#AGAIN I do NOT beta read so be forewarned

[1800-fight-me]

Broken vows

Part One 

Aemond Targaryen x Female!Reader

Rating: E - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 

Warnings: Explicit sex, infidelity, angst- oh so much angst, canon level sexism, the reader is a lady of a great house but the house is unspecified and the reader has no description. (As a forewarning, though this story has dark themes and tons of angst it absolutely will have a happy ending!) 

Word count: 7.3k 

Synopsis: You and Aemond have been best friends since childhood and in love with one another since you were teens. What happens when your father weds you to another man? 

Author’s note: It’s finally here! I’ve worked so hard on this fic and can’t wait for y’all to read it! Thank you so so much to my lovely beta readers @just-here-for-the-moment and @adderess​ y’all are the best!! P.S. Here’s a link to my masterlist if you’d like to check out my other writing! My askbox and taglist are always open! Come interact with me! Reblogs and feedback are greatly appreciated!

Aemond Masterlist            Part Two Part Three Epilogue

“Please, father, please don’t do this,” you begged as tears streamed down your face. 

“It is already done and you are expected to do your duty,” he said sternly, without feeling. 

“Please, if you care for me at all as your daughter do not wed me to that awful stuffy old lord,” you cried. 

“It is final. You will marry him and put thoughts of the prince out of our mind. It was foolish of you to be so stupid to allow yourself to fall in love. I will hear no more of this. We leave in the morning to wed you to Cregan Stark,” he said harshly and turned to leave. 

“You would rip your only daughter from everyone I know and was raised with and isolate me in the north with a man I’ve never met,” you yelled at his back. 

He turned back to you, his hand on the door handle, “Do not pretend to mourn anyone but the prince you are so besotted with. We shall leave at first light,” he said firmly and finally before he left and the resounding boom of the door shutting behind him caused you to fall to your knees and sob. 

It took a long time for the tears to dry as you thought of the ruination of your life that was sure to come from your father’s decision. 

You snuck out through the tunnels you found in your room at the Red Keep years ago when you were a child. 

You snuck your way to the dragon pit and could finally feel yourself breathe again as you saw him. 

His back was turned to you and his long white hair gleamed in the moonlight as he ran his hand across Vaghar’s scales. 

“Aemond,” you whimpered, eyes full of tears again as you realized this would be the last time you saw him before you were shipped off and married to a stranger. 

He turned and took you in with an intense expression. 

“Come here, dear heart,” he said as he pulled you into his arms. 

You cried into his chest as he rubbed his large hand up and down your back and held you tightly. 

“Your father is an imbecile,” he finally said, his voice low and full of anger. 

“I hate him,” you sobbed. 

“You are mine. You should be mine and mine alone. If you were wed to me you would be a princess of the realm rather than just the lady of a frozen patch of unwanted land,” he said through clenched teeth. 

“I want to be yours,” you whimpered. 

“He turned down my mother’s proposal for us to be wed. His decision is beyond my comprehension,” he said with a kiss to your forehead. 

“Can we…” you trailed off, unsure of your own words. 

“My mother forbade me from spiriting you away on Vaghar and wedding you this night. It would mean war between our houses, war we cannot afford to wage at this time,” he said and you could hear the grief in his voice. 

There were no more tears to be shed. You looked up at him and placed your hand on his cheek. 

“Let me be yours, at least just for this night, take me one more time, Aemond. Make me yours, please,” you said and the words were barely out of your mouth before he kissed you, no - devoured you, in a kiss full of fire and passion. 

You spent the night with Aemond, your body entangled with his in pleasure and love and the next morning you faced your fate with a face of stone and a mind full of comforting memories of your lover. 

_______________________

Three years later 

You strode into the Red Keep next to your husband and attempted to keep yourself from trembling. 

King Aegon had requested the presence of the Starks and nearly all other important houses in the seven kingdoms for the celebration of his twins’ name day. 

You weren’t sure how you felt about visiting your childhood home again after years of being gone. 

Part of you wished you could’ve stayed in Winterfell, as much as you hated it there, at least you could avoid the emotional heaviness of being back home. 

You hadn’t seen or heard from Aemond since you left. It was too dangerous for you if he were to write to you and though he was the prince, there was no plausible excuse for him to visit you in your husband’s house. 

You missed him desperately and more so with each day that passed. 

Time had not lessened your love for him. No, your dragon had lit a fire within you that would never go out. 

There was certainly no love between you and your husband. He was not harsh with you, but treated you as a duty and a burden he must endure. 

You loathed when he called you his wife. You had dreamed of Aemond calling you that since you were a young woman. 

You entered the throne room and your eyes darted around as you looked for him.

He towered where he stood, his presence strong and intense, next to the throne. His hands were clasped behind his back and his hair had grown longer, nearly to his waist now. He appeared to have put on muscle in the years you had been gone. He looked good and your heart clenched in your chest. 

As he spoke quietly to Aegon, his jaw sharp as his face was turned away from you, you took your time to take him in and control your own emotions. 

You could not allow them to show on your face. 

The king’s guard announced you and your husband’s arrival and Aemond turned to face you. 

He was breathtakingly beautiful. You worried your heart would gallop out of your chest. 

His lips pursed as he took in your husband and then his eye landed on you. 

You knew him well enough to see the emotion he tried to hide so well as he took in your form and then stared into your eyes. 

You hoped he had similar thoughts about you as you had about him. Winterfell had not been easy on you, but you did your best to present yourself well today. Your lady’s maid had been exasperated with you when you changed your dress three times before settling on the one you were currently wearing. 

Aemond nodded slightly at you and you curtsied back. Your husband mistook Aemond’s nod for himself and your curtsy for Aegon as he too nodded back before he bowed. 

You sat at the feast and resisted the urge to bang your head on the table before you. 

Your husband largely ignored your presence as he spoke with the other lords around him and on your other side sat your father, whom you were hardly on friendly terms with. 

You did your best to not acknowledge the feeling of Aemond’s eye on you as he smoldered at you from across the room, but your body temperature raised each time you could feel his attention. 

Your eyes met his and he smirked softly at you as if he could tell the way he flustered you and took pride in it. 

Your father looked over at you and you quickly looked down at the table. 

“You are not to speak to him,” he hissed in your ear. 

You turned and glared at your father. 

“There are already rumors of you being unable to bear a child as you have failed in your duty thus far. I will not have additional rumors of you being a whore because that entitled prince cannot keep his hands off of you,” he whispered in your ear, his tone harsh. 

“Nothing has happened,” you retorted with your eyes narrowed at him. 

“And nothing will,” he replied firmly and you huffed but refused to reply. 

It was an exquisite pain to sit across a crowded room from the love of your life and have duty and your roles in life form a harsh unbreakable line between the two of you. 

You didn’t know what changes time had wrought on his life and subsequently his feelings for you, but you burned for him. 

A heat and desire you hadn’t felt in years ignited inside you once again as you felt his gaze linger on you once again. You refused to look back. 

Your husband turned to you, “Do you wish to greet the king and his family with me? They are your childhood friends, are they not?” 

You didn’t think you had the willpower to refuse him as being closer to Aemond was what every fiber of your being wanted. 

“Yes, that sounds nice,” you said demurely. 

He led you arm in arm, which you loathed, to stand before the Targaryen’s table. 

No proper introductions were needed this time for they were completed when you first entered the throne room. 

Instead Helaena called your name excitedly and hurriedly rounded the table to wrap you in a hug. 

“Helaena, how I’ve missed you,” you said as you hugged her back. 

“We must catch up. It has been far too long,” she said as she pulled back and gripped your hands. 

“Yes, perhaps a walk through the gardens tomorrow,” you said excitedly and she nodded. 

Alicent then appeared by your side and pulled you into a hug. 

“My dear, you look well, how is winterfell treating you?” she asked as she pulled back and looked at your face. 

You glanced over at your husband who was deep in conversation with Aegon and Aemond, though it was obvious to you that Aemond’s attention was covertly on you rather than the surely dull conversation. 

“It is good. Though I will admit that I have missed King’s Landing,” you said, and once again glanced at Aemond. 

Alicent nodded knowingly, “It will always be your home.” 

You nodded and refused to allow tears to fill your eyes. 

Aegon called your name and you reluctantly turned to join their conversation. 

He slung an arm around your shoulders and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. 

Your relationship with Aegon was precarious at best, as children you always took Aemond’s side and would always snip back at Aegon when he was being a prick, even going so far as to prank him back a few times. 

You knew Aegon was only embracing you to piss off Aemond, his idea of humor was nearly always at his brother’s expense. 

“How I’ve missed you,” the King said and you shot him a warning glare. 

“Do you remember when we were children and you and Aemond would always hide away in the library so to tease you I released a flock of birds into your little sanctuary?” Aegon said with a laugh. 

You merely sighed. 

Helena’s attention had wandered across the room and Alicent appeared frustrated with Aegon’s tendency to cause trouble, though she made no comment. 

“Hm, a wonderful prank,” Aemond said in a monotone, clearly unamused tone. 

“They were everywhere, the librarians were furious and you were so upset,” Aegon laughed as he squeezed you. 

Your husband glanced between you and Aegon, clearly confused and not as amused as the king seemed to be. 

It must be disorienting for him to see how closely bound you were to the family of dragons, and yet he did not know the true extent of your attachment. 

“Perhaps you also remember the time I crushed berries in your shampoo and your hair was blue for days,” you said with attitude and with another laugh Aegon finally released you. 

“Aemond, you have not truly greeted our childhood friend, embrace her,” Aegon said with the smile of a snake. 

You took a shuddering breath as you looked at him. 

His gaze was intense and threatened to drown you in a wave of fire. His lips were pursed in irritation at his brother and the moment lasted a heartbeat too long. The awkwardness and tension between the two of you became obvious to those in the small group around you. 

Aemond was a man that only ever showed affection in private moments when it was just the two of you. Certainly not in front of your husband and his entire family. 

It was best that he didn’t embrace you, you didn’t know if you would be able to hold yourself back from melting into his arms, his warmth, his scent. Gods, you wanted him. 

“Perhaps the lady should instead be embraced by her husband rather than continue to be passed around by Targaryens,” Alicent said lightly and efficiently resolved the tension. 

Cregon chuckled awkwardly before he reached his hand out to yours. 

You reluctantly placed your hand in his and allowed him to wrap his arm around you. 

Though, of course his embrace did not last. You did not miss how Aemond’s jaw clenched as he saw your husband touch you. 

Thankfully the conversation quickly moved on as Aegon promised to introduce your husband to all the pleasures of King’s Landing. You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your eyes at that. 

Everyone was placated with more wine and as Aegon and Cregon sank into their cups you decided to take your leave. 

Your husband waved you off without care and with a sigh you left the throne room and the lively party within it. 

You quickly dismissed the knight guarding you as you made your way to your room, grateful that you were given the same room you used to have as a girl and that your husband was given a different room so that you would not have to deal with his drunken state. 

You took deep breaths as you strode through the Red Keep and decided that you could not allow your thoughts to linger on Aemond any longer, it was too dangerous for a woman in your position to be pining over a young love. 

A hand grabbed at your wrist and yanked you into a darkened hallway. Before you could scream there was another hand covering your mouth and you were yanked back into a man’s chest. 

You squirmed and fought and attempted to reach for the dagger hidden underneath your skirts where it was sheathed against your thigh. 

The man snatched your hand as if he knew what you were trying to do. 

“Will you stop fighting me?” Aemond’s voice hissed at you in the dark and all of the fight immediately left you as you realized it was Aemond’s body you were pressed against. 

He sighed and released you.

Of course he knew you were reaching for your dagger, he had been the one to gift it to you and taught you how to use it.  

You quickly whirled around to look at him. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snapped at him, but remained careful and kept your voice down. 

“Oh how I’ve missed you, dear heart,” he said with a smirk and had to resist the urge to slap him. 

You settled for a glare which caused him to chuckle. 

“I didn’t know how else to get you alone without causing suspicion,” he said as he glanced around to ensure the two of you were still alone.

“Causing suspicion? You scared the shit out of me! I could have stabbed you!” you whisper-yelled. 

He merely stared at you in disbelief. Of course he would take offense to the suggestion that you could best him in any sort of combat scenario. 

You sighed in exasperation. 

He smirked once again. 

“Have you not missed me, my lady?” he purred and stepped forward and crowded you against the wall. 

He placed a hand on either side of the wall near your head and effectively caged you in. Though, you’d never felt more free. With him, in his arms, was where you always wanted to be. 

“Of course I have,” you said but you refused to look at him for fear of what his stare could make you do. 

“Look at me,” he murmured. 

You shook your head as tears filled your eyes. 

He placed a gentle hand on your cheek and turned your head so that you could meet his gaze. 

He wiped the tear away with his thumb as it fell. 

“Meet me tonight. In our spot,” he urged you. 

You sniffled. 

“I cannot,” you said, though your tone was clearly uncertain. 

“Meet me tonight,” he repeated himself, his voice passionate and persuasive. 

“I am married, Aemond. I cannot meet you anywhere, if anyone even found me speaking to you now it could ruin me,” you hissed through clenched teeth. 

“No one will know,” he whispered. 

You shook your head again and looked at the floor. 

“Just to talk, nothing more,” he reassured you. 

You looked up at him once again and your resolve broke. 

Of course you missed your lover Aemond, but somehow, even more so, you missed having him as your friend. 

“Okay,” you said with a nod and his face split into a grin. 

“See you at midnight, my lady,” he said before he pressed a kiss to your forehead then swiftly walked away before you could protest. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the small smile from forming as you strode the rest of the way to your room. 

You announced to your guards that you were feeling ill and to notify your husband that you were not in need of company should he inquire about you, not that he would. 

Once you were in the safety of your room, you walked around in awe as you ran your hand across the furniture. 

It was nearly unchanged from your time spent in it during your girlhood. 

You wondered if that was due to Alicent, though she has her flaws you always felt her motherly love and you loved her as well. You suspected that she was devastated as well that you did not join her family. 

Perhaps she had taken pity on Aemond and that was why he had not been forced into an unwanted marriage as you had. 

You waited anxiously for midnight to come and once it was near you pressed on the large painting next to the bed and it popped open to reveal a hidden passageway. 

It was something you and Aemond had discovered when you were children exploring the Red Keep and running away from Aegon and his reign of terror over the two of you. 

You grabbed the cloak from where it laid on the ground next to the hidden doorway and dusted it off, before you wrapped it around yourself and pulled the hood over your head. 

You snapped the portrait-door shut behind you and crept through the dark passageway, guided only by your memory and your hand on the wall. 

Soon you were deposited outside of the Red Keep and snuck your way through the shadows to the dragon pit. 

“Hello beautiful,” you murmured as you came upon Vaghar. 

The massive dragon cracked an eye open and huffed out a breath at you. 

You giggled at her grumpy temperament and raised and put out your hand in a request for permission to touch her. 

She grumbled in a way that you knew meant it was okay, so you gently ran a hand across the scales of her face and she made a soft pleased noise that made you smile. 

You felt Aemond’s presence behind you as he wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his chest to your back. His large hand covered yours as you pet Vaghar. 

“She missed you nearly as much as I did,” he whispered in your ear and his long white hair fell over your shoulder as he did. 

“I missed her as well,” you said. 

“Hm, but not me,” he teased, his voice light. 

You elbowed him lightly in the stomach and turned around to look at him, “Do not jest, Aemond.” 

He watched you warily. 

“I have yearned for you every day these long years but you touch me and speak as if the circumstances are not vastly different from the last time we saw one another.” 

He pressed his lips together. 

“You are mine,” he said lowly. 

“I am not! I am not,” you exclaimed with tears in your eyes. 

Your voice broke as you spoke, “I am wed, Aemond. I have a husband, who I dislike greatly, but he is my husband all the same. My heart will always belong to you, but I cannot be yours any longer.” 

He opened his mouth to speak but you barreled right through him. 

“Have you thought of what would happen to me if I were discovered to be here with you? Allowing you to speak to me to-to touch me so familiarly? I would be branded a whore, my prince. Your prior claim on my heart would make no difference in others’ eyes. I do not think you are taking that seriously enough. It would ruin me.”

He sighed, “Of course I understand, dear heart, I wish for nothing but your safety. I swear to you I will keep my hands to myself until you give me explicit permission to touch you. And even if that never comes, I would still like to enjoy the presence of your company.” 

You sighed and nodded slightly at him. 

He commanded Vaghar to move her head and revealed the spot he had set up behind her, fully protected from any prying eyes by her huge body as she placed her head back in its regular spot. 

The language of Old Valyrian rolled off his tongue and filled you with another rush of desire for him. 

You sat next to him on the blanket, but regretfully far enough that your body did not touch his. You rested your back on Vaghar’s warm scaled body and took a deep breath in, relishing the familiarity. 

He poured you a glass of wine and handed it to you. You smiled at him. 

“Thank you,” you said and you could see him physically restrain himself from reaching out and touching your hand. It cracked at your heart and your resolve. 

“Tell me of your life in Winterfell, how is it?” he asked earnestly. 

“It is cold,” you said and he chuckled. 

You smiled but then looked down at the cup in your hand. 

“Truthfully, it is very lonely.” 

His face was solemn as he waited for you to continue. 

“Other than my lady’s maid Brienne, I feel very alone in the North. My husband treats me as if I am a duty and burden he has to bear. The people of Winterfell are…. cold and unwelcoming. I feel as if I have no voice there and am constantly dismissed. Perhaps I need to stop comparing my current life to my past one, but I have missed your sister and your mother’s company. It is difficult living with so much formality all the time.” 

He nodded at you, understanding that there were no words to comfort you, nothing that could change the duty you had to endure. 

You reached for his hand and allowed him to hold it in his much larger one. 

“I wished to write to you, as I did Helaena but I felt it too dangerous.” 

“I understand. I refrained from writing you as well, I did not want to cause any trouble for you,” he said and squeezed your hand slightly.  

“What of your life? How have you been?” you asked. 

“I have kept myself rather busy with my responsibilities,” he said as he pursed his lips and swallowed. 

“To distract myself from thinking of you,” he admitted quietly. 

Your heart cracked in half as the man you loved so much looked at you, sadness and pain hidden behind longing.

You slipped your hand from his.  

“It seems this time apart has not been easy on either of us,” you said softly and your arms ached to hold him. 

“So many times I rode Vaghar and found myself unconsciously directing her north. I dreamt of unleashing her fire upon Winterfell and bringing you home, leaving only ashes behind us,” he said, his voice dark and deep. 

“Oh Aemond,” you breathed out and your eyes prickled with tears. 

He sighed. “A childish dream I have done my best to shove out of my mind. We are no longer in our youth and must conform to the expectations of us,” he said, tone firm as if he were reprimanding himself. 

“I am tired of conforming, of doing my duty,” you whispered as your fingers grazed his once again. 

“I try my best to not think of you performing your duty,” he said darkly as he looked away from you. 

You dropped your hand from his and looked down. 

“There is no pleasure or joy in it,” you whispered as you stared at your lap. 

“Hm.” 

“Have you…?” you asked as you peeked up at him through your eyelashes. 

He nodded, “I have, though there was no love in it as we once had.” 

You swallowed and nodded, of course you could not expect him to remain faithful to you while you were married to someone else and away in the north. 

Still, it stung. It made you understand how he must feel about you being married to another. 

“There are rumors about me. I have endured my duty for years and yet no child has come of it. You and I always took precautions when we were together to prevent a child but now... people whisper that I am barren and I worry they are correct.” 

“Your value is more than your ability to bear a child,” he reassured. 

You licked your lips and ignored the urge to throw yourself in his arms. 

“Not to men like my husband and my father,” you muttered. 

He sighed. 

“Perhaps you could distract me with tales of your adventures,” you said. 

He smirked, distracting you from your worries was a skill he had developed over years of friendship. 

“Vaghar and I visited Dorne last year,” he told you. 

He enchanted you as he told you tale after tale of his travels, places you’d once longed to see with him. 

You giggled and smiled as he shared with you, a small part of you resented that he was still able to find such joy without you, though he did tell you he always longed for you to be with him. 

You shared with him the few happy stories you had of your time apart. 

You felt close with him once again, as if it were old times and you were still young lovers with your whole lives ahead of you. As if time and circumstances had not ruined what was between you. As if you were friends once again. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whispered as he stared at you while you laughed. 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m the center of your world. Like you love me,” the words tasted like acid as they fell off your lips. 

“I do love you. I’ve never once stopped loving you even with time and distance between us,” he said. 

“Aemond” you reprimanded, but your voice was as weak as your resolve. 

“Tell me you do not feel the same way and I shall never speak of it again,” he promised. 

“I can’t,” you said as you bit your lip to try and stop yourself from saying such forbidden words. 

You wished you could force yourself to break his heart now and end this. To walk away from him, but his hold on you was too great and you cared for him too much to hurt him anymore than life had already hurt the both of you. 

As you stared into his deep blue eye you felt your self control finally break. 

“Kiss me, Aemond,” you breathed out. 

It was clear his self control was frayed and broken long before, for as soon as the words fell from your mouth, his lips were on yours. 

His hand at the back of your neck pulled you in as he kissed you near ferociously.  

He devoured you, consumed you, and you submitted to him. You felt at home once again in his arms as he pulled you tight to his body and laid you down. 

You moaned in tandem with him as your tongues tasted each other once again.  

Your entire body lit on fire as you gripped at him and felt his weight on top of you. 

You yanked at his clothes as you kissed him back with urgency. 

“Need you,” you moaned as he helped you remove his coat and shirt. 

You groaned at the feeling of his warm skin and tight muscles under your hands. 

“Fucking perfect,” he moaned as he slipped his hands under your dress to caresss the bare skin of your legs. 

You let out a high pitched, “Oh!” at the feel of his large calloused hands as they roamed up to grip at the flesh of your thighs. 

“Need you inside me,” you gasped as you pressed your lips to his jaw and trailed them down his neck. 

He hissed as you bit down and sucked on the sensitive skin of his throat. 

“Say it,” he ordered as his hands began to unlace the back of your dress. 

You immediately knew exactly what he meant. 

“I’m yours, Aemond.” 

He groaned.  

“Mine,” he whispered against your lips as he slipped you out of your dress and bared you before him. 

The unspoken understanding that you were only his for this night hung heavy between the two of you but you both ignored it as you tangled your hands in his hair and kissed him once again. 

“You still wear it,” he said in awe as he saw your necklace clasped around your throat. The necklace he gave you years ago, when he promised you would be his and his alone. The necklace you always wear and keep hidden under your clothes. The necklace you grasp when you are anxious or lonely or thinking of Aemond. The necklace you lied about to your husband and claimed it was from your deceased mother so he would not question your attachment to it. The small sapphire in the crook of your throat gleamed in the dim light. 

“Of course I do,” you whispered. 

He blinked rapidly, swallowed, and licked his lips to repress the rush of emotions he felt. 

He kissed you in an attempt to make you feel everything he felt rather than have to say it. 

Your hands roamed his body, anything you could reach, his arms, his shoulders, his chest, his torso.  

You gasped as his warm mouth found your breasts.

He felt so good. 

Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his trousers and you wiggled your hand underneath the tight leather to wrap your hand around his hardened length. 

He groaned your name as you gripped him. 

“Need to taste you,” he said before he moved down and placed himself between your thighs. 

Your breath caught at the magnificent sight. 

He hooked your thighs over his shoulders and licked his lips as he stared at your core. 

You whimpered in impatience and desire. 

“How I have missed you,” he said before he finally used his tongue on you. 

The pleasure that racked through your body immediately prevented your question about whether he was speaking to you or your pussy. 

You gripped at his hair as his tongue swirled your clit and your toes curled. 

“Fuck, Aemond,” you breathed out. 

“Mmm,” he moaned into your soaked warmth as he pushed his tongue inside you. 

He gripped your hips tightly and held you in place as he gave you pleasure that you hadn’t experienced in years. 

“I’m so close,” you breathed out and he groaned. 

His perfect lips closed around your clit and he sucked lightly. 

You gasped his name as your release racked through your body. 

He continued to lick you for his own pleasure until you whined and attempted to push his face away. 

He chuckled darkly, a satisfied smirk on his face. 

He stared at you, your chest heaving as you took gasping breaths, while he removed his pants and bared himself before you. 

You whimpered quietly in need. 

He placed his hands on your waist and yanked you closer to him where he knelt before you. 

Your gasp quickly turned into a moan as he, in one fluid motion, buried himself deeply and fully inside you. 

He took a deep breath and the frantic energy within him seemed to settle now that he was inside you. 

His hand traced your body and you arched up to feel closer to him, to give him access to all of you. 

You pulled his face to you, gently and slowly, and kissed him with all the love in your heart. 

His lips moved against yours languidly as if the two of you had all the time in the world. 

“You feel so good,” you whispered against his lips and he nipped at your bottom lip playfully. 

“You are better than all my dreams of you in our time apart,” he said and pressed a long kiss to your lips. 

Then, finally, he moved. In and out of you in long slow thrusts that had you keening. 

You clenched around him and begged him to go faster, to claim you, as harshly and deeply as he wanted, as you could tell he needed by the gleam in his eye.

He complied with a growl as the last of his self control snapped. 

His pleasure was your pleasure as he filled you, moved inside you, and hit the spot inside you only he could find. 

You whined in ecstasy as he groaned your name. You clung to him and your nails dug into his back, which surely left your mark on him. The thought only fueled the raging fire within you. 

“Say it again,” he gasped and you could tell he was near his release as you neared yours. 

“I’m yours, Aemond, yours,” you whined as his harsh thrusts overwhelmed you. 

“Mine,” he groaned. 

“I love you,” you gasped as you hit your peak. 

He groaned your name as his thrusts became sloppy. 

“Where do you want me to-”

“Inside,” you moaned. “Need you to fill me.”

“Fuck,” he moaned and found his pleasure as well. 

“I love you,” he whispered as he pulled you into a kiss so gentle and in contrast to the way he had just claimed you. 

He pulled out of you and before you could mourn the loss he pulled you into his arms as he laid on his back. 

You snuggled into his chest and his hand rubbed up and down your back. 

You swallowed back the rush of emotion that you felt as he held you and expressed care for you rather than leaving you alone as soon as the act was over like your husband did. But of course Aemond would hold you just as he always had. 

You laid there with him and did your best to not fall asleep with how safe and loved you felt in his embrace. 

You sighed in contentment as he kissed the top of your head. 

“Aemond,” you said. 

“Hm.” 

“It is nearly morning, I should go so we are not caught,” you whispered, though you did not want to shatter the comfortable silence. 

He groaned in annoyance. 

“Mm, no,” he said as he hugged you tighter. 

“Aemond,” you chided. 

“I do not wish to see you go again,” he said, barely concealed pain in his voice at the thought. 

“And I do not wish to leave you again but we have little choice,” you lamented. 

He sighed. 

“Perhaps I can visit you again tomorrow night. You are staying for a week’s time, yes?” He said as his gentle fingers traced your side. 

“Yes,” you said weakly. 

You were just drawing out the next goodbye. More time together would just make it hurt more, wouldn’t it? But you were powerless against the pull you felt towards him. 

This was inevitable. It was always going to happen. It was as if the gods had designed the two of you from the same material then cruelly set your fates so that you would not be able to walk through life together. 

He was drawn to you just as you were drawn to him and neither of you had the strength to stay away from one another. The moment your father betrothed you to someone other than Aemond he sealed your fate. 

You became a shell of your former self, a ghost that was only brought back to life by Aemond’s touch, by treachery and broken vows. You deserved the horrible things people would say about you, for they were all true. You loved Aemond so much and would never tell him no, would never deny him your heart or your body, no matter your allegiance to another. 

So you agreed, and for nearly every night you remained in King’s Landing you let Aemond hold you, love you, kiss you, and make love to you. 

“Do not go,” he whispered to you, his lips on yours, the last night of your stay. The sun once again threatened to rise and your time together was sprinting away. 

“I have no choice,” you said as tears streamed down your cheeks. 

You did not know when you would be able to see him again, to talk to him again, to touch him again. 

He stepped back from you and anger overtook his face to mask the broken heart and sorrow. 

“Stay with me,” he pleaded. 

“And what? Be a disgrace to my house? Be your whore? I cannot,” you said, your voice somehow steady despite your tears. 

He sunk down into the nearest chair and placed his head in his hands. 

He sighed deeply and reached out his hand to you. 

You stepped closer to him and placed your hand in his. He gripped you tightly. 

“I see now that I have made this difficult situation much worse by my lack of self control and endless pursuit of you,” he said as he looked up at you. 

You bit your lip to keep your tears from turning into sobs. 

“It is not your fault alone,” you said gently. 

He pulled you onto his lap and wrapped his arms around you. 

You held him as tight as the knot in your chest as he buried his face in your throat. 

“I love you,” you said softly, brokenly. 

“Mm.” 

You sighed. 

“It is a fact of life,” he said. 

“What?” 

“The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. Dragons are not completely tameable. Children will always grow old.” 

“Aemond, what are you talking about?” you interrupted him. 

“And I will always love you. It is a fact of life. It is in my nature, my bones, to love you,” he said softly. 

You crushed your lips to his and you couldn’t tell if the salty taste was due to your tears or his. 

“This is not our last goodbye, I promise you we will see one another again, dear heart,” he said as he pulled back with a hand on your cheek and looked deeply into your eyes. 

You nodded and sniffled as you tried your best to stop crying. 

As you watched him leave, you were certain you’d never hurt this much in your entire life. Your heart shattered all over again. It was a physical pain in your chest and you suddenly fully understood the phrase broken heart. 

Sure, your heart was broken when you had to leave him years ago but this… this was somehow worse. 

This was no longer a girlish young love. He was cemented in your heart and yet you still could not fully have him. 

Your heart turned to stone with every mile your carriage took you away from King’s Landing. 

_______________________

9 Months Later: 

Tears streamed down your face as your newborn babe was placed on your chest. The halls of winterfell were no longer full of your screams, but rather your joy. 

“It is a boy, my lady,” the maester said. 

You cradled him close to you and pressed a kiss to his head. 

You blinked away the tears and looked at him, truly looked at him for the first time. 

Your heart stopped. 

“Oh my little dragon heart,” you whispered brokenly, quietly enough that no one else could hear you, as you saw the tuft of white hair on the crown of his head. 

“I shall call for Lord Stark so he may meet his son,” the Maester said as he left. 

You were alone with your Lady’s Maid. 

“Brienne,” you said as you grabbed her arm. 

Her eyes flickered between you and your son. 

“He is beautiful, my lady,” she said. 

“Brienne, you have served me loyally since I was ten and two. Let us be honest with one another,” you said frankly and she nodded vigorously. 

“You know me better than most people and I consider you one of my closest friends.” 

You looked down at your son once again and your eyes filled with tears.

“It must be said now, and never again, I need you to swear to protect my secrets and help me, do you swear?” You asked as you stared into her eyes. 

“Yes, my lady, I swear. My loyalty has always been to no other but you.” 

You nodded and took her hand and squeezed it in gratitude. 

“You know I have loved Prince Aemond since I was a girl. This child is a Targaryen,” you whispered. 

Brienne nodded at you, but tears streamed her cheeks as well. 

“Oh my lady, what have you done?” she asked in gentle concern. 

“Love has led my actions and we must protect this child, he is my dragon heart. Help me, please,” you begged. 

She nodded. 

“I shall talk to the maester. Perhaps he can suggest to Lord Stark that the color of his hair is a birth defect. Does he know of your feelings for the prince? Does he suspect anything?” she asked, she spoke quickly and quietly as you both worried that footsteps would soon be heard coming down the hall.

“No. He performed his duty as a husband prior to me being with child, so he has no reason to suspect anything. He has no knowledge of my relationship with the prince. When I laid with Aemond when we visited the Red Keep, I suspected that I was barren given my inability for years to produce a child. I now see that was due to my husband’s inability to sire children. I hoped all this time that the child was a Stark, but he looks just like my love,” you kissed his perfect face and felt your heart could not swell anymore with love. 

“I will do everything in my power to quell rumors and suspicions. I will also speak with the Maester,” she said as she nodded at you and departed. 

“Oh my love,” you cried brokenly as you held your son and wished that the trajectory of life could have been different. 

That the footsteps coming down the hall could be Aemond’s rather than the husband you have no love for. 

That Aemond could be there to meet his son, to wrap you in his arms and kiss you for your good efforts to bring such a beautiful Targaryen child into the world. 

You felt broken by the thoughts of what could have been. 

You needed to fill yourself with steel, with dragon fire, and fight and claw in a way you had never had to before in order to protect the babe in your arms. 

For if anyone found out the truth, you and the child would be ruined.

To be continued..... Part Two Part Three Epilogue

Everything taglist:

@spideysimpossiblegirl @dinandgone @ohpedromypedro @littlemisspascal @tombraider42017 @kirsteng42 @just-here-for-the-moment @salome-c @hb8301

Aemond taglist:

@fultimefangirl @dumpsterfirecee @adderess @flowerpotmage @theold-ultraviolence @lady-phasma @aemonds-war-crime @schniiipsel @mommyslittlewarcriminal @batsyforyou @signyvenetia @sirenofavalon @ellathefriendlyalpacaaa @padfooteyes @percyjacksonspeen @aemonds-sapphire @wrendermeuseless @mllemarianne @slutforaemond @a-beaverhausen​

[giraffe-lesbian]

Usual Thursday Night - Darksparks Drabble

Based on this prompt from @/maxseidal

“ 2. A and B sharing a bed/tent and B puts their hand on A’s stomach and A pushes their hand away and B is offended until A lifts up a part of their shirt and moves B’s hand back onto their stomach bc gentle skin on skin is weakness incarnate okay”

Also Wattson definitely plays Pokémon Go

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28042320/chapters/72465135 

They’re having a usual Thursday night. Discarded take out containers sit on the floor beside the bed, to be cleaned up later. Extra pillows have been shoved to the floor too in favor of having more room, and the extra blankets are pushed down the bed, nearly following the same path as the pillows. Nikola has found a place at the foot of the bed, quietly snoozing, particularly because his usual spot has been taken.

Renee is thumbing through a book, carefully reading through the pages. There’s focus in her eyes, and occasionally her nose scrunches as she takes in the words. Natalie is settled beside her, pressed against the other woman’s side. She’s tapping away on her phone. She’s either looking at silly cat pictures, shifting through emails, or playing a game. By the repetitiveness of the clicking and the occasional huff of annoyance, she’s probably playing a game.

Her spare hand rests on the skirmisher’s stomach, occasionally messing with the fabric. Her grasp will settle for a few moments before coming alive again, rubbing the material between her fingers.

They’ve gone on like this for a while now, simply enjoying each other’s company. It’s a comforting, welcomed silence between the two, one that has been carefully cultivated as they’ve grown closer. Both throughly enjoy it.

Renee, though, looks up from her book. Her gaze falls to the other woman’s hand that toys with the fabric. She arches an eyebrow, a small frown now growing on her face. She moves her book to be held in one hand, and with the other, she pushes Natalie’s hand off, letting it off onto the bed.

This makes the blonde look up from her phone. There’s a matching frown on her face, and her eyebrows knit together. Oh, here came one of Natalie’s notorious pouts.

Of course, she shouldn’t really be upset, she tells herself. The skirmisher could be a bit reluctant to touch, often times leaving her uncomfortable or rigid. The blonde could never blame her, given her past. However, despite all these rational thoughts, Natalie huffed and began to pull her hand away, on the cusp of a whine. Sure, that all made sense, but she liked having her hand there, fiddling with that stupid fabric.

Surprisingly though, her hand was quickly grabbed by Renee, giving her a subtle tug on her arm to make her stop. Natalie raised her eyebrows now, and she began to open her mouth. What was the other woman doing?

A soft, gentle hum came from the skirmisher now. Renee now had placed down her book and was lifting up her shirt, revealing pale, toned skin underneath. Without a moment of hesitation, she placed the blonde’s hand back now on her bare stomach. And like that, Renee picked up her book again and returned her eyes to the pages.

Natalie sat there, silently sputtering as she tried to wrap her head around what Renee was doing. The gears in her head were slowly turning, and her eyes slipped from a confusion to a pondering look.

Renee took a moment to look up from her book, giving the blonde a small smile. “What?” she asked quietly, raising her eyebrows a little. “What’s got you in such a mood?” the skirmisher teased, her smile turning into a grin. A shit eating grin to be precise. “Did Tae Joon do something to annoy you today?”

Natalie stared her down, now piercing her lips. Asking would only make Renee’s grin grow larger, looking like the cat that swallowed the canary. Instead she moved closer, keeping her hand resting on the other’s stomach, and shoved the phone into her girlfriend’s face. “I caught this Pokémon today a little outside the labs; isn’t he cute?”

A light, airy chuckle left the skirmisher’s lips. “Yeah, he is cute,” she agreed quietly, now taking the chance to rest her head on the other’s shoulder. If there was one person’s close contact she couldn’t get enough of, it was Natalie’s. “Have you evolved your Ivysaur yet?”

The blonde’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Yes, I did earlier today!” she exclaimed, now all bright smiles. There went frantic tapping with one hand, desperate to find her beloved Venusaur, and soft, chaste caresses against the Renee’s skin with the other.

A usual Thursday night for the two, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[kitchenisking]

October Fic Rec

Hello everyone!!!!!!!!!!! I've reached over 200 followers! 😱😱that's just crazy for me, so welcome new and old!😇 I wanted to do a quick reminder for everyone... My posting schedule is the first weekend of every month🙃 and then whenever I feel like posting a rec or I went on a reading binge😝 though that might not happen anytime soon cuz all my tv shows are back and I've decided to binge all the law and orders 😜 also to make everyone lives easier all my recs have the #kitcheniskingficrecs so we can find them all in one place. love you all and thank you for the support❤️🥰

please remember to send love to out fic writers as well🥰

I Shouldn't Love you Anymore by wyrmwolf - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2250, sterek)

After Stiles divorces Derek under mysterious reasons, Derek moves out into the middle of nowhere loosing himself to the wolf after the ache in his chest becomes too much. But after weeks of being lost to an animal someone he thought he'd never see again returns in his life.

This time ti stay forever.

The Future is Bright by Violet_Xmas - (Rating: G, Words: 5780, sterek)

Derek gets a glimpse

I Know What You Need by Onlymine987 - (Rating: Not Rated, Words: 737, sterek)

Bro, how much sleep did you get last night? 

“Ugh, I don’t know, like eight minutes?" . . . . Derek carefully laid Stiles on the bed and started towards the armchair in the corner when Stiles gripped his Henley and pulled him back.

“Stay please,” Stiles whispered.

The Werewolf Companion by MargaretKire - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 64517, sterek)

Stiles volunteers to be a companion for an isolated werewolf he's never met. He thought he knew way more about werewolves than it turns out he really does.

Derek didn't technically ask the Werewolf Conservation Committee for a companion human, but they insisted he have one for his mental and physical health. 

Or: Derek has only had Stiles for a day, but if anything were to happen to him, he'd kill everyone in Beacon Hills and then himself.

of coffee and ghibli movies by forbala - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 10313, sterek)

The pack have all lost touch, gone their separate ways. Stiles goes to a blind date and gets a huge surprise.

Keep by TuppingLiberty - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 50846, sterek)

Medieval but more like 'Medieval' a/b/o AU. Author has taken extreme liberties with 'medieval.' 

In this Omegaverse, alpha/beta/omega dynamics replace gender dynamics. Female alphas can be the head of the manor, for instance, and second born Alphas like Derek have to find their own way in the world since they won't inherit. I've also co-opted some traditionally werewolf things (telling when someone is lying, faster healing) for Alphas. 

To get revenge on Kate Argent, Derek takes one of the outlying Argent keeps, only to discover yet another of Kate's horrifying misdeeds - keeping the Omega son of the keep locked in the basement. 

Derek must find a way to save the Omega, defeat Kate, and root out the treachery in his own troops before the worst happens. 

Rated E for eventual smut, and be forewarned, there will be eventual mpreg. See author notes about updates.

Run To You by Emela - (Rating: Mature, Words: 31969, sterek)

A witch casts a spell, turning Derek feral and leaving him the equivalent of a frightened puppy. Stiles is the only one he trusts to protect him and of course, Stiles is only too happy to help. (Which has nothing to do with all these feelings he's suddenly having, okay? Derek's just a really cute werewolf puppy.)

I Give It Forever by KaliopeShipsIt - (Rating: Mature, Words: 36132, sterek)

In September 1993, after dating his 17-year old high school Senior Alpha boyfriend Stiles for only four short months, 19-year old Omega Derek Hale realized he was pregnant two weeks into his Sophomore Year at college, changing the course of both of their lives forever. 

25 years later, the youngest of their three children goes off to college and Derek and Stiles are looking forward to enjoying their freedom, finally able to once more devote their full attention to being a couple. 

Except, only four short months later and at almost 45 years of age, Derek finds himself unexpectedly pregnant again. 

Angst commences.

Someone Should Have Told Us byelysiumwaits - (Rating: T, Words: 1554, sterek)

Everyone around them thinks Derek and Stiles are dating, but they’re not. They aren’t dating. Seriously. Wait, are they?

--

“They think we’re dating,” is what Derek finally says. “The whole pack thinks we’re dating?”

“I honestly think they’ve got the idea that it’s significantly more serious and committed than just dating.” Stiles waves the itinerary around. “I mean… there’s workshops like ‘Sanity in Relationships’ and ‘Releasing the Past through Rewriting Your Love Story.’ This is, like, intense and geared toward couples with long-term plans.”

Hear My Soul Speak by elysiumwaits - (Rating: T, Words: 1653, sterek)

Stiles hurts the people he loves, so he refuses to admit that he loves Derek. 

---

“I don’t want the first or…” Derek pauses, takes a fortifying breath, and continues, quieter but firmer, “Or the only time I hear it from you to be when you’re bleeding out in my arms from a knife wound that I could have walked off.”

[drustvar]

The Lion’s Path: 5.1 Forewarning

A retelling of the Arcana Prologue featuring Rosie Springwald, a vindictive hedgewitch searching for herself. Thank you as always to @honeyfixations​ for beta reading!

WC: 1877

The start of Rosie’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

‘It’s the morning of the Masquerade announcement…’ 

Rosie hurried through the streets, the sky above was still a pale gray twilight.

‘But until noon, I have time...I need to stop by the shop. Herbs, reagents, one of Asra’s magic books…’

She hopped up the steps and pressed her hand to the door, undoing the locking spell. A small leather pouch that rested on the stoop caught her eye. She opened it, finding a herbal mixture inside. Myrrh was the most prevalent, but there were others too, all earthy and strong. 

‘A protection sachet? ’ She clutched the bundle close to her chest, looking around. But nobody was there. 

“Thank you, whoever you are,” she said quietly as she turned her keys in all the locks, and leaned on the door. As it swung open, she nearly fell on someone. Doctor Devorak stumbled backwards, catching her by her shoulders. The pouch of myrrh plopped onto the floor by her feet as she stumbled.

“Well, hello there. Fancy seeing you here. Ahem. Maybe not so surprising… I ah, I was in the neighborhood-” 

“So you invited yourself in?” 

Julian laughed nervously. “Ah! You look, er, splendid! Marvelous, even...You’re simply flourishing at the Palace. I’ll stop wringing my hands.” 

Rosie fixed him with a narrow gaze. “How do you keep gettin’ in? I know I locked up everythin’ after the first time.” 

“Or I’ve got a key,” he said sheepishly, and with a heavy sigh produced a tiny, faintly iridescent key from within his coat pocket. She held her hand out, waiting for him to hand it over. “Here. If it makes any difference, you can take it. I won’t be using it again. That’s...that’s a promise.”

“You’re welcome here, just gimme a warning first.” She murmured as she ducked under his arm and set her things on the counter. “Who gave you that key anyway?”

“You don’t….ahem, well, well… Let’s just say I needed  to make a couple house calls. After hours.” Her eyebrows raised slightly.

‘House calls? After hours? Was Asra ever that sick? Was I?’ She frowned, her hands on her hips as she looked around the shop, scanning the shelves. 

“Oh, I hope you don’t think I’m a thief. I’m a lot of things, but not that. But, you wouldn’t take my word for it, would you?” Julian shucked off his jacket and started to unbutton his waist coat.

“Wh-What the hell are you-?” He threw his waistcoat open with a flutter, arms outstretched, palms up in submission.

“Search me. If you find anything of yours, I’ll show myself to the stocks. Go ahead. Search until you’re satisfied,” he said, smirking as he presented himself.

“I-I-I If you took anythin’ you can keep it!” Rosie sputtered, her cheeks bright red.

“Oh? You sure? Well, all right...the offer stands. Besides, I won’t find what I’m looking for here. I know that now.” He said as he replaced his waistcoat and slung his jacket over his shoulders again. “Well, I’m sure you have things to do, so I’ll just be getting out of your way.” 

“Wait!” Rosie darted in front of him, blocking the door. “I-I’m sure you already know but...Look. You gotta skip town. The Palace — they’re hunting you. They’re going to kill you. An’ I dunnae wanna see that…” Before he could respond, his eyes widened in shock as he stared over her shoulder. Portia stood in the doorway, equally as shocked. When she spoke, the word that escaped her was different; an unused voice from the depths of her heart. 

“Ilya?” Portia rushed inside, all but tackling him.

“Portia?” Rosie asked in confusion, narrowly having avoided being bowled over.

“Ilya? Is that really you?” Portia asked, her eyes welling with tears. Her shaking hands cupped either side of his face. Julian’s eye started to shine wetly.

“It’s me.”

“You - you -you bastard! What are you doing here?! Out in the open? Are you trying to get yourself killed?!” Portia cried, all the love and hope that had previously filled her voice having shifted to anger and concern as she  tugged sharply on his ear.

“You’ve grown up strong, Pasha,” He said with a wince.. “I’m...sorry I wasn’t there to see it.”

“Ohh, I’ll show you sorry! You unbelievable...Rosie!” Portia whirled around to her, still gripping Julian by his coat collar like a shamed dog.

“What the hell is going on?!”

“I-I...I’ll catch up with you later!” Portia said as she hurried past, hauling Julian behind her down a nearby alley. 

‘What the hell was all that? ’ Rosie wondered, as she stared after them. She shook her head and trudged to the back room to start digging through Asra’s possessions. All the while she started to relax, soothed by his lingering energy.

‘I hope Portia’s okay,’ she thought as she hurriedly stuffed canisters of herbs and various crystals into her bag. ‘But where’s that book? Asra must have taken it with him.’ She huffed, and grabbed her things. As she locked everything back up she cast one last, worried glance toward the alley Portia and Julian had disappeared down.

 ——————————————-

Rosie hurried back through the streets, racing the sun as it climbed higher in the sky. A clock chimed the hour right as she skidded on her heels into the outskirts of the city square. It was already incredibly crowded, latecomers circling the perimeter of the crowd for a better view.

“Ahem! Hear ye, hear ye!” Portia’s voice rang out over the crowd. “This is an announcement from your Countess Nadia. On the anniversary of the passing of your beloved Count Lucio, the Countess will open the Palace gates. That’s right folks! All are invited not to mourn, but to celebrate the spirit of the dearly departed Count!” 

Loud excitement rippled through the crowd. Rosie couldn’t help but smile when surrounded by so much joy. Her smile faded, however, as she smelled something familiar on the breeze : myrrh. The sachet flashed in her mind, and her eyes darted around the crowd before settling on a huge, hulking figure; standing in the shadow of a pillar. Despite the growing excitement in the square, there was an unmistakable aura of despair emanating from them.

“It’ll be a Masquerade like no other before! Spread the word, tell your friends! You won’t wanna miss this!” The crowd erupted into cheers, but Rosie’s full attention was on the stranger beginning to shuffle away down a side street. Their lumbering pace was easy to match, and she caught up with them halfway down the street. 

“Hey, wait!” The stranger stopped and turned slowly, as if they dreaded seeing her. 

“Blindly to the slaughter. Just like the rest of you.”

“What do you mean? Please, I’m no good with riddles.”

“It doesn’t matter what I say. My words won’t last. They never do.” They began to shuffle away once more. Rosie tilted her head, her brow furrowed.

“Did Asra send you? To leave the herbs?” She asked, following after them. They ignored her, seeming to pick up their pace. “Wait! Who are you?” She slid around a corner before they could vanish from sight. They stopped on the stairs, their back to her.

“Who are you? Why did you leave me those herbs?” With a start, they turned around, evidently frightened by her voice. Their tattered hood fell back, revealing the biggest man she’d ever seen.

“Look, I-” She took a step forward, her hand outstretched. The stranger took a step back, his broad shoulders almost scraping against the walls. “I just wanted to say-!” She followed after him, emerging into a bustling market.

“...thank you…” she said, her heart sinking as she scanned the crowd of shoppers. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted him warily skirting the edges of the market. He stopped by a narrow wooden pole, evidently trying to hide behind it.

“I can see you!” Rosie called, making a few shoppers look her way in surprise and confusion. As soon as she approached, the stranger began to lumber away again. He paused behind an apple cart, towering over it.

‘Is he trying to hide from me? ’

She paused and turned, pretending to look over various wares, all still watching him from the corners of her eyes; making sure he didn’t vanish as she edged closer. The only movement he made was to shuffle behind a stray dog, which promptly scampered away when Rosie suddenly charged at him. He froze, terrified and finally seeming to accept the futility of his escape attempts.

“Go away.”

“I just wanted to say thank you! For the sachet — You are the one who left it, right?”

“Yes. You’re welcome. Now go away.” He turned to shuffle away, but Rosie stepped in front of him.

“Well hang on, I wanna ask you somethin’.” His stormy eyes darted from side to side, seeming to debate if he should just run her over. “Do you know Asra?” He tensed, glowering down at her.

“Better than anyone.” The rumbling of his voice was irritated, but the look in his eyes was sincere.

“Did he send you to check on me?” 

“.Yes. He’s my only friend.” 

‘Oh, I guess...we might not be too different, then.’

“Well gee, me too! What a small world. We should be friends, then.”

“What? No. Why?”

“I...Well if we’re both friends of Asra, why not? We must have other things in common too, and I’d like it if we could be.”

“I don’t want another friend. Especially not you.”

Rosie flinched slightly. “Damn, that's fine, I guess. Have we met before, or somethin’?”

“It doesn’t matter. We’re not friends.”

“Well, why not then?” She said as she crossed her arms. But before she could harass him further; someone shouted a warning, and she turned just in time to see a produce cart slam into her. She stumbled on the uneven cobblestones and swore as her bad leg gave out. When she got to her feet again, the stranger was gone. Her lip curled in frustration...but then suddenly, inexplicably, her frustration melted into confusion. 

‘I went to the square for the announcement, and then...when and why did I come back to the marketplace?’

“Excuse me,” Rosie stopped, addressing a charm vendor. “I know this is strange to ask, but, was I just standing over there talkin’ to someone?” 

“No, I don’t think so,” the charm vendor shook their head, “Are you alright, miss? That cart hit you pretty hard.” 

“I’m fine. Thank you,” Rosie murmured, no less confused than before.

‘Strange...strange…’ she thought as she hurried off to catch up with Portia, despite the way her leg still throbbed with pain

When Rosie returned to the square, Portia was standing on top of the servants’ wagon, throwing flower petals and rice onto the rejoicing city square. 

“Rosie, there you are! Would you look at this crowd? No incidents at the shop, I hope? Nothing out of the ordinary?” Portia asked as Rosie climbed into the wagon beside her. 

“Uh,” Rosie noticed the look of desperation and conspiracy in Portia’s eyes. “Nope! Everythin’ quiet as a mouse,” she said, squeezing her hand comfortingly as the wagon lurched forward  down the main road, ringing in the news of the Masquerade. 

[yellowsuitcase]

Betwixt; Draco Malfoy: Chapter - The Job

Introduction(please read!)

First and foremost, warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter, but as a forewarning this story will contain mentions of sexual assault as well as swearing/strong language, and smut.

There are some characters in this story that are mine, however, the majority of them are based off of characters in JK Rowling's Harry Potter series. I do not support JK Rowling.

This is a Royalty AU, magic as seen in the Harry Potter series does not exist within this universe.

This series is also being posted on Wattpad @Tonix27 and it is currently In progress / Completed

I plan to create a Spotify playlist for this story, when I do it'll be posted in my masterlist for Betwixt.

Cover and Beta work by @10amnoodles​ on Instagram and Twitch

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A/N: First chapter of the series I’ve been working on! I’m so excited for you guys to read this!!!!

Summary: To make ends meet after her mother's death, Y/N, a young mom, living within the kingdom of Sithrawl, lands a job at the castle working for the Royal Family, specifically for the prince, Draco Malfoy. What starts as a way to make money for her son quickly turns into an unexpected romance between her and the prince. Y/N soon finds herself stuck between her responsibilities as a mother and her longing for  love and adventure

Warning(s): Swearing

Word Count: 5.9k

Credits: @10amnoodles​ Check her out! her artwork is incredible and this series wouldn’t be happening without her :)

Directory

I shut the rickety door and leaned against it, the weight of my body keeping it closed. A deep sigh left my lips, and I relaxed my shoulders, finally feeling safe. It was silent in my home. Jasper must be asleep. I pushed myself off the door and crept around the corner. The wall was cold to the touch, and I was surprised to feel an indent underneath my fingertips. I pulled my hand away to see a long crack embedded in the plaster. There were already so many in this damn house, not to mention the little holes in the roofing and the lack of insulation. It was getting colder every day.

Sighing to myself, I made a mental note of the new damage and peeked into the bedroom. There he was, his dirty blonde hair cast over his eyes as he slept. I put my hand on his shoulder and gently shook him, waking him up. He rubbed his eyes sleepily. Upon seeing me, he jumped up. “Mummy!” he said excitedly. My heart swelled as I took my boy into my arms and hoisted him onto my hip. 

“How are you, my love? Hungry?” I ask. He nodded eagerly. I chuckled lightly at his toothy grin. He was always hungry, but weren’t all six-year-olds? Luckily for him, I managed to get some bread for free down at the market. Mrs. Weasley, the kind woman at the bakery, has been sneaking me food for the past two weeks. And although I was grateful for it, I was also ashamed. I would’ve been able to pay for her tasty treats, but my family’s funds had been stretching thinner and thinner ever since my mother passed. 

She died on the first of October, just as the cold was setting in. It wasn’t sudden; she’d been sick for a month or so before finally laying to rest. I had tried to take up her old job. She worked as a maid for a relatively wealthy family, the Greengrass’. However, when I knocked upon their door, a middle-aged woman dressed in my mother’s old uniform answered. That had told me everything I needed to know. Since then, I’ve been scouring the village for potential work. I’d managed to get a few odd jobs here and there, but nothing long term, and I needed to feed my boy. 

“What did you get today, Mum?” Jasper questioned. I turned to him and kissed his forehead. 

“Just some bread. Is that alright?” I asked hopefully. He’d never been the type of kid to complain, but I knew that, as he grew, so did his appetite. Bread was quickly becoming dull. Sooner or later, he’d voice his distaste for it. To my surprise, Jasper smiled and squeezed his arms around my neck, giving me a tight hug. “Yep!” he replied cheerfully. My anxiety quickly faded away. I kissed his cheek and sat him down at the table. 

“Did you do anything fun today?” I asked as I began slicing the loaf. Jasper hummed, thinking to himself. 

“I pretended to be a cow!” he declared, looking proud of himself. Jasper had always been quite the fan of cows. His favorite activity was trotting around the house, mooing. In my opinion, it was the cutest thing ever, but I may be a bit biased. 

“Did you? And how did you do that?” I asked, eyebrows raised. Jasper smirked and puffed out his chest. “I ate grass!” he announced loudly. I shook my head in bewilderment. “You ate grass?” Jasper nodded proudly. “Yup! And look,” he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a bundle of green grass, dumping it onto the table. “I saved some for you,” he finished, pushing the greenery towards me. I did my best to hide my grimace and gently placed his plate of bread in front of him. “That’s...wonderful, uhm, sweetheart, it’s not good to eat grass. You could get sick,” I said quietly, trying to deliver this news gently. A frown appeared on Jasper’s face, and he dropped his head, his eyes now staring at his lap. 

“Oh, Jas, it’s alright. I know you were only playing, but humans can’t eat grass,” I said while taking my own seat at the table. He reluctantly looked up, his pouty lips on full display. “Come on, love, eat some of your bread. The sun is going down, and I don’t like washing dishes in the dark,” I spoke sternly, trying to get him to eat. He sighed but picked up his bread and shoved it in his mouth. I made sure he didn’t choke since he had a tendency to take bigger bites than he should. I gnawed on my own piece.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. It was nearly nightfall. Who would be at the door at this time? I quickly got to my feet as the person knocked again. “Who’s that, Mum?” Jasper asked, his mouth full of bread. “Finish your bite before speaking, Jas. And I don’t know, let’s find out.” I approached the door, brushed off my dress, and turned the knob. Standing outside was Ron Weasley, the bakers’ youngest son. 

“Ron? Come in, come in. What’s going on?” I asked, a bit concerned he was here to tell me his parents wouldn’t be able to give me food anymore. The ginger-haired boy rushed past me and into my home and eagerly slapped a flyer onto the table. “Look,” he told me as he pointed to the parchment. I gave him a skeptical look but walked over to the table and picked it up. 

The Malfoy family is seeking a servant to the young prince. If interested, arrive at the castle at dawn on the 19th of October.

SALARY: 4 galleons per hour

The person selected to be the Prince’s servant will furthermore reside in the castle.

As I took in the information on the flyer, Jasper took the parchment from my grasp. He held it out in front of him and stared at it intently. I considered berating him for taking what doesn’t belong to him, but I chose not to, and instead, I turned to Ron, who had an enormous grin on his face. “Ron, you can’t be serious…”

“It’s perfect! It’s four galleons an hour, and if you’re working dawn till dusk, that’s roughly eleven hours. Forty-four galleons a day, Y/N. You can’t pass this up. You’d be mad not to at least try,” he told me. I wasn’t quite sold, “Yeah, that sounds like a dream, but what would I…” I paused and held my hand up to Ron, signaling him to give me a moment. Then I faced Jasper. “Darling, put your plate in the sink and go wash up; I’ll be there soon to get you ready for bed, alright?” I instructed him. His pouty lips returned. 

“But I wanna know what’s going on!” the boy insisted. He dropped the paper, crossed his arms over his chest, and promptly glared at me. I held back my laugh at his attempt at intimidation and put a hand on my hip. “Do as I say.” Jasper sighed but slid off his chair and trod off to the bathroom. I turned back to Ron. “If I live at the castle, how can I take care of Jasper? I can’t just leave him here alone; he’s only six, not to mention he’s ill,” I explained as I picked the parchment back up again. Ever since Jasper had turned four, he started having trouble breathing. There had been times where I was unsure if he’d survive through the night. Ron knew about this, but he wasn’t budging. “Y/N, the castle isn’t far. You could sneak out at dusk and spend the night with Jasper, no problem.”

“With all due respect, Ron, I don’t think it’ll be that easy. I’d have to get past people in the castle, the guards, and who knows who else?” I said, shaking my head. My eyes drifted to the flyer in my hand. A servant to the prince. What did that even mean? There was a serious lack of detail in the advertisement. My lip curled in distaste. The Royal Family was known to be quite the arrogant bunch. Malfoy, their surname, directly translates to ‘bad faith’. They didn’t treat their citizens well; nearly every town outside of Orton’s walls was neglected. Totbury, my town, especially.

Nevertheless, the Malfoy’s knew that, despite treating their people terribly, people would scramble for the chance to land this job. Simply based on the look of the family’s servants, they weren’t looking for people like me. If they found out where I live, they’ll surely dismiss me.

“Y/N, you’re underestimating yourself. That castle has numerous secret passageways, just find one of those, and you’re all set. And even if that doesn’t work, then you just make an excuse. Say the Prince himself sent you into the city, what are the guards going to say to that?” Ron argued. I threw him a look of confusion as I put the flyer down, my eyes lingering on the young prince. “How would you even know about secret passageways?” I asked. Ron cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t believe they exist?” he asked incredulously. I scoffed and walked over to the sink. 

“Ron, they’re only rumors. I’m sure they have a couple of lesser-known corridors, but not a secret passageway. That’s absurd,” I began rinsing off the plates and silverware, “And besides, I wouldn’t get chosen. Have you forgotten who I am? They’re not going to hire a peasant from Totbury, Ronald. I mean, have you seen the sheer amount of guards that line up around the Prince? They won’t let anyone touch him, so what makes you think they’d let me be his personal servant?” I asked, not really expecting a legitimate answer. However, it seemed as though Ron had all the answers that day. 

“That’s easy, just lie. Say you’re from Orton. The population is big enough that they wouldn’t know the difference. And it’s not like the King and Queen even leave the castle. I bet they couldn’t tell the difference between a Sithrawliean from a Perwenese,” Ron claimed. Perwen was the neighboring kingdom to Sithrawl.

“That may be true, but even if I lied, I don’t look the part. I’ve got maybe two dresses, and they both have holes in them. They’ll see right through me,” I pointed out yet another problem with Ron’s plan while I scrubbed the chipped plates in my sink. He remained silent for a moment but then snapped his fingers. 

“You’re about the same age as Ginny, aren’t you?” he asked, eyes looking hopeful. Indeed, I was around his sister’s age. I told him so, and he smiled. “Then you could borrow one of her dresses, in fact, I think Mum just bought her a new one!” he suggested excitedly. Once I put down the now clean plates, I dried my hands and spun around to face Ron. 

“I’m not taking Ginny’s new dress; that’s ridiculous,” I replied. Ron opened his mouth to retaliate, but I interrupted him. “Look, I appreciate you looking out for Jasper and me, but I can’t...I can’t just lie to the Royal Family. And I don’t want to leave my son at home all day.” 

“But haven’t you already been doing that? You’ve been scouring the streets for weeks looking for a job. I just thought that maybe this would be a good—”

I cut him off, my patience lost. “Yes, well, you thought wrong! I’m not going off and living in a lavish castle while my child is all alone in this shithole. It’s unfair to him, and I’m not doing it. End of story.” 

Ron’s previously bright smile had faded into a regretful frown. He nodded his head and looked at the floor as if he was afraid to look me in the eye. I began to feel guilt seep into my stomach. He was only trying to help, and here I was giving him a hard time. Nice going, Y/N.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for suggesting it. I’ll just...get going, and don’t worry, I’ll tell Mum you say hello,” Ron said solemnly as he headed for the door. I held my tongue and walked him out, waving as he strode down the road. When I closed the door behind him, I let out a heavy sigh and ran my hands through my hair. There was no need for me to have acted like such a pain, but alas, the apology Ron deserves would have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, I need to care for my boy.

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{The next morning}

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I woke with a start, sitting straight up in my bed. My back was drenched with sweat, and my skin felt hotter than hell. I had no clue as to why I'd woken up in such a state, but I didn't have the energy to care. Slowly, as to not wake Jasper, I lifted the covers and slid out of our bed. As I got to my feet and walked into the kitchen, I noticed the sun wasn’t even up yet. I stepped closer to the window and peered out, looking for the town clock. When I spotted it, I saw that it was roughly half-past five. Dawn wasn’t until seven.

Exhausted, I rubbed my eyes lightly and turned around. There on the table was the flyer. I stepped towards it and lifted it up. “...arrive at the castle at dawn…” My head turned towards the window once again. If I got ready now, I could make it. But did I dare? I’d have to find someone to watch Jasper. Does Ron’s offer even stand now? I supposed there was only one way to find out. I rushed to the bathroom and quickly turned on the water in the bath. A slow stream trickled out of the spout. 

“Come on,” I whispered. As if the universe had heard me, the water pressure grew stronger, and the tub began to fill. Anxiously, I stripped my clothing and jumped inside, despite the lack of water. We always kept a wooden bowl by the bathtub, so I reached for it and dunked it under the faucet, letting it gather enough liquid before I dumped it onto my head. The temperature was less than ideal, but I made do, and within fifteen minutes, I was out of the bath and drying off.

Quickly, I threw on my dress, slipped on my shoes, and ran out the door, but not before kissing a sleeping Jasper goodbye. He’ll be okay, I assured myself. The Weasleys were luckily only a few blocks down, so I hustled down the street and up to their door. Yet, once I found myself on their cozy porch, I was unable to knock. My fist hovered above the wooden door, decorated with fresh winter flowers. It’s now or never, a voice in my head whispered. Somehow, I found my courage and rapped my knuckle against the firm wood.

After only a few moments, Mr. Weasley opened the door. “Y/N? What brings you here so early? Has something happened?” he asked initially. Then he saw my wet hair and my shivering frame. “Good heavens! Come inside, you’ll freeze,” he exclaimed, motioning for me to come towards him. I scampered in, and Mr. Weasley shut the door. I could tell he was bursting with questions, but I filled him in before he could speak. 

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley. I’m here because yesterday Ronald stopped by and told me the Royal Family was looking for a servant. And well, at first, I wasn’t going to apply for it, but now...now I wish to,” I spoke softly. The man stood tall as he processed this information. 

“Well, that sounds grand. But if I may, why are you here?” he questioned. Before I could tell him, Ron entered the foyer from around the corner. “Y/N? You’re here, have you changed your mind?” he asked, his voice sounding hopeful. With a bit of lingering hesitation, I nodded my head. “I have.”

Ron smiled brightly. “Brilliant, wait here,” he instructed before he headed into a different room, leaving his father and me by the door. Soon enough, however, he emerged with a green and white dress. It was paired with a leather brown underbust corset. Although simple, it was perfect. “That’s beautiful, wow. Are you sure about this?” I checked with Ron. He nodded and motioned behind him. 

“Ginny’s awake; she’ll help you into it,” he told me. Right on cue, a sweet young girl with long red hair strolled into the foyer. She waved at me softly, and I waved back. 

“Splendid, off you go then. Ginny, find her a towel to dry her hair, won’t you?” Mr. Weasley asked his daughter. She nodded, took me by the hand, and dragged me into what I assumed was her room. The Weasley’s home looked bigger than the rest in Totbury, but I never suspected that one of their children would have their own bedroom. I was led to the center of Ginny’s room. She shut the door and quickly began helping me out of my day dress. 

“Are you nervous?” she asked immediately. Her inquiry caught me off guard and reminded me of the butterflies in my tummy. I scrambled for an answer as she wrapped my hair in a dark brown towel.

“Of course, I am. I’m leaving my son alone all day,” I told her finally. Ginny smiled softly as she laid my dress on her bed, leaving me in my undergarments. She knew I had dodged her question but didn’t mention it.

“We can have him stay with us today if you want. It’s really no problem,” Ginny offered. This wasn’t the first time the Weasley’s had said they could watch Jasper. While it was very kind of them, I never took them up on it; I couldn’t. My mother never gave me over to another family when she went to work. She would always tell me, “Don’t go outside. I’ll return before nightfall.” And that was that. I stayed put and waited for her to come home. Sure, it was a lonely childhood, but she did what she had to do to provide for me. Now, I wanted to do that for my own child, but it was becoming clearer to me that I wouldn’t be able to do things like my mother. If I get the job, I’ll be in the castle, I won’t be able to come running if something happens. Deep down, I knew the safest option for my boy was to let him stay with the Weasleys.

“Are you sure?” I asked. Ginny smiled and nodded her head. “Of course. He’ll be safe and sound while you do what you need to do.” I gnawed on my lip as she slipped the dress over my head and onto my body. 

“I really appreciate this, you know? Things have just been… difficult lately, and I’m trying to do right by Jasper, but I’m still figuring out how, if that makes sense,” I said to her, not really knowing why I was suddenly confiding in her. Ginny was only a year younger than me, twenty-one. We’d never talked much growing up. Better late than never, I suppose.

“You’re doing great, Y/N. Don’t be so hard on yourself, seriously,” Ginny said gently while she began tying up my corset. I took a moment to admire myself in the ornate mirror in front of me. I was now adorned in an ankle-length, deep green dress. It was significantly nicer than any piece of clothing I’d ever owned. 

“Where did you get this, Ginny? It’s so beautiful,” I asked. Ginny shrugged as she pulled and adjusted the fabric, seemingly her final touches.

“I’m not sure. Mum never said where she got it. But it’s gorgeous on you.” I felt my face flush as I stared back at myself in the mirror. I looked unfamiliar. Hesitantly, I gave Ginny a little twirl, feeling a grin creep onto my lips as the skirt flared around me in a perfect circle. I felt young. I felt new.

“Thank you for lending it to me. Hopefully, everything goes well, and I’ll make enough money to buy you many more dresses such as this one,” I said, smiling at Ginny. Then I caught sight of a nearby window. The sun wasn’t in the sky quite yet, but the darkness of the night was beginning to lift. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I’ll be back before nightfall to get Jasper; he should still be sleeping at home,” I rambled while heading for the door, Ginny close behind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go fetch him. You’re right though, you’d better get a move on; sun’ll be up in an hour.” I nodded and tore the towel from my head, letting my semi-dry and now wavy hair fall to my shoulders and back. The other Weasleys lifted their heads as I rushed to the door. I quickly waved goodbye and said my thanks as I ran outside, the chorus of their farewells barely reaching my ears. I was already several paces down the street. 

Luckily for me, I knew my way to the castle. Once I reached my teenage years, I’d often sneak through the woods and journey to the capital. And when I got near enough, I’d take a right and go the long way ‘round. That way, I could get up close and personal to the walls of Orton. I couldn’t see anything, of course, but I loved to sit my back against the cool stone bricks and simply listen to the hustle and bustle. As a young girl, I often daydreamed of what life might be like within those walls. Now, I may get the chance to find out.

The trip was just how I’d remembered it, although a bit shorter. First, I’d walk straight between the long stretches of farmland. Sometimes I’d even get to see livestock. But after that, the land would transition into dense forest, filled with various wildflowers as well as a little creek. Once through there, one found themselves at the start of a cobblestone road leading straight to the gates of Orton. That’s where I was now. The sun was beginning to pierce the sky, and I didn’t feel ready. Then I thought of Jasper, and my foot moved forwards, the other following after it. Soon enough, I was face to face with two tall men dressed in silver armor. Behind them, cast iron doors concealing the city beyond them.

“State your name and business,” the man on the left said. His eyes wouldn’t even meet mine. Bile tempted to spill into my mouth, but I swallowed it down and did as he asked.

“Y/N of Orton. I come to find work, specifically for the position at the castle,” I said in a tone as confident as I could muster. The guard raised his eyebrows. 

“I’ve never seen you or heard of you. You certain you’re from here?” he asked, jutting his finger towards the doors. I nodded firmly. Fake it till you make it.

“Yes, sir. I haven’t been home in many months as I’ve been looking after my cousin in Totbury. He’s been very ill, and I’ve been afraid to leave his side. Yet, I fear I am without much money. Hence why I’m here now.” I looked at the men, trying to gauge whether or not they detected my lies. I’d only just cooked up that tall tale fifteen minutes ago, and I didn’t have anything past that. My fingers squeezed each other behind my back as I waited for them to reply. One looked to the other, who shrugged, then they turned back to me.

“Very well, welcome back,” he said. My sigh of relief was covered up by the loud creaking of the doors as the men pushed them open, revealing the awaking city. I quickly walked through them before the guards could change their minds. Mother of God. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. But I knew I didn’t have time to explore, I had to get to the castle. Hardly anyone was outside their homes yet, so I took off running, my worn shoe soles slapping on the cobblestone. I didn’t know my way, of course. I was simply going by the spiral at the top of a tower. I could see it from the city streets, so I rushed through the city’s twist and turns until arriving at a long stone bridge. It led all the way to a tall archway, beyond it, the entrance to the castle. 

I did my best not to break out into a sprint and instead speed-walked across it, wondering why there was nobody else in sight. I didn’t have time to ponder it further as I had already made it to the entrance. I told the guards here the same thing I’d said to the ones at the gates. They let me in seconds after I said I was there for the job opening.

The beauty of the castle stopped me in my tracks. Candles flickered above me in the high-hanging chandeliers, their light shining on the polished wooden floors. Gold framed portraits decorated the warm stone walls. Everything was so clean, so elegant. My eyes had no idea where to look. Get a hold of yourself. You’re not here to look around. I scanned the foyer but realized I had no idea where to go. But then a soft voice startled me.

“It’s up the stairs and to the left, dear. Better hurry. The Prince is almost done with his breakfast.” I turned around to see a short old woman with stark blonde hair. At first glance, she reminded me of my mother. She smiled when she saw my face. “Go on, wouldn’t want to be late now,” she ushered. I hastily nodded my head as I hurried up the steps, taking a left just as she had told me. I was now facing a long hallway, at the end of which were open doors leading into a large room. As I drew nearer, I could see a long line of people, all with their hands behind their back and chests puffed out. Intimidation tickled my skin. They all looked so proper.

Trying to push away my thoughts, I stepped into the room, which I realized was the throne room, and claimed my place beside a young woman. She looked to be around my age, as did many of the women. I quickly noticed that there were only women here. That’s odd. Surely at least some men would wish to be the Prince’s servant. Although, I suppose it’s not the same as being his right-hand man or advisor. My thoughts were interrupted by a loud toot of a trumpet. I turned to my right to see a well-dressed man with a silver instrument pressed to his lips. He played a little tune before lowering the trumpet.

“His Majesty, the King, and her Majesty, the Queen.” The man stepped aside, and two figures entered the room. The man was tall, had blonde hair, and a pale, pointed face. His eyes seemed to pierce my soul when he made eye contact. He carried a black and silver cane with him as he walked. The woman at his side looked just as unnerving as her husband. She, too, was tall, although not as tall as the King. Her hair was long and blonde, just as pale as her skin. The slimness of her waist was rather alarming, and her eyes were ice cold. 

The couple took their seats on their respective thrones and turned towards the door. The previous man spoke again. “His Royal Highness, Prince Draco.” The man of the hour, Draco Malfoy, strutted into the room. A perfect combination of his parents, his skin was cool white, nearly the same as his platinum hair. His high cheekbones and pointed chin resembled his father’s, but, unlike the King, Draco’s hair was cut short, a few stray strands hovered over his forehead. When he took a seat next to his mother, I could see her eyes soften as she looked at him.

The trumpeter exited, leaving the Royal Family alone with the line of girls in front of them, save for a few guards. The King cleared his throat and rose to his feet, clutching his snake-headed cane as he did. 

“In a few moments, my son will choose his new servant. I trust you will all be respectful and do as you’re told. If the prince dismisses you, then you leave. If the prince asks you a question, you answer it truthfully. And finally, if the prince chooses you, you will be led to your living quarters and will immediately begin your training. The prince will be taking the throne in exactly two hundred and thirty days; he is a busy young man, and we cannot waste any more time. Do I make myself clear?” he asked. Nobody said a word. “Good. Draco,” he called, motioning to us. 

The prince stood up from his throne and made his way down the marble steps. He stopped a few feet in front of a girl a couple of people down from me. He stared at her for a few seconds before waving his hand and saying, “Dismissed.” The girl didn’t move, she looked confused and a bit shocked. Draco scoffed. “Weren’t you listening to my father? If I dismiss you, you leave. The door is to your right; run along now,” he ordered. I watched in disbelief as the girl bowed her head and rushed from the room, tears in her eyes. “Daft cow,” Draco muttered. Anger began to stir in my chest. What an absolute prick. Christ, I knew the Malfoys were a cold bunch, but I never thought the crown prince would be this much of an arsehole.

He continued going down the line, dismissing girls left and right. It didn’t seem like he had a particular order. No, he was merely kicking out the girls who didn’t please his eye. I knew this because he’d tell them what he didn’t find appealing as they left. 

“Big nose.”

“Thin lips.”

“Too tall.”

“Repulsive complexion.”

He dismissed and dismissed until only three girls remained, including me. He stopped in front of a black-haired woman. She wore a cream-colored gown. It was much fancier than mine and contrasted beautifully with her dark skin.

“What’s your name?” Draco asked. The woman replied that her name was Alyssa. “Hi, Alyssa. Tell me, what makes you want this job?” It was silent for a few moments before the woman answered. 

“My mother suggested it, Your Highness.” Draco clasped his hands behind his back and studied Alyssa’s face and body. His calm demeanor was frightening, to say the least.

“So your mother wants you to have this position, but tell me, Alyssa, do you want this position? Or are we just wasting our time here trying to fulfill the wishes of a woman who isn’t even here?” he seethed. Alyssa stuttered but shook her head and insisted she, too, wanted the job. I could tell from his face that Draco didn’t buy what she was selling, but he didn’t dismiss her. Instead, he shuffled his feet until he stood in front of me. My heart started pounding in my chest, but I kept my head up, my mother’s words echoing in my head. “Don’t be afraid to make eye contact.”

Draco said nothing for nearly an entire minute. He only stood still, eyes never leaving mine. It felt like a staring contest, but without the playful energy. I could see now that his eyes were grey. They looked empty like they were searching for something. I narrowed my own, trying to figure out why they looked this way. It seemed as though this upset Draco.

“What’re you looking at?” he spat. I quickly replied. I could practically feel his anger, and I did not want to add to it by being slow to respond.

“Nothing, Your Highness.”

“Liar. Try again, sweetheart.” Perceptive. Or perhaps just angry. Whichever it was, he now left me with a decision—another lie or the simple truth. I weighed the options in my head; neither seemed favorable.

“Your eyes,” I replied. Draco raised an eyebrow. I took this to mean he wanted me to elaborate. “They’re grey.” Upon hearing this, he rolled them.

“Brilliant deduction,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “But why were you staring at them so...intently?” he questioned me further. However, he seemed afraid almost. Like he didn’t want to hear my answer. Regardless, I shrugged.

“Well, they appear sad and honestly, vacant.” I could feel the entire room tense as I spoke. Behind Draco, I saw The King jump to his feet, his wife’s hand on his arm in a feeble attempt at holding him back. 

“Guards…” he started, but then Draco lifted a hand, halting his father as well as the guards who’d begun to take a few steps forward. 

“That won’t be necessary. Send for Olive. She can show her to her new room,” Draco spoke gently. His voice was even and firm, and yet, nobody moved to fulfill his request.

“Surely you’re not picking her, son?” The King asked, desperation evident in his voice. It was easy to see that he disapproved of this decision. Draco, whose eyes still hadn’t moved from mine, adjusted his hands. They now rested on his thighs, fingers intertwined.

“You’re from Orton, yes?” I nodded, not trusting my voice. “You’re healthy, no deathly illnesses?” Again, I nodded. “And you want this job?” This time I decided to speak.

“Yes, Your Highness, very much so.” I curled my toes, hoping my conviction was enough. The smile that stretched across Draco’s face hinted that it was. However, his next words confirmed it.

“Perfect. Yes, Father, I have picked her. Now can somebody please fetch Olive? I don’t quite know why nobody did so even though I specifically remember telling you less than two minutes ago,” he said fiercely. Within seconds, a guard rushed out the door to do as The Prince had ordered. The two girls beside me took this as their cue to exit as well. Alyssa looked gutted, and the other girl seemed relieved. I felt a bit sad to see them go, but my thoughts of them were overridden by the increasingly uncomfortable feeling growing in my stomach.

The distress in the air felt thick, almost suffocating. It seemed that the vacant man standing in front of me was quite the threatening presence. While this let me know I should tread lightly when in his company, it didn’t instill fear. Yes, I had been intimidated and afraid when I initially walked into the Malfoy’s throne room, but once I’d gotten a good look at the youngest of the bunch, those feelings dissipated.

His eyes told me all I needed to know. Draco was nothing but talk. He was closer to a boy than he was a man, and more importantly, he had no guts to do anything substantial. Sure, words could hurt, but when it came down to it, they were nothing more than words.

As I was led to my room by Olive, the kind older woman I’d met at the doorway, I wondered what I had gotten myself into. 

Taglist (I used my All Draco Works taglist for this, if you DO NOT want to be on this taglist for Betwixt, please let me know!): @beiahadid​ @pastelpuffbar​ @cutie1365​ @dracoxmgg​ @lumlfy​ @sambucky8​ @emilianamason​ @raplinethereal​ @DixieTheMorab24 @xoxohollands​  @prongsandprancer​ @ch0kemedracomalfoy​ @avlauriaa​ @purpleskymalfoy @mariah-can-dream​ @drxcomvlfx​ @sydnee-kom-spacekru​ @dracosgoodgirl​ @voilawind​ @gloryekaterina​ @anchoeritic​ @ragxsxragxs​ @exoticlizard @dlmmdl @siriusblklftv​ @Writtenbyadramaqueen @amourtentiaa​ @keidensu​

[asterekmess]

S3A - E8

I’m realizing just how damn far behind I am on working on season 3, but I don’t wanna skip any episodes of the rewatch, so let’s get to it! Double time, double time!

Content warnings for discussion of cannibalism.

Forewarning, this one is a doozy, so be prepared to Read More:

Lesgo!:

First thing’s first, Derek has experience with those awful sound thingies? Can you imagine how freaked he must’ve been seeing Chris bring those out when they were tracking Boyd and Erica?

Also, Chris Argent has been hunting Derek one way or another since he was a child. Even BEFORE Kate. Why the hell do we have a Derek & Chris broness in the later seasons? This kind of shit doesn’t just go away. I can’t believe I forgot about it.

I love how awkward sweet bby Derek is trying to run through the trees and tripping on branches everywhere. It’s honestly so much more realistic for a teenager than just the crazy cgi stuff. Also, since we know Derek is comfortable in the woods, it really gives you a hint as to how truly messed up he is from fear right now. He’s off balance in a dozen ways.

DEREK HAS BEEN WATCHING PEOPLE DIE IN FRONT OF HIM SINCE HE WAS 15. I’m gonna CRY. If I wanna hurt myself even More, you could argue that the Random Beta (RB) got shot bc he stopped to talk to Derek. So...guilty minds would assume Derek has been watching people die because of him since 15. I hate everything.

PETER comin’ in clutch. Also, hilarious that they use that arrow catching move so much.

I almost like how they tried to make Gerard look younger by just having him wear a douchey leather jacket instead of the serious grandpa one he wears in S2. He swaggers over to the body of RB, and it’s hilarious.

Okay, what is this bullshit about “Bring them back alive, we go by the code?” If you were going by the code then you wouldn’t be fucking hunting them AT ALL. They’re innocent! Why the fuck are you ‘bringing them back’ in the first place? Chris, you piece of shit. This is supposed to demonstrate that you’ve always been a stickler for the code, but all it does is emphasize how little that code actually means. “We hunt those who hunt us.” Fuck off, you hunt anything you deem ‘dangerous’ and find excuses to kill them so you can feel righteous.

Gonna casually note that RB was shot in the Throat with an arrow, but bc of makeup necessities they moved the arrow down to his chest when he’s shown on the ground. It’s funny. :)

It’s seriously so hard to hate Peter, do the writers realize that? Like, yes, he did horrible shit and I’m not denying that, but when you show him running into the hunter-filled woods to save his nephew’s life at 24 years old, then hiding with him in a cellar for two fucking days when he could probably have escaped on his own, it’s hard to see him as a heartless bastard.

I’m almost afraid to find out why Cora knows the details. Can you imagine? She would’ve been, what, 9-10? Her big brother and uncle both go missing for two days after a hunt and she had to stay at home waiting for someone to say they’d found their bodies. God, the lives of the Hales are so fucked up.

The rain is really making the mood here.

I gotta say, I’m confused about this initial Cora-Stiles interaction. He goes on about everyone who’s died or nearly died, but then Cora assumes he wants Derek to do something about the deaths, and Stiles agrees? Except that Derek currently fits the COD that all the other sacrifices have hit. Missing for about two days. Everything Stiles has said implies that he’s worried Derek is also dead. I don’t get why they go with ‘I’m worried about the missing man that I’ve been helping for the last four months because I blame him for the Alphas even coming to town”?

One thing they got on point here is just how disgusting they made Gerard. The slime and the spitting and ugh *shudders* it’s just so gross.

I’m also...I think intrigued is the right word--that they shoved this whole story into the episode without ever addressing the fact that Derek IS missing and they should go looking for him or something. It starts with Stiles asking where the hell he is, but then everything else is about this past moment. Talk about going off on a tangent. I mean, I don’t blame them, but if I shoved this much character background into one chapter people would call me out for the infodump that it is.

Which is all this episode is. Info-dumped exposition. Here’s how werewolves were made. Here’s why Derek’s cranky. Here’s why Duke’s an asshole. Here’s why the Hales are ‘special’

Again, I don’t blame them. It’s just...a lot.

Just a tiny thing: Why do they both roll up their sleeves when Scott only has to touch Gerard’s hand?

It is also very hard to believe that either Allison or Scott are remotely good people when they’re both lying to everyone about Gerard’s existence.

*finger guns, bc now i have to use the tag* I think this is the longest I’ve ever gotten before using it.

Another thing: Why does Gerard make the gross noises like he’s in pain, when we know it doesn’t hurt to get the pain taken away from him? It certainly didn’t hurt that lady in the ER.

I know this is a weird thing to notice, but I find it interesting that Paige is wearing actual makeup. Not just the ‘natural’ look, but eyeshadow that’s visibly dark. *shrug*

Is she Actually playing the cello? The notes Don’t look like they match up with her bowing and fingerings.

HA that music cut in is fucking Hilarious. Derek turns around like he’s in a teen rom-com, with that casual “I never stop smiling all the way bc I’m the coolest guy around” grin and the music just WHAM. That’s right, Derek Hale used to be a JOCK. He didn’t used to be ‘a lot like Scott.’ He was a lot like JACKSON.

So, this group of cronies Derek has. What is that about? He’s gotta have that posse just like Jackson did in S1? Unnamed people to cackle at his jokes.

Paige’s face, right there? That is the SHIT for me. That’s not hidden attraction, that’s genuinely “What the fuck is my life, why are you so lame?” and I am LIVING for it.

Derek peacocking is also hilarious. Peacocking so hard he (THE WEREWOLF) didn’t notice that she’d left the hall, is even more so.

I hate to tell you this Paige, but THAT is where I could tell you liked him. Giving in to his bullshit offer was the first step, that look on your face when he said, “Hold on” was Blatant “Holy shit, my crush wants to talk to me” but then all you idiots did was make eye contact. Paige, if you’re trying to get the ball, try looking away from those pretty eyes, okay?

Derek, you always go too far. You can see Paige lose interest when she realizes that he’s not actually into Her, he’s into showing off.

OOOF, i guess they weren’t such good friends after all, cus’ they left when Paige did.

I also feel the need to point out Derek is WEARING A CHECKERED SHIRT. *inarticulate screaming* Everyone who makes jokes about him thinking plaid is disgusting owes me five bucks bc he CLEARLY didn’t think checkers/plaid were that bad when he was in high school.

I’ll admit...the instant sorry is like...really good. If they’d had him come in and be More of a dick and then end up together, I’d be a lot more bugged. But his First real introduction to her is an apology.

THEN he goes back to being a dick. But at least this time it’s not about him, he wants to know about Her.

And I LOVE the turnaround! THIS is flirting. THIS is cute teasing. She plays his game Back at him, shows her own skill and forces him to get on her level. Then he weasels out of it, but in a Cute Way.

If there’s one thing that I’m routinely impressed by in TW it’s the scoring. They’re Really good with music to fit the moods and the vibes of the whole episode. For instance, all the transition music in this episode is Cello, bc it’s about Paige.

I hate agreeing with Gerard on Anything, but he makes a good point about the Dark Druid taking and killing someone else right alongside Deaton. Why would she take 4 people when she only needed three? She wouldn’t know that Deaton got a message out or that Scott would save Deaton. Plus the addition of the mountain ash circle is kind of weird, don’t you think?

Yah, I have no clue why your body is producing anything Either. You literally make no sense and you shouldn’t be alive. Period. Bringing you back was a lazy way to have someone who could be a sub-sub plot and hand out exposition and red herrings that are totally useless.

HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT GERARD? You weren’t There when Deucalion found out he could still see with his Alpha Eyes (Which makes no sense btw, he doesn’t have TWO sets of eyes???) and if you’d interacted with Deuc since then he’d have ripped you to shreds.

SERIOUSLY people, why the FUCK are we getting this information from Gerard when it makes WAY more sense for Deaton to tell them this? He was THERE for the whole thing!

I get that the point of the episode is supposed to be “Unreliable Narrators” (The whole show has an unreliable narrator.) but you had that covered with Peter’s story. You could’ve Instilled TRUST in Deaton by making a contrast and having Deaton TELL THEM THE TRUTH. Show the difference between reliable and unreliable. Gerard doesn’t need to be here!

Stiles, asking the real questions.

AND GETTING THE MOST BULLSHIT ANSWER IN THE UNIVERSE.

Could these writers GET any lazier? Put some fucking effort in and give us some information about Werewolves IN YOUR WEREWOLF TV SHOW.

What the fuck were Paige and Derek into that they knew where an abandoned distillery was when it wasn’t even in TOWN? And you’re telling me they left town every time they wanted to make out? Even worse, are you implying they had SEX in that distillery? And then trying to tell me that none of the fucking Alphas and their packs noticed the smell of Derek and his girlfriend all over the building?

...what...do people seriously not remember being teenagers? What the fuck Peter? In what fucking universe  is “one minute it’s ‘i hate you, don’t talk to me’ the next it’s frantic groping in any dark corner’ remotely accurate to real life?

Teenagers in the majority don’t DO that. I really fucking hate that all teenagers are made out to be like this. Like they’re “run by their hormones” and “everything is sex to you” STOP. Seriously, STOP. Saying shit like that completely negates the fact that Teenagers are Real fucking People. They’re not just buckets of hormones and sweat that need to be shaped into an adult. They’re fucking PEOPLE and reducing them to sex-crazed idiots is lazy and stupid.

Are you ALSO telling me that the hunters dragged RB’s DEad Body to an abandoned building, then strung the corpse up and cut it in half? AND that someone happened to go the abandoned building and found the body and called the cops, or that they MOVEd the two halves somewhere they would be found, Or that They were the ones to call and report the body?

Has teen wolf got even a Single brain cell?

ALSO, what the fuck is this timeline? Derek and Peter went missing for two days after RB was killed, but the packs don’t get together to discuss RB’s death until After Derek has run out of the building with Paige because he could smell blood from RB being hemisected. So, they waited at Least two days before talking to each other about RB’s death? And Derek apparently recovered Instantaneously from his two day nightmare and went right back to macking on his girlfriend and laughing freely the Day he was found? Or did they wait even longer? I’m so fucking confused!

Okay, you tell me that this place is their favorite makeout/groping spot, but they seriously just walk in the door and start kissing in the middle of the room? You guys didn’t bring some blankets and pillows here? You’re gonna stand there the whole time?

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU MAKING PETER A PERVERT? He was fucking watching his nephew make out with his girlfriend through the wall??? WHat is WRONG with you?

ALSO, Cora was alive and active in Derek’s life at that point. She wasn’t That young. She could easily point out that Peter being Derek’s best friend is total bullshit if it weren’t actually true. Which means Peter is telling the TRUTH here. Hell, she doesn’t call out his heartbeat for lies the entire time, and while they imply at the end of the episode that Really Good Liars can just force their heart to be steady while lying so they don’t get caught, that isn’t a thing for the entire rest of the show. Derek trusts KATE when she says she’s not lying. So the evidence actually points toward Peter telling the TRUTH in this entire episode.

THAT is accurate to teenagers. Using the word “like” and “liking” so many times in a conversation that it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.

Paige...dude, I’m so torn. Like I’m glad you’re being honest with Derek about your worries, but also it’s a complete dick move to just Assume that he’s gonna bail? To say to his face that you Know he’s leaving you and you’re just waiting for it? Fucking rude.

Ennis...bro...how exactly did your Beta “Accidentally” kill a hunter? How would that happen?

AGAIN WITH THE TIMELINE. If the packs only CAME to beacon hills because of Ennis issue with the hunters, why was RB running through beacon hills when he was killed?

Also, side note: Where are all of these werewolves staying? Are they territorial so they like, all claimed different hotels to take over? Or do they not mind, and THAT’S why the Hale house is so big for such a small family? Because they had a ton of guest rooms for packs that visited to get that sweet, sweet Hale Wisdom?

I firmly believe that werewolves are clothing-optional people. Talia straight shifts into a naked human form in front of over a dozen other wolves.

Also, where the hell is the Hale pack here? Some random chick comes up and gives Talia a robe, but that person is standing with Deuc’s pack. So....what?

I’m so curious about the formation the wolves make when they hear Talia coming. Everybody backs away, except Deucalion. And they do this weird focus on his face as he watches her come in. And her eye contact is JUST with him.

OH GROSS. DID DEUC HAVE A THING FOR DEREK’S MOM????

I will admit that watching things with subtitles sometimes ruins the surprise. There’s that little pause before “I’m just a deputy” like it was supposed to be shocking to the audience, but the subtitle on Amazon Prime just Pops up right away and it kind of ruins the effect.

Here we go! The one piece of concrete information on “Packs” and “pack members” that we’re given in the whole fucking show. Word for Word. “Losing a member of your pack isn’t like losing family, it’s like you lose a limb.”

That is....severe. Now imagine that your entire family IS your pack. And losing almost every one of them. Is it any wonder that Cora, Peter, and Derek are so messed up? That they’re so dark and wounded looking?

I s2g sometimes Peter literally just sounds like he’s a self-insert for the writers. He explains shit that the writer’s are showing Really Badly as if to wave away the fact that the Ennis flashback is pretty much Completely unnecessary. “You just don’t understand my artistic genius, it’s never just a single moment, it’s a confluence of events. I have to show you all these random flashbacks because you need to understand why Derek is soaked in MANPAIN all the time. Which is totally relevant to the current plot bc....bc....bc ART (and also Tyler Hoechlin was busy so we could only get one shot of him for the entire episode)”

That is just the cutest shit oh my god. Derek listens to Paige’s music while he’s in class and doing homework. THAT is love, you realize? He doesn’t just deal with her dedication to her music, he loves it.

THat little wince when he says “Are you sure about that?” Paige knows he’s gonna screw with her.

THAT IS A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. He gives her space! She likes studying during lunch so he Leaves her Alone. I LIKE IT.

What do you mean “Laura told you about the packs being here.” Derek KNOWS they’re here because he watched RB DIE IN THE WOODS. Seriously, I”M SO CONFUSED.

FUN FACT (that I might’ve already shared) Oak wood was liked by the Celts because it was really sturdy and hardy and bore food, but it wasn’t their favorite type of wood! Rowan was the favorite, and Irish pagan practitioners used to sleep in rowan trees so they could have prophetic dreams. After that, it was Hazelwood. :P

I...do not enjoy when they bring up the Celtic Druids. *Scuttles to get my textbook bc this is my nerd shit*

“We’re in a Nemeton” This is the correct wording, actually! A “Nemeton” isn’t a thing, it’s a “sacred meeting place” as Chris calls it. Go chris! Nemeton refers to the entire grove/area around the main tree.

I can’t speak to whether they chose a ‘Large, older tree in a grove” but it does make sense bc if we’re talking about Oaks they were a symbol of food and safety (acorns were a staple to Celtic diets) so choosing an older tree would not only look more impressive, but it would probably bear more acorns for the clan.

“It would represent the center of the world” *Puts on vine voice* THat is NOt Correct! The tree at the center of the Nemeton was called a “crann bethadh” or “Tree of Life” and it was essentially a Totem that marked the center of the tribe’s territory. It was not ‘the center of the world’ it was the center of THEIR world. Their land.

“There was a belief that cutting or harming the tree would cause serious problems for the surrounding villages” Not sure if ‘villages’ is the correct term for the era, but the rest of it sounds like a close mistranslation. See, in Ireland there were raids people would do against other clans where the SOLE PURPOSE was to destroy their crann bethadh, because it was demoralizing. It’s like graffiti-ing the front of a church. But technically, it WAS severely frowned upon to harm the tree in any way.

This is mostly because in most Celtic areas, Oak trees were considered symbols of the “Father of the Sky” or the “God of Thunder.” Of course you don’t wanna piss off Thunder man.

Also, you notice how I’m saying CELTS and not DRUIDS. It’s because DRUID isn’t a cultural label, it’s a SOCIAL CLASS. It’s like saying “The Educated”

Okay, back to the--OH WAIT. Before anyone gets any ideas, the blood on the crann bethadh isn’t human. Estonian Celts smeared animal blood on the tree roots as an assurance for rain and good harvests. This is the same concept as TONS of other religions, including Christianity. (Abraham was supposed to sacrifice his son, Isaac, to God, but God stopped him and had him sacrifice a Ram instead. So, Yes. Christians used to perform animal sacrifices.)

NOW back to the show.

THe fact that gerard doesn’t know this stuff implies that Chris is the nerd of the family.

I LIKE THIS. I hate that I like it bc it’s Gerard, but I LIKE IT. Gerard gets up from his wheelchair. He doesn’t need it All the Time.

I’ve never seen another show that bothered to have a wheelchair user who wasn’t wheelchair-bound, which is stupid because it’s Very Common for people using wheelchairs to not need them all the time.

though it does beg the question of why he’s sitting in a wheelchair when he’s in his own bedroom? Was he going somewhere? Or did he know he wouldn’t have enough chairs and didn’t want Allison or Scott to sit in his chair?

The story of Lycaon, who was considered a savage ruler of Arcadia and Zeus went to his house disguised as a human (this is v common in myth) to find out if he was batshit. Lycaon and his FIFTY SONS (he also had one daughter) wanted to know if the stranger was a human or a mortal, so they fed him human flesh in stew. Zeus flipped shit and blasted the room with thunderbolts, murdering all but one of Lycaon’s sons, and then turned Lycaon into a wolf.

So...this whole ‘myth of lycaon’ is totally fucked up when it didn’t need to be? Like, they didn’t NEED to change it to make it a messed up origin story of wolves. It already was.

There’s three major versions to choose from

Lycaon was a pius man who founded the city of Lycosura on Mount Lycaeus and used a child as a sacrifice to Zeus, thinking it would please him. Zeus flips shit and turns Lycaon into a wolf. FROM THEN ON; at every sacrifice made to zeus a man was transformed into a wolf and if he managed to restrain himself from eating human flesh for 8-9 years, he would be turned human again.

The same story as the first, except Lycaon Knew Zeus was in disguise and the child he fed him was Zeus’ own son, and it was revenge for seducing his only daughter Callisto.

If you want to make it match what you’ve already said about wolves in the show, they could’ve used the last one and it would’ve demonstrated how Ingrained the concept of vendetta/revenge is for wolves.

If you wanted to focus on the Turning Human part and working with Celtic Druids to learn to become werewolves, you could’ve used the second one.

there was no reason to add in the bullshit about Prometheus except as an excuse to make Deucalion look like he picked his name to be an asshole, which he fucking didn’t.

 I’m so sorry about all the classical shit (i’m really not) but I studied it in college and I can’t just let this bullshit stand.

I’ll give them a pass on the ‘the lesser known part’ bc it’s technically plausible for the wolves to have run north to the Celts and beg for help, And the Druids (those who’s education was specifically in magic, not all of them) were known for shapeshifting (though not usually into animals. They did that to Other people, not themselves)

I cannot believe this is so long, i’m so sorry.

But WHY tho, Cora? How is an Emissary supposed to keep you connected to humanity if No ONe KNows Who They Are?? How are they supposed to do their job??

Yeah, well now Deaton is a sour bitch who has a chip on his shoulder against the Hale pack so like...fuck his advice.

I will say though! Pre-fire Deaton doesn’t give me the heebies like post-fire Deaton. He’s much more clear about the advice he’s giving, and it’s actually helpful! He still has a dumb little anecdote/parable about the scorpion and the frog (which...in most circumstances I hate. It doesn’t even match what happens) but he gives Real Advice instead of vague asshole nonsense.

“I’m an Alpha, I never walk alone.” I have an inordinate affection for this line.

Paige is clearly some kinda bad bitch if she thought nothing of going to hang out in the school in the middle of the night with Derek.

Okay, but like...why would he attack Ennis like that if he was the one who asked him to bite Paige? And why is the moment played up “A fifteen-year-old boy against a giant” Derek was literally swatted to the side while Ennis walked out of the building. this wasn’t some big showdown.

If she’d already been bitten, why was Ennis still grabbing at her??

....seriously? Peter is literally right there? And no one noticed?

Again with the “Scott is a genius now” LIsten, bro, why the fuck would Scott know a sanskrit fable? If he Did know a story like that, it would be bc Deaton taught him. In which case he would know the FROG and the scorpion. Come on, guys.

OH MY GOD GERARD DOES IT TOO. GERARD, PETER, AND DEUC all have a CHRONIC case of verbal diarrhea when they’re trying to be intimidating.

I do NOT understand this warehouse scene. It’s a GAS gerard, if you stabbed yourself with some sort of...antidote or whatever it wouldn’t save you from the GAS you’re inhaling. At the very least you would be shouting like everyone else because it HURTS going in.

why did it take so long for Talia to come? It’s implied that Peter left to get her, so why did it take so long? Even PAST peter looks fucked up at seeing that Paige is dying, it’s not like he would wait.

I’ll be real, i get weepy so i’m skipping the actual death. Just know that it hurts me. Severely.

Y’all know how much I hate this ‘innocent life’ bullshit for blue eyes. It’s very True Alpha-y in that it’s impossible to pin down the specifics. What constitutes an ‘innocent life’? What constitutes taking it? With wolf claws? With a gun? What counts and what doesn’t count? Ugh.

Eyyy, so I’m exhausted and this is so long that my computer is fritzing. There are five minutes left and nothing happens in them at all. Just Scott pointing out the heartbeat thing and threatening to kill Gerard (so he’s still fine with murder at this point in time. Good to know). Stiles telling Cora that he doesn’t think Peter was telling the truth (which she would Know if he wasn’t) and that he’s gonna ask Derek about it (which we never got to see). And Deucalion murdering his own Beta (who, tbf, tried to kill him first. Which, again, what the fuck is up with Deaton’s office that wolves are able to rip each other apart in it, but it’s still ‘hard for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble.’ I’m just so confused

Final Thoughts: This episode actually had some interesting stuff in it, which is kind of sad considering there was no PLOT, just Exposition. I look forward to tweezing the bits out that I want and dumping the rest in the garbage where it belongs. Oh, and like I said, the music was on Point.

[izzy-b-hands]

Routine

I fully own this is incredibly self-indulgent. 

A bit of Freddie/Reader, with Freddie helping the Reader out with the changing of their testosterone patches (something I use myself, so this is my admission that this is completely echoing my own experience here with them.) 

Also some smut, because I've been in that sort of way lately when it comes to writing lol.

My thanks to Rushing and Finn on the DL Server for beta reading this and helping out with the editing process!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

"I'll only be a few moments," you say, and slip into the bathroom of your and Freddie's hotel room. 

You've been with Freddie for awhile now, but even so, you've not yet had to change your testosterone patches in front of him. It isn't that you've hidden it or anything (and he knows well that you're trans and that you use the patches; he's seen them on your body after all.) It just simply hasn't happened where he was around to watch it happen.

Part of it is that they need changing in the evening, and usually you just dip away and do it quick and then come back to wherever you might be at the time: home on the couch with Freddie, on tour and in a hotel bar with the lads, etc. 

But now he opens the door as you're mid-patch removal on the first of the two you wear each day, and he winces as much as you do as the tough adhesive refuses to let go of your leg hair and skin. 

"This is why you said it's better to take them off in the shower or bath?" he asks, and sits on the edge of the tub. 

You nod, and keep gently tugging at the patch as the edges come slowly off. 

"Would warm water help?"

You nod again, but don't stop. If you stop, then you'll really feel the pain of pulling it off, and that's no good. 

He hisses in pain as the patch finally comes away. "You said something once about rinsing the spots after you take those off too, didn't you?"

"Yeah," you reply as you set the first spent patch on the counter and reach for the second one still on your thigh. 

He stands and gently grabs your wrist with one hand, the other snagging a clean washcloth off the counter. "Let me help."

You watch as he wets the washcloth under the sink with warm water, then kneels in front of you.

You'd taken off your trousers and pants for this; easier to be nude than to try and worry about getting water on your clothes while rinsing the spots down before putting on new patches. 

Which makes it incredibly intimate, to have Freddie kneeled there. It's not the first time he's been in that position, sucking at your small cock, fingers in your cunt. But this is different, and intimate in an entirely different and affectionate way. 

He rinses over the spot where the first patch was first, wincing at the raised skin as his fingers trail over it. "That's normal, right?"

"It is," you reply, and run your hands through his hair, unable to help yourself. "Between the adhesive, the aluminium in the patch, and the T gel, it can be a little harsh on the skin. Doesn't help that my skin is sensitive to start. But I'll take this over needles, for now at least." 

He nods, and leans in to kiss the spot, but you stop him with a touch to his cheek. 

"There's residue, might not taste the best."

He shrugs, and kisses just beside the spot instead. 

"If this hurts too much, let me know," he murmurs, and uses the washcloth to dab at the edges of the patch, only working to pull the tab of it up once it's sufficiently damp. 

It's better than pulling it off completely dry, and you can't help but moan a little at the relief. It's always nice, taking the used ones off at the end of the day, but having someone else do it for you? A wonderful dream you hadn't even realized you'd had. 

He kisses your hip, and giggles as he keeps working. You've never told him your method with a washcloth, but he's picked up on it regardless, alternating between dabbing at the patch and gently tugging it off your skin. 

Once it's off, he stands briefly to set it on the counter by the first, and rewets the washcloth. 

He returns to his knees and rinses off the second spot, but there's a glint in his eye this time. 

"If you'd rather not have me do this, just say and I'll stop," he says. "But forgive me the urge..."

Even as he moves the washcloth over the spot, he leans forward to kiss your hip, the top of your mons. His tongue flicks out to lick at your cock, then down to your folds. 

His free hand reaches to your ass, to hold you close to his mouth as he works to suck at your cock. His eyes are shut, long lashes gorgeous, but for a moment he blinks and those brown eyes meet yours, and you melt.

After another few moments, he abandons the second spot and tosses the washcloth to the counter.

You take the opportunity to move and lean your back against the counter, spreading your legs wider as he adjusts himself on the floor. 

"If your knees hurt, we can move to the bed," you suggest, but he shakes his head and reaches for the dirty towel you'd used during your shower earlier, tossed to the floor because frankly that's what you'd both been doing to ensure you didn't confuse clean towels for dirty or vice versa. He folds it quickly and moves enough to shove it under his knees. 

"You've got a solution for everything," you smile, again brushing your fingers through his thick hair as he kisses at your thighs. 

He shakes his head slightly and smirks before sucking again at your cock, moaning around it. He makes it no secret that he gets off on being able to get you off like this, and there's the added sweetness of what he did for you with the patches making it even better now. 

Because truly, it's the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you. It's not just additional acceptance of that part of you, it's the concern and care and love that inspired him to follow you in to begin with. That he wanted to see this part of your life, this little day to day thing that's become as important as drinking water or brushing your teeth. 

His arms loop around your thighs, helping to hold you up as his tongue alternates between your cock and inside your folds, licking and sucking and leaving you weak in the knees. 

"Freddie," you try and forewarn him the closer you get to your orgasm, but he only sucks harder at your cock.

You nearly fold in on yourself as you come, thighs shaking as you try not to trap his face in between them. 

You end up pushed up on the counter some as he suddenly scoops you up and swings your legs over his shoulders, holding you in place with his arms while his mouth stays busy at your cunt. 

He only stops once you've come back down to yourself, and he sits back looking utterly pleased. 

"Did that help to ease the hurt of those some? That's what my idea was, after all."

You slip down to the floor and kiss him with a smile. "It did. Do you want to help me put the new ones on too?"

He nods, and stands with you, watching as you free the first one from its packaging. 

"Let me," he takes the patch from you, and waits for you to point to a spot on your other thigh. 

"Just make sure and press round the edges of it," you instruct as he places it, fingers gentle on your skin. "Give the adhesive time to take hold."

"It certainly fucking holds though," he remarks, but his fingers stipple over the edges of the patch until it seems firmly set. 

"It does, but not if you don't press it on well and make sure not to get it wet for three hours," you chuckle. 

"No shower together tonight then?"

"In three hours from now, sure," you reply. "But not before, or these could slip off me."

He nods, and takes the second patch from you once you have it ready. 

You point to another spot near the first new patch, and lean into his touch as he places the second patch. 

His fingers press the edges of it down, then move to trace the slightly dark circles from past patches that are fading all over your thighs, then to the ones on your hips and stomach. The ones on your upper arms have faded more, but a few have bruises from where you failed to stop itching them, after the patch was off. It almost tickles, the way they linger on your skin. Softly, sweetly, the same way he'd touch you while laying together in bed.

You rest your head against his chest, and hug him close. "Thank you. For everything."

He hugs you back, and kisses your forehead. "Of course. Now, shall we get back to the bar downstairs? See if the boys managed to leave our drinks alone while we were gone?"

"I should probably put on pants and trousers first."

"Overrated, but if you insist," he giggles. "We'll only be taking them off later."

"True," you smile, but you redress regardless. 

---

Later, downstairs sitting at the bar, your hand twitches as you try to itch through your trousers at the still irritated spots from the used patches. 

Without a word, Freddie reaches over and takes your hand in his, and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

[brazenautomaton]

Now that Silent Partner, Unfinished Business is complete, it’s time for answers and trivia and commentary and other such spoilers under a readmore! Send me an ask if you have any other questions about stuff, or post it as an AO3 comment.

First, the chapter titles. Following the naming convention of 100 Bullets, each of them references or alludes to the chapter number that it is.

One Is The Lowliest Number - references “One Is The Loneliest Number” by Three Dog Night. 

Folie a Deux - “Folie a Deux” or “Madness of Two” is when people transmit psychiatric illness, delusions, or hallucinations through social connection.

Bad Company - references the phrase “Three’s company, four’s a crowd” - and “Bad Company”, by Bad Company, on the album Bad Company.

Forewarned is Foreboding - references the phrase “Forewarned is Forearmed”

Slaughterhouse - references “Slaughterhouse-Five” by Kurt Vonnegut

Six Degrees of Severance - references the concept of “Six Degrees Of Separation”, and the process of severing a connection.

Magnificent - references the classic Western “The Magnificent Seven”.

Termination Procedure - AKA “Termin8ion Procedure”, it’s the process you go through to end someone’s employment.

Never A Cloudy Day - September is the ninth month of the year, "September” by Earth Wind And Fire contains the lyric “Say do you remember / Dancing in September / Never was a cloudy day”.

Epilogue: Decision - Deci-, as in decimal, is the Latin prefix meaning ten or tenth. 

I wrote the first version of this story over 10 years ago. I wrote myself into a corner in Chapter 5, because the Yotsuba Kira was still Higuchi, and it lay untouched for a decade. Naomi could write fluently and at length, her relationship with Misa was way easier, everything else was way easier, and it honestly wasn’t that good. I think like 1/3rd of chapters 1 through 4 are made up of text from the old version?

The idea of this being a fix fic to bring back a character that the narrative shortchanged was not the first idea. The first idea was “100 Bullets and Death Note ask exactly the same question, what would you do if you could kill someone and get away with it. But they answer it in totally different ways. How could those two concepts meet? Well, who in Death Note was betrayed and would seek revenge? Naomi Misora is a good candidate. How do I bring her back to life in a way that doesn’t seem she got off scot free?”

The original version of the story had no hints about the Minutemen (or the Trust, L’s employers) because none of that stuff was in the 100 Bullets comic yet, or at least not the trade paperbacks I had access to. The Minutemen and the Trust are kind of lame, to be honest, and they kinda dilute the elements and stories that made 100 Bullets compelling, but they are a perfect match for all the unanswered questions about L that Ryuzaki vocalizes in chapter 6.

You probably noticed how everyone had to stammer and search for the word “aphasia”. Did you notice that Misa was the only one who ever correctly used the word, had it immediately called to mind, and wasn’t reading it off a piece of paper? She was thinking about that word a lot more than everyone else.

I don’t remember when I first started using the double-slash notation for written text, but I figured that calling out written text was extremely, extremely important in a story where written text is extremely, extremely important for multiple reasons. I don’t know if I’ll use it for anything else I write.

Light’s symbolic fruit is the apple, obviously. Naomi is seen drinking orange juice and eating orange-flavored things, because they are as dissimilar as apples and oranges. Misa -- stuck between them and unsure of whose identity she will adopt -- drinks a lot of spring water.

“Midland Carbide Labs” and “Amalgamated Flourodynamics” are the two opposing player teams in the Half-Life mod “Science and Industry”, where players abduct scientists from each other to research their weapons.

Beta reader @ellieintheskywithroxy is a qt3.14.

Misa did a photoshoot, as a Malkavian vampire schoolgirl, for White Wolf Publishing back in the day. She thinks that White Wolf owns vampires the same way the Tolkien estate owns hobbits, so any changes they make to their setting are Official Vampire Changes, and she was miffed they got rid of Masquerade. Depending on her mood she thinks Naomi is either a Brujah or a Toreador.

Light’s “decoy Kira” plan was going to explode if it ever got to the point where he commanded or tricked Kira-Y into giving up his memories -- Nabiki Egawa would remember everything and they’d figure out Kira’s deception real fast.

The fact that Light’s WoW character is a Holy Paladin who he did not earn but instead purchased illicitly is extremely intentional. He plays WoW instead of a made-up game because A: I can cite details and people will appreciate the deep pulls and B: if I made up my own online game with a character as completely braindead easy to play as a Holy Pally in Burning Crusade, to allow Light to type messages while playing, it would look like I was making up absurd nonsense to make things easy on the character.

Naomi’s reaction to the BB case mirrors my own. I honestly could not finish the light novel because I found the authorial voice so grating, and the combination of smugness with the complete lack of knowledge about how things work in the setting of the story (literally one of the first things in the narration is something along the lines of “Of course her superiors were demeaning her, she was a woman and Japanese and this was America and we don’t need to go into any more detail than that”) was infuriating. And in the story that is supposed to be Naomi’s time to shine, she accomplishes nothing, saves no one, may as well not have gotten out of bed, and the things we’re supposed to see as her being a genius are her ability to follow along the clues that she is being spoon-fed by the actual serial killer. Jesus, dude. I said this whole incident gave her an incredible sense of impostor syndrome and hatred for her job, because the rest of the world -- like the LN itself -- acts like she accomplished something when she clearly did not. 

Similarly, I changed the details of Misa’s confinement to make sense. On someone else’s post, someone asked if Misa was tortured -- the depiction of her treatment is so inconsistent and incoherent that this is impossible to answer in the canon. They say she was denied water for three days, but has none of the symptoms of it. They have her bound a to gurney apparatus that takes twenty minutes to set up, and let her out every single time she asks to pee, and somehow she never tries to escape. And of course she gets out after a month of not moving with no muscle atrophy. This version is supposed to be a coherent model of treatment that sits on the borderline, in a grey area -- it’s torture if it’s done to inflict pain, and not torture if it’s done out of a reasonable concern for safety. The Second Kira was the most dangerous human being on the planet Earth and they had no idea how she worked. Some of her confinement was obviously necessary for the sake of safety. But how much of it was, and for how long was it warranted?

Most of the new Death Note rules are introduced to set up things that happen later, answer niggling questions I had, or just flesh out the concepts introduced. But the rule about “Once your lifespan goes negative, if you try to update it again, it just flips the fuck out” is just so Naomi and Misa can’t know how much lifespan Rem gave them.

There was no good or natural time to show it, but the moment Misa heard about rule 38a, which says that you can only regain your memory of the Death Note six times, she figured out if it was possible to surrender a Death Note that wasn’t being actively haunted (it was), she just reclaimed and gave up an evidence sheet of //ARVC-5// five more times.

Ryuzaki has no idea where the pina coladas are coming from and at this point he is too afraid to ask.

[jane-ways]

The Love of Small Things, Chapter One

My first work is up for @feanorianfunbingo! This is the first chapter of a followup work to Scion of Kings. See my bingo card and read the story below! You can also read The Love of Small Things on SWG and AO3. Many thanks to @ecthvlion for beta reading.

“I have a what.”

Nerdanel turned, eyebrows furrowed, leaning in towards Maedhros. Her hammer and chisel were still clutched in her chalky hands, and Maedhros belatedly realized it was probably a good thing he’d said what he’d said when he did, while the chisel was still raised and poised to strike. Half a second later could have resulted in an, ah, interesting shape for the sculpture’s nose.

He steadied himself, and repeated:

“You have a new grandson.”

Nerdanel’s eyes squinted in confusion. Quickly, before a deluge of questions could erupt from his mother’s mouth, he continued, “That is, I’ve adopted another son. Like Elrond and Elros. So, you have a new grandson.”

Maedhros paused there hopefully. Nerdanel’s expression had not changed—in fact, she somehow looked even more befuddled, her mouth having inadvertently opened as she puzzled it out. Ever one for crisis control, Maedhros thought it best to answer as many questions as he could before she asked them. His mother had a way cutting straight to the heart of matters he sometimes wished were left a little more unexplored. “His name is—well, you’ve probably heard of him, actually—his name is Gil-galad—”

“The High King in Middle-Earth?” Nerdanel cut him off.

“Yes,” Maedhros answered, a little put out by being interrupted and having the story ruined, but used to his mother’s quick and inquisitive nature. “It’s a name I gave him, actually. He doesn’t have any parents, and hasn’t since he was small. He wrote to me, once he heard I was…out, to ask if, well, if I was his father—his sire, you understand,” Maedhros clarified. “And of course, I’m not, but he has silver hair, you see, and he never knew his parents. And as a boy, he was given an ëpessë, Ereinion, and so he thought…‘Scion of Kings,’ and all,” Maedhros finished, a little lamely, he thought.

“So he thought you were his father, because where else could he have gotten silver hair from a king of the Noldor?” Nerdanal prompted.

“Yes, exactly,” Maedhros replied, with somewhat more enthusiasm. “And it did seem so unfair for the lad—”

“Why?” Nerdanel interrupted, her eyes keen.

“Because…” Maedhros paused and sighed, looking away; girding up his courage, he continued, “Because he’s the son of…someone who died at Doriath, and I’m the one who found him and sent him to safety. I am, ultimately, responsible for his being orphaned.” Meeting his mother’s eyes at last, he said, “It seems only right I should be responsible for his parentage now.”

Nerdanel gave a small nod of understanding, her eyebrows still furrowed. Maedhros knew his mother well enough to know she guessed, probably rightly, at the boy’s true lineage and thus his own reticence to speak of it, but she respected him enough to let him have out with it in his own time. But then she asked something quite unexpected.

“I’m happy for you, of course, but Maedhros—how do you intend to be a father to a grown man, a world away?”

*

‘Damn,’ Maedhros thought. ‘Damn it all to the Void.’ How in Arda was he supposed to play father to an adult—not just an adult, but a capable king, a seasoned warrior, a respected leader, by all rights someone who should themselves be a father figure? That thought gave Maedhros pause. Was Gil-galad already a father? He hadn’t heard anything about children, or even a spouse, but then again, he hadn’t been out of Mandos all that long.

He barely even knew this man, and here he was trying to be—

Two thoughts struck Maedhros in such rapid succession they were almost simultaneous:

Elrond will know about him, and

How will I ever tell Elrond?

*

Sitting down at his too-small childhood desk, Maedhros shuffled some sheaves of parchment in an attempt to organize his thoughts. The more direct, the better—that had always been his philosophy. ‘Easier said than done,’ he thought. Be clear and understanding, but firm—that had been his method with the boys, and they’d turned out alright, hadn’t they?

Dipping his quill in ink, he sent out a silent prayer to—well, to whoever was listening, at this point—that in gaining one son, he would not lose another.

My son,

I am pleased to have received your last note in good time. It appears the late spring storms did not delay the ships from the Havens as you had feared they might. Tell Erestor to stop fussing about the crest—

“Lot of good that’ll do you,” Maedhros muttered to himself. “I spent centuries telling Erestor to stop fussing, and look where it got me.”

—and for the love of all that is holy, do not let my brother write another new song for the Gates of Summer. The one he sings now is long enough already. Tell him I said it may be hard to believe, but no one wants to hear his voice for five hours.

I have some news to share with you, which I hope will be happy. Your king, Gil-galad, recently wrote to me inquiring of his heritage, and while I am not his sire, I took it upon myself to be his father, if he will have me. He would be well within his rights to refuse me, of course. But, speaking plainly, he seems to want a family, and for whatever reasons, he seems to want especially to be part of this family. I thought it right to at least offer him that—however difficult the distance and strange the circumstances.

I know this may come as something of a shock to you, but I assure you, this decision was not made lightly on my part, nor was it made for mere political convenience. It was made, like the decision to bring you and Elros into my care, to right a wrong. Of the specifics it is not my place to say any more.

I remember as a small boy feeling quite put out with Maglor’s birth; after enjoying the undivided attention of my parents and grandparents, suddenly I seemed invisible next to this small bundle that could only, so far as I could surmise, cry and eat. But of course my parents cared equally for us both, and so in the rush of all this, I do not wish for you to feel ignored or insufficient. My son, know that I love you, and nothing will ever change that. Words mean little, and I was never one much for embraces, as I am sure you recall, but were I by your side, I would hold you now. I suppose Maglor will have to suffice, although he may then encourage you to speak of your feelings—be forewarned.

I know little of your lord, and any information you feel comfortable passing on, I would welcome. Indeed, if it pleases him, I should very much wish to strike up a correspondence not unlike this one. I did not speak lightly when I said I would be his father if he would have me! If he takes me on, he shall have to endure all the things young men must expect from their fathers: innumerable birthday cards (all signed by Fingon), unsolicited advice on topics ranging from white-smithing to romance, recollections of my own youth and its inevitable superiority to the present state of things, etc. etc.

I hope I have made you laugh at least a little, my son. I suppose poor jokes are one more thing to add to the list of things young men must endure from their fathers. You are my brightest jewel.

Love always,

Father

PS—Tell Maglor for me. I know he shall be upset not to have gotten his own letter, but the messenger for Tol Eressëa leaves in an hour. And besides, I know there are no secrets in this family for long.

*

The air hung heavy and thick in the gloaming. Leaves lay still in the trees; curtains, flat against windows and pillars. A storm was waiting to break, Gil-galad thought. He was perched on a chair on his verandah, itself situated several stories up, with a commanding view of the city and surrounding countryside—and any messengers who were due to return that night with letters born secretly across the Sundering Seas to the Gray Havens. Sensing his thoughts, Elrond remarked, “I wish it would rain and get it over with.”

“All this dampness without any of the pleasure of a splash in the warm rain,” laughed Gil-galad in reply. Erestor’s eyes widened in horror. Their robes.

A sly grin blossoming across his face, Elrond turned to Gil. Before he could utter whatever comment he had conjured up to further horrify Erestor, though, Gil-galad gave a shout, springing up from his chair. “I see them!”

“Let’s go meet them at the city gate, shall we?” suggested Elrond.

“Fine,” muttered Erestor, as the three of them began to gather themselves up and make their way inside. “But I’m bringing umbrellas.”

*

Several hours later, the storm had indeed broken, leaving that damp smell particular to late spring rains lingering in the night air. It smelled like wet grass, Gil-galad had always thought, wet grass and earth. For some reason, in the deepest part of him, he recognized it as the smell of home.

And home he was, he reminded himself. He felt lightheaded, euphoric and nauseous all at once, like he might be swept up on a breeze and carried outside himself. The smell of the rain, the dampness that still hung in the air and on the glistening world around him—he needed it to ground himself to this life.

Suddenly, Gil-galad was startled out of his reverie by the sight of another figure, sitting on the edge of one of the fountains a little ways off behind some trees. It was Elrond, he realized, himself lost in contemplation of a letter like the one Gil carried. Even for the elves, it was a late hour, and the stars being obscured by the still-lingering clouds, Gil-galad was surprised. Coming a little closer, he saw the letter bore Maedhros’s seal.

“Elrond?” he called hesitantly. He had no wish to startle his friend, or awaken anyone sleeping nearby, so he kept his voice low, reaching out with his mind as much as his words. Elrond’s head shot up, his face betraying all in a rare moment of vulnerability. In the instant their eyes met, they both knew.

Tentatively, Gil approached the fountain and sat beside Elrond, each staring into the garden beyond. Neither spoke for some time. Words seemed superfluous, somehow. When the moment felt right to him, Gil shifted a little in his seat, turning to face Elrond. Softly, so as not to break the stillness of the night, he murmured:

“Didn’t I always say you were like the little brother I never had?”

[ao3feed-tododeku]

Overthrow; *verb; to defeat or destroy

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2voTJEF by Forewarned

by Forewarned

Izuku jumped that day on the roof, and while he survived the fall, not much else survived with him. His memories are gone, his identity is gone and the trust his mother had in him is also gone. Now he's watched like a hawk for any sign that he'll make another attempt, if he'll remember why he did it and decide it was worth dying again. He doesn't know why he wanted to die but he has a few solid guesses. He's not sure why everyone thinks he's quirkless, because he's not. Once Midoriya izuku wanted to be a hero, wanted to save people with a smile like his favourite idol. He still wants that and he's prepared to get it, even if he has to ruin people to do so.

Words: 3000, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi

Characters: Tsukauchi Naomasa, Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead, Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic, Class 1-A (My Hero Academia), Midoriya Inko, Tamakawa Sansa, UA staff - Character

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, Iida Tenya/Uraraka Ochako, Jirou Kyouka/Yaoyorozu Momo, Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Hagakure Tooru/Ojiro Mashirao/Shinsou Hitoshi

Additional Tags: BAMF Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Has a Quirk, Midoriya Izuku Does Not Have One for All Quirk, Sassy Midoriya Izuku, Possible Character Death, I haven't decided yet, Amnesia, Midoriya Izuku Needs A Hug, izuku is so done with everyone's bs, the garbage grape gets whats coming to him, Angst, Todoroki Enji's A+ parenting, Bakugou Katsuki Swears A Lot, There will eventually be pairings, don't expect em for a while, Slow Burn, Bakusquad (My Hero Academia), Midoriya Izuku Protection Squad, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, first fic, There will be eventual edits, no beta we die like men

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/2voTJEF

[cat-the-dragon]

This Last Thing I Could Do For You

I guess most of my followers already read  Even Now We Feel The Shape Of Your Absence, that I’d posted partly because of @camsthisky​, and partly because of the @nanowrimo​.

This time, I’m blaming @chibinightowl​ for inspiring me to write this prequel (still meant to be read after the other one), both her and @comicroute​ beta-ed for me, so thanks to them

Read on Ao3

-The opening of the Will is scheduled at 19:00 this Monday in the Batcave.-

Jason stared at the message. The Will. Whose will? In the Batcave, a will was being read.

It had been sent by Barbie's Oracle number, so the probability of a prank was in negative percentages.

One of the Bats had died, and Jason hadn't been told. He’s always the last one to hear about these things.

Oh, god, what if it was Alfred?

Hands just barely not trembling, Jason typed his reply. -Who died- No question mark, somehow, it seemed more disrespectful than sending a message without proper punctuation.

-Red Robin- Came back ten seconds later.

Jason stared at the two words. He'd expected relief if it wasn't Alfred, but learning it was the kid he still held a grudge against without a proper reason was actually worse.

Jason arrived at the Cave at 7 pm sharp on Monday. He was there for the Will, not to socialize.

He'd had the time to look up what had happened.

It had been surprisingly easy.

Red Robin Death and Red Robin Suicide were all over the internet. There was a shaky cell-phone video of the hero hurling to the ground and going splat that had gone viral enough that even the Bats couldn't seem to get rid of it, and then dozen of witness declarations on diverse discussion boards.

The report he'd hacked on the Batcomputer said that Red Robin's gear had been in perfect working order, he didn't seem to have suffered any head injury before the fall, and his blood tox screening came back perfectly clear.

So.

Suicide.

Somehow Jason felt bad.

He wondered if he'd had anything to do with Repla- Tim's decision.

Dickster had told him, "Tim was your greatest fan. I saw him talking to your Memorial Case in the cave, Jay."

He wondered. Would things be different if he'd actually apologized for beating the kid up on top of Titan’s Tower and shooting him that time?

Jason knew how much having a role-model betray you hurt, and he'd been the one who did that to Tim, hadn't he? Would he have gone suicidal if Bruce systematically went after him with the intention to cause maximum harm instead of just reactively hurting him?

Who was he kidding, Jason was already a bit opportunistically suicidal even with just the status-quo at hand.

He didn't have the time to dwell more, because the big screen flickered with a video as soon as Bruce saw him arrive. (He was the last one, good.)

"Hey," the costumed and masked Red Robin on the screen started. "Seeing the probability of me dying, on or off the field, I figured I should make a vigilante version of my will. That way I can get into the type of questions that definitely couldn't be stated or explained on the civilian one that I left with the lawyer."

The Tim on the screen (not the one resting under a sheet in a refrigerated dome in the medbay that Jason had only glimpsed so far) turned a bit more somber. "I gave this video to Oracle. I figured a video would be the easier to confirm as genuine and not forced. The instructions were to get everyone possible to open it, but do it within two days at most, even if some were missing. That way you have a forewarning of my preferences before you start sorting my civilian death."

"Good bye everyone. B, if you are watching this alone because you couldn't wait for the others, or got nosy and I'm still alive while you see this, I'm very disappointed in you, close this video immediately!" Red Robin made a stern frowny face, and despite the solemn atmosphere in the cave, a ripple of amusement ran through the assembled heroes.

Jason for his part stomped down on his matching laugh to shoot Bruce a suspicious look. Did he tense? Had he actually tried it?

"So, I guess first off are my cases... I pre-made an override command in all my digital systems that will transfer everything to my old Robin session in the Batcomputer. I tend to use informatics a lot, so there should be everything you need on it to finish whatever I am doing at the moment of my death. It might be time sensitive, so I hid the transfer key in the Batcave, you'll find it under the detachable R emblem of my first Robin design in the display cave. It's a microchip, you might need a couple of minutes to find it, then connect under my old session and launch the program that pops up, it'll do everything on it's own. DO NOT fiddle with the code or launch it from anything but my old session on the Batcomputer, it'll destroy all my data. That's a very safeguarded override."

"Even then, some things are password protected. I put the list of encrypted passwords and corresponding files under the passenger side floor-mat of the Batmobile. Red Hood's Batmobile." Probably the one he boosted the tires from what feels like a lifetime ago. Good concealment of information in case an enemy got the Will on Tim's part, that.

"The encryption key is written on a post it note in Nightwing's favorite book from when he was still wearing the disco suit." Jason shot a look at Dick, who had a pensive expression on, trying to remember, surely.

"Legacy comes next, I guess? Red Robin was Hood's so if he wants to take it back now that I'm dead he can, I'd rather you didn't give it to D-Robin or any youngster after me, though. It’s not been around long enough to absolutely need to get passed down, and frankly, if I die in it, it would be a pretty unlucky omen for the next one.”

And that doused the little bit of levity that seeing a sassy Red Robin had introduced. Jason couldn’t help but sneak a glance at the sheet covered exam table.

Talk about unlucky.

One thing was sure, Jason would not be donning Red Robin again, thank you.

“The map of all my personal safe houses should be in the download with my cases, feel free to help yourselves to them or my gear. I mean all of you, no one gets to claim everything for themselves without asking the others if they want it.”

“Now my other Will also says this, but I wish to be cremated. And if possible not have all the ashes at the same place. I know it is tempting to forego it and wish for another miraculous resurrection like for J. But considering the interest Ra’s has been paying me, I really, really prefer not to run any risk of him ever getting his hands on my corpse.”

Tim looked at the camera fixedly. “I know what you’re thinking, B. You’re thinking you could protect my grave. Don’t. You’re not immortal, Ra’s is. What about fifty years from now? Will you still be able to protect my grave then? I prefer not to run the risk, so please respect my wishes on this.”

Bruce got up abruptly and stormed off.

Jason shot a venomous glare at his back.

He couldn’t even handle that? Tim had definitely been low balling that one because Bruce’s ability to protect graves? BULLSHIT. He hadn’t even noticed him vacating his.

Tim spoke for a couple more minutes. Minor things about who could have what, and his wish not to get a memorial case in the Batcave, and what to give to the Titans. There were instructions about keeping an eye on his teammates, especially Superboy, right after his death. He  offset that by saying he made a will for the Titans too and that they would know what he wanted them to do after he died.

There weren’t person by person messages for the Bats, Tim apparently treated them as a single entity, or he’d made a series of personal messages independently from the general one.

Jason wasn’t paying much attention by the time the screen went black, because his mind had gotten stuck on Tim’s demand for a cremation. He understood that all too well. And more importantly, Bruce’s reaction to it.

Was he getting paranoid?

This suspicion, that Bruce storming off might be because he wanted to falsify the civilian will, stuck with him though.

Would Bruce be that much of an asshole?

What a question.

Yes, yes he would. When Bruce thought he knew best, he steamrolled everyone to force his version of ‘the best thing to do’, disregarding everyone’s logical reasons or emotions.  Jason actually wondered if he was even aware people other than him routinely had feelings.

He looked around himself at the other Bats in the cave. Bruce wasn’t hiding anywhere he could see, but everyone else lingered, making clusters, crying, or noticeably being in the process of not-crying.

Damian was standing stock still, staring at the screen vacantly, obviously still deep in shock or denial.

Everyone else was mixed bags. They had seen death so often that they skipped entire stages of grief all the time, though for that one, Jason did foresee everyone getting bogged down on guilt floor for ages. He knew he would.

Suicides had the tendency to do that to surviving families after all.

Resigned to the idea of having to be the bad guy, Jason stalked past Blondie crying in the arm of a very stiff Cassandra and stopped in front of Barbara.

She extracted her blotchy face from Dick’s abs and sniffed. “What do you want?” she asked coldly.

“Where is B?”

Dick snarled, jumping over the wheelchair to put himself between Barbara and Jason. “Now is not the time to be petty. Tim is dead! He... He’s dead, he’s not coming back, he’s dead!”

So he was the bad guy. He was okay with it but as the one who’d gotten royally fucked by a Lazarus Pit, he’d given himself the mission to ensure Red Robin was burned the way he asked to. Being the good guy or the bad guy was not important. Keeping Bruce from disrespecting his third Robin’s wishes was.

So he said the bad guy’s thing. “Yes, he’s dead. And he wanted to stay that way and not become a Lazarus puppet like me, so I really hope I am wrong in my suspicions, but I need to know where Bruce is to be sure of that.”

Barbara stared at him around Dick, wide eyed. “He wouldn’t.”

“Right. And he wouldn’t label my memorial with ‘a good soldier’ either, then?” Jason spat back.

“This isn’t about you!” Dick yelled.

“No, it isn’t!” Jason bellowed back, agry to be accused of making Red Robin’s death about him. “It’s about Tim wanting to be cremated and Bruce going missing after the unofficial Will stated part of the content of the official one that’s with a lawyer. A part Bruce doesn’t like. How well can a law office hold up to the Batman?”

“How dare you suggest… You hateful!” Dick was losing steam. And the whole cave was deathly silent except for the unhappy rustle of disturbed bats on the ceiling. Everyone was staring at them. “...Spiteful… You!”

“Prove me wrong, then.” Jason gestured to the computer. “Tell me where Bruce is.”

Barbara blew out a loud breath. “I so hope you are wrong.” She wheeled herself to the console, letting Dick try to protect empty air.

“So do I.” Jason stood tall, arms crossed next to Barbara as she chillingly narrated her finds. No missing cars or bikes. Jason pointed that Bruce had gone up the stairs in his Batman costume. She gritted her teeth and looked for him on the video surveillance.

Dick was staring at him like he was a monster. And frankly, he would give his right hand to be wrong, but someone had to doubt the Bat, and if no one else would, Jason would be that person. He infinitely prefered being wrong and looking like the a heartless monster at Tim’s will reading, than be right but not speaking up and seeing Bruce prove himself to be the inconsiderate asshole once more.

“No,” Barbara whispered. “No.”

Jason squeezed his eyes shut. Shit. The pinpoint that represented Bruce was heading straight for Gotham. Which wasn’t that bad per-se. Maybe he was planning to beat some poor schmucks up to make himself feel better, but as far as disproving his fears went, it wasn’t great. (The fact that he had gone out in full Batman from the Manor’s entrance and apparently decided to go by foot wasn’t saying great things about his state of mind either.)

He stood still and silent, watching Bruce move on the map. Waves of murmurs floated around as some of the Bats left for their patrol and others watched along with Dick, Barbara and Jason.

When Bruce made it to the block of Tim’s lawyer, Jason decided to fuck the benefit of the doubt and stop dawdling.

His plan was already forming as he turned away from the computer screen and jogged up the cave’s stairs.

First, he went to the garage.

Slashing every single tire might have been a little overdone, but Bruce was filthy rich, he’d get over it.

Second were the supplies.

He didn’t have a precise idea of exactly what would be needed, but he figured he could always buy what he needed as he went. The most important tools for the first phase was cooling stuff.

He pilfered a big comforter from a guest room and filled it with as many ice cube packs as he could find in the upstairs freezer, then he trudged back down the cave’s stairs with his loot.

Barbara, Alfred and Damian were the only ones still in the cave when Jason came back down. He figured Dick must have led the few stragglers on a mission to go talk some sense into the big dumb Bat.

Jason didn’t like to put his trust in that. If he wanted stuff done, he might as well do it himself.

The trio stared at him and his comforter bag. He ignored them.

He did the same with all the cooling packs in the medbay freezer as he had upstairs.

He also pilfered half the emergency liquid Batfunds from their hiding place.

Third was the Batgarage.

He almost expected to be stopped, to have to fight his way through, but instead he was met with watchful silence when he stalked to one of the Batmobiles, opened the trunk, collapsed the back seats and spread his catch on the floor.

Then Jason methodically moved on the hangar for the fliers and plastic-ed up every single landing gear. Barbara put a hand on Damian’s shoulder and asked him to push her to the elevator because she wanted a snack.

Damian must have been pretty out of it not to see through the transparent excuse. Or maybe he was experiencing disconnect. He blinked at the systematic destruction Jason was wreaking upon their vehicles, then at Barbie, and obeyed without a word.

The Bat-tires were all a lot sturdier than the civilian ones, so slashing wouldn’t work that well.

Instead, with a lingering look at Alfred to see if he’d try to stop that much, Jason took out the Bat-impact-wrench and went to work removing every single wheel and kicking them over the edge of the precipice into the man-made lake Batman kept his marine float in.

Once only his chosen Batmobile was standing on all its wheels, he went for part four.

Fourth was Tim.

He strolled up to Tim’s body, opened the refrigerating dome, and lifted the sheet covered lifeless body up in his arms. He noticed Alfred bustling around. Still, he didn’t move to stop him when he went back to the trunk and deposited Tim in it.

Considering how the body had been kept very cool since his death (probably to make it easier to disguise his civilian death to a later date) rigor mortis had barely set in and it was fairly easy to maneuver him into lying on his side so he would fit inside the limited space.

Jason folded the blanket back up over Tim and closed the trunk. This was when he noticed Alfred in much more practical clothes than he ever thought he’d see the old man in, holding a backpack and opening the passenger door.

He stared at the old man, but when he was only met with a very flat stare, he shrugged, climbed into the driver seat and drove off. It was nice to see someone else understood about respecting final wishes and all that.

Fifth was distraction.

In the morning, once he estimated himself far enough from Gotham, Jason bought a replacement minivan with tinted windows at a shady second hand shop. Alfred helped him transfer the contents of the Batmobile, and then they left with their new vehicle.

Jason left the Batmobile in a well frequented parking lot with the keys taped to a side mirror for any daring youth to take it on a joyride whenever they found it. Alfred didn’t look thrilled by his choice, but didn’t protest either.

When Alfred asked him what he planned on doing, Jason started considering his options besides ‘steal the body and run’. Speaking the possibilities out loud helped him think them through too.

Breaking into a funeral house and commandeering the crematorium, although easier, would leave an obvious trail. If not on the security surveillance, at least in the fuel gauge. There was no way it wouldn’t be reported and investigated, and even if nothing came up from it, it would make Tim’s civilian death with a missing body much more suspicious than it needed to be.

Tim was so loyal to the Bats and their secret, that even the fleeting possibility that Jason might be too careless and accidentally harm his successor's cover made him sick to his stomach.

Alfred nodded at Jason’s exposed doubts. “Well,” he mused. “I guess humans have been building funeral pyres since the Roman empire, and they didn’t have gasoline then. I suspect young master Tim would have appreciated such a send-off.”

Jason swallowed. “Would he?” he asked, suddenly desperate to learn more about the person he’d just gone against Batman to cremate.

Alfred smiled sadly. “Yes, I believe so. He forced Master Bruce to watch the original Star Wars trilogy once.” Jason smiled, wondering how he’d even managed that feat, but didn’t ask, not wanting to interrupt the tale. “Master Tim was so emotional at the funeral for Anakin Skywalker. I could see the awkwardness radiating out of Master Bruce. It was clear he didn’t quite know what to do.”

In the following day of driving, they had to make a few pit stops to buy more ice-cubes and dump the old ones so the body they were transporting didn’t start to warm up and putrefy.

Jason guessed the result would be the same either way, but he really prefered to be able to give Tim as much dignity in his funeral as he could. And as far as he was concerned, it included not letting him start to smell like a pile of garbage.

They picked a deserted beach at the foot of a ragged cliff, hoping the relief would hide their fire from the watchful eyes of fire departments, and waited for the evening to start moving their newly bought supplies and Tim.

There was quite a bit of wood, charcoal, and acetone bottles to move over a pretty long way, but Jason was strong and had quite a bit of endurance, so he took care of it while Alfred built the pyre.

When all the supplies were moved, and once the night was well fallen, Jason finally brought Tim. He was still fairly cold, and didn’t actually smell.

Feeling like this had all gotten much more real, Jason carefully wrapped Tim in the comforter, letting a tuft of hair poke out to make the human shape look more like a voluntary blanket burrito than a carpet wrapped corpse.

He reviewed his excuse: Yes, my brother fell asleep during the car ride. He never sleeps so I didn’t feel like waking him. I couldn’t let him in the car though. It’s okay, he barely weighs anything.

Jason didn’t see anyone, but the cover story had already started to make him shift his way of seeing things. Brothers…He shook himself off and hurried over to Alfred.

Now that Tim was out, they had to make haste. Getting caught with a corpse was absolutely not desirable.

“I know it’s stupidly romantic, but I can’t help thinking we should burn him with his weapon,” Jason said, sighing while dousing the comforter in acetone. (They should probably douse Tim too, but that was something neither of them could bring themselves to do, pouring acetone on a family member.)

Alfred smiled faintly and opened his backpack to pull a small cylinder out. Jason reached for it and unfolded it.

They quickly put Tim in position on top of the fire accelerant doused pyre. (Jason spared a moment to be thankful Tim had already been cut out of his fire retardant nomex uniform and dressed in cotton civilian clothes. He didn’t voice it, though, because he was fairly sure Alfred had been the one to do it and it must have been incredibly harrowing for him.)

Alfred took out a camcorder and a tripod and started recording the funeral pyre. It wasn’t meant as an archive, too risky, but as an inclusion, so the rest of the family would be able to see it at least once if they chose to.

Jason stared at Tim’s too pale dead face.

He had been suppressing his knowledge that Tim’s ‘body’ was actually Tim’s corpse. He’d been compartmentalising, and he knew it, thinking like Tim was in some sort of coma instead of dead. Even when he’d been browsing the barbecue section of the mall for the pyre’s material, he’d still been treating it like he was doing Tim a simple favor, rather than organizing a funeral.

Because he needed to be functional, because he couldn’t break down.

At last, Alfred and Jason folded the acetone doused comforter over Tim’s body and threw ropes over the pyre to anchor it down. (Apparently, Roman pyres sometimes ejected the person placed on top of it because of the abrupt heat, and they prefered to avoid this risk.)

Finally, they lit a couple of torches and touched them to the pile, lighting it up.

The pyre went up in flame with a wroof.

Jason retreated out of the camera’s recording field and huddled down.

That was it.

No more Tim.

Alfred, bless him, noticed his somber mood and gently rubbed his back as they watched the initial acetone fueled fury recede down to a more reasonable wood and coal fueled one.

“You should cry,” Jason rumbled.

“So should you, young man,” Alfred hummed back.

“Somehow I can’t,” he admitted, staring at the brazier. “But the kid deserves to have someone cry at his funeral. You knew him, you should do it.”

Jason felt numb. The heat of the fire was drying his lips and stinging his cheeks and forehead, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, let alone move away. Not with the burnt flesh smell and occasional explosion as the heat started to pulverise bones.

Even as tears started sliding down Alfred’s weathered old cheeks, the disconnect wouldn’t go.

He was still thinking about what if someone came. What if the fire department came by and noticed they were illegally getting rid of a body.

Thankfully, no one came by for the four hours it took for the fire to burn itself down to embers.

Somehow, Alfred had fallen asleep in the sand, dried tear tracks marring his face. It had been a very long 36 hours, after all, and Jason had no idea how long the man had been awake before he came in the cave to hear Tim’s will.

Jason didn’t wake him and raked the coals closer together with a long branch, looking out for any long bone or unburnt flesh that would need to be pushed closer to the embers.

There were some bone fragments, but thankfully no flesh, and once Jason had managed to push everything closer together, he took the last bottle of fire accelerant, poured it in a long handled steel pan and carefully dumped it on, then jumped out of the way of the new tongue of fire.

One hour later, Alfred still fast asleep, he carefully scooped the top layer of ashes into the big glass jar they had bought for them.

Once it got impossible to catch the ashes without taking sand with it, Jason took out the garbage bags and started scooping all the mixed sand and ashes he could into them.

Only then did he shake Alfred awake.

They silently took everything back to the van, drove a few miles to a wild looking patch of forest and buried the ashy sand.

“So. What now?” Alfred asked, looking at the Jar.

“Now,” Jason said with a sigh, “I drop you off at a train station so you can go back home to Gotham, and I get to burying these ashes in different locations.”

Alfred smiled sadly. “It’s probably for the best. It’ll give you boys the opportunity to spend some time together. Take him somewhere nice, hear me? I always thought the boy needed to go on vacations more.”

Jason swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Promise. Only the best places for little Red.”

Alfred looked equally choked up.

They climbed back in the van.

“Take care, young Master Jason,” Alfred whispered along with a rare hug in the deserted train station. “No matter the circumstances, it was good seeing you again.” Then he looked down at the Jar. “I’m counting on you to keep that one out of trouble, young man.”

And… Here were the tears again, Jason shuffled awkwardly while Alfred dabbed at his eyes.

He ran away as soon as the train came in the station, rather than stay for a last tearful goodbye.

“Well,” Jason told the Jar when he turned the key in the ignition. “Ready for a last adventure, Timbo?”

There wasn’t, Jason thought as he sieved the ashes into a mixing bowl to catch the chunky bits of charred bone, anything that could drive the reality of someone’s death in more deeply than having to crush their bones to a dust using seemingly innocent kitchen ustensils...

It took him a couple of hours to get the bones into fine enough a powder as to be totally inconspicuous in the granite mortar he’d bought especially for this purpose. He was so glad he’d managed to hide the chunks from Alfred, it wasn’t something he wanted the old butler to even have to think about.

“So? Do you like it here?” Jason asked Tim’s Jar.

He was aware that Tim was dead and talking to his ashes looked an awful lot like madness, but to be fair, next to the Pit madness, any other form of it was an improvement.

“I like it. It’s nice. I think you’ll be happy here.” With a small smile, Jason reached for his shovel and started digging.

Once the hole was a couple of feet deep, Jason knelt by it and dumped a handful of ashes in.

Well, ashes and some sand. Most air travel companies didn’t let funeral urns travel in the passenger cabin. Jason had used colorful sands to make Tim’s Jar look more like a souvenir decorative sand bocal than a jar of human ashes. He was sure Tim didn’t mind going undercover, he’d been trained to it, after all.

When he was done shovelling soil back in the hole, Jason sprawled next to it, basking in the beauty of the spot he’d chosen to be yet another of Tim’s graves.

“So, where to next?” he asked his deceased brother. When, predictably, no answer came, he smiled. “I think you’d like Tibet. Let’s go to Tibet. Maybe I can find somewhere you like in the Himalayas.”

Jason stared at the hole. The last one he’d have to dig after what seemed like a hundred of them (it really wasn’t though).

The scenery was pretty perfect, blue sky over a lush green mountain, not too high, and still pretty wild. It went well with the rest of his string of small graves.

With a grimace, he tipped the small glass bocal (he’d switched the Jar out for smaller containers as he went) over the hole.

A part of him was saying to only dump half of the ashes down, to keep going for a bit more.

Finally, tears welled up.

He knew he hadn’t actually needed to divide the ashes half as much as he had. It had been an excuse, to be able to hold onto his little brother for a bit more time. Not that he’d ever been much of a brother to him, except for this one last time when it mattered most.

The same part of him asked again if they did have to bury all the ashes. He could keep an ounce of them after all, keep a bit of it, for memory.

Jason shook the bocal to dislodge the last of the dusts in it and scooped a handful of soil over the ashes immediately afterward before he could lose his nerve.

It was time he said goodbye.

It was time to let Tim go.

Jason finally started to sob, crying over the too young hero. Over the little brother he never actually managed to bond with. Over the Robin, dead, just like him, and the fact that it was what it had taken for Jason to finally pay attention to him.

He cried, long and hard.

Then he took his shovel and filled this last hole back up.

“Wherever you are now, I hope you are more happy than you were when you left us,” he murmured. “I can’t remember being dead, so I can only hope.”

He looked around. “This has been fun, kinda. I hope you liked our little adventure as much as I did. I just. I. I’m just sad and sorry we couldn’t do that while you were alive.”

He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. “Farewell, Tim.”

Breathing deeply, he placed the bocal next to the upturned soil and stepped back, taking his cellphone out. He walked far enough away that he could get the mini-grave in the camera’s frame along with a good chunk of the scenery.

He hadn’t documented any other locations, but seeing the quantity of different places he’d scattered Tim’s ashes across, just one picture wouldn’t hurt too much.

-Coming back to Gotham now- He included with the picture to Alfred.

It was, after all, time to move on. Jason definitely should try and talk to Damian so he didn’t have to mourn another stranger of a little brother ever again. (The thought hit him suddenly, that it was exactly what Dick had said to explain his much more developed relationship to Tim as it had been to him.)

His phone chimed with a reply.

-I am looking forward to your return-

[sassysnowperson]

@misskatieleigh​ asked (answering like this so I can tag and format easier):

It won't let me put 500 words in here. Go to Set Primary Objective, start at "K-2SO needed to go find a doctor." and end at "There was nothing he could do." Also - It's really hard to pick just 500 words!

Ooooh, interesting choice! Okay, I’m going to get into this, under the readmore. Um, fair warning, if you haven’t read Set Primary Objective, this section deals pretty hardcore with grief and mourning and helplessness, with a dash of medical trauma. So, forewarned.  

I’m still providing DVD commentary on fic snippits! Ask me about my fic! (Also, feel free to reblog the picture with the snippit, if that’s easier than wrangling the ask box)

K-2SO needed to go find a doctor.

Bodhi’s breathing changed slightly, and he stirred. “Kay?”

[Here.]

K-2SO nudged Bodhi’s arm with his droid body and Bodhi gave a small sigh of relief. For the first time since Bodhi had been struck with the debris, K-2SO felt himself almost paralyzed by indecision. Bodhi didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t want to leave. What if there was an emergency? Bodhi wanted the droid body here. But Bodhi needed a doctor.

Needs override wants. - I’ve always liked this line. I think because it speaks to Kay having wants, but still being able to make those hard-call decisions that need to be made.

So K-2SO began edging toward the door. Bodhi made a noise of discontent at the lack of contact and reached for the droid body again. Feeling like he was betraying programming he wasn’t even aware of having, K-2SO left the shuttle. - This line, talking about programming he wasn’t even aware of having, is really the central idea Kay’s development in this one. Being stuck in a shuttle, having his purpose annihilated and needing to replace it himself, it’s changed him in ways he doesn’t really understand. He’s learning about himself as he’s reacting to things, and man, that has got to be uncomfortable to someone used to being programmed.   

K-2SO steered his droid body as fast as he could through the streets. He felt his connection reach the end of the tether, and it shimmered off, leaving him feeling annoyingly blind. The body would continue on autonomous systems. Now, though, he was alone. - This moment was interesting, because it forced me to realize that K-2SO has two POV’s in this fic. Original outline had us sticking with the droid body, finding a doctor, but the scene was just...not...working...Beta and I chatted about it, and she helped me figure out that here in the shuttle was really the emotional core of what was going on with K-2SO. It’s not the action, its him watching Bodhi, helpless and furious.

At least they had put up cameras in the shuttle. The cameras got put up because of this scene. I was very pleased when the doctor could later shoot them out dramatically. At least he could see Bodhi, curled on the floor, looking pale and still. The shuttle was silent, aside from Bodhi’s occasional miserable noises. Before K-2SO had left, he had dragged Kitten outside of the shuttle to try to make the bounty hunter’s remains look a little less conspicuous. As soon as both the cleaning droid and the droid body were down the ramp, he had raised the ramp again. 

Kitten would die to protect Bodhi, K-2SO knew that. Unfortunately, Kitten could also kill Bodhi right now by nudging him the wrong way. Kitten disagreed with this assessment, letting out a loud screech of protest and ramming the landing struts several times. - You know, what happened to Kitten was a logistical set piece I needed to figure out, but I’m not sure I actually needed to write this bit. It interrupts the emotional flow of the scene, and pings a little wrong to me now. If I were to rewrite it, I’d play with it more, get Kitten out of the way, but not interrupt the deep dive into heartbreak we have going on here. 

So now it was just him, watching Bodhi curled on a blanket stretched across the floor of the shuttle's cargo bay. He could see the rise and fall of Bodhi’s chest, watch for any change in condition. He just couldn’t do anything about it. All he could do was watch Bodhi twitch and whimper and listen to Bodhi’s heart.

It was still too slow, but not worsening. In this case, slow was better, preventing further blood loss. He would hopefully linger here long enough for the doctor to stabilize him further. As long as he kept breathing. As long as his heart rate didn’t suddenly pick up again, signalling the beginning of massive cell death. At this point, all K-2SO could do was watch. - See Snow DO Medical Research. Seriously, I read articles published by the CDC to figure out what a heartbeat would do as someone died from blood loss. Fun fact, scientists aren’t actually totally sure why your heart starts pounding again! Cell death is the best guess. 

Though, again, I think I’ve become a stronger emotional writer since I wrote this. It’s important information, the audience needs to know what it means when Bodhi’s heart starts pounding later, but I could have been more graceful about it. 

I’m still pretty dang pleased by this though. You can hear Kay’s desperation, only able to watch, unable to do anything. I think that’s a common hopelessness, when you’re watching someone you care about suffer. 

There was nothing he could do. - All Kay can do is witness. Be there. And Bodhi thinks he left. A little later he forgets that Kay is a shuttle. That was cruel of me. 

Now, I’m going to be terrible and talk a little bit about the next section, because it’s important to me too. Kay figures out how to be with Bodhi. Just watch a holovid with him. That’s always been a scene I enjoyed. 

That, followed by Kay’s hissing little defensiveness when Bodhi starts hallucinating Galen. (It’s not going to happen in the universe, but a question I muse over sometimes is...how would Bodhi react if it turned out Cassian was alive? How would Kay react if Galen was? So much of their bonding is informed by the fact that they both lost their Main Person. What if one of them suddenly got him back?)

Overall, I think this section did a good job evoking that misery that Kay is in right now. And really, it’s that sense of helplessness that got the fic written in the first place. “What happens if Bodhi gets injured?” That question forced me to really look at how K-2SO related to Bodhi as time went on, how he had related to Cassian before, and how he was growing as a person as the series went on. It’s a fairly fundamental idea to me that K-2SO and Bodhi rub off on each other, that as the series goes on their personalities shift to reflect how much they’ve grown together. 

[dalishious]

Just wondering, but would you ever be open to beta (and/or sensitivity) reading a fellow DA fan's work? Totally fine if you don't want to, though.

I have before and certainly don’t mind doing so again, as long as I can get a forewarning for some certain things if they exist in the story.

[iamashamedofmyfanfics]

Hunters, Lies, And Leaders (26)

Hunters, Lies, And Leaders (by iamashamedofmyfanfics)

Pairing: None, S.Coups, Woozi, and Hoshi centric (platonic ot13 and unit specific friendships) Genre: Friendship, Fantasy Universe: Other AU Rating: PG13 Length: Chaptered (ongoing) Warnings: Violence Chapters: [Start] [25/Previous] [27/Next]

Notes: . If you’d rather read the whole thing there, the AO3 Version is {here}. Also the lovely @jeonkwons beta read this for me, once again. (thank you!)

Summary: Hunters are trained warriors meant to fight monsters. They’re here to learn how to do deal with monsters, after learning how to fight. Why it seemed like most of the students don’t know what their doing, is beyond them.

The “no” Jihoon gives is so immediate that Soonyoung has to do a double-take. Even when he does, Jihoon is still standing there, frowning at Soonyoung. Beside them, Soonyoung can see the others trying to angle themselves to see out of the classroom’s door without getting out of their seats. Soonyoung tries to ignore them, worried that the bell is about to ring, to focus on the person in front of him instead.

“What do you mean no? At least hear me out.”

“You want me to help Chan.”

“Yes.”

“No.” Jihoon crosses his arms, and sighs. “They’re your teammates, you deal with them.”

“But his Aura-”

“Are you only going to help your teammates if they have Projecting Auras? What if none of them do? I’m helping Seokmin, but I’m not a Strengthening type. You can ask me for advice, I’ll give it to you, but you pass it onto Chan. That’s not my job.”

“Aren’t we… all in this together by now?”

“What about when we graduate?”

Soonyoung falls silent, realizing that Jihoon was right.

“Soonyoung.”

“Yeah?”

“The only time I haven’t seen you try to pass your job as their leader onto someone else was during the first hunt.”

“I have not-” Soonyoung stops, mouth still open, and makes a startled noise in the back of his throat. “Oh my god. I’m the worst.”

“You’re not,” Jihoon assures, pats him on the shoulder, and turns to their classroom. “I’ll give you some notes later that you can use to help him.”

“Thanks…”

Soonyoung is quiet for the entirety of their class. Barely even aware of class happening around him and completely unaware of what it’s about, Soonyoung stares ahead at the wall blankly. He can’t deny what Jihoon said. It is true the more he thought about it. Every time his team needed reassurance, aside from their first hunt, he’d relied on someone else to do it for him. He didn’t have words to give them, and let someone else ‘better suited’ for it deal with what should have been his job. He was their leader, what was he doing?

Soonyoung sighs to himself as the bell rings, and stands. Minghao gives him a look, a silent question of what was wrong, but Soonyoung shakes his head with a smile, letting him know that he was okay. Minghao frowns at him, still looking a little worried, but nods in understanding, and turns to say something to Junhui.

Chan comes to stand at Soonyoung’s side, but stays quiet until Soonyoung himself speaks. “So… Jihoon isn’t going to help you.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll have to deal with me.” Soonyoung offers a smile, trying to reassure them both. “I’ll do more research. How’s the electricity today?”

“Less obvious, but I keep seeing little sparks. Luckily the teacher hasn’t seemed to notice. Though, he was probably just busy making sure everyone was getting his explanation.”

“What was he talking about, again?”

“Were… you not listening?’

“No?” Soonyoung’s shoulders raise in a nervous shrug and Chan just looks surprised.

“I’ll fill you in.”

True to his word, Jihoon gives Soonyoung an organized folder of notes about dealing with harming auras. Alongside that, he glares Soonyoung down, telling him not to just give Chan the notes.

“I’m not that lazy.” Soonyoung defends himself.

A week passes. Soonyoung helps Chan figure out how the make the electricity stop, and has Chan meditating daily. He says he’ll help Chan further develop his Aura once Soonyoung has memorized the notes Jihoon has given him.

Soonyoung is sitting on Junhui’s bed, crossed-legged, referencing the notes as he writes down a plan for Chan’s training. Chan, in turn, is sitting on Minghao’s bed across the room from him, eyes closed, doing his daily meditation. Junhui bursts into the room, mouth open ready to say something, when he stops and raises an eyebrow at them.

“We didn’t feel like climbing up to our own beds,” Soonyoung explains, shrugging. “What’s up?”

“Mail.” Junhui holds up a box, presumably containing said mail. “Today is one where we’re supposed to get letters our family has sent us. Of course… most of us aren’t supposed to be here, so it’s likely all for you.”

“Oh, right.” Soonyoung motions for Junhui to come closer and hand the box over. Which Junhui does, before sitting down next to Soonyoung.

“What’s your family like, anyway?”

“Huh? Oh, my moms a doctor, so she was always pretty busy. My dad stayed at home. They’re really supportive.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Junhui turns his attention to Chan, who opens his eyes to look at them. He raises an eyebrow, Junhui shrugs, the eyebrow is lowered, and Chan sighs. Soonyoung pats Junhui on the shoulder, drawing his attention back to Soonyoung.

“They’ll have no choice but to be supportive when you become a great hunter.”

“Yeah.”

True to expectation, all of the letters contained in the box addressed to their dorm are for Soonyoung. All of the letters being just two letters, one from each of his parents. His mother asks how he’s been, if he’s got a nice team, and if he’s getting along with them. His father asks if he’s made friends, if he’s safe, and how the food is. Soonyoung doesn’t realize he’s smiling until Minghao enters the dorm and asks why he is.

“Letters from his parents,” Chan says, shrugging.

“Oh?” Minghao pushes Chan over, so he can sit next to him.

“They’ve asked about my team.” Soonyoung grins waving the letters around. “I’m going to tell them so much.”

“Hopefully not too much.”

“Hey, what do you take me for?” Soonyoung feigns offense, clutching his chest. “I’m not going to tell them anything that’ll get you caught.”

“I’m a leader,” is the first thing Soonyoung tells his parents. Following that, he writes about each of his team members, then about how he, himself, has been doing in the two weeks he’s been at the academy.

Once he’s written the letter, he leaves the dorm to hand it over so it can be mailed to his parents. On his way back, he catches sight of Jihoon and Seokmin in the distance. It doesn’t take but a moment of standing there to see that they’re training. Soonyoung stands there and just watches. He wonders how many days of the week they spend out there, getting Seokmin used to his Aura. Wonders if his own irresponsibility is making his team fall behind.

“Soonyoung!” Startled, Soonyoung spins to see Junhui running up to him.

“Yeah?”

“We were wondering what happened to you.” Junhui glances between Soonyoung and where he had been staring. “Something wrong?”

“No, sorry, I got distracted. Let’s head back.” Soonyoung pats Junhui on the arm, passing by quickly so as to not allow the other to ask anymore questions.

Chan is a quick learner. It doesn’t take long after Soonyoung starts training him to use, rather than just suppress, his Aura for Chan to be able to produce large amounts of electricity. Soonyoung has the foresight to set up small metal rods, and stand a good distance away, but it’s still startling how quickly Chan takes to creating sparks.

There’s no control. Chan can’t decide what the target of his electricity is, just how much of it there is. Though there’s a possibility it may not be possible to control beyond that, Soonyoung promises they’ll work on it. Until then, Soonyoung has Chan test how much he can do before he’s running too low on Aura to use.

Three five-second long large bursts of electricity is the limit. After the third attempt, which covers a few feet around him, he’s got his hands on his knees and is shaking his head when Soonyoung asks if he can do any more.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Chan manages to lift his head, to look up at Soonyoung.

“Okay,” Soonyoung repeats with a smile. “We’re done for today, you did great. You should head back.” Soonyoung gives Chan a thumbs up, and moves to retrieve the metal rods he’d stuck into the ground. Next, Soonyoung decides, he’ll test how long Chan can maintain small sparks instead. It’s not until Soonyoung turns to leave, that he realizes Chan had decided to wait for him.

For some reason he can’t quite place, that makes Soonyoung smile again. “Are we training more tomorrow?” Chan asks. He seems excited.

“That depends on how you’re feeling.” Soonyoung shrugs. “If you’re well enough, sure.”

The teams get together again, to decide when they’ll go about unlocking their next team members Auras, since their teachers forewarned them that they’d be going on another hunt in two weeks. This time they’ll be completely separate from the other teams. Collectively, they decide to do it at the end of the week. Which leaves Soonyoung a few days to figure out who’s next. Not that he needs it; one fight was enough to realize Minghao would benefit most from having an Aura. Despite having a ranged weapon, Minghao prefers to be close to an enemy. It doesn’t take much thought to make that choice.

“Alright, Minghao, you’re next,” Soonyoung announces to the room, clapping his hands together at the end of his sentence. “While we’re at that, you two-” he points at the two remaining members of their team, “-should take the time to make any adjustments to your weapons you haven’t yet.”

“Sure thing.” Junhui nods. Chan, from his place, gives a thumbs up before returning to what he was doing.

“Okay,” Minghao agrees, quietly. At first, Soonyoung thinks something is wrong, but then he actually looks at Minghao. He’s grinning, and Soonyoung is relieved.

“For now,” Soonyoung starts, “get some rest.”

When he gets a chorus of agreements from his team, he smiles. At the very least, they listen to him. Small steps. His progress to being a good leader may not be much, but he’s making progress. Soonyoung nods to himself. He’ll be a good leader eventually.

[asterekmess]

Beta Reader Request, Again!

So, I’m interesting in getting another Beta reader, in addition to the lovely one I already have. I just have so much backlog, you’ve no idea, and it’s a lot for just one Beta to get through, so I figured adding to the ranks would be useful.

Forewarning: As of right now, any new Beta I get would not be working on the “A New Perspective” series.

This post might look familiar, but that’s bc my needs are pretty much the same as before.

Because I’m a broke ass fan, there would be no pay, unless you consider getting to read loads of sterek fic before it’s been published a payment? Of course, whoever Betas my work would automatically be named on AO3 where I post it, along with a link to their tumblr or AO3 account for credit.

What I’m looking for:

Someone with a strong understanding of the English language, grammar, and vocabulary, along with previous history with creative writing (not a degree or anything, don’t worry)

An in-depth reading of my fics, including understanding of characters and atmosphere, rather than just an overview opinion. (I’d like to know why you like something, rather than just that you like it)

Someone with Patience, because I have MDD(Major Depressive Disorder) and often can’t bring myself to write for extended periods of time. I’ve also got ADHD, so my thoughts are pretty scrambled and I might message you to let you know I wrote 14k in one day...

Someone compassionate: I’m not looking for someone to drag me, I want someone who can offer a new perspective respectfully and kindly

Someone is willing to listen/help when I need to vent about the show or a plot point that’s screwing me over. Oftentimes I just need to bounce thoughts off someone or walk through it like those programmers who talk to ducks. I need a ducky.

Someone flexible, who can give me a break in the grammar department with plot specific things/dialogue/things that are colloquial even if they aren’t technically correct, while still nudging me toward a cleaner, clearer path so my readers don’t stumble over my mistakes.

Someone who has a strong understanding of Teen Wolf, having seen most-if not all-of the show (I’ve only seen up to season 4, I think? But i know all the main plotlines, etc).

Someone willing to put in the time. Of course I don’t expect constant access, but having a chance to work through certain scenes with my Beta at my side would be nice, and getting a response to the most recent chapter or section in a timely manner is important to me.

Someone Open Minded. I write ace characters and demisexual characters and polyamoric characters, and of course bisexual and homosexual characters. I’ve yet to write a trans character, but who knows? I need a Beta who is as accepting of these things as I am.

Someone as passionate about Sterek as I am. Being my Beta means reading a LOT of Sterek, and if you’re easily burnt out this might not be the work for you. Also, I truly do consider this writing my Work, so I need a Beta who is willing to do the work because that’s what it is. If you don’t think you’ll stay interested in my fics and can’t go through with it, then again, probably not the work for you.

What my Work is like:

If you’re following me then there’s a good chance that you’ve read one of my fics on AO3 before, but you should know what you’re getting into.

I work in AU’s a lot, so be prepared to read fic that is in a completely different setting than usual. Rewriting Canon, borrowing storylines from movies and shows and fitting the sterek world into it. I write happy endings, and pining, and healing and growth and found-families. I am extremely unlikely to write anything with a sad or ambiguous ending, anything with cheating, abusive sterek relationships, etc. I don’t write a lot of angst, but I do write often about depression (not suicidal), anxiety, self-esteem issues, and bad friends.

Most of my works are long, like at least 20k long. For example, season 2 of my rewrite is about 170k. This means they’re a big investment. Something to think about. My fics are usually less of a snack and more of a buffet.

How this would go:

I’d like to start a potential Beta reader off slow by having you edit a sample doc I’ve put together, so I can learn what kind of a Beta job you’re able to offer and whether it’s compatible with what I’m looking for.

I can’t promise that if I send you the doc, I will automatically want to continue working with you. I’m looking for someone to work with long-term, but that means that we’ll really need to click writing-wise. Hence the insanely long post detailing what kind of person I’m looking for.

As for a Beta/Writer relationship, I like getting to know my Betas, but my work is what’s most important to me. While it would be nice to be friends, I don’t want to lose the point of my being a writer and you being a Beta, it’s a work partnership that I am unwilling to damage because of a friendship that’s become too close to see clearly. I don’t want to feel guilty asking you to look something over, or accidentally bog you down with my personal life.

Warnings:

As stated before, I have MDD and there may be long periods of time where I’m unable to get a lot of writing done

I’ve got over a dozen unfinished fics that I’m currently working on and I bounce between them until I find something that catches my eye long enough to write more of it. This would mean either bouncing with me, or having to wait a very long time for the one fic you’re working on to be finished.

I do write Explicit fics and fics which may contain certain triggers for people, if there are specific things you’re uncomfortable working with, I would need to know Beforehand. I wouldn’t want to expose a Beta to something they’re uncomfortable with. If something you don’t like to read is common in my writing, a Beta partnership probably won’t work.

As with any show, there are characters I care a lot Less for than others might. I’m really not a Scott fan, though I do have some fics where he’s either redeemable or a good friend/guy. I also don’t ship some of the other common ships (Steter, theo/stiles, etc.).

I know that this is a lot, and it’s probably daunting to look at. Trust me, it’s pretty daunting for me. But I want to try and lessen the load on my current Beta and hopefully meet another Beta that I can work with for a long time. As before, I’m not able to provide any Beta work in return for help on my fics. Please do not offer your services if you’re expecting Beta stuff in return, because I can’t provide what you need.

If you’re interested, please DM me, and we’ll chat! I have so much Sterek to share with the world, and I’d love to get some more help polishing it.