothing, and his own eyes glazed over with raw desire and something much darker and harder to quench. 

Five’s hand suddenly clamped down onto her leg, midway between her knee and her hip.

Holding his breath, he looked down. He couldn’t believe he’d put his hand on her like that, but it was there, and it was in a very intimate spot.

“It’s okay. I want you to touch me,” she soothed.

Five’s mind filled with all sorts of other things he’d like to be doing to her and touching her only there was just the tip of that iceberg of things he craved.

Heart racing, his gaze rose to her mouth again, lingering on her teeth that were studding into her lower lip.

Five moved in closer, his hand slowly inching higher.

As the girl parted her legs for him, for the third time that night, Five felt as if he was having an outer body experience.

As if her doing that wasn’t temptation enough, a voice in his mind was telling him not to stop, and it was doing it so loudly it was all he could hear.

His hand slid upwards, reaching the top of the girl’s thigh, high up under her skirt where her hip joint met her leg.

Five brought his body closer still, clearing any space left between them as her knees pressed to the insides of his legs, but remained pointed towards the bar, hiding what he was doing to her.

“Number Five, I know what you want to do,” she sweetly sang, almost so quietly and hypnotically that he thought he might have imagined it.

Five hardly thought it was possible that this little vixen next to him had any clue of the things he wanted to do to her but then she proved him wrong.

“You want to make me come, right here while I am sitting on this bar stool,” she said, calling him out without an ounce of doubt.

“Fuck,” Five coarsely muttered.

His fingers as if having a mind of their own brushed across the cool wetness that was soiling her panties. Five's body ached with yearning that was only worse from the feel of that, but his mind suddenly and very painfully kicked back in as if he was just hit upside the head. 

As the lights from the dance floor scattered a rainbow across his face, he felt lightheaded and that had him frantically starting to question what was happening to him.

Five jerked back, but he didn't remove his hand and that was because he felt he couldn't; almost like something was mentally blocking his nervous system from doing what his brain was ordering it to do.

He was trapped.

Unfazed by his state of confusing, the girl reached down as her hand gently explored the smooth cotton that was covering his taut torso. She kept smiling as her fingers walked downward and then below the waistband of his dress pants. Five fought to think clearly, and pull away again, but her grip tightened around the top of the black wool fabric and she said, “Come on, lady killer. I am ready for you…”

“You said my name... But I didn’t tell you my name,” Five whispered as he started to panic. 

The girl’s eyes were locked on Five’s slightly parted lips, and they flickered with that same eerie light he’d seen in them on the dance floor, only this time, he was sure it wasn’t the pulsing lights making them look so otherworldly.

Running her fingers along the sharp angle of Five’s jaw, she only enchanted him further with what she said next.

“Five, I know who you are, and I think you are beautiful. Because of that, I am going to give you something you can’t seem to find on your own, and just so you know, I’d want to give it to you even if you were still outwardly that sad but sweet looking old man you have living inside your head. You are special, and your real age has nothing to do with it.”

“What are you?” Five asked, now sure that the woman next to him wasn’t at all the angel she appeared to be.

Again, she flashed him her pretty smile but this time Five noticed her somewhat elongated incisors looked very sharp.  

Five was stunned; his mind felt foggy, but the fear building in him kept trying to push through the haze.

“You don’t have to be scared of me,” she hushed him with her index finger softly tracing the line of his mouth, stopping before it graced the painful looking split on his lower lip.

Five was frozen in place as the girl’s icy looking eyes darkened and she said, “Like you, I may be a predator, but I assure that you’ll like how I bite.”

The girls’ legs nudged his, wordlessly inviting Five to proceed where he’d left off.

As if drawn to her like they were surrounded by opposite magnetic fields, Five reactively positioned his body even more so in such a way that casual observers would never know what he was doing.

With his hand still up the girl’s skirt, Five’s thumb hesitantly rubbed over her sex.

Five said nothing as he softly touched her, his fingers gliding under the silky fabric as his eyes remained locked to hers.

If the bartender came by them, he’d know exactly what was happening but Five couldn't bring himself to care about that or anything other than her.

The way she was touching him and the things she kept saying to him were all making the crotch of his pants so sinfully tight. That alone was making it hard to think straight but Five knew something was wrong, only he couldn’t bring himself to stop, not when wrong felt so fucking right and his brain kept shorting out.

Driven by unimaginable longing, Five came closer, his lips a mere inch from tasting her. “You may think you know me, but I assure you, you are meddling in things you don't understand,” he darkly warned, then he started to rub harder alongside the small nub of flesh between her legs.

The more his thumb circled her clit, the harder it seemed it was for her to resist rolling her hips against his touch and that empowered Five even more.

He felt like he was coming back to himself, but it was too late. He wasn't going anywhere.

“Beg me to fuck you,” he hotly whispered in her ear, giving her exactly what she wanted but denying himself nothing. 

“Please. Plea-”

Not satisfied, Five upped his pace.

“Fff-uck- Fff-” 

To his delight, she couldn’t finish her breathy hum of 'f' words. The girl dropped her head to Five’s shoulder, her lips brushing past the side of his cheek on the way there. 

He tucked his chin against her temple as if in a lover's embrace.

The feeling of her body being so chilly compared to his enflamed skin instantly reminded Five of how it felt when he was fucking Dolores. That thought and the girl’s immediate obedience that matched that of his beloved, were making his dick so hard it felt like it might rip out of his pants.

Aware of his growing problem, the girl started slowly palming the bulging fabric between his legs.

Five’s head rolled back on his shoulders and a low groan came crawling out of his throat that fortunately was drowned out by the heavy rumble of the bass pulsating through the bar.

“What if someone comes by?” he hissed through his teeth as he tried to focus more on what his fingers were doing than on how good his dick felt in her hand.

“If they know, that just makes this all the hotter,” she breathed against his neck.

Hell yes, it did. 

The thought of some stranger catching him fingering her and her not caring was driving Five’s mind crazy and that made waves of heat surge straight to his loins. 

She wanted him to fuck her and Five wanted to do that more than ever. A deep tightening in his stomach was filling him with visions of dumping his load all over her, just like he liked to do with Dolores when he was in the mood to really shock her.

That wasn’t happening but he was still fucking this girl and just as Five was wishing his hand had more room to move, the girl’s legs drifted further apart.

To that, Five swiftly slid another finger under her panties and straight into her with no warning, causing them both to moan from the venereal tightness of the sensation. Reveling in the feeling of being inside of a real woman’s body for the first time ever, Five’s thumb continued to rub the girl’s clit, and her wet skin directly against his own was making him want to rip the rest of her clothes off and spread her wide as he could so he could bury his face where his fingers were.

Five’s body was blocking his finger pumping in and out of the girl, but when he caught sight of the bartender, who had a slightly different view than the rest of the bar, he returned Five's look of dismayed lechery with a curious looking smile, making it look like he knew exactly what was going on but didn’t seem inclined to interrupt the young devil angel combo that were actively getting off in front of his bar.

“You are such a bad boy, Five,” she whispered as her cool breath tickled his ear and her compliments continued. “You so fucking hot, I wanted you the moment I saw you.” She nipped at his ear, her teeth grazing the shell. “Fuck, I want to taste you,” she prettily growled, and to that, she did taste him, letting her tongue move up his neck before she softly kissed the slight protrusion of his Adam's apple.

As she continued to rub her hand over the fabric covering Five’s confined cock, he wanted to return her compliments but the only thing that would come out of his mouth if he opened it was going to be a moan, so he bit the side of his cheek instead and kept at it, fucking the girl with his fingers thrusting in and out of her slicked hole.

“Oh yes, Ah-Ffff !” she cried.

Her agitated sounds of delight continued as she pulled at the top of Five’s pants, dragging his hips in so his erection came up against the side of her knee. 

Not even questioning it, Five automatically started moving himself against her, humping her with an unforgiving pace. To him, it felt almost exactly like he'd done it some many times with Dolores, and because of that, Five couldn’t help but let his tortured mind slip back to that comforting place of unconditional love that he always had with her.

Now he was safe. That quiet voice in the back of his mind screaming at him that something was wrong went silent.

In his mind, as he pressed himself against the girl, he created the image of Dolores. He could even feel the sensation of his hand holding the familiar shape of Dolores’s rigid fingers. It felt so real that Five could even hear her telling him that she loved him, and not thinking, he whispered it right back.

Dolores’s hand tightened around his, her lips softly kissing his neck again.

Five gasped. The world felt like it was slanting on its axis and he was about to fall off, and that startled him right out of his fantasy.

The seductress held him tight, not letting him move away. “It’s okay, Five. You can pretend I am her. I don’t mind."

Five’s eyes went wider and then even wider when her fingers abandoned his, then brushed through a gap between his shirt buttons, searching through the slits until she found his navel. 

She tickled her fingers around under his clothes, pushing them down the very fine line of hair trailing downwards. He all out spasmed when she found the tip of his cock where he'd tucked it to keep it hidden but was now overhanging his belt because he'd gotten so hard.

The little angel’s finger swirled around the surge of wetness that had formed at his tip, while her other hand squeezed his where he had it digging into her thigh.

All at once, Five's mind was filled with more reassurances and words of love, only now they were not in the voice of Dolores.

With those sharp white teeth pinning her plump lower lip, the girl collected the fluid, then brought it back up to her mouth, licking it as she gazed back at Five in the most sinful way.

To add to Five’s shock, the girl reached back down and started rubbing her thumb up and down the underside of his cockhead, causing him to go weak in the knees.

Five’s mouth burst open, and his words flew out of him. “Oh my god! I know you are inside my head, but I don’t fucking care. I want to be inside you so fucking bad. I want to destroy you. I could fuck you through that wall right fucking now!”

“Ah-hah… That again,” she giggled. “Twice in a matter of an hour you've had that fun idea. You seem to love the idea of fucking people through walls, don't you, Five." This time her taunting was followed by a provocative nip at Five’s lower lip, her teeth scraping over the tender tear in his pink flesh.

Five felt like he was dying. His heart felt like it might leap right out of his chest.

When the wicked cherub seducing him pulled back, letting his lip go, Five let out a small, whimpered plea. “Please kiss me.”

Five watched the girl’s red lips happily spread as she leaned back in, slowly letting her mouth mold to his. 

Five didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d kissed Dolores millions of times, so he thought about that, but let the girl take the lead for him because this was so much more than that.  

The girl was being so soft with him, not at all mimicking the pace of his fingers viciously pumping inside her. Her skin on his was pure ecstasy but when she prodded his lips to part, it was all new territory. The gentle lashes of her tongue teasing his had Five feeling desperate and he immediately pushed for more.

Hand on the back of her neck, Five drove his mouth harder into hers, letting out a soft sound like his soul was breaking.

He felt consumed by the taste of her, and the rhythm of his hand slowed almost to a stop, but only for a second before he picked it back up again and then everything picked up speed.

If the music wasn’t so loud, Five was sure that the sound of the girl’s wanton moans and the sound of his fingers squelching inside her would be heard by everyone around them. As it was, there was no hiding the small thrust of his hips as he fucked her leg like the horny devil he was.

Their kiss had turned deep and wild, and the fresh cut on his lip was throbbing but it felt almost as good as her finger that was still playing with the bloom of his cock. 

When she broke their kiss, feverishly panting, her lips traveled across Five’s neck, softly kissing below his ear with icy hot breaths.

He couldn’t take it anymore. She felt like Dolores, or better yet, like he wanted to believe Dolores felt.

He yanked the girl’s head back, forcing her mouth to drop open. 

Now he saw that her teeth weren’t just sharper than normal, now her canines were dangerously elongated.

He hadn’t imagined it the first time he'd seen it. Five wanted to say so many things, but he didn’t and couldn't. He eyed her blood red lips for only a second before he crushed them with his own again.

Five had never kissed anyone before this. He had never had the nerve to. He had never trusted anyone enough to let himself go in this way. He had no reason to trust this girl and she was clearly not all she appeared, but after a lifetime alone, he was finally getting the chance to have this and for some reason all his worries felt like they didn’t matter anymore.

Five had believed himself damaged beyond repair and that no one would want him if they knew who he really was, and if they did, it would be for all the wrong reasons, but when this girl saw him from the inside, she still had said he was beautiful… 

She started to gasp for air again, her lips moving against the side of Five's mouth. Knowing he had her right where he wanted, and not wanting to let up, Five covered the skin under her ear with wet kisses and daring little bites.

“Oh, Fi-vvve,” she keened, her hips pushing against his hand each time he pumped his fingers into her.

Wanting to make her cry out his name again, Five curved his fingers up, dragging them in and out.

A flood of unintelligible words spilled from the girl’s mouth as her fingernails scratched the skin on the back of his neck.

“OH! FFFfff-uuuck!” she cried.

Not wanting to draw even more attention than they already had even though he was loving this, Five immediately covered the girl’s mouth again with his, smothering her cries as he slid his tongue in, tasting her like he was starving.

The girl’s body started to tremble around Five’s fingers, the feel of it impossible for him not to notice.

She was trying to return Five’s ferocious kiss but was failing and he was in heaven just listening to the beautiful sound of her fighting him.

When Five felt that the pulsing flutter of her body around his fingers had eased to almost nothing again, it was as if the lights got turned back on and the music turned way down. 

Suddenly feeling like a spotlight had been thrown on him and like he’d been drugged and was coming down from the high, Five slowed his hips to a stop.

Despite his bizarrely uncharacteristic level of blind trust unraveling by the second, Five was still careful to keep a steadying hand on the girl and keep her covered as he withdrew his hand.

She met his confused gaze, looking totally blown away as her fingers that had been clinging onto his tie instead came to the nap of his neck, softly stroking his hair again.

“What did you do to me?” The question came out of Five sounding both scared and so full of anger that the girl looked taken aback by it.

“Only what you had wanted,” she defended.

“I didn’t ask to be fucked with. Get out of my head!” he shakily snarled back. 

Her voice came out so unwavering entrancing that it hit him physically. "I am not going to hurt you, Five. It’s okay. Come back to me. I promise it’s going to be okay if you do.”  

Blinking slowly, Five shook his head, trying to wake himself up. In less than a few seconds, even though he intended to, he couldn't let the girl go.

“That’s it, Five,” she soothed as he started to look back at her in awe, rather than filled with venomous hostility. 

She smiled with relief as Five hand started to lovingly stroke the inside of her thigh.

“You are so gorgeous unreal and I just... I have been wanting to do that for a very long time,” he quietly admitted while forming the most boyishly charming grin that it made the girl trapping him in her arms look at a loss for a moment.

“You’ve been wanting to finger me...for a very long time? But we just met?” she teased, followed by a laugh, that made the dimple in Five’s cheek grow even deeper.

“I wanted to know what it felt like to kiss someone who could kiss me back,” he coolly corrected.

“So, I was wrong," she dangled as she smoothed out the length of his shiny tie, her eyes purposefully getting wider the second her hand fleetingly passed over Five's cock again. "You weren’t thinking about getting your hands up my skirt so we could have a moment of shared public debauchery?”

Five lifted his hand to his mouth and nonchalantly tasted his fingers. “Mmm…” he hummed as he tilted his head to the side and his other hand naughtily grazed over the wet fabric between her legs. “I wanted to do that too,” he admitted with an air of playful confidence coming back to him.

Totally taken by the angel's spell again and feeling like he didn't have a care in the world, Five subtly rolled his hard length against her leg to the beat of the music.

“I think there’s more you want to do,” she said, giggling at him.

“What is your name?” Five suddenly asked, his hopeful eyes filled with emotion much deeper than his lust.

“It won’t matter after this,” she whispered just before her lips were on his.

Before he could even consider why it wouldn't matter, like before, her kiss tasted like a fruity paradise and Five wanted to drown in it. It was all teeth and tongue and madness, but then all at once, a metallic taste filled his mouth. He tried to pull back, but he couldn’t. The unpleasant flavor grew stronger, and the girl kissed him harder, her teeth locking down on his bottom lip as he moaned out of the sheer intensity of blinding pleasure hitting him and in pure terror and for what he didn’t even know any more.

Her kiss was consuming him, it was too much, but then the bloody iron like flavor abated and Five was suddenly swallowing something much colder and almost bittersweet tasting.

It tasted like nothing he'd ever known but he hungrily tried to get more. He kissed the girl back even harder than he already was. Five’s heart hammered in his chest and his body sizzled with heat so strong that he thought he might spontaneously combust.

Then it stopped.

He was standing there at the bar; the music so loud it was deafening. The girl was holding both his hands in hers as a curious smile graced her stained lips.

Five blinked a few times.

What the hell was going on?

He felt…

Actually, he wasn’t actually sure what he was feeling, other than he felt better than he ever had, and all he wanted was to kiss her like that again.

~~~~~~

A few moments later, Five had stripped off his suit jacket and was tossing it on a purple lounge couch in a private room that the girl was able to acquire with a mere nod of her head towards the bartender.

After scanning the small room, he turned to the girl, his eyes running up and down as she approached him.

Coming at him hard, her hands landed on Five’s chest, pushing him backwards until he was cornered with the back of his legs against the couch.

“What are you waiting for?" she taunted. "I thought you wanted to fuck me through a wall, and I am pretty sure that I see one right here that should do the trick." She slowly moved her gaze to the busy looking wallpaper to their right as if he didn't know what wall she was talking about.

With a devious smile spreading, Five goaded the girl right back. “Angel, before the night is over, I will be killing that tight little pussy of yours by nailing it through a wall or just railing the fuck out of it any damn place I see fit.” Five shamelessly palmed the crotch of his pants as he added, “But first, this devil wants to use his demon dick to have a different kind of fun with you.”

The girl looked honestly shocked for the first time by something Five had said to her and that made him very happy.

He quickly undid the metal fastening of his belt, and then undid his pants.

She was speechless.

As she already had felt, Five was not small, but now his tight black boxer briefs were leaving very little to imagination. He looked utterly adorable standing there with his pants down and his slim fit dress shirt untucked but doing nothing to cover how much he wanted her.

With a steady hand pressing down on the girl’s shoulder, Five encouraged the girl to sink to her knees.

He confidently stood above her, the only tell that he wasn’t as sure of himself as he looked was the slight tremble of anticipation running through his body as he took her halo, throwing it back behind her.

Sliding a hand down, Five pushed his underwear down, freeing his stiff cock.

The girl let out a little whimper.

Feeling pretty damn proud, Five grabbed a wad of her hair, then sharply pulled her head, pushing the girl closer to his body.

“My turn, angel,” he tauntingly sang with misleadingly boyish play in his voice.

She licked her lips then opened her mouth around him, her tongue leisurely tracing up the veins covering his engorged shaft.

After only one pass, the girl stopped to gauge Five’s reaction. 

The moment he locked eyes with the girl, she wrapped her lips around him again and Five was quick to push her down without warning, forcing her to gag around him as she struggled and gasped for air. 

Smirking, Five let her sit that way, letting her adjust as he let out an unavoidable low groan over that sinful act of cruelty. His fingers played with the girl’s silky hair, petting her even if it was a degrading form of encouragement. Doing as he pleased, Five refused to adjust the pressure he was putting on the back of her throat, but for some reason, it felt okay to being doing this, just like she said it would.

With a small nod of approval from him for her quick submission, Five reached down, requesting the girl give him her hands. She did, then he proceeded to place them palm down on his thighs. Taking her hair again, Five allowed the girl to move freely, bobbing her head up and down, mostly working his tip with her tongue.

Her eyes fluttered and her nails gently dug into Five’s slouched pants as he started to rock her head back and forth over him again, making his dick disappear in her wet mouth. Holding her the way he was, with her head titled back, her throat open and lined up perfectly, it allowed Five deep penetration and a view he'd only ever seen in porn and the sight and the feel of it was making his already heavy cock feel like it might truly choke her if he got anymore turned on.

“If it’s too much let me know,” he said, clearly indicating that she should push back if he was too rough or if he made her take him too deep.

He wasn't expecting it, but she immediately pushed back, then started circling her tongue around his tip as she moaned. Since this was not what he wanted, Five's mind whirled with punishments he could deliver but his stomach filled with butterflies the more he listened to her. As she teased the underside of his shaft, his breathing grew heavy, and he couldn’t help but grind against her marvelous tongue.

Reaching up, the girl’s hand dragged down over Five’s abdomen. She was taking her time with him, and it was evident she was enjoying it and the feeling of each ridge between his muscles as he held his body tight, trying not to sway. Five had to admit, he was enjoying it too, but then she wrapped her hand around him, covering the base of his shaft but not moving. His hands clenched; his knuckles white as he let out a rough sounding sigh of exasperation.

Letting his eyes settle on her, Five was just about to start thrusting down her throat again when the girl’s cold hand began to move, and her head shallowly bobbed over his cockhead as she softly sucked.

Five’s body shuddered and she responded by moving her hand up his length, jerking him a few times before pressing her thumb gently but firmly against the underside of his tip where her mouth was just popping on and off.

Sudden waves of pleasure hit Five, followed by shaky breaths as his fingers tightened their grip on her. Taking complete control of her movements again, he quickly forced her head down, pushing her lips sliding all the way to his pubic bone and only pulling her head up again so he could fuck into her throat all over again.

It’s not like he hadn’t warned her or given her an out. That much was clear in Five’s fuzzy mind. There was no denying he wasn't getting a sick sort of pleasure from her tears and her wet gags and each and every spasm of her throat, and there was no way he wasn’t enjoying the sound of the girl’s desperate whines and moans.

She wasn’t tapping out, but her fingers were digging into his thighs almost painfully as her eyes rolling back so far Five was sure her brain must be turning off because he'd skewered it.

Loving every second of dominating her and roughly fucking her face so hard he was making it impossible for her to think, Five paid her back by not holding in his deep moans and low grunts of euphoria, but all too quickly he had to stop, or it would be over, and he didn't want that at all.

As his hips slowed and pulled away, the girl’s swollen lips gently popped off him. 

Her brows furrowed upwards as she watched Five with a needy expression. Feeling like he could get away with it, he tapped her chin with the tip of his cock, spreading the drips of drool that the girl couldn’t help but have on her after taking him that long and hard. 

Five smiled down at the girl, a cruel sort of look spreading across his face as he watched the little angel wordlessly begging. He tightened his grip on the back of her head.

“God, you are fucking beautiful,” he breathed, then suddenly yanked her hair back, forcing her to crane her neck back. “I can’t wait to paint that pretty fucking angel face of yours.”

After a few more taps to the girl's waiting tongue, Five swiftly brought her down on him again, immediately causing her to gag. The sound of her body fighting him and the feel of her moans buzzing against him as she twitched and repeatedly tried to swallow, all had Five feeling so damn close to the edge again, but he couldn’t stop now even if he wanted to.

Soon, his rhythm became even more aggressive as he took her head in both hands, sadistically slamming his cock into her mouth while griding the back of her throat before pulling off only to repeat the process.

“You really wanted my dick, didn’t you?” Five breathlessly sputtered as he threw his head back and his eyes fell shut.

Inevitably his brutal pattern became more erratic. Eventually, Five pulled back, fully pulling out. His hand that was tangled in the strands of the girl’s hair moved to the girl’s pouty lips instead.

Jerking her chin up he urgently asked, “You think you can swallow all of it?”

She eagerly nodded.

With an air of desperation coming out of him, Five stroked himself needily, bringing himself closer and closer as the girl watched in anticipation, her mouth open and tongue out.

With a few sharp inhales, Five’s body began to shudder, and his legs began to feel like they could give out on him. His heel squeaked on the floor as he drove forward, intent on delivering. 

A long string of rough groans fell from Five's gapped lips as the girl flinched and shut her eyes in response to the pearls of white falling over her awaiting tongue.

Having had plenty of pent-up sexual tension from just the last few hours, not to mention a lifetime of being deprived of anything to this level of sexual eroticism, Five’s load repeatedly spurt out of him in heavy ropes.

The girl swallowed and swallowed, trying to keep up but even though she was, Five deliberately pulled back, letting the last of his cum land across the girl’s flushed cheeks and drip down between the mounds of her milky white breasts.

"Oh fuck," he gasped. His hand remained clasped around his shaft. His angry grip kept moving but slowly as it passed over his hot length and he road that the last incredible waves of his release.

Even though Five was on another planet as the heavy sound of his panting started to abate, he noticed that the girl was suddenly sitting there still as a statue. She was totally quiet, and her hands were in her lap as if waiting for further instruction or perhaps it was because she was too scared to move. The fact that Five couldn’t tell was quickly overshadowing his feeling of frenzied contentment.

His chest was still moving up and down faster than normal as he looked in shock down at the mess that he’d made of her. Appalled at what he'd done, he quickly pulled up his clothes and swiftly tucked his softening dick back in his tight black underwear.

Starting to panic, he stopped at zipping himself up, worriedly staring at her again with his belt still dangling open and his mind falling apart. 

Five threw his hand back over his hair, brushing the dark strands out of eyes as he looked around the small room, trying to find something to clean the girl up with. He saw a convenient box of tissues, sitting on a small side table so he lunged for them, then gently as possible, he wiped his seed from the girl’s face. 

As Five was about to draw another disposable wipe across the tops of her glistening breasts, he stopped short, realizing that maybe doing that wasn’t a great idea. 

He tossed the soiled tissue on the floor, rubbing his shaking hand over his face.

As his fingers brushed over his eye, Five noticed it didn’t hurt at all. It felt totally normal, which made sense because he could also tell that it wasn’t swollen at all anymore.

All of a sudden, it dawned on him that it wasn’t swollen when they came into the private room. His lip felt normal too and being extremely horny couldn't be the only reason he'd ignored it.

Eyes still closed; the girl let out a small sound that Five wasn't sure how to interpret. Her hand floated up, a finger hesitantly poking at her sticky flesh where her white top dipped the lowest.

“I am sorry,” Five sputtered. “I don’t know what came over me. That was so-"

So ashamed of how he’d just treated her and confused about his face and that just let himself do that, Five couldn’t begin to formulate what he was thinking.

“I am going insane,” he breathed, his eyes falling away from the girl as he started to step back, but then her other hand found his, her cool fingers trapping him even more than the couch behind him.

She started to smile. Still her eyes were closed, and it was making her look so blissfully happy it only further confused Five. She was the hottest girl he'd ever seen but she was way too young for him, and from the time he'd seen her on the dance floor, he never intended to do more than have a friendly drink with her. But clearly something changed his way of thinking, but what that was, he couldn't remember and before he could get too upset about that and what he'd just done, the girl finally started to talk.

“You don’t need to apologize," she said, rubbing at her closed eye lids. "I loved every second of that, and I know that nobody has ever been lucky enough to say this to you, and you are more than worthy of the compliment, so here it is. Five Hargreeves, you have a very nice cock, and you taste amazing."

As much as it seemed she meant it, it also seemed she couldn't say such a dirty and brazen thing with out laughing about it and that made Five feel a lightness that made no senses with the rest of his heavy emotions.

This was not normal. Something wasn't right but he wanted so badly to pretend it was.

As nice as she was being about everything, Five couldn’t help but feel like a total asshole despite all his other terrify reservations, so playing along, he ineloquently countered that with the only thing he could come up with. “I do what I can do with what I’ve got, and unfortunately, I have nothing to compare that unforgettable experience to, but I can confidently say that was the most amazing blow job I have ever received, so thank you.”

“Your very welcome. I do what I can with what I’ve got,” she repeated, copying his words and tone so well that Five couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

Feeling some better, though he didn't understand why the sudden switch, his hand came down on her head again and he started to lace his fingers through her tousled hair, trying to fix it. He wanted to help her up and was reaching down to do it but that all stopped when her eyes started opening.

Five’s eyes blew wide as he stared at the unnatural light emanating back at him where before had only been the paleness of her bottomless eyes. Suddenly, he remembered begging the girl to kiss him while they were out in the bar. 

He remembered the taste of blood.

Her smile grew wider, exposing her fangs.

In an instant, Five swooped low, wrenching her head back at the same time he pulled out the knife that had been hidden in the strap attached to his ankle.

Eyes ablaze; he brought the shining blade to the girl's neck.

Link to chapters 3 and 4

Thank you for reading and if you like, check out my other stories at the links below.

Master List Post to my Five Centric Stories and Art

Link to my other posts on Tumblr

Link to visit me on AO3

[sitp-recs]

Between the Power Lines by @tackytigerfic (M, 3k)

For Harry Potter, all roads eventually lead to Draco Malfoy. Or: this is not an AU! It's just Harry and Draco meeting by chance in an imported food shop in Connecticut and going on a road trip together. Featuring motels, cacti, Americana, and a hefty dose of pining.

In New Orleans, they got drunk on Bourbon Street, and Malfoy danced on his own (arms bare, laughing; Harry could have watched him all night) and later on, so late it was almost morning, they let themselves into the St Louis Cemetery—Malfoy unpicking the lock so sweetly—and walked around until the sky was pink-edged with the promise of another day’s heat. Then they sat on the steps of a crypt, watched over by sightless eyes of the statue of an angel. She looked exhausted rather than sad, Harry thought, and that made a lot of sense when he thought about his own longstanding, dull-edged grief.

It’s been ages (or 2 years) since I last wrote a rec for Tacky (I usually write for other readers, except when I’m reccing friends - then I write for them) and their birthday was the perfect excuse to put my reccing muscles back to work. I almost bailed out because I know this is one of T’s own faves and “what if I don’t do it justice?” but that tired angel banner has been sitting in my drafts for 3 long years and it deserves a proper rec!

Where to even begin? Anyone who knows Tacky is aware of their superb prose - rich and nuanced, compassionate, effortlessly funny, with a strong sense of place and a soft spot for suds scenes and filthy m-rated sex I mean devastating romance. Their writing breathes heart and personality, very much like Tacky themself. So knowing that this fic came out exactly as they intended it to should be enough to make you go read this right now, but in case you need further incentive, see below all the reasons why this oneshot is so special to me:

1. The *vibes*: if you thought that 3k is nowhere near enough to build the sexiest, most intriguing Americana atmosphere you’ve seen, think again. The aesthetics are impeccable here, decorating the beautiful and strange landscape - cacti and cheap motels included - into something peaceful and desolate, an overarching melancholy making it even more compelling. The dialogue is brilliant but the silences are just as loud and meaningful, with a quiet intimacy and a dreamlike quality that make you feel as if you're intruding a memory.

2. The romance: at this point everyone and their dog know that pining!Harry is Tacky's jam - they luxuriate in making us all suffer with him until the realization that Draco has been loving him back all along slaps us in the face. Harry is so stupid and desperate and wanton, I love it. And the way Tacky reinvents this delicious trope to make it work in new angsty ways blows my mind. Imo the slow burn is particularly effective here, a feat in any 3k story, because the narrative gives us so much character insight. We learn all the little things that make these two lonely boys tick as we watch their ever-changing perception of each other evolve from a tentative truce to reluctant confidants to a comfortable, easy love that comes naturally and earned. We often get those bits of information from imagery and emotions alone, no dialogue needed, and a road trip is the best way to explore those dynamics in a smooth, unhurried pace.

3. The journey: this is truly an immersive journey, not only physical as we keep jumping from one destination to the next, but also emotional, as we learn more about their vulnerabilities and desires the more they gravitate towards each other. This story shows that being far away from home can be both freeing and grounding, when you’re stuck with your hot enemy someone who knows about your darkest hour. It gives you the chance to heal and visualize a different future without forgetting your past or letting go of that which has shaped who you are. I love their chance encounter and how this poignant 30k love story is told in such impressive economy of words.

TL;DR: if you’re a short form fan and prone to melancholy like me believe me when I say it doesn’t get any better than this. The whole road trip shebang mixing grief, romance and nostalgia wrapped in Tacky’s lush writing is a gift to any reader and an elegant work of art. Enjoy!!!

[feyres-divorce-lawyer]

*claps and rubs hands together* alright you miscreants, behold! epic literature provided by moi

~ You Might Be King Of Half The World, But You’ll Not Own Me As Well by WickedTheRedHorse (a literal masterpiece, i’m being so serious rn. when i say i only ship fanon darklina, this is what i mean)

~ the reports associated with my existence have been significantly misconstrued by davidstennant (multi-media fics aren’t usually my jam, but this, this is good jam. exquisite jam. would gladly slather it over some challa bread and feast) [note: hasn’t been updated since may last year]

~ Liar’s Waltz (based on the poll) by @sunlightsage (first rhysta fic i ever read🤌🏾🤌🏾)

~ House of Mirrors by ae_neon (love a widow whose husband died under mysterious circumstances — @ae-neon)

~ Burial Rites in Crepuscular Hours by Existential_Teatime (badass alina rights, badass alina wrongs, when she makes the darkling question his intelligence>>>)

~ #8024 by SimplyAnotherWriter (marinette in arkham. that’s it)

~ The Journey to You by Thisishowitbegins (responsible for my resolute belief that timinette is the superior maribat ship, can’t believe this the author’s debut fic) [note: updates may be long as author grew incredibly busy]

~ Feylin Oneshots by Bookish_Gal (let’s be honest here, it’s by @bookishfeylin, need i say more. if you haven’t read it, what are you doing? alexander and adora live on my heart. also dragon tamlin, like hello???)

~ A Court of Frost and Embers by Midnight_Wishes (i made a whole, 6 minute long tiktok abt this on my first acc (that got banned because that clock app is so damn sensitive) really took my feycien obsession from brainworm to brainrot. the absolute longing and devastating angst because lucien knows feyre needs to break the curse yet falls for her anyway, but feyre doesn’t know so she just thinks lucien’s avoiding her for no reason. crushes my heart in the best way. and their calanmai scene, whew) [edit: @goforth-ladymidnight is the author’s tumblr)

~ heaven can’t help me now by disarmed (completed, perfect, there aren’t enough feycien infidelity fics out there)

~ The Girl and the Wolf by MythNinesevenine (miss janet dreams that she was as good at writing as @longsightmyth, DREAMS, i said)

~ A Court of Family Secrets and A Court of Flames and Shadows by flamesandshadows (feyre not going back to rhys after she finds out, nesta not going on that stupid hike, feycien friendship revival, eris and elain sibling relationship, elucien, azris, feyre ruling hewn city. literally all i could ask for)

~ Riddles in the Dark by flamesandshadows (feyre never gets sa’d utm. that’s it)

~ Sacrifice by flamesandshadows (rhys doesn’t get his powers back in acowar)

~ Reputation by flamesandshadows (nyx learns that his family isn’t as innocent as he grew up believing, especially his father. my favorite part, he goes absolute ape shit and deadass almost kills rhysand when he finds out what happened utm)

~ The Great Ikea Game by IcedAquarius (have you ever played hide and seek in ikea with your brothers and then you meet a girl that helps you with god-like magic because she’s bored? well that happens to damian wayne) [first work in an incomplete series but this work itself is completed]

~ Second Best by stormpill (Second Best Cinematic Universe is an actual collection with 75 works across 15 fandoms, Inspired by Second Best - stormpill is an actual tag. SB was a cultural reset. two sun summoners? genius. fjerdan barbie is the best inside joke i know. this shit was so good y’all, i’m so sad it was deleted)

~ Dragonlight by Anonymous (tgt/asoiaf crossover. alina lands in king’s landing (ha, get it) and ends up in a sacrifice by that mad king dude to bring back dragons, except due to her small science, it works. so now alya’s a dragon mama to six firebreathing cuties. alina and that rhaegar dude (that’s his name right?) marry to protect alina from his father cuz bro is called the mad king for a reason. political intrigue, yum.) [sporadic updates]

Veiled Wings and Shattered Panoramas — A Series by Dragonfly08 (@dragonfly0808 S4 REWRITE IS TOMORROW🥳🥳. best winx rewrite like ever. netflix wishes, WISHES, that they could ever be as good as writing winx as dragonfly is. btw A Withering Pretense is the best rewrite, argue with your mother)

if you don’t read at least one of these, i will cry🙂

[jamneuromain]

Allright my sweet Jam, listen about this. How about a reader who is new at her work and Meet our dear nerdy boy Jensen, Who happens to be in a very bad relationship with a mean girl. He doesn’t leave her because he thinks nobody would date him again , however there comes our reader girl being a badass, sort of friendsxlovers cuties🤭.

Im loving thiiiis!!!! 🙈

Hi nonnie😌❤️

😩soft boi Jakey is always going to have a special place in my heart - the golden retriever look on his face is so damn adorable-

Bad B*tch

Jake Jensen x Reader (you)

Summary: Jake is in a tough spot with a terrible person around. You choose to be the bitch and snap him out of it.

Warning: Swear words.

"I'm so fed up!" Hush-yells Clara, who shoved Jake away from her close proximity, "Leave me alone!"

Storming off from the coffee room, she didn't look back.

If anyone other than people from your department is seeing this, they would think that Jake, who had been pushed and shoved, must have done something wrong to piss off the pretty lady who ran away.

From your point of view?

Clara was obviously manipulating her boy toy again.

It was unfair to call Jake "boy toy", however, with his weirdly cute goatee and the round spectacles on the bridge of his nose, you understood why Clara would want him around. He was undoubtedly good-looking, and practical regarding computers, phones, and anything linked to the power strip.

In fact, your laptop was what connected you and him in the first place. On the first day in your office, you were completely bewildered by the complicated authorization process to make amendments to some files. After some help from the only guy at IT - Jake - you were lucky to gain the authorization from the IT department twice as fast. You had been friends since.

Now, after two years working for your company, you knew too well of your co-workes, Jake included, but especially Clara from the same department where you came from.

Clara was the notorious slayer of hearts, keeping a few men around the tips of her fingers, and manipulate them to do her work for her, occasionally rewarding them by blowing a kiss (or screw them in an empty office, you had the unfortunate experience of walking in Clara and another men fucking each other's brain out) and making their sanity scrambled into mush.

Jake, as it seemed, has fell into the hands of Clara since six months ago.

Jake met your eyes from where he was standing. He managed a small smile, which looked sad rather than happy.

"What is it with this time?" You asked quietly.

It has happened so many times after Jake was determined that Clara was willing to be his girlfriend. Clara would scream and yell whenever something didn't work out the way she expected to, and Jake would hastily apologize for something that wasn't his fault.

"I ... got upset when she got too close with Felix." Jake scratched the back of his head, stepping out of the coffee room and gesturing towards the terrace, where he'd be more open to conversation without eyes and ears close by, "It's ... it's my fault, though, I'm insecure, I'm ..." Jake repeated what Clara had hissed at him, shutting his eyes, he could still hear her words ringing in his ears.

"Sorry about dumping this on you." He hastily apologized. He noticed that you were awfully quiet, probably because that you didn't want to hear about his yet-to-be relationship drama.

"It's okay." You shrugged.

It was not. But last time when you told Jake that Clara was manipulating him into doing her biddings, Jake broke into a large fight with you.

Even though he apologized the next day, but stating the fact that Clara was nothing like you imagined her, you realized some topics were better staying in the dark.

Topics like Clara and her ways with men.

However, it didn't mean that you couldn't wiggle your opinion into his mind.

You turned to him, your voice flooded with sympathy, "You must feel that you are out of her league, I get that a lot."

Yeah sure, Clara didn't deserve him.

Jake took a deep breath, before continuing, "It's just that ... none of the girls finds me attractive." He casted a small glimpse in your direction, "I'm the nerdy IT guy, and they are always ... hot. " Licking his lower lip nervously, Jake huffed, "Clara is different. She has a bad temper, but I think she likes me. She really does."

You were not going to dwell on the case of Clara, because you knew no matter what you say, he was going to defend her. So you changed your approach, "Rewind to the last thing you said - you're not a nerd."

Jake pouted, blinking his puppy eyes.

His whole demeanor was expressing one simple idea. He knew you were trying to sneak by with a white lie.

You laughed. "Okay! Okay, you are. But you're cute. Don't girls dig the cute nerd type?"

"You'd be surprised." He sagged his shoulder, looking depressed, mumbling, "Thank you, anyways. You must have something better to do, and yet you chose to stay and listened to my miserable love life-"

"Don't." You instinctively stopped him from saying more, "Look, Jake, you've been my friend ever since I got to this place, and I know you. I chose to stay because my friend is in need because of a-" You swallowed the B-word, with difficulty, "a really bad person broke his heart, over, over and over again. Not because of anything else, and certainly not because my dear friend 'doesn't deserve' some comforting when he needs it."

Jake stretched his arms over the terrace railing, looking into the city's concrete walls and iron jungles.

"Jake, look at me." You whispered.

He gave no reply, simply letting out a long sigh.

"Jake." You raised your voice, only by a little, and he still did not answer you.

"Jake-" You squished his cheek between your palms, finally made him turn your way, with his adorable lips protruding, "You're better than this - sulking over that bitch - okay?"

A pit of fire rolled in your stomach.

Why couldn't he see the truth? That Clara was playing him, that she never meant to be his girlfriend, not to mention the new boytoy she had, Felix, who was in the accountant and that she needed Felix to check the books for five dozen purchases in your department - on top of, the purchase checks were supposed to be Clara's work, because she messed up with her data entries.

"She wants me." Jake repeats stubbornly. If he had puppy ears, they'd be dangling to the floor, "She likes me."

God, enough with Jake and his bullshit-

You stood on your tiptoes quickly, and smothered Jake with a kiss. The hands on either side of his cheek helps. The fire in your stomach fueled to the kiss, urging you to nibble on his lips, regardless that you were on the terrace of the company building, that you could be seen by almost anyone who stepped foot into the second floor, while the only thing that separated you from the building was see-through glass doors.

"Jake, I need you to help me with-" Clara rushed over, pulling the glass door open, was stunned at her spot, and then, "YOU BITCH!" She screamed at you.

"Guess I am." You smiled coyly, letting go of Jake's reddened lips, "need anything?"

Clara turned to Jake, stomping like a teenager, "Jake, please, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. I really need your help."

"I-" Jake hesitated.

"Jake pleaaaaase, you can't help her like that." You mocked her voice, fingers exploring his chin and his stupidly cute goatee, "Oh wait - sorry, forgot I was a bitch. Now why don't I live up to that name - " You made the most impressive bitch face in your entire life, not that you did it before, but with you narrowing your eyes, and twitching your lips, and the "Fuck off from my boyfriend", you made Clara scatter.

You were crossing your arms in contempt, satisfied with your tactics, when a small gasp from Jake made you aware of his presence.

"For the record, I'm not saying sorry." You pursed your lips into a thin line, "Even if you don't want me to be your friend anymore."

Jake gulped, and gulped again, and calling your name hesitantly. Thin sheet of sweat emerged from his forehead, before the goofy grin curled up onto his lips.

"No. No." He murmured. Cheeks pink, biting the inside of his lip, staring into the ground so hard as if studying tile patterns, he added, "You're not asking me for help at work, are you?"

You huffed out a laugh. You could not believe his first concern of your announcement.

"Yes." You cleared your throat.

His eyes looked up in disbelief.

"And asking you to come to our house for New Year's dinner. And asking you to teach me how to play Overwatch. And asking you to be my date at my cousin's wedding. And such and such." Your hand sneaked to his side, secretly interlacing his fingers with yours, "What'd you say?"

"Yeah." He breathed, "Yeah that sounds ... great. As long as I get to be Sombra."

"Who?" You quirked your eyebrows.

Jake giggled, holding your hand tightly in his, "You have so much to catch up on Overwatch! Sombra is the most badass one of them all - well, not as badass as you, it seems..."

Find Jammy's 500 Follower's Celebration here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

[cosmerelists]

Support Groups that are Needed in the Cosmere

[Spoilers throughout!]

Sure, Kaladin has invented therapy, but where are the highly specific, timeline-blind, Cosmere-spanning support groups that our heroes desperately need? Support groups like...

1. "My Parental Figure Tried to Murder Me and all I Got was this Stupid Trauma."

Vin: You grow up thinking your mom tried to kill you, but it turns out she was just spiking you to be controlled for an evil god. Vin: Not better. Charlie: Oh man, that's horrible! My dad just sent me to an evil sorceress he thought would kill me because I was just that embarrassing to him. Wax: My uncle, who raised me, tried to blow me up with my own butler! And that was just, like, the first murder attempt. Shallan (sweating): I really thought there'd be more "and I killed them back" by now.

2. "Kin-Killers Club Support Group"

Wax: Kin-Killer's...Club? Shallan: I thinks someone thought the alliteration would be jolly before realizing that this group probably shouldn't be. Raboniel: Some would claim that "kin-killing" must be specifically a blood relative, like a daughter, rather than a spouse. Dalinar: ...should I go? Wax: No, no, I think wives definitely count as family! Vin: How do we feel about in-laws? Father-in-law? Brother-in-law? Shallan: Hey, it's all trauma. Kaladin: What if you didn't kill your brother exactly but you feel like it's definitely your fault and the guilt eats you alive? Wax: Yeah, nixing the jolly alliteration was definitely a good idea.

3. "I Did Not Enjoy Being Enslaved"

Kaladin: I think, for me, the worst part was that by the time I had fallen that low, I kinda felt like I deserved it. For not protecting people. Kaladin: I think that's why I kept my slave brands for so long. Rlain: I never thought I deserved it. None of my people did. Crow: Hey, why is this group's name in the past tense? Some of us are STILL enslaved to the big stupid dragon, you know!

4. "Dead Brother Gang"

Kaladin: Uh, Shallan? Is it awkward to have me here? Shallan: Eh, it's okay. Narratively, I got over you killing my brother really quickly! Shallan: Sorry he killed, like, all of your friends. Kaladin: I think that's trauma for a different support group. Shallan: Ha ha yeah! I've been to so many it's hard to keep track. Jasnah: If the two of you are finished, perhaps the rest of us could also talk about our deceased brothers now? Llarimar: Uh, is it okay if our brother died but then later came back to life? His death was still, like, very sad. Marsh: Of course. Even brothers who don't remain dead can be grieved. Marsh: ...Sometimes they manage to annoy you more.

5. "Horses Suck So Much--Why Doesn't Anyone Else See It?"

Kaladin: ... Vin: ... Kaladin: Vin: ... Kaladin: I really thought we'd get more people. Vin: Me too!

6. "Killed Off For Another Character's Development"

Evi: I know my death gave my husband such a powerful backstory but...it would have been nice to be in the main narrative. Vin's mom: Hey, at least you got a name. Parlin: It sucks, but it must be nice that you were grieved, at least! Parlin: People are like, why was Parlin even a character? Kelsier: (sighs) Yeah, our deaths may help the main character grow...but at what cost? Evi (low voice): Are we sure he qualifies?

7. "I Really Thought That Guy Was Cool and then He Almost Murdered Me and I Felt Kind of Stupid"

Vivenna: Turns out you CAN'T trust mercenaries, even if they seem jolly. Shallan: Some men who bring you jam and bread are...bad. Siri: Even nerds can be evil. Hrathen: Sometimes the crazed, violence-prone, deeply unstable underling you think you can control for your own purposes turns out to be crazy, violent, unstable, and murderous. Vivenna: ... Shallan: ... Siri: ... Hrathen: What?

7. "Wronged By Hoid"

Kelsier: Ugh, that jerk. Punched me in the face. Sigzil: Abandoned me in the Bridge Crew. Not to mention that I have to run forever now, thanks to him. Jasnah: "Wronged" is perhaps strong, but I will say that he is not the ideal boyfriend. Riina: That son-of-bitch kicked me off of a perfectly fine planet! Amarem: He was quite rude to me, once. Or many times. Hoid: It's all so true. I get myself into SO much trouble sometimes. Hoid: Is there any greater victim of Hoid...than Hoid himself? Kelsier: YOU CAN'T BE HERE

[bonsoir-tyrelliot]

So I’ve read like most of the Tyrelliot on AO3 at this point (minus the high school and college AUs because that stuff isn’t my jam) and I wanted to post my recs! I have tagged authors wherever I’m aware of them. Keep in mind this is my personal taste, which tends toward the soft. In no particular order:

1. Last Request (series) - This author’s instincts for romance are better than 95% of the published romance market. It’s unfinished but by the time you get to where it stops you’ll believe in Tyrelliot’s love so hard you’ll believe they can get through their final obstacle. AU.

2. Lend me your heart, I swear I won’t break it - Does anyone else get a literal physical response from sweetness in fic? I do, and I spent all 27,000 words of this in that tingly state. There’s angst but it’s so worth it for how sweet they are to each other. The ending is either happy or sad depending on your personal headcanons.

3. Beside the white chickens - A cute, longer oneshot where Tyrell comforts Elliot. I got the tingles from this entire thing too.

4. Lacunae - As I think the name implies, this fic gives us scenes from in between canon scenes. It also gives new takes on some canon scenes. WIP. Some of the best writing I have ever seen, no exaggeration. You have to read it to believe it. @auntarctica

5. the two-body problem - Elliot saves Tyrell after 404 and plays grumpy nurse. Both are incredibly in character. Tyrell high on morphine is cute but heartbreaking. Excellent writing. @cainightfics

6. This world will always be here - Technically this is Tyrobot, but it’s too good not to include, and it’s all Elliot anyway right? Incredibly sweet, incredibly well written. The softest Tyrell you'll ever meet. @the-fossilized-writer

7. In the dread of night and it’s sequel Sleeping at last - Two one shots that fix Tyrell’s death. I never knew I wanted Tyrell to be good with a wrench but it turns out I did want that.

8. Reboot to Recovery - A oneshot inside Elliot Alderson’s mind. Very cute and sweet and satisfying.

9. On your side, always - This is the most straightforward post-canon Tyrelliot get-together I’ve come across. Almost no angst, some pretty good smut.

10. I, Robot - A oneshot where Mr. Robot gets to relax for a minute with Tyrell. Very in character and adorable. Tyrobot.

11. Know you by heart - Tyrobot scenes from the basement in season 3. Expands on Mr. Robot's character in very cool ways. @zeiskyte

—Bonus-three recs that are PWPish.

1. Tender are the hands of god - Robot-Elliot strangles Tyrell during sex to celebrate the successful hack. Also, weirdly, this is some of the best prose I have ever seen on AO3.

2. World full of uptight gentlemen - Elliot makes Tyrell wear a vibrating butt plug during an E Corp meeting.

3. The evolution of Elliot Alderson - Elliot as power bottom. Sex in a limo. @deviantdarkbelle

[livslunaticdamiansdisciple18]

Here I am with my request: I wanted to request something like Rhea Ripley with a singer girlfriend. I've been singing for three years by now and unfortunatly I don't have many friends who noticed how much effort I put in this because ever since I was a child, I was inspired by my father who unfortunatly passed when I was 16 because he used to love my voice and even I was shy at first, I became more confident with my voice and I'm curious to know what Rhea would think about that...

My Songbird! Rhea Ripley

Rhea Ripley x Alexa

Warnings: Sadness!!

Word Count: 589

A/N: This was sent in by my girl @allyinwonderland18 and she had sent it in a while ago but lately I was trying to figure out how to write it cause I lost my grandpa when I was 7 so something likes this hits home a little but yea. Let's get into it.

Alexa is your name.

@allyinwonderland18 hope you like it.

As the lights dimmed and the music began to fill the arena, Rhea Ripley stood in the center of the ring, her powerful presence commanding the attention of every person in the audience. She was known for her fierce attitude and dominant performances in the wrestling ring, but behind her tough exterior, Rhea had a soft spot for music.

In her free time, Rhea loved to attend concerts and discover new music. Tonight, she had been invited to a small local show by a friend and she couldn't wait to see what new talent was waiting to be found.

The first act took the stage and Rhea was immediately blown away by the stunning vocals of the lead singer. As she sang with passion and emotion, Rhea found herself feeling a strong connection to the music. The singer's voice was like a thundering force, just like Rhea's own strength in the wrestling ring.

As the show went on, Rhea couldn't help but feel drawn to the lead singer. Her stage presence was captivating and her voice was like no other. Rhea found herself wanting to know more about this talented performer.

After the show, Rhea made her way backstage to see if she could meet the singer. She was in luck, as the two were introduced and Rhea couldn't help but feel a spark of attraction. They started talking and Rhea learned that the singer's name was Alexa and she had been singing for three years.

Rhea was amazed by Alexa's talent and couldn't believe that someone with such a powerful voice didn't have a bigger following. She asked Alexa about her journey in music and was touched when she learned that Alexa's inspiration came from her late father.

Alexa explained that her father had passed away when she was just 16, but he had always been her biggest supporter in music. His love for her voice had given her the confidence to pursue her dreams, despite being shy at first.

Rhea's heart ached for Alexa and she could relate to her on a personal level. Like Alexa, Rhea had also lost her father at a young age and his support and encouragement had played a big role in her career as a wrestler.

As Rhea and Alexa continued to talk, they realized they had a lot in common. They both shared a love for music and a deep connection to their fathers. They also both understood the hard work and dedication it took to become successful in their respective fields.

Before leaving, Rhea asked Alexa if she would like to meet up and jam sometime. Alexa was overjoyed and the two exchanged numbers, excited to share their talents and passions with each other.

As Rhea walked out of the venue that night, she couldn't stop thinking about Alexa and her incredible voice. She couldn't believe how lucky she was to have stumbled upon such a talented and inspiring person.

From that day on, Rhea and Alexa became close friends and musical collaborators. Rhea would often attend Alexa's shows and cheer her on, just like she would in a wrestling match. In return, Alexa would always make sure to attend and support Rhea at her wrestling events.

Together, they proved that strength and talent come in all forms and that true connections can be found through shared passions and experiences. Rhea was grateful for her friendship with Alexa and knew that her father would be proud to see her connecting with such a talented and genuine person like her.

-I hope you guys enjoyed this! I had fun writing it. I love you guys so so so so so much. <33333

[crepe-of-wrath]

Sickeningly Sweet Shouta Scarf Saturday

Notes/Warnings: fem Reader; fluffy fluff; takes place in a canon divergent timeline where there was just some nice slice-of-life time after the USJ incident; Mic and Midnight make an appearance

Who had time to eat in the cafeteria?

Your lunch time was far better spent hiding the fact that you were once again staring at Shouta Aizawa, the most beautiful boy in the entire world. He had the most perfect--the most perfect--dark hair. And he was very quiet, which you liked. Loud noises and loud people had made you anxious ever since you could remember. The only thing about quiet little Shouta Aizawa that upset you was that he always looked so tired and sometimes a little sad. You wanted to make him happy.

Your friends thought you were ridiculous. Aizawa was a terrible match for you, they said. Sure, you were both smart and that was a good thing, but Aizawa didn't appear to have much style, whereas you already had big, serious Pros interested in your fashionable and functional accessories and support gear. You were one of the wealthiest and prettiest girls at UA, but you were also a friend to anyone and everyone. He, on the other hand, always went around with his nose in the air, always thinking he was too good to have to deign to associate with the rest of the world. But then he also somehow had those two extremely lame and weird friends, Yamada and Shirakumo, and could you even imagine having to hang out with them all the time (though your friends pointed out that at least Shirakumo was built and Yamada's eyes were pretty)?! Worst of all, Aizawa was so gloomy and didn't seem to have any ambition of his own while you were already always so hard on yourself and wanted to go places. He'd never be able to give you the support you needed! What if he ran your spirits down with one of those barbed little observations of his?

You knew your friends meant well, but they just didn't see. Aizawa was a sensitive, shy and quiet boy who thought carefully before he did and said things. Not everyone needed to be brash and cocksure. And he was very, very handsome, with the prettiest black hair.

~~

One afternoon in your second year you were happily in your own world, working in one of the Support Course studios, when Aizawa materialized in the doorway. When you locked eyes with him, the shock caused you to jam the needle you were sewing with right into one of your fingers, making you yelp, and forcing you to quickly clean up blood, lest you ruin all your work. This was not exactly the impression of competence you hoped to present.

But your metaphorical rain clouds dissipated when Aizawa said, "I'm sorry, you were clearly concentrating. I should have knocked."

(See! your inner voice shouted. He's quiet and polite!)

"It's fine," you said, as you finished putting a power pad on your finger. "Can I help you?"

"I'm having a problem getting the right--I don't even know the word--the right texture? weight? feel? for my binding cloth weapon. Everyone says you're the expert to talk to about this sort of thing."

You two spent the rest of the afternoon testing out different fibers and materials, sharing giggles over what failed, and high-fiving one another when you figured out the right amount of wire to give him just the drape and action he needed.

"Thank you, thank you very much," he said, giving you a little smile. It was the most magnificent and exquisite smile there had ever been, of course.

"I will have it ready for you as soon as I can, Aizawa!"

You pulled multiple all-nighters to make the weapon for Shouta. When it was done, and you were all alone in your studio, you kissed it for luck.

You started in on a second binding cloth not long after giving Aizawa that first one. It only made sense for him to have a second one ready for immediate use when he needed to turn in his weapon for replacement. You finished this one in the dead of night as well, and yes, you gave it a kiss. You would have died if Aizawa ever knew: he would think it was such a silly thing.

~~

After you graduated from UA, your parents and your friends desperately tried to fix you up, and sometimes you almost let your mind wander away from the lovely dark-haired boy who held pride of place in your heart.

And then you would receive a damaged old binding cloth in the mail. You would salvage what you could from the old one, prepare a new one, and give it your secret little kiss for luck before messaging Aizawa to let him know it was ready. He would reply with a time and place for a meeting.

At first, you had assumed these meetings would bring you joy, but they often did the opposite. Aizawa was always so sad. Grief and guilt had turned him into someone who was actually as brusque as your friends has always said he was, although he was still wickedly funny and as polite to you as he was to anyone. Still, you were worried.

So, you brought your concerns to Present Mic and Midnight, who were also clients of yours by now. You didn't feel it was your place to interfere with Aizawa's personal matters directly. You wished you knew him that well, but you didn't.

"I'm concerned about Aizawa Shouta," you said. "I've never--not once--met him to bring him his binding cloths in an office or anything that looks like it could be a home. And I don't think that he is dealing well with Shirakumo Oboro's death."

They considered what you had just said for a moment.

"Wait! Aizawa asks you to bring the scarves to him in person?" said Mic, who looked almost giddy. You felt this was a bit inappropriate, given the seriousness of what you had just told them.

"Of course he does," said Midnight. "Of course he does...I knew it." Apparently something about Aizawa being sad and needing some help was very funny, and you were happy to be on the outside looking in when it came to the joke.

After a few seconds, both of them seemed to realize how improper their reactions were, and they sobered up--at least as much as they could. "Leave it with us," said Kayama. "And thank you for looking out for our sweet little grumpy boy."

~~

You waited for Class 1-A to leave their homeroom--they were all discussing hero names as they streamed out, so you might as well have been invisible to them. After they were gone, you poked your head in, and Aizawa invited you into the room. You acknowledged Aizawa with a bow and produced the familiar box. You hadn't kissed it this time. Apparently the luck of your kisses had run out.

"I'm sorry that this one took so long to produce, but I couldn't salvage anything from its predecessor."

"No need to apologize. It would have been irrational for me to expect you to have a new one prepared right away."

The new scar under his eye looked very painful. (And hot! Don't forget hot! said the wildly inappropriate voice in your head.)

"I'm sorry you got hurt," you said.

"Thanks, but it's part of the job."

You were both holding an end of the scarf box. Had your hands ever been this close? Why had you never noticed how large and strong his hands looked? (Think of how it would feel if he held you! said the unhelpful, inappropriate voice.) The air around you suddenly felt very, very heavy and you knew you had to leave before you embarrassed yourself.

You released the box, backed up a couple of steps and were about to turn around when you met resistance. Two hands, which revealed themselves as belonging to Nemuri and Hizashi, pushed you back toward Aizawa and closed the door to Class 1-A behind them.

Shouta looked like he was considering jumping out of one of the windows.

"I've had to watch this pining silliness for years now! I can't take it anymore!" shouted Mic.

Much more softly--which underscored how deadly serious he was--he added, "One of you better say something now, or I will."

Kayama's voice floated into your ear: "That's a promise, sweet thing."

You and Shouta just stared at each other, like terrified deer transfixed by light.

"Would you like to go to a park?" you blurted out, your nerves causing you to project at unexpectedly high volume. "Maybe sit somewhere nice and quiet? I could do some knitting while you mark your papers?"

Aizawa tried to hide his blush behind the binding cloth he was already wearing. You felt your own face heat up and sweat start to form. If you weren't so frightened of the twin cupids Midnight and Mic, whose hands were still pressed firmly into your back, you would have turned and run.

Fortunately you didn't, because the most beautiful boy you had ever seen or would ever see ignited his Erasure, which his two friends correctly interpreted as a GET OUT gesture and then, when the door was closed and it was quiet and you two were alone, softly said, "Yes, we should go to a park."

Shouta walked up to you with a small, shy, sincere smile that peeked out over his scarf. You decided you'd have to figure how to slip a kiss to the scarf that was still in its box sometime later. He slowly took your fingers one by one until he was finally holding your hand. Then, he led you out of the room.

Maybe you were just being hopeful, but you swore his eyes looked less sad.

[bunniesballads]

Don't Forget Me

Sebastian x reader

“Mood: Move to another city and start a new life”

word count: 1.3k

a.n: powered thru to post an actual fic, i have a SLIGHT idea of a part two where he comes back

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹ ⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦

The path to Sebastian’s house was dark, the only light guiding you being the waning moon and the bright stars. The wind howled as you walked past swaying trees. You had finally made it to his front door, scowling at the fact that he hadn’t bothered to turn on the lantern. Your stomach was twisting anxiously as you felt the weight of the vague letter in your pocket. As quietly as you could you turned the knob, hoping he at least left it unlocked. The house was quiet and asleep, the only noise was the creaking of the wooden floorboards underneath your boots. You turned the corner, walking down the basement stairs before opening the door that led to Sebastian’s room. He looked up at you, your eyebrows twisted into confusion as you recognized the redness surrounding his eyes and nose. He was abruptly stuffing clothes from his drawers into a battered up suitcase.

“Sebastian,” You drawled, confused. “What are you doing? What’s happening?” You step further into the room, taking note of his empty walls that were previously covered in posters. He reached up, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the corner of his nose and clearing his throat.

“I’m, um, I’m leaving,” He scratched below his jaw nervously, “I’m leaving Pelican town.” His voice was a mixture of excitement, sadness, and something else you couldn't place your finger on. You knew he always had plans of leaving, of going to the big city, you just didn’t think it would be so soon, not right now.

You knew the answer, but for some reason, the words slipped out of your mouth. Quietly, you spoke, “Where are you going?” He let out a dry laugh before looking around for something, a pair of jeans, and pulling them from under his drawer.

“Where do you think I’m going, y/n?” He shoves the jeans into his suitcase before jamming down the suitcase, trying to get it to close. You scoff, rolling your eyes as you watch him struggle.

“Right now though? Tonight?” You watch him rub his temples and push his dark hair away from his eyes.

“Yes,” he hissed before sighing, “If I don’t go now I don’t think I ever will.” He gives up on the suitcase and looks up at you. You hated this, you hated that you wanted him to stay, especially when you knew how much this meant to him. His eyes were so far away all the time. You walk over to him, softly nudging him aside to fold his clothes properly. In response he sat down, the bed creaking under the sudden weight and rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. You watch his head hang, wishing you could give him some kind of comfort. After a few minutes of trying to fix his mess, you spoke up.

“Who knows you're leaving?” you say as you fold a t-shirt.

“Sam, Abigail…you. I’ve written a note and put it on the fridge.” You looked down at him. Of course he would do something like that.

“You’re not going to tell them?” You tried to hide the disapproval in your voice, that’s not what he needed right now.

“I am telling them,” he scowled, “They’ll see it in the morning. By the time they wake up I’ll be in the city, I’ll give them a call when I can.” He spoke so casually, you knew his family life wasn’t the greatest…actually they really sucked. You loved them but you couldn’t stand the way they treated him.

“Did something happen Seb?” You look down at your hands, putting the t-shirt back into the suitcase. He shakes his head, his hair falling back into its normal place over his eyes.

“No. It’s just if I told them I was leaving, they’d tried to stop me or say something condescending.” he tilts his head amused, “or they wouldn’t care but…” You shut the suitcase closed with a click and a sigh.

“I understand but-“ Sebastian looks up, his cold eyes watching yours under dark lashes.

“What?” He said, his voice on edge. You meet his eyes, tilting your head slightly. You knew you didn’t have to tell him anything, he already knew he was wrong. His face softened for a moment before scowling and looking away.

“You can’t just…disappear. And what? Say goodbye over a note? They don't know when they’re going to see you-“

“Save me the lecture, y/n. Seriously.”

“It isn’t fair Sebastian.”

“Don’t tell me what’s fair,” He spat. “Don’t make me feel selfish for this.”

“I’m not,” your voice cracks for a moment. “You have every right to go…I want you to go.” You spoke with reassurance in your voice. However, who you were reassuring was the question. “It just feels so sudden.” The room was quiet for a moment before Sebastian stood up. He grabbed the handle of his suitcase from in front of you. You were suddenly so close that the smell of him overwhelmed you. You watched as he stepped away and picked up an overstuffed bookbag off of the ground and over his shoulder.

“C'mon.” You followed him out of his room to the outside of his house. Turning to face the door, you take a desperate deep breath and shut it. By the time you turned around, Sebastian had already pulled his motorcycle from the side of his house.

“Are you really taking that on the train?” You say, trying to lighten up the mood. He chuckles as he props up his bike.

“You think I would leave her behind?” He straps up his suitcase on the back of it, fastening it as tight as possible. You think about it for a second as you take a few steps closer. “I guess not, you need some sort of transportation in the city. It’s not gonna be like riding down here y’know.” You trace the handles as you stand in front of Sebastian.

“I’m a safe driver, y/n. I wear my helmet all the time. I should be worried about you.”

You laugh rolling ur eyes. Sebastian smiles crookedly, showing off his canines. You feel your heart stutter as you watch his lips quirk up and look to the side as you speak. “I’m a farmer. That’s the safest job someone could have.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Not when you’re addicted to overworking yourself.”

“Hey,” you scowl. You watch as Sebastian glances down at his wrist, an old watch ticking and he lets out a sigh. “You should go before you miss it.” He twists his watch around his wrist for a moment, pulling his sleeve down and nodding, “I should go.” He extends his arm outwards and you raise your eyebrows in response. You were taken aback by Sebastian’s offer of a hug. He never was a fan of physical touch. It was always awkward when you said goodbyes, usually resulting in fist bumps or simple waves. He shoots you a glance before exasperatedly sighing. You smile mockingly and press against his side, relishing the infrequent contact he offered. He wrapped his arm around you squeezing you slightly.

“I- We’ll miss you.” You squeeze your eyes, mentally cursing at yourself and hoping he didn’t notice your stupid slip-up. You freeze up as he rests his head on the top of yours.

“I think I’ll miss you too,” he mumbled. You can feel his head tilt downwards, his hot breath on the root of your hair. His body tensed up with hesitation before he pulled himself away. You looked up at him, your eyes questioning. He followed your eyes before inhaling sharply and looking away. Sebastian swung his legs over his bike, slipping the key into the keyhole and starting it up. The bike started with a rumble and you stepped back slightly.

“Don’t forget to write, okay?” You said as he pulled his helmet over his ruffled hair.

“I won’t.” You nodded, swallowing hard as he flipped down his visor over his eyes. You watched as he pulled and released the clutch, letting him ride down the mountain. Before he was out of sight he looked back, giving you a small wave before speeding away to the station.

The path to Sebastian’s house was dark, the only light guiding you being the waning moon and the bright stars. The wind howled as you walked past swaying trees. You had finally made it to his front door, scowling at the fact that he hadn’t bothered to turn on the lantern. Your stomach was twisting anxiously as you felt the weight of the vague letter in your pocket. As quietly as you could you turned the knob, hoping he at least left it unlocked. The house was quiet and asleep, the only noise was the creaking of the wooden floorboards underneath your boots. You turned the corner, walking down the basement stairs before opening the door that led to Sebastian’s room. He looked up at you, your eyebrows twisted into confusion as you recognized the redness surrounding his eyes and nose. He was abruptly stuffing clothes from his drawers into a battered up suitcase.

“Sebastian,” You drawled, confused. “What are you doing? What’s happening?” You step further into the room, taking note of his empty walls that were previously covered in posters. He reached up, using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the corner of his nose and clearing his throat.

“I’m, um, I’m leaving,” He scratched below his jaw nervously, “I’m leaving Pelican town.” His voice was a mixture of excitement, sadness, and something else you couldn't place your finger on. You knew he always had plans of leaving, of going to the big city, you just didn’t think it would be so soon, not right now.

You knew the answer, but for some reason, the words slipped out of your mouth. Quietly, you spoke, “Where are you going?” He let out a dry laugh before looking around for something, a pair of jeans, and pulling them from under his drawer.

“Where do you think I’m going, y/n?” He shoves the jeans into his suitcase before jamming down the suitcase, trying to get it to close. You scoff, rolling your eyes as you watch him struggle.

“Right now though? Tonight?” You watch him rub his temples and push his dark hair away from his eyes.

“Yes,” he hissed before sighing, “If I don’t go now I don’t think I ever will.” He gives up on the suitcase and looks up at you. You hated this, you hated that you wanted him to stay, especially when you knew how much this meant to him. His eyes were so far away all the time. You walk over to him, softly nudging him aside to fold his clothes properly. In response he sat down, the bed creaking under the sudden weight and rested his elbows on his knees, cradling his head in his hands. You watch his head hang, wishing you could give him some kind of comfort. After a few minutes of trying to fix his mess, you spoke up.

“Who knows you're leaving?” you say as you fold a t-shirt.

“Sam, Abigail…you. I’ve written a note and put it on the fridge.” You looked down at him. Of course he would do something like that.

“You’re not going to tell them?” You tried to hide the disapproval in your voice, that’s not what he needed right now.

“I am telling them,” he scowled, “They’ll see it in the morning. By the time they wake up I’ll be in the city, I’ll give them a call when I can.” He spoke so casually, you knew his family life wasn’t the greatest…actually they really sucked. You loved them but you couldn’t stand the way they treated him.

“Did something happen Seb?” You look down at your hands, putting the t-shirt back into the suitcase. He shakes his head, his hair falling back into its normal place over his eyes.

“No. It’s just if I told them I was leaving, they’d tried to stop me or say something condescending.” he tilts his head amused, “or they wouldn’t care but…” You shut the suitcase closed with a click and a sigh.

“I understand but-“ Sebastian looks up, his cold eyes watching yours under dark lashes.

“What?” He said, his voice on edge. You meet his eyes, tilting your head slightly. You knew you didn’t have to tell him anything, he already knew he was wrong. His face softened for a moment before scowling and looking away.

“You can’t just…disappear. And what? Say goodbye over a note? They don't know when they’re going to see you-“

“Save me the lecture, y/n. Seriously.”

“It isn’t fair Sebastian.”

“Don’t tell me what’s fair,” He spat. “Don’t make me feel selfish for this.”

“I’m not,” your voice cracks for a moment. “You have every right to go…I want you to go.” You spoke with reassurance in your voice. However, who you were reassuring was the question. “It just feels so sudden.” The room was quiet for a moment before Sebastian stood up. He grabbed the handle of his suitcase from in front of you. You were suddenly so close that the smell of him overwhelmed you. You watched as he stepped away and picked up an overstuffed bookbag off of the ground and over his shoulder.

“C'mon.” You followed him out of his room to the outside of his house. Turning to face the door, you take a desperate deep breath and shut it. By the time you turned around, Sebastian had already pulled his motorcycle from the side of his house.

“Are you really taking that on the train?” You say, trying to lighten up the mood. He chuckles as he props up his bike.

“You think I would leave her behind?” He straps up his suitcase on the back of it, fastening it as tight as possible. You think about it for a second as you take a few steps closer. “I guess not, you need some sort of transportation in the city. It’s not gonna be like riding down here y’know.” You trace the handles as you stand in front of Sebastian.

“I’m a safe driver, y/n. I wear my helmet all the time. I should be worried about you.”

You laugh rolling ur eyes. Sebastian smiles crookedly, showing off his canines. You feel your heart stutter as you watch his lips quirk up and look to the side as you speak. “I’m a farmer. That’s the safest job someone could have.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Not when you’re addicted to overworking yourself.”

“Hey,” you scowl. You watch as Sebastian glances down at his wrist, an old watch ticking and he lets out a sigh. “You should go before you miss it.” He twists his watch around his wrist for a moment, pulling his sleeve down and nodding, “I should go.” He extends his arm outwards and you raise your eyebrows in response. You were taken aback by Sebastian’s offer of a hug. He never was a fan of physical touch. It was always awkward when you said goodbyes, usually resulting in fist bumps or simple waves. He shoots you a glance before exasperatedly sighing. You smile mockingly and press against his side, relishing the infrequent contact he offered. He wrapped his arm around you squeezing you slightly.

“I- We’ll miss you.” You squeeze your eyes, mentally cursing at yourself and hoping he didn’t notice your stupid slip-up. You freeze up as he rests his head on the top of yours.

“I think I’ll miss you too,” he mumbled. You can feel his head tilt downwards, his hot breath on the root of your hair. His body tensed up with hesitation before he pulled himself away. You looked up at him, your eyes questioning. He followed your eyes before inhaling sharply and looking away. Sebastian swung his legs over his bike, slipping the key into the keyhole and starting it up. The bike started with a rumble and you stepped back slightly.

“Don’t forget to write, okay?” You said as he pulled his helmet over his ruffled hair.

“I won’t.” You nodded, swallowing hard as he flipped down his visor over his eyes. You watched as he pulled and released the clutch, letting him ride down the mountain. Before he was out of sight he looked back, giving you a small wave before speeding away to the station.

[zhoudadudugongjin]

Red Cliff: Part Two!

Lmao Zhang Fei in the arrow game. Iconic.

Idk what Sun Xiaomei (Shangxiang i think they call her in this?) is doing pretending to be part of Cao Cao's army but she seems to be having fun getting her flirt on with this chap. It's cute. I can ship that.

The army is all diseased and Zhuge Liang is getting personally stuck in to help treat them, which is very sweet of him.

Liu Bei wants to back out of the alliance because all his soldiers are dying, but Zhuge Liang wants to stay behind with his new boyfriend.

You can say that again lmao. I get more more surrogate dad-son vibes from them in this adaptation. Probably because they made the age difference so stark, and also because this Zhou Yu is a classy catch.

awwww

Next we get to watch Zhou Yu prance around with his sword looking hot and disehevelled for a bit so I won't complain too much. Xiao Qiao laments that she wishes she could make a teapot full of rainbows and smiles and they all just drink it and be happy :(

Zhou Yu and Zhuge Liang get up close and personal to talk about arrows

We get Zhou Yu's most Iconic moment!! Where he gets drunk with his old school friend and they sleep together :)) 10/10 for homoeroticism

Lu Su has a pet scarecrow friend 😭😭

Zhou Yu offers Zhuge Liang a blowjob

Cao Cao gets his moment of humanisation while he hangs out with the sick and injured and talks about how he misses his little boy who is always sick.

Shangxiang is back from her little holiday and gets Xiao Qiao to strip her in front of a whole load of men who all turn around awkwardly not knowing where to look. It turns out she has an entire map of Cao Cao's camp wrapped around her tiny waist. As you do.

I ship Xiao Qiao and Shangxiang by the way

Funny story, I kinda forgot that this was Sun Quan. Like I just forgot what he looked like. He had completely skipped my mind so when he came up and wrapped his cloak around her like this I was like "WHOMST?" and then I was like "oh shit yeah that's her gege"

Anyway. Then Xiao Qiao decides to fuck off to visit Cao Cao because she REALLY wants to make him tea. Odd plot point but.. I guess they wanted her to do something other than just stand around looking pretty and bolstering Zhou Yu's ego???

Liu Bei is waiting for his boy :(

Zhou Yu is sad his wife is gone so he has another sexy jamming session in the dark with Zhuge Liang and they look at each other like this:

While his wife finally gets to realise her dream of making tea for Cao Cao

Cao Cao's fleet burns and the Big Final Battle kicks off. Shangxiang's little friend she made in Wei dies in front of her which is kinda sad.

Then one thing I haven't mentioned is the unexpected yet wholesome friendship we get between Zhou Yu and Zhao Yun! Here they are, back to back, fighting off the baddies <3

They go and to rescue Xiao Qiao and end up facing off with Cao Cao. And Liu Bei + co are all there too and I'm sure it did not happen like that but eh whatever.

Zhao Yun probably didn't actually invent the pole vault either, but whatever

This shot of Zhou Yu is here just because it's hella cute

Anyway they all defeated Cao Cao through the power of friendship and tea or whatever and tell him to just go home instead of killing him the end

Epilogue:

Zhou Yu and Zhuge Liang have one final romantic rendezvous in a field like this is pride and prejudice or something

(the real end)