#But I re read it and was ASTOUNDED

[whyoneartheven]

THIS

I have a question for the Zelda LU fandom people

In most LU posts and fics I come across,

Why is Legend sour and grouchy? Like he’s sarcastic and curses a lot. He seems hot headed and annoyed?

I’m just curious because I’ve played Link to the Past, the oracle games, and Links Awakening.; and he wasn’t like that…?

I thought he was very sweet. Especially when going through Link’s Awakening. He seems like a guy that’s been through a lot and I’d think he’d be one of the most humble?

To my normal followers, I’m just really passionate about LoZ sorry 😅

[raynavan]

a scene from chapter 19 and 20 in Always by Your Side by @ingo-ingoing-ingone!

[zorciarkrildrush]

It bears repeating that where there's Islamophobia there will invariably also be antisemitism, either disguised as only hating the wrong type of Jew or bare-faced. Where there's antisemitism, there will invariably also be Islamophobia, bare-faced or disguised as only hating the wrong type of Muslim. If you assist a movement that harbors one or the other, the end result will be both. Terry Pratchett, via Granny Weatherwax, made it a point to tell us that it starts with treating people as things.

[shorthaltsjester]

obsessed with the fact that bell's hells won that fight explicitly because of their reliance on the gods. imogen and laudna both vocally saying 'thank you matron' at the beginnings of that combat as they use new skills or spells they've refreshed, orym wielding his sword, braius wielding his divine power, the entire party instilled with a hero's feast prepared by a cleric of the wildmother, imogen using power granted by the arch heart to bring down predathos -- an entity that has been described as welcoming her home, offering a womb she has longed to return to, her as its kin -- in imagery evoking the moment where the gods too decided to turn their backs on their home when faced with the monstrosity they were tied to, that they'd help bring about (something something, the arch heart gave mortals magic and imogen gave predathos its vessel). and the fact that bell's hells has slowly grown more reliant on the idea that predathos does not hunger for mortals -- something they in fact scoffed at when it came from liliana and ludinus' mouths -- predathos took several of them in his maw and tried to consume them.

viewing the story as one of a group of people predominantly blinded to the reality of their situations by the fog of their traumatized feelings -- as i've chosen to do for the sake of my sanity listening to them go on and on about gods that never gave them a lick in the same breath that they complain that the gods have too much power -- it is so extremely poetic that orym cut down ludinus with a sword blessed by the wild mother only for bell's hells to retread the path ludinus set up for himself. it is extremely ironic for a group of people who have implicitly raised complaints about the inherent manipulation that comes with the god's existence to come up with a plan that is explicit manipulation, demanding the gods become mortal or die [which to be clear, extremely interesting plan with interesting consequences that would be compelling to see! absolutely dogshit reasoning skills and moral assessment. but it is continually ASTOUNDING to me that a campaign that gets treated by some as the height of critical role's sociopolitical philosophical exploration features so many PCs who struggle (and not in the fruitful, developmental way but in the head-in-hands, can this student talk to the prof during office hours so I don't have to feel the second hand embarrassment of them making it obvious they haven't ever attended a previous lecture or done the class readings way) with ideas found in any first year philosophy course].

and to be clear this is not me devaluing the role of bell's hells in actually fighting the fight -- but all they've done is the same thing the gods were already doing, keeping predathos sealed, except now its in a volatile-at-best mortal who is on borrowed time re: being lost once again to its power. the only suggestion the hells have that this might be a justified and right course of action is the support of two gods -- one who has proven themself to be okay with the idea of death until it actually arrives before and the other one who is the only being on record who actually chose to be a deity -- out of a much larger pantheon, and their personal inclinations to agree with the ideology of a man who they have claimed to ardently disagree with but it turns out that was just because of his methods, I guess. scattershotting catalysts for change and hoping that change results in a Better World just. on its own (almost like. idk. fate) that you haven't even suggested practical (I'd even take theoretical ones atp) methods to achieve beyond Get Rid of a bunch of beings who are involved in actually extreme amounts of metaphysical and magical infrastructure isn't actually a course of action, its a course of chaos, and that is in fact worse than things staying the way they are if 'the way things are' that you keep referring to has only been shown to, currently, be that you and your friends feel sad and a little miffed that the gods you haven't offered anything to are only willing to do things for you when you serve them. unlike you, a group notorious for the way you do things for people you don't know without asking anything in return (this is sarcasm, if that wasn't clear).

anyway, I will continue to be frustrated by the lack of grounding for either (a) bell's hells having actually incisive and contextualized criticisms of the gods (either their own or from the actual mouths of the 'little guys' they are allegedly fighting for) or (b) more engagement with the fact that bell's hells as a party are not interested in making the morally right choice, they are at Best looking for a morally neutral choice. that said, if I ignore the actual story c3 has portrayed, the last few episodes have been a great wrap-up to a story about how singleminded trauma can make you and how that can lead you to place where there's no longer any Good choices to make, only potentially satisfying ones, where the question of who to satisfy takes the reigns over what is best.

[sinnaminsuga]

𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖉𝖏𝖆𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖙 - sub!hyunjin x sub!reader x dom!chan

wc: 2,804

cw: hyunjin is a slut, so is the reader, chan likes it that way. SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: while shooting the red lights mv chan noticed something about hyunjin and now he's got a theory he wants to test, he just needs your help.

a/n: was literally plagued with visions of overstimulating hyunjin and making him cry soooo this is what i ended up with. oops. also if there are any spelling errors pls don't tell me bc ive read this trash so many times trying to work it all out and if i have to re-read it again i might go blind.

sw: dirty talk, daddy kink, unprotected sex (pls be smarter than that), bondage, threesome, some gay shit, breeding, blowjobs, lingerie, deepthroating, general toughness, waxing poetic about hyunjins beautiful face. idk probably more but im bad at this shit.

hwang hyunjin is beautiful. its a well documented fact, no ifs ands or buts about it. he has the kind of face ancient civilizations would have gone to war for. old world dynasties would have been reduced to rubble over a face like his. hwang hyunjin is the kind of beautiful where it almost hurts to look at him. it makes you question your belief in a higher power because, how could there possibly be any room for debate on if there is a God when there is simply no other reasonable explanation for how a devine creature like him came to exist on this earth? so with all that being said, there's no way he could get any more beautiful. or so you thought.

it had always been your assumption that there was no possible way he could look any more stunning than he naturally does; but your mind was changed the minute you saw the lithe expanses of his smooth milky skin held captive by blood red ropes. you felt an astounding amount of pride as your eyes bore witness to his soft flesh being pulled tight by the coarse material; the blood under his skin rushing to the surface where the ropes were knotted artfully over his collarbone, across his abdomen, splayed over his pelvis, looped around his upper thighs and finally circling the base of his dick. and you had worked hard to make sure the knots around his wrists and ankles were comfortable yet sturdy before attaching them to each bedpost.

you had taken your instructions very seriously, as the man giving them to you from edge of the bed, wouldn't allow any of this to continue if either of you were to disobey his direct orders, and dear god you would rather die than see this endeavor be cut short.

you admired your handiwork a bit more before the rumbling of a particular voice hit your ears.

“how do you feel baby? is this what you wanted? y/n did a good job huh? you look so pretty.” chan spoke softly to hyunjin, absentmindedly petting his head. hyunjin looked up at his leader and nodded, unsure if he could speak without whining as the ropes pulled across his body with every move.

“yeah i knew you'd like this. the whole time we were shooting “red lights” i saw you ya know? the way your breathing got shallow when the staff chained you up. the way your eyes glazed over when they gave you instructions to pull against your restraints. god, standing above you on that bed, watching you writhe below me was a sight to see. my good boy just wanted to be tied up and used huh?” chan said to him, his finger hooked under hyunjin's chin forcing his head up to look him in the eyes. a whimper forced its way out of him as his hips instinctually bucked and the the sensation of the ropes took over.

you couldn't drag your eyes away from his lower body. the sharp angle of his hipbones jutting up to the ceiling as his cock drooled uncontrollably, the fluid flowing from his tip dribbling down to darken the rope wrapped snugly around the base of him. without even thinking you reached out and wrapped your hand around his shaft, you were just so overwhelmed with the desire to touch him. the feeling was unexpected and the sound that punched its way out of hyunjin's chest was glorious. his body attempted to curl in on itself but the ropes kept him firmly in place. you watched the range of emotions flicker over his face in rapid succession; surprise at your initial touch, pleasure from finally being granted a little stimulation, sensitivity from being denied his pleasure for so long, shock when he remembered the restraints keeping him spread open, frustration at not being able to move, and finally acceptance as he gave in to the languid stroking you were doing. he continued to toss as the pleasure took over, thrashing wildly against the mattress and moaning into the pillow.

hyunjin's noises were reduced to whimpers as chan’s hand squeezed around his jaw, directing hyunjin to look him in the eyes. “shhh baby boy, y/n is gonna make you feel good okay? you'll let her do that, won’t you? you'll lay there and take what i let her give you, understood? words please, jinnie.” chan cooed. “yes daddy. i'll be good for you, for her too i promise. i'll be your perfect boy just like always, i promise, please! god just please keep touching me!” hyunjin choked out, making chan grin. he leapt up from where he was perched on the edge of the bed and rounded the corner until he was standing behind you. you repressed a shudder as chan’s hand slid up your back, tracing over your spine and occasionally tripping over the straps of the lingerie set you were wearing. his hand glided up into your hair with ease until his palm cradled the base of your skull, then suddenly he locked his fingers to grab your hair firmly by the roots and pulled you upright so your back was against his chest as he angled your head to the left exposing the expanse of your neck. the suddenness of his movements caused you to lose your grip on hyunjin’s dick and he cried out from the loss of contact, his hips frantically bucking into the air in a fruitless attempt to find friction.

chan hummed as his lips made contact with the skin of your neck and continued as he licked, nipped, and sucked at your flesh. he hooked his chin over your shoulder as his right hand charted a course down your abdomen to the apex of your thighs where the pads of his thick fingers rubbed over your damp slit. when you could finally manage to pry your lids open, you locked eyes with hyunjin. he was practically panting watching chan devour your throat and palm your pussy. “so pretty y/n, y’look so pretty. like a dream. want to paint you one day, just like that.” he whispered. hyunjin's words and gaze coupled with chan's wandering hands and skilled mouth were almost enough to send you over the edge.

“now here’s what's next my loves. y/n, you're going to get on your knees, lean down on your elbows and suck hyunjin's pretty dick right into the back of your throat okay? i want you to take him as far as you can, and quickly. do not stop until i tell you to. not if he begs, not if he cries, not if he screams. got it?” you nodded as well as you could with his left hand still in your hair. chan released you and you quickly got into the position he had described, gently grabbing hold of hyunjin's cock. “i’m sorry jinnie, but you know i have to.” you quipped right before you took him into your mouth and as far into your throat as you could manage. the garbled noise that ripped its way out of hyunjin's throat threw you into over drive as you bobbed your head and sucked him like your life depended on it. he was groaning deeply and his limbs were flailing the best they could in his current predicament. his back arched up off the mattress so beautifully you wished chan would take a photo.

“fuck, fuck, FUCK. jesus chri- oh my god! y/n, sweetheart slow down- PLEASE! oh fuck i can- i can feel- fucking fuck. i can feel your throat squeezing me so tight!” hyunjin wailed throwing his head back, the veins in his neck becoming more prominent as he grit his teeth.

suddenly chan’s hand made its way to your pussy again and you gasped around the thickness embedded in your throat causing hyunjin to hiss.

“crotchless panties angel? so proud of you. always so prepared for daddy huh? know just what i like.” chan muttered from behind you. you heard the telltale jingle of his belt being opened and the zipper being lowered on his jeans. he had already removed his shirt earlier so he was naked quickly, and he wasted no time before rubbing the head of his dick along your weeping folds.

“now i'm going to fuck you nice and deep the way you like and i want you to keep sucking my good boy okay?” chan said but before you could respond he shoved himself into you in one swift thrust. chan was not small in girth or length for that matter but the stretch you felt every time he fucked you open was delicious. you couldn't help but moan around the cock in your mouth which in turn caused hyunjin to scream at the unexpected vibration. chan’s laugh that followed was dark and proud, thrilled that he held so much power and that you both let him use it.

“fuuuuck sweet girl this cunt is always so fucking tight huh? doesn't matter how many times i fuck you or let someone else fuck you, you always snap right back. god i love being inside you.” chan growled as his hands gripped your hips and held you steady as he pummeled his way in and out of your slippery hole. the whole time he was fucking you, you were being forced onto hyunjin's cock as well, every moan muffled by the thickness battering your throat.

“hyunjin is y/n a good cocksucker? hmm? you think? you think she's better than you were?” chan taunted him as he drove himself inside you over and over again. “remember when we had our first one on one meeting? just me and you alone in the studio? i said 'hyunjin if you really are serious and want to stay in this group i need one thing from you’ do you remember that? i do.” you could hear the grin in his voice even if you couldn't see him. hyunjin groaned and mumbled what sounded like a yes. “i also remember how fast you sank to your knees and scrambled to try and open my belt. you thought i wanted you to suck me off to stay in the band. and you were so willing to give me whatever i wanted. all i was going to ask you for was your loyalty and your honesty in all things. but you offered up that pretty mouth quick as a bitch and who was i to say no?” chan laughed at the memory as he threw a foot up onto the bed to change the angle he was fucking into you from so he was now nailing your gspot on every thrust.

“y-yes i remember. ‘course i do. i knew w-what you were gonna ask me because felix told me beforehand what you were going to ask, what you asked a-all of them. i just- fuck yes keep sucking y/n im so close. i jus’ wanted you so bad i thought if i tried and y-you didn't want me back it would just be an easily brushed off m-misunderstanding.” hyunjin whined, his hands balled up into fists, knuckles white.

“y/n suck him dry. now.” chan ordered and you sucked harder pulling a squeal out of hyunjin. “go on sweet boy. go ahead and cum. you earned it.” chan encouraged as he delivered a heavy smack to your ass. your muffled yelp was the final straw and hyunjin came hard into your mouth, his body attempting to lurch off the bed. you swallowed everything down and pulled off of him, replacing your mouth with your hand. as chan continued to ram into you, you mirrored his thrusts with the fist wrapped tightly around hyunjin's still hard cock.

“stop stop stop please! god please i can- i can't take it! it's too sensitive please!” hyunjin cried. “yes you can baby. you can take it. trust me.” chan cooed. feeling bold you leaned forward once again and sucked hyunjin's tip harshly while lashing the tip of your tongue over his slit.

“FUCK! no no no no it's too m- too much. stop stop stop!” hyunjin continued to wail. he was begging you to relent but he also didn't use his safeword so you knew he didnt really want it to stop. the sound was like music to chan's ears and the rhythmic clenching of your cunt around him propelled him quickly toward his own orgasm.

“i'm gonna cum in you okay baby? gonna breed this pretty pussy, stuff it full of my cum. that what you want? yeah it is isn't it?” chan rambled and you moaned out a “yes please daddy” right before he exploded inside you. your hand around hyunjin never stopped moving and he was crying now. big fat tears rolling down his cheeks from the overstimulation.

chan pulled out of you and watched your hole flutter, pushing out his seed. he murmured a string of praises as he watched the glistening fluid drip out of you. you looked over your shoulder at him, jutting your lower lip out.

“daddy i didn't get to cum yet. can i?” you asked.

“go ahead baby. make yourself cum.” chan said with a wave of his hand and an evil grin etched on his face. you grinned right back before scrambling up hyunjin's body and straddling him.

“wh-what are you doing? oh...oh no. no no no. please it's so sensitive it's so so sensitive y/n i can't!” hyunjin hiccuped, tears still flowing. you leaned forward and ran your tongue up his cheek, lapping up the briny liquid seeping from his eyes. then you whispered “oh jinnie, don't you want me to feel good too? i worked so hard after all.” you reached behind you and positioned his tip at your entrance before effortlessly sliding down onto him. you moaned as he filled you and he once again thrashed against the ropes wrapped around him. you started to ride him in earnest, aching for your own release at this point. the man beneath you was mumbling incoherently about how good your pussy feels and how badly he wants to come again. chan sauntered over and perched next to hyunjin again, reaching out to pet his head and pepper his face with kisses.

“i’m gonna cum, fuck i'm gonna cum!” you cried as you worked yourself over hyunjin’s dick and used one hand to furiously rub your clit.

“daddy shes squeezing me so hard i don't think i ca- can get out. can i cum inside?” hyunjin pleaded with chan. “of course you can baby, right sweetheart? you want jinnie’s cum inside you don't you?” you just nodded in response. “my girl loves to be creampied you never have to ask. just go ahead baby boy.” chan explained. you drove yourself down onto hyunjin twice more and then you were cumming, mouth dropping open as your inner walls milked him for all he was worth. hyunjin spasmed beneath you as he came and came and came inside you. he wasn't speaking anymore, just making these stunted little sounds as his body shook with the aftershocks of his second orgasm.

chan had begun to untie the ropes as you slowly lifted yourself off of hyunjin. you whispered praise to him as he has hummed, completely fucked out and boneless beneath you.

“shhh it's okay sweetheart. you did so good for us baby. we’re gonna put you to bed now okay?” chan murmured to the man shaking in the bed. hyunjin managed to croak out an “uh-huh” in response. you grabbed a bottle of lotion from nearby and began to work it into the reddened skin all over him where the ropes had been, while chan wiped down hyunjin's groin with a warm cloth. you hummed a tune you knew hyunjin loved and his eyes fluttered shut, a tiny smile making its way to his face.

after everything was put away and the room was right again, chan crawled into the bed to spoon hyunjin’s half asleep form while you crawled in the other side to press yourself to hyunjin's still somewhat heaving chest. you pulled the blanket up high and tucked yourself into his warm skin and he wound an arm around your waist. chan's hand rested on hyunjin's hip, squeezing the flesh there every so often.

being here felt so right, so natural, so easy. loving these two was as easy as breathing. you couldn't believe it had taken this long to get here but now that you had, you weren't letting them go. before your eyes fell closed you heard the sound of chan's lips kissing along hyunjin's shoulder before he whispered “rest now my loves. because i have big plans for you tomorrow.”

THE END

[oddinarylani]

'i just wished you cared about me' arranged marriage skz pt. 2.

pt 2: han, felix, seungmin, jeongin.

w: blood in han's, depression in seungmin's.

a/n: thank you for being patient, the long awaited part 2 is finally here, enjoy.

𝓱𝓪𝓷. ↴

he stumbled into your home still laughing, with the voices of his friends still booming behind him. a second later the door is closed behind him and his laughter dies down into something soft. while your ears have perked at the sound, your eyes raising from the printed page of your book, you stay put in your spot on the couch if just adjusting a bit. he slides the beanie from his head, shaking his shiny brown hair out a bit before his eyes wander to your form. “oh!” he grabs his chest, jumping slightly. the reaction brings a small smile to your face, but you quickly force it down. “why are you up? it’s super late.” he wanders to the kitchen, his voice sounding particularly far away now. your eyes roll, you thumb your book to keep your place. “i know you only go out at night, so i figured i’d stay up to see if you wanted to do something. i didn’t know you were going out.” upon your glance, you see the clock reads four twenty-seven am, and you groan, rubbing your eyes. this wasn’t the exchange you were hoping for. 

when he re-emerges from the kitchen, your eyes scour his form, noticing the purplish lines that are forming in the tender skin of his under-eyes and the somewhat gaunt appearance of his pale-ish skin. you back straightens, “have you been drinking, jisung?” he’s already walking to your bedroom, but he slows his steps to a halt, turning back to lock eyes with you. “you don’t have to worry about me.”

your eyes trail on his form until he’s disappeared completely into the confines of your bedroom, only then do you sit back though still ever-worried. “of course i do, i’m your wife remember?” 

jisung had fought tooth and nail for a nontraditional vampire wedding. he simply refused. it was bad enough your marriage was arranged with little to no say from the both of you on your choice of spouse, but he put his foot down at the idea of a traditional ceremony. you both wore black, surrounded by loved ones yet absent of friends, and you were bound to each other for the rest of your days. your human family was keen on this celebration of conjoining lives, having an option wasn’t an option - so with doubts you moved forward in the marriage - trying desperately hard to make things work. 

a lot of your marriage to jisung was learning things about him through subtle cues - if the environment was relaxed enough it was easier to get him talking about his personal life or interests, though this had been an occurrence three times in the now two and a half months you’d been married. lack of communication was common, hence you not knowing he was going out earlier. you quit your job, finding one instead that could accommodate to nights so that you could actually see him on your off days and when you returned from work, this schedule you were still adjusting to - and it was killing you. you begrudgingly talked to his parents more in an attempt to understand his needs as a vampire, to which they let you in on the fact that jisung wasn’t the proudest to carry on the vampiric gene. with it came a lot of shame for him. he always ate in private, hunted in private, and stretched out his eating periods as long as possible. he could still consume human food, but nutrition for vampires was solely obtained by drinking blood. and as of late, you reminded him frequently of his need to eat, that it was important to him and his existence, and it was absolutely necessary. 

why’d you do this? you cared for him. you had love in your heart for him. which astounded you that you felt your heart pull at just the sight of him, especially when he looked so sad and was probably starving, because jisung didn’t do much in return. he was hard to talk to, hard to communicate with - you hadn’t a single idea of how he thought of you. did he care for you? did he long to mend your new marriage? it was a guessing game. granted, you absolutely had good days with him. happy times of smiling together, laughing together, going out, exchanging gifts, meeting his friends - but the bad times were killer. and they weighed on your heart something fierce. 

a few days had passed since your limited interaction with jisung - you’d seen him a few times in between then and now; before you went to work and after. maybe you hadn’t looked hard enough then, but now. now when you looked at him, you saw it written all over his face.

his cheeks were more sunken in, his eyes tired and droopy and rings of purple circled each eye. was he slimmer too? his wrists looked thinner than usual; and you found your heart breaking at the sight. he was sitting at his desktop, headphones on, eyes lost to the screen before him - every couple of seconds his mouse would click and you could hear cuts of music playing. 

“jisung,” you called. when he didn’t reply or look up from his screen, you called again - this time louder. “jisung.”

he looks up with raised brows, a hand coming to lift his headphone off his ear - you see the glint of his gold band in the light of his desk lamp. “did you eat today?” you soften your voice though you’re mostly exhausted, and with it came a bit of irritation. he chews on his cheek and looks back to his screen. “yeah.”

“are you lying.” you plant your hands on your hips, you notice his leg is bouncing and he pulls his sweatshirt, the one you gifted him, over his hands. “n-no.” 

you glare at him a moment more before walking out of the study. “i’m fixing you a bag.” his voice calls out behind you, “we’re out.”

you stop yourself just as you’ve made it into the living room, and walk back into the room, you lips tugged to the side as you chew on your cheek. there’s a few options laid out in front of you - and you were stupid to think you wouldn’t do any of them for him. you’re in thought for longer than you’d like to admit, jisung has resorted to toying with his somewhat dried lips as he turns back to his desktop for a moment, his headphones off now as he waits your scolding. 

but scolding doesn’t happen, no. instead, you grab an extra chair from across the room and sit down in front of him, shoving your jacket sleeve up your arm with conviction. he sees how tired you are, and hates that you’ve resorted to this for him - in fact it angers him a bit. 

you bear your bare wrist to him, looking down at your arm then once more at him. 

“drink.” 

he pushes himself out from his desk, “i don’t need your help. i can do this stuff on my own.” his voice isn’t overly angry, in reality he was a little soft for that, especially to you. he just seemed,,, tired. and it kind of killed you. 

“jisung- just do it.” you shake your arm once, he stands up, shoving his hands in his pockets. his thirst drives the red in his eyes to nearly glow - you know he hasn’t much more self-control before he inevitably gives in. he’s starving. he’s craving it. he’s on the brink of ravaging your arm for christ sakes, and you didn’t for a second doubt that power from him. you understood fully well what he was capable of, you just couldn’t see him like this any longer. 

“n-no! i’m not gonna do it. why do you care so much anyway? why are you doing this?” 

your eyes close, head tilted to the side as if he’s just struck a nerve - well, he has. and you haven’t the patience for it any longer. 

“why do i care? why do i care? i’m giving you my arm to drink from - i’m giving you my goddamn life source because i’m your wife and i don’t want you to fucking die.” you stand up, your presence itself has him taking a step back. 

“i’m doing this because i care. and i care because i fucking love you! i try so goddamn hard in this marriage, jisung. because i believe in-in,, in us!” your brows pull together, eyes glossy a bit - the rage in your heart sours into something sadder and you clench your jaw so tight you feel pressure in your teeth to keep from crying. 

he’s struck. totally. he watches you with wide eyes, watches the way your expression strikes anger than melts into something like hurt. the way your brow thaws together and glassiness shines in your eyes. he reaches a hand to you, the one that bears your ring and you take your arm from his grasp when he takes your hand. 

“i-i,,,” you sigh in defeat, still refusing the urge to cry. “i just w-wish you cared about me.” 

when he says your name it feels like it’s the first time he’s ever done so, you pace around yourself for a moment as you quell the urge to cry, running a hand through your hair. you turn, grounded in his voice as he reaches yet again for your hand - which this time you take. “i care about you so much, a-and i’m really sorry that i haven’t been showing that to you.” 

you let him hold your hand as tightly as he wants, “god i feel like such an asshole,” he chuckles, though the brim of his eyes are watery. “i didn’t think you’d want much to do with me to be honest.” you feel the shakiness in his fingers and you grasp onto his hand. “especially because i’m a… y’know…” 

“but i don’t care about that, jisung. you know i don’t. i don’t give a fuck less what you were if it meant we could just be happy.” he nods, swallowing through his tears. “i-i know and that… that’s why i love you.” he admits. 

you shake your head, “don’t just tell me that, jisung-” you look up to him with fierce, watery eyes. “i-i’m not! i would never-” he shakes his head and reaches for your other forearm. “it scares me… a lot i think. that you won’t judge me or hold that against me but that you support me.” in his grasp he brings you a bit closer, his hands now moving from grasping your own to resting on your upper arms and shoulders. “i’m really sorry that i’ve hurt you.. that’s the last thing i wanted to do. i just got really scared and didn’t… know what to do.” he briefly reaches up to smooth your hair with both of his palms before returning them to your upper arms. 

“you know what you can do when you’re scared?” you ask him, wiping your own face before settling your arms around his shoulders, your palms wrapping around the back of his neck. at the feeling of your hands, he sets his hands on your waist. “you come to me.” 

he nods, “you can come to me too, any time you want. i’ll listen to everything you have to say. and i’ll try to be better.” 

you smile, smoothing your hands down his shoulders. “now,” your fingers dig into the sleeve of your jacket, pulling it up and over your wrist. “please drink. i see how hungry you are, and it’s not good not to. you have to take care of yourself.” the thumb of your opposite hand smooths the soft skin beneath his eye, his brows press together and he softly frowns. 

his mouth waters at the sight of your skin, glowing and pulsating with a pulse that pumps your blood just beneath your skin. he parts his lips, and for a second you see the sight of his wet fangs just below his top lip. “it’s okay, i know you can stop - i don’t want you to be hungry.” 

he gets comfortable, sitting on the surface of your shared bed in the room just next to his study - his hands cradle your wrist, turning the soft flesh over to bare itself to his awaiting teeth. his eyes swim with frenzy, and per your comfort again, he leans forward and sinks his teeth into your skin. your face scrunches up at the feeling of your skin giving way to his fangs, but the feeling of his lips around the wound soothe the ache. soon he’s finished, wiping his mouth with his hand before smoothing his tongue over the wound. “my saliva will heal it over night, don’t worry.” 

“it’s okay. how are you feeling? any better?” he tugs you onto the surface of the bed, his gentle fingers grabbing a nearby bandage to delicately wrap around the bite wound. the sun was beginning to rise now, and you were tired beyond belief. “i do. thank you so much.” he smooths your hair from your head, planting a kiss to your forehead. 

“i really meant it when i said i was sorry and that i was going to try harder. i can’t imagine how stupid i looked to you, god,” he buries his face in your shoulder, shaking his head as you chuckled. “it’s okay. i didn’t mean to blow up that hard - i just… it all kept building up and i really wanted to talk to you but it never felt right.” your hand comes to rest on his head as he burrows further into you, you can imagine the burn of his cheeks and smile to yourself at the thought. 

“well, if we’re going to be married. these are things we have to talk about i guess.” his skin is cool to the touch, you shiver at the feeling. “we can talk about whatever you want too though. like what your favorite color is or why your favorite movie is your favorite movie.” 

“i like pink a lot.” he says, his cheek pressed into the pillow next to you. “why is that?” you wonder. 

“it looks best on you.” 

𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔁. ↴

oh he was beautiful. maybe not even that; maybe something greater. 

you admired him still but frequently lost yourself to the floaty thoughts in your brain - thinking fondly back to your wedding day. he was dressed in opalescent whites of different shades, the hems of his attire glittered in the evening sun - cuts of sunlight beaming fractals down through the trees to paint his face something magnificent. and his wings. your feet carried you along the forest floor, but your eyes were blown into a sweet expression you couldn’t fight. they were transparent if not for their shining and glittering design - fine lines of sunlight itself swirled and cut into fine designs on his wings - you were starstruck in his gaze. you cradled your bouquet, and though it was now your third time meeting felix in person, his worried and saddened expression turned into something peaceful when you looked at him. despite your arguments in efforts to call off your betrothal, now when facing him, you strangely felt as if everything would just work out. he exuded a kind of sweet energy, even just his smile would bring you happiness. you interlock your hands and despite the circumstance, you can’t help but smile soft while reciting your vows, your practiced eye contact now utterly natural and right. 

you’d been married to lee felix for two months and ten days - and in those days since accepting your marriage, you’d seen him only a handful of times. well, more than that, honestly, but it was easy to blur the days and times you saw him. it really only felt like you’d had a few conversations with him or shared any moments of true transparency or emotional value. he was dedicated to his job, he was. he protected the forest alongside a large force of fae people’s. regulations in the forest were strict - strong. and he took his job very seriously. he spent nearly every waking moment tangled in the trees, tending to her grasses, or playing with the forest creatures to keep the forest happy and healthy, and while you were more than proud of him of his job and his dedication, your marriage was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart. he was beginning to weigh heavy on your heart. 

your job was to nurse saplings and hybrids, you were gone from your home for severely shorter hours than felix was - and while you loved your job all the same as he did his own, you couldn’t help the want for a loving marriage despite the circumstances of it being arranged. you saw him frequently laughing in the trees and vines alongside his colleagues, happily caring for the creatures of the forest with careful and loving hands, and couldn’t help but hope that one day you’d be the one making him smile, making him laugh, and be the fairy behind his loving touch. your heart swells at the very thought - ugh what a lovey he was. pure goodness you assumed. not a bad bone in his body. you just wanted him for yourself, selfishly. 

how could your heart not blossom with feeling at the opportunity to be married to him? he was,,, he was so much. words couldn’t describe the ache of affection you yearned from him. the way he lived. it was profound in and of itself. 

your arms cradle the sleeping sapling of a mother willow, tender palms wrapped around the baby as they slept soundly. your mind snaps back to reality, your eyes fluttering to the small angel in your arms, and you smile at the sight. “precious.” you admire, putting them back into their warm pot of soil to sleep until the next morning. evening was approaching, it was time for you to leave for the day. you float to your bag, your wings carrying you seamlessly to your things as you gather them and say goodbye to your fellow caretakers, returning home to your high tree top bungalow. your home was comfortably secluded near the top of the tree canopy, neighbors somewhat closeby to still have the comfort of community but to also have a nice peaceful feeling of seclusion in your own home. the lights wrapping around your home had been dimmed, you frown at the sight, concluding felix must not be home. 

as you float to the door, softly landing on your feet, you push it open and find the lights are off and evening darkness begins to swallow your home. you sigh softly, pulling your leaf tote off your shoulder to hang it by the door. you pull clips from your hair and pad to your bedroom with your eyes focused comfortably at the floor, thinking no one was home. 

that is until you enter your bedroom to see felix standing in the open space just before your bed, lifting his button-down from his head to peak into your closet for night clothes. “oh-” you jump, clutching your chest, face warming at the sight of his bare skin on display. “you scared me, sorry.” his eyes widen for only a moment before he relaxes into a smile, “oh sorry for scaring you, i should’ve left a note for you. i came home early today.” you beam gently, pulling your earrings out to leave your jewelry in a box at your vanity. “it’s okay! i’m glad you’re home. how was today?” you turn to look at him as he speaks. 

he takes a sleep shirt from a hanger and begins slipping it on. “ah, the watering hole at the east side of the forest edge began growing fungus - so we had the court mages come down to get rid of it. other than that, it was surprisingly uneventful.” his face contorts into a kind of grimace as he struggles to fit his wings through the back of his shirt - trying desperately hard on his own to flutter them through the back only to get caught. you stand, moving to help him as your vision falls to his back - and you stand behind him to gently tug his wings through the back. “there you go, better?” you ponder with a soft worrisome look, rounding him to get a better look. he smiles and nods, “much, thank you.” 

you take a few steps back to sit at the edge of your shared bed, once again getting lost in your head as you stare at his wings. so pretty. moonlight begins to filter in through your bedroom windows and they almost seem to glow. “what’s wrong?” he asks, catching you off guard in your staring match. he’s left his shirt opens as he looks at you, his brow scrunched. “o-oh! nothing! sorry- your wings are just,, really pretty.” you chuckle, hoping to play off any tension or awkwardness. his face flushes a true shade of pink and his gaze falls to the floor, “thank you.” his low voice in gentle in the quiet. 

“but,,” he turns back, now stepping closer to you at a slower pace before he sits down in front of you. his gaze is so concerned, and he speaks as though what he has to say is hard. you match his expression, head tilting only a degree or so. “you always kind of have this expression like you’re thinking,, or that you’re getting lost in your head. do you want to talk about it?” 

your cheeks flush at his notice and you look down to your hands now folded over your lap. if now was ever the time to bring up issues than you’d have to do it. were you going to drag this process on forever? you hoped not. now was the chance.

“you’re… you’re so wonderful at what you do.” you smile again, because you can’t help but give in around felix, but it’s sadder - and he worries about what’s to come despite your compliment. “you’re so dedicated. and i love seeing you smile and laugh with everything you do. with your colleagues, when you’re caring for the creatures in the forest, or when you’re caring for the plants and trees,” you pause. your lips part because you know what to say, you know exactly what to say because it’s been the only thing you think about during the day. and you simply must say it now or else you’d dig yourself into a hiding hole and never bring it up again. “but i wish,, you cared for me in the way you cared for you job. in the way you care for the forest.” your thumb circles the band on your ring finger absentmindedly. it’s become second nature. when you look down to your hand, and see the band on your finger your eyes begin to water. oh not now, please, i was doing do good. 

“i’ve been meaning to talk to you about this, actually.” he starts. you lift your watery eyes and his expression melts, his hand coming up to wipe your tears but he stops himself in fear of crossing a line when really that’s all you wanted in the moment. “i..” he swallows and his eyes get lost in focusing on nowhere in particular in the room and that’s when you notice it. 

his thumb is playing with his wedding band, his nail tracing the metal and fumbling with it just as you did without noticing. 

your lips pull to the side as you try to keep them from trembling. “i wanted to talk to you about how we can become closer. how we can work better as a unit and build our relationship-” when the tears track down your cheeks and you look up at him, he disregards his fear and reaches out shamelessly - his pal meeting your cheek as his thumb swipes wetness from your eyes. you lean into his touch, appreciative of his warmth until it leaves you. his own eyes are a bit watery, but out of shame and guilt. “i feel,, so guilty. for making you feel that way. and i d-don’t ever want to make you feel like that again because i do care for you.” when he looks back up at you, you reach for his hand and rub his band with your thumb. “i care for you a lot.” he chuckles sadly. 

“i care for you too. and i want this to work out.” you reason, now holding his left hand with both of yours. he goes quiet for a second as he dips his head and wipes his face. at the sight your heart swells and you feel a smile over take your face. “y’know on our wedding day, i thought, ‘wow i must be the luckiest person ever to be marrying the prettiest fairy in the forest.’” you chuckle, wiping your face until he laughs through his tears. “don’t say that, i’ll cry more!” you chuckle with him and this time you wipe his face with your thumbs when he can’t get past the guilt. 

“i p-promise i’ll make it up to you. i’ll show you i care for you and that i can be a husband you deserve.” his gaze lifts with your hand as you thumb over his wet freckles, and he now grabs your hands sacredly. 

“let’s work together, yeah?” you look over his face with a more fond expression, watching every small move he makes to wipe his face and try desperately hard to keep the tears off his flustered freckled cheeks. he nods, fiercely. this was a change you already felt oncoming, and as you settled into resting for the night, you laid beside your husband - hands kept to yourself for now as shyness seemed to settle between both of your bodies. 

“i know i’ve been distant and consumed in work,, but i’ve been watching you at your job recently.” his nimble fingers pick at the surface of his pillow, pulling a stray thread from it’s place. your brows raise, a soft look of surprise graces your features as you listen. “oh?” he immediately cuts in, “not like that! i just.. wanted to see you at work but.. i didn’t know how to.. reach out.” his gaze is focused elsewhere. 

“you can come visit me at work anytime. i think you’d be excellent with the sapling babies - they’d love you.” your teeth show in a genuine smile and he can’t help but think how contagious. 

“i couldn’t really think much, except for how stunning you looked doing it.” 

you push your face into your pillow, “you can’t say things like that,, i’ll blush.” your hands cover your face, and much to your surprise, he grasps them to pull them from your red cheeks, looking at you solemnly. “it’s true. the sun was hitting you just right and you looked so pretty,, so happy.” 

he’s holding your hands again, the current if shyness feels as though he’s melted it away, and you reach out to brush a stray hair from his face, “i am happiest when with them, they bring me a lot of peace.” he beams, his wings flutter a bit behind him on the bed. 

“would you want to raise one, one day?” his eyes are wide with the question, as if a great amount of hope rests on his shoulders. 

“with you? absolutely.” 

𝓼𝓮𝓾𝓷𝓰𝓶𝓲𝓷. ↴

“there won’t be a wedding.” 

you looked up from your coffee, both of your hands wrapped around it’s now cooling porcelain. your heart drops to the lowest part of your stomach at the news, hands steadying for a better grip on your mug. every dream, every hope, all the excitement of the young you, hoping for a beautiful wedding shared with the person you loved, instantly came crashing down in a fury. you swallow, feeling the eternal dread creeping on - up your back and over your shoulders. 

“can i ask why?” you look up to your future husband, finding a kind of indifference on his face, that made your heart sink further. 

“my family has a last minute trip planned for the weekend we originally scheduled - we talked to your family and decided to cancel it.” 

“okay.” 

“i’ll make it up to you.”

for the sake of a legitimate marriage, you did stand before each other and repeat vows of no particular meaning to you - and held his hand as you walked back down the aisle in a white sundress. you slept in the same bed but didn’t know the man beside you, you said goodbye to him for his business trips but mostly thoughts of leaving consumed you while he was away (even though your family would have your head for it) you ate beside him but didn’t speak - your outlook on your marriage was bleak to say the least. 

your own job consumed you of course, the marriage was for business anyway. but you took severely less trips than seungmin did - and mostly worked from home in your office, conducting meetings, discussing sales goals and the like. 

and now, at your age, you came to realize something. that your life wasn’t lived for what you wanted to do or how you wanted to live, but instead was lived out by the expectation of how you were supposed to. who were you even really? and you didn’t have the best example - your parent’s marriage was arranged. and though your mom persevered in saying they were happy, you could easily read between the lines to see they were anything but. 

seungmin had his good moments. 

he was great at his job, very dedicated. he periodically checked in on you but it felt half-hearted. there were a few times he’d sent flowers to the house while he was away. a lot of empty promises on his part though, saying he would look forward to doing something fun when he returned home, only for his time to be taken again.  you’d bury yourself in your work if that was the only thing you could do - eyes filtering over the now dying roses on your desk. 

he was gone now on another business trip, he had been now for three days. in truth, you missed him. or maybe you missed the idea of him. the idea of what he could be to you, and what you could be together. it all felt very misty in your brain, a lot of thoughts you couldn’t dwell on for long periods of time as they stopped making sense. you’d try to sort through your feelings, categorize your thoughts, to better understand yourself - but most attempts remained fruitless. your marriage to seungmin was an enigma - with most of your free time spent alone, all you had to do was think of him. it was strange to admit you missed and longed for a man you feel like you don’t know, but your nights were spent planted on your couch, wondering when he’d return.

your days spent in your new home brought a wave of heaviness you haven’t looked in the eye in years. it was dreadful. every waking moment you fought to stay motivated with your job, but a large part of you hadn’t a single care. not for anything. after work, you’d crawl back into bed and sleep until waking, rotting away in your home. 

until seungmin came home. 

when he unlocked the door and came in with a few small bags by his side, you didn’t raise your head from your pillow, or dare to even wipe your cheeks of the tears cascading down your face - you didn’t care. you didn’t care if he saw, you didn’t care if he had something to say. you only felt the weight. 

he comes into the bedroom, and upon looking at you curled up in your shared bed, wetness glistening on your cheeks, his brows furrow. “what’s wrong?”

you shake your head, mumbling something that sounded like “it’s nothing.” 

he wasn’t taking that as an answer, not with the way his voice drew out and the way he came to sit on his side of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs. “what’s wrong?” he asks, this time a little softer; even just the way his voice sounded made you want to cry. 

you roll to your back, eyes focused nowhere in particular as you muster up something to say. your tears fall into your hairline now, for a moment you feel as though this might be worse than dying. “should we separate?” 

“like divorce? no, no we shouldn’t. what’s,, what’s going on?” he almost wants to reach out and touch you but he keeps his hands to himself for now. the news hits him with a kind of weight he wasn’t expecting; he stumbles over the words that first come to his brain, his composure slowly melting away. 

“you’re never here, seungmin.” your head lulls to the side to look at him. “i care about you a lot. i just wished you felt the same.” your voice trembles on the breath of a whisper, soon your eyes are focused elsewhere yet again - and your lips shake a bit. 

he grasps your hands, and pulls your weight up until you’re resting in his arms. his hold is light - as if he were afraid to touch you but he does anyway. your heart explodes - he holds you because he understands it’s what you need. and you realize, this is the first time he’s ever held you, and you hope to whatever greater source there is in the world, that it isn’t the last. 

“i’m sorry.” he pats your back with a gentle hand, and he feels your arms circle him lightly. “i do care for you.” 

you sit in his hold comfortably, listening to him as he periodically speaks. “i’m sorry i’m never home. the business has kept me really busy, and, to be honest, i didn’t know what to do.” 

you understand more now than ever that, it’s hard for him to speak his emotions. and while it might be awkward, it meant so much more that he was trying. his long sleeve shirt is soft against your palms, you flatten them more, pressing closer to him a bit - hoping it doesn’t make him uncomfortable, but rather it urges him to speak more on his feelings. 

“i assumed you’d be unhappy, and honestly, i wouldn’t blame you. i wanted to try to make things work.. i just didn’t know how.” 

that was, perhaps, the most words you’d heard from him - and you were beyond happy with his honesty. 

“i mean, it wasn’t like our marriage was ideal but i too want to make it work. i believe we can.”

when your bodies separate, and seungmin fumbles with his fingers that peak just past the sleeves of his shirt, you’re both swallowed in a kind of silence, one you wouldn’t label, but one that was loud. “what,, what do you want me to do? to be better?” he asks quietly. 

“just talk to me.”

“talk to you? what do you want to talk about?”

“anything.”

for the next few hours, as the moon hung high in the night sky, you sat in your bed and talked. like people did. like married people did. 

“when i was 14 i got a bone spur in my ankle from working at an amusement park.” you chuckled, seungmin laughs beside you as well. “how’d you do that?” 

“i jumped down onto a platform and i didn’t bend my knees when i landed so,” you mesh your fingers together, “crunch. y’know?” his expression changes to a grimace of sorts, “i broke my elbow playing baseball as a kid.” 

“you played baseball?” 

“i did.”

𝓳𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷.↴

“before you are five people, you must choose a significant other to marry.” were the words spoken to jeongin - words he was expecting to hear, dreaded ones - evil even in prospect. he was raised for this moment, this was one of many he must complete in his family’s line of work. his choices were limited, but this one seemed impossible. his steps were counted, he rolls through his foot, keeps a sharp gaze so his intentions aren’t questioned, not in front of his father, and he looks between the wide-eyed looks that stare at him with hope. not hope of being chosen, no quite the opposite. 

there was only really one option -

you. 

you were beautiful, maybe not even that but something he couldn’t label or put a finger on. it stole breath from his lungs as he raised his hand without a second thought, pointing to your slightly hunched composure. 

“you.” 

it was the first words he ever spoke to you - and you wanted nothing more in that moment for them to be the last. but you knew hope cost very little in your new life. you were unsure of the price over your head for marriage to the son of the leader of the biggest crime ring in the area, but you hoped it hurt his pockets if anything. you were to be married to jeongin now, and that was your life’s purpose. you would part from your family, and move into a house suitable for newly weds, you’d forget everything you loved, everyone you loved, if it meant he was happy. 

you were wedded in a small ceremony, only surrounded by your parents and other members of the crime syndicate. your father handed you off your arm to the man that was soon to be your husband, and you took his hands with a grip too easy to slip. he grasps your hands, soon loosening his hold upon feeling your reluctance in your hands. but it isn’t reluctance in just your physical touch with him - but it’s the reluctance in your eyes. the way light doesn’t shine in them or sparkle, and you speak your vows with such shame it kills him. 

so he vowed to stay away. if it made you happy. 

but you weren’t happy. not really. 

was he? he didn’t know. 

but even from the start, he felt your sadness when you spoke to him, the light still hadn’t returned to your pretty face, well. there was one thing that made the sparkle gleam in your expression, 

painting. 

fuck you looked beautiful when you painted. lost in the color - the washes, forgetting your hands were smeared and wet and that your cuticles were crackling with paints to no wits end but you continued, and you would persevere. you’d surround yourself with happiness and feeling only translated and spoken through the mouthpiece of a canvas, and he could sit and watch you forever, just admiring the way you lost yourself in something for a moment that wasn’t your marriage. 

“what would make you happier?” he’d asked one day. 

you raised your gaze up from the marble of the extending bar of the kitchen counter, your cheek between your teeth. it was a question you weren’t ready for, one that you thought he’d never ask. “i’d like to paint more.” you answered, almost smiling a bit through the dark lines beneath your eyes. 

in truth, you could see the good in jeongin. the reluctance to follow in his father’s footsteps, the boyish, happy energy he so little exuded that you only wished to see more of. yes. in truth, jeongin was beautiful. yet he chose to show it so little. you wonder if it was fear, trauma even - but he seemed so far away, so distant. 

“okay.” it was simple. and a week later, he showed you to one of the spare bedrooms in your home - canvas’ covered the walls and a desk and stool stood in the middle of the room, an array of different paints grouped in boxes and a great big container of brushes sat on it’s surface. you could’ve cried at the sight, but instead thanked him, a number of times, and began on your next piece. 

and after that, he was gone again. all hidden behind stern expressions, his suits and ties and whispers of jobs and missions. you’d lost him again, and damn it all you were tired.

you’d been defeated since you said yes to him, no you’d been tired since you’d found out you were to be married to a stranger. and now, when you felt like things were going somewhere, he was just,, gone. you were sick, sick of feeling this way. feeling like your life had no other meaning than to be strangers, sick of him not talking or trying, just sick. 

so you pushed a blade into your first canvas. you cut through the paint, the flesh of it, cut through the hours, the focus, the mess ups and successes, and you kept going. you dragged the blade through the wooden circumference and threw it to the ground with your hair flying behind you. 

jeongin came in a moment later to hear the commotion - finding a few of your paintings destroyed, tears running down your cheeks, and your form huddled in the corner of the room with your knees pulled to your chest. you were hysterical - like your filter had diminished and your true thoughts were the only thing capable of leaving your lips. 

“i-i-! i-i just wished you cared-!” you yelled. 

he grabs your face, holding steady in both of his hands. 

and suddenly, the only thing you see is him. 

and he was there. there. with his brows pressed together, and his thumbs swiping over your cheeks soft. he was there. 

“i’m here- i’m here.” his voice steadies your heart, his presence centers your attention on him and him alone - and despite the pure rage you felt at him - he was the only person you had. and the only one you wanted. 

your breathing slows, as do your tears, and you lower your hands, letting them rest on his forearms. “you’re,, here.” you repeat as if he’d disappear. 

he nods, his thumbs smoothing over your cheeks. “that’s right. i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere, i promise.” he assures. 

he was numbly grounding - he pulled you out of your own head so quick you saw stars and felt whiplash. and now, in steadiness, you grasp his hands from your face and hold onto him tight. “b-but,, why aren’t you ever really here? why don’t you care-” you hiccup.

“because i don’t know how to be.” 

you look at him with an expression only capable of melting, and your face contorts sadly again and he tries. “j-just don’t leave. just try, please? i want this to work because it kills me.”

“i won’t leave. i won’t. and i do care. i really do, so much. i’m sorry.”

though you feel like strangers, and he still feels so far away, you stretch your arms outward and you grasp onto his waist - and in a way you weren’t expecting, he wraps his arms around you, and holds you like he’s known you for years. and maybe in some kind of way, he did. 

“i believe you but just.. can we talk? can we do fun things married people do? like go on dates and watch stupid movies?” your tears fall gently now, rounding the flesh of your cheeks in a way he thinks is so pretty, so unlike how he understood you before. but now, when you look at him, you feel like you see a man you know. one you can trust.

he nods, vigorously as he pulls you from his arms. “i want that, and i’ll try okay? i promise,” his hands grasp your own, “i promise i care. i really do.” 

you nod, now too consumed with teas to speak again, and instead you push your face into your hands and sit back on your legs between his own. he takes a moment to look around the room, finding art even in your destruction. 

“your paintings,” he frowns, standing. he picks one up, stretching his arms out to look at it. his expression is sad, genuinely sad, and it kind of surprises you to see that. 

“it’s okay.”

he looks to his right to see you, swallowed in a tainted sweatshirt, and he smiles, setting it against the wall in front of him. 

“let’s make new ones.” 

i have no concept on whether these are good or not, i've been working a lot and i'm actually sick rn but persevered through seungmin's and jeongin's. lmk what y'all think.

[onigiriico]

Kazui audio drama (t2) - English TL

[ links: Spotify / Youtube ]

I cannot believe my hs philosophy class came in handy as I was translating this. Thanks Milgram your references never fail to astound me

Aaanyways you know how it is,, feel free to send an ask or hit me up on Twitter if you’ve got any questions or other feedback re: this translation etc 💪 (<- sincerely hoping that Twitter DMs still work these days)

⬇️ translation under the cut ⬇️

(door opens)

E: I’ve kept you waiting, Kazui.

K: It’s been a while, Warden-kun.

E: Yeah… It has been.

K: Things have gotten pretty tough inside the prison, but… well, you’ve probably heard all about that from the others already, haven’t you?

E: Yeah… I heard that you protected other prisoners from Kotoko. I owe you my thanks.

K: That much is only natural. However… she really is strong, isn’t she? I mean, I’ve experienced some fights myself, but [going up against] a woman like her was a first.

E: Hm… Is she strong enough that even you can’t stop her from doing harm?

K: Well, in cases like this, it’s generally the heavier person who ends up winning. After all, if she really does have proper killing intent, I can’t afford to let her injure anyone. It’s difficult, isn’t it.

E: Is that so…

K: I was afraid that it’d come to this from the very beginning. There’s a lot of young kids here, too. It’d be hard for anyone to keep a decent mentality in a situation like this.

E: …You’re pretty rational.

K: I wonder. Maybe it’s because I’m used to violence. Even so… I couldn’t make it for Shiina-chan. I feel responsible for [what happened to] her.

E: …

K: Well, rest assured, though. As long as I can move, I’ll be protecting [the others]. After all, it’s pretty much just me who can fight her on equal terms.

E: Mikoto, too.

K: Ah… yeah. Like back when he went out of control, right? I can’t quite read him, though… If both of them were to attack us, it’s possible that we’d suffer a total defeat. 

E: A total defeat…?

K: If that happens, this prison game would probably come to an end as well. All of that depends on your judgment, right, Warden-kun? Who will be forgiven by you and who won’t be…

E: What are you trying to say?

K: If at all possible, I would like you to choose a method that will not get any more people hurt. That’s what I’m saying.

E: So you’re telling me to forgive you?

K: (laughs) Oi, oi…! Don’t look at me like that.

E: I’m the Warden. If I forgive you, I forgive you. If I don’t, I don’t. There’s no other factors to it.

K: (sighs) Wouldn’t it be okay? I mean, this situation with prisoners being hurt wasn’t what you wanted either, was it?

E: …

K: Just pretend that you’re looking at our sins, and make your judgment with the protection of the prisoners in mind. After all, nobody can read your mind – so that much craftiness would be fine, don’t you think?

E: Hmph. That’s a very “you” kind of pretentious solution.

K: It’s the most natural conclusion, isn’t it? Do you think it’s a sin to lie in order to protect people?

E: That would be Kant.

K: Kant?

E: A philosopher who stated that lying is inherently a sin, no matter the circumstances.

K: Huh…

E: Apparently, even if your friend is being chased by a murderer and the murderer asks you about their whereabouts, you shouldn’t lie, according to Kant.

K: That’s ridiculous. If you can save someone by telling a lie, that’s what you should do.

E: However… You killed someone with your lies, didn’t you?

K: … Ah… You forgave me, didn’t you? Aren’t you being especially strict towards me?

E: Am I?

K: Mmh, it’s obvious. You said you would figure out my murder by watching the footage of my mind. Is this the result of that?

E: You were unfaithful, right? That’s stupid.

K: Hmm…

E: The reason I forgave you was because I was lacking details. I still don’t understand your true feelings or how things got to that point, either.

K: I see.

E: It was extremely hard to understand. Even with all of that poetry, though, your self-absorbed nature was more than obvious.

K: Ohh my… That’s quite the sweeping generalization, even though you forgave me.

E: It’s a personal dislike of mine. People who act based on their sexual urges like that, that is.

K: It’s personal?

E: Yeah. That’s right.

K: That’s strange. I did think that, despite being neutral as a Warden, you had some things you dislike, but…

E: …

K: Isn’t it unusual to openly reveal a personal dislike as a personal dislike?

E: You’re splitting hairs.

K: Seems like you really disliked my crime… I get it! Maybe it was because you’re so young, which is to say… …

E: Hah? Stop staring at me so openly. It’s disgusting.

K: …

E: …! (punches him)

(clattering)

E: (sighs) Now I feel better.

K: — Ow…! What are you doing all of a sudden…?!

E: It was an instinctive reaction. Don’t take it personally.

K: Would you stop just punching me in the face without hesitation? … (sighs) Anyways… that’s how it is, huh? That’s how it is…?

E: Hah?

K: I didn’t even consider this a possibility… Personal impressions sure can be scary.

E: If you say any more things than this that I don’t get, I’m hitting you again.

K: Geez, cut out the hysterics… Hmm, if it’s like this, that explains some things, though. I don’t have kids, but I’ve heard that this is what it’s like.

E: Hey. Stop blabbering on while looking like you know it all. It’s obnoxious.

K: Hahaha! But you know what? You’re wrong.

E: …? What are you talking about?

K: You’re wrong.

E: …

K: You said I was unfaithful – in other words, that I cheated or committed adultery of some kind.

E: Yeah. That’s what I deduced from your footage.

K: It’s not true. It didn’t even turn into infidelity. It didn’t turn into anything like that. For me… In my case, you see.

E: … You’re married… You’re a married man, aren’t you?

K: Hm? Yeah, that’s right. Oh, right, I never told you, did I?

E: You’ve taken off your ring.

K: … Right… I did take it off, huh. Right…

E: Yeah.

K: Mh. … I do carry it with me, though. See? – I was forgiven. My feelings were validated. So… maybe that means that I don’t have to do this anymore? Thanks to that, I was feeling better when the second trial started… I really do feel sorry about that. Towards my wife.

E: If that ring is a symbol of punishment to you… There really is nothing that could possibly be more cruel towards her.

K: Mmh.

E: Marriage is something that both partners want equally, isn’t it? It’s something you can’t do if only one person wants it. Deciding to treat it as a punishment all on your own… You’re making a mockery out of it.

K: I really am. Ah… She must have thought so as well. My wife, that is.

E: I’ve said this before: You’re a liar. Those lies have killed a person.

K: (sighs)

E: I forgave you. While I wasn’t sure yet, I thought that it didn’t seem like you killed her directly, and with all sorts of things taken into consideration, I judged that your murder was not a sin. However. That doesn’t mean that I’m praising your nature as a liar.

K: Yeah. I believe you’re right about that.

E: In short – between love and hate, [I would say] I hate you. Remember that.

K: … I get that.

E: Huh?

K: I despise myself for lying, too. Being a liar, you see – it’s painful.

E: Heh. Then just–

K: So I’ve tried to change! I’ve tried to change. I have tried to stop lying to myself and others!

E: …

K: I’ve confided in others. I’ve tried to be myself! I’ve tried to just be the way I was born!

E: …Hey, Kazui–

K: It’s not my lies that killed her. She’s dead because I stopped lying to her! If I had just kept lying- She wouldn’t have died…!

E: Kazui…

K: I can’t live unless I lie. That’s how I was born… I’m pathetic, aren’t I?

E: (sighs) I really can’t seem to understand you.

K: …

E: Just when I thought you weren’t letting out any of your true feelings and cleverly hiding your actual emotions… Now here you are, drowning in self-loathing like this.

K: (weak laugh) An old man in unstable condition… that’s not something you’d wanna see, is it. Sorry about that.

E: You know, about Kant…

K: Ah, the one who said you shouldn’t lie even if your friend might get killed.

E: From his point of view, if your friend dies because you didn’t lie, there’s no causal connection between the two… or so I’ve heard.

K: I don’t think so, though…

E: Even if you don’t lie, your friend might survive. And if you do lie, your friend might end up dying on a different occasion. That’s the reason why you’re supposed to always tell the truth.

K: …That’s convincing.

E: It’s not really.

K: Yeah, it’s not.

E: It may not be, but… I thought that for someone who has failed in their attempts to be honest, it might be a [saving] grace so they won’t end up doubting honesty in its entirety.

K: …

E: I still don’t know what happened, but… isn’t it okay to be proud that you made an effort to be honest in the first place?

K: … You’re so kind all of a sudden.

E: I just said what I was thinking. And besides – I forgave you. I made it as if your sin wasn’t a sin at all. And yet, you don’t seem the slightest bit relieved.

K: I know right.

E: Everyone else seems more or less liberated by the fact that they were forgiven.

K: That’s right.

E: Just from that… I understand that having your feelings approved of by someone else can have a major impact on the development of one’s personality.

K: …

E: However… You have not forgiven yourself. That’s why you can’t change.

K: …

E: Alternatively, even if your lying self was forgiven… it would still do nothing to help you.

K: …Aah, you really are impressive. You think so much.

E: I am watching over ten troublesome prisoners, after all. Even if I don’t want to, I’m being relied on.

K: I haven’t forgiven myself… even if my lies are forgiven, it won’t resonate [with me]. It might just be both of these. All the lies I’ve told are tying me down. Ever since I was little, I’ve never truly opened myself to anyone. But in the end, people can’t be saved if they don’t [open up]. And by now, it’s gotten to a point where I can’t do it by myself anymore…

(machinery whirrs, bell rings)

K: I did think Milgram would be able to force its way past that, though.

E: Is that an attempt at provocation?

K: You didn’t manage to reach my sin.

E: …

K: Even though I want you to… Milgram isn’t so great after all, is it?

E: …Heh. Don’t push yourself too hard, after all that whining from earlier.

K: Ha. [This is] the wish of a liar who’s reached a dead end – come and figure out my lies, Milgram. And, Es… please, free me from these lies.

E: Yeah. Leave it to me. – Prisoner no.7, Kazui. Sing your sins.

[city-of-ladies]

Princess and Abbess, Matilda of Quedlinburg (955–999) expertly wielded religious and political power and served as a regent.

The Princess Abbess 

Matilda was the only daughter of Holy Roman Emperor Otto I and Adelaide of Italy. In 966, at the age of 11, she was appointed abbess of Quedlinburg Abbey, founded by her grandmother, also named Matilda.

She was consecrated in an exceptionally grand ceremony attended by the entire imperial family and all the bishops of Germany. Since only her metropolitan bishop’s presence was required, this elaborate display suggests that her father intended to associate her with his authority. Matilda received the title suae metropolitanae sibi haereditariae, which hinted at episcopal powers.

In 968, Widukind of Corvey dedicated his Res gestae saxonicae (Deeds of the Saxons) to Matilda, aiming to teach her the art of governance through the examples of her ancestors.

A skillful politician

While her father and brother were in Italy until 972, Matilda exercised some form of government. Widukind referred to her as the “mistress of all Europe,” noting that she “shone with imperial majesty” and was “exalted by the extraordinary achievements of her father.”

Her influence only grew during her brother Otto II’s reign. From the start of his rule, Matilda’s name appeared on his statutes, and she managed his holdings. Otto II often visited Quedlinburg, publicly affirming her political role. In 980, she accompanied him to Rome.

Collective queenship

After Otto II’s death in 983, Matilda collaborated with her mother, Adelaide, and sister-in-law, Theophanu, to secure the throne for the three-year-old Otto III. The Annals of Quedlinburg referred to these three women as dominae imperiales, hinting at a shared regency and queenship.

However, their unity was short-lived. Matilda returned to Quedlinburg while Theophanu acted as regent. In 984, Matilda convened a synod at the abbey and later commissioned a church in memory of her brother.

A last regency

After Theophanu’s death, Matilda appeared regularly in her nephew’s decrees between 991 and 997. When Otto III traveled to Italy between 997 and 999, he entrusted the regency to Matilda. The Annals of Quedlinburg referred to her as a “vice-empress.”

She was also given the title matricia, likely a feminine adaptation of patricius, denoting an imperial representative in the emperor’s absence. Contemporary accounts praised her "astounding wisdom", her efforts to maintain peace, and her skill in strengthening the empire’s foundations.

Matilda passed away in 999.

Enjoyed this post? You can support me on Ko-fi!

Further reading: 

Audebrand Justine, “Empresses and abbesses: Ottonian dominae imperiales (tenth and eleventh centuries)”

McNamara Jo Ann, Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns Through Two Millennia

[genericpuff]

Why is the art so unappealing in lore Olympus now Persephone looks like a highlighter and maybe it’s just me but the proportions like the fingers in arms are soul over the place I don’t think they used to be this bad. Am I just looking at it with nostalgia or am I crazy ?

Honestly, nostalgia does play a huge part in it, even to this day there are times I look back on old S1 panels and go-

Actually here's a great example that literally just happened yesterday in the ULO Discord that nearly had me on the floor LOL This is from Episode 70:

Like I didn't even believe that that was real until I was told what episode it was from and I was just. Astounded and flabbergasted. The over-shading of the blanket that just makes it look like a really bad edit. Insane.

And yeah, there are a lot of old panels that hit different now that the rose-colored glasses have been removed, crushed, and thrown into the trash compactor.

I think that's why it makes it all the more amusing when people come into my inbox and ask me "wait, why did you like LO to begin with?? It's always been ugly as shit, I think you're just romanticizing it" because like... there's something to be said about art and subjectivity, even if something is ugly to one person doesn't mean it isn't beautiful to someone else. It's why I try not to be too mean towards the fans of this comic for still enjoying it, because while I definitely have strong opinions about how "LO has gotten worse" and what kind of following Rachel has cultivated (cough cough), there are also just as equally valid arguments that LO has never begin good to begin with that I can't necessarily disagree with now that I'm looking back on it with a more critical eye.

That said, there's tons of media that I enjoy that is objectively awful. Like y'all, you don't need to take my opinions about a dumb pink x blue fantasy romance comic seriously, I like Starfox Adventures-

Like yeah it's a badly made rushed piece of shit that was developed right on the ass end of Rare's glory days and was really an original IP (Dinosaur Planet) that got Frankenstein'd into a Starfox game so it could "sell better" for Nintendo, but I don't give a fuck, I love Starfox Adventures and some day I wanna be in the top 10 speedrunner leaderboards for it, which I know doesn't mean much because no one is speedrunning Starfox, but I do and no one can take that away from me dammit-

Anyways. Lore Olympus has, in many regards, always had "bad art". But "bad art" can and should still be enjoyed by those who find joy in it.

And in LO's case, the world it existed in when it launched was a lot smaller than it is now - more specifically, the world of Webtoons. We can look back and see how 'bad' LO looks and reads now because there are genuinely way better comics surrounding it. It was unique and refreshing and experimental back then... now it's just "that stupid blue and pink comic for horny teenagers".

In most cases I would consider that "cringing in hindsight" feeling a good thing because normally it means something has grown and that it seeming "bad" in hindsight would mean that it's outgrown itself and moved onto bigger things. But LO has the more unique problem of "its current stuff is shit and it's making us want the old stuff more, even if the old stuff wasn't good either". In that regard, LO is closer to being like Harry Potter. Remember when The Cursed Child came out at the height of Rowling being exposed for being a TERF and even people who liked Harry Potter didn't like The Cursed Child because it was just objectively worse overall (with or without Rowling's bullshit attached)? It made a lot of people go back and re-read / rewatch Harry Potter with a more objective lens and go "wait a minute guys, I think we only adored these books so much because we were 12 when we read them". Often times it's the good memories we have surrounding certain things that make us have the opinion about them that we do.

Of course, LO is definitely not as politically weaponized as Harry Potter is, so that's where that comparison ends. But my point is that LO is definitely in a situation where it's been riding off the same privileges it had back in 2018 - having an 'experimental' art style while also utilizing tropes and characters that were VERY popular at the time (remember that 2017-18 was when Tumblr was at its height of H x P "Hades was a chill accountant guy who wore socks and sandals and didn't cheat on his wife like Zeus did" fantasizing) - and thinks that those same tricks and tropes will still work today.

Because of this, the art in LO really, really hasn't aged well, even the stuff that we look back on fondly. But I think it's the panels that we specifically think of when remembering "old LO" - the ones that stuck in our memories the most - that are the ones that make us miss or just not care about the panels that don't look good (the panels that make people question why we ever liked it to begin with).

We liked it because of how it made us feel to look at panels like these-

Those genuinely wonderful panels that we think back on the most don't exist separately from the bad panels, they exist in spite of them. Even if we can look back on panels like these and pick out problems in the lineart or the proportions or the color travelling outside of the lines, that can't and shouldn't change how those panels made us feel at some point or another. And that's why when people ask me "why were you even into LO in the first place" I don't have any one answer, because I can't fully explain how something made me feel to justify why it's good to someone who can see from the outside - without rose-colored glasses - that it evidently isn't. It's very much a "you had to be there" type of thing.

Unfortunately, nowadays even the 'best' LO panels in S3 still don't come close to what the S1 panels accomplished - because for many of us, the rose-colored glasses are gone, we can't appreciate the good among the bad because we know now how bad it truly is and so the good just feels like wasted attempts at trying to recreate something it can no longer be. It "came back wrong" so to speak.

LO came back just regular. But our journey to resurrecting it changed us to such a degree that even its closest intimacies are now foreign to us. Sorry dude.

This is still probably one of my favorite panels out of the entirety of S3 for being as close to "old LO" as I've seen since S2, and even it feels like a mistake, an accident, how could a panel like this exist in S3 when so much of it is a dumpster fire? It's like a flower growing in the ruins of an apocalyptic wasteland.

But wasn't that always the case? Isn't that 'always' what LO has been, since the very beginning? A poorly cobbled together mess of writing and panels that, every now and then, manages to leave an impression that makes you feel something? Did we ever truly know LO? Or have we just been relying entirely on an idea of it that we've built up in our heads that when it does do exactly what it's evidently always done (even if not made apparent until looking back on it in hindsight) we think it "came back wrong"?

[soft-pine]

i believe it's what you would call a tragedy 

hello tomorrow is november 19th. and i need to reserve that day for fix-its and talking about how dean is extremely, aggressively, flamboyantly alive.

but i do want to talk about the supernatural finale. content notes for discussion of Dean's death and mentions of abuse and sexual assault.

i've rewatched 15.20 as much as some of my very favorite episodes of supernatural. it compels me. it enrages me. it astounds me. every fiber of my being screams that it cannot possibly be that stupid, that hollow, that cruel. and every time it is - and more.

i watch it in part because i think somewhere i truly, truly believe that this time it will be different. that this time i will have loved dean enough to save him. that if do good enough analysis that shows, really shows, how sad, how wrong it is, that somehow it will re-form itself. maybe not into something good. but i can imagine something... different.

instead, every time i watch i'm hit with more and more little moments, little details, little callbacks or parallels or revelations that crack me open so i always have this hole inside of me where 15.20 sits and rots the flesh around it.

but here i go wanting to unpack it again. maybe cause of the sisyphean reasons above. maybe for the same reasons i want to unpack every aspect of dean's relationship with john. maybe because they are actually inextricably linked. dean and john and 1.20 and 15.20.

i started watching supernatural on may 23rd, 2021, knowing full well dean was going to die.

so i looked at his beautiful doe eyes in s1 and thought "they are going to kill you" and ached. i looked at his private, chaotic grief in s2 and thought "they are going to kill you." i looked at his self-sacrifice and self-worth in s3 and thought "they are going to kill you." i watched him stumble on resurrected bambi legs in s4 and thought "they are going to kill you." i watched his protective defiance in s5 and thought "they are going to kill you." i saw his patience, hope, and worry in s6 and thought "they are going to kill you." i saw his exhausted, brittle husk in s7 and thought "they are going to kill you." i marveled at the mix of resignation and rawness in s8 and thought "they are going to kill you." i choked on the self-loathing in s9, thinking "they are going to kill you." in s10 i heard dean say both that he didn't want to die and that he knew he'd have to and thought "they are going to kill you." s11, beloved s11, that opens with some of the most down-to-earth moments and ends in some of the most cosmic. dean saves the world by talking and listening and explaining how to forgive and i thought "they are going to kill you." in s12, i watched him struggle as his mother unwittingly repeated the patterns of his father and struggle to bite his tongue and i thought "they are going to kill you." i watched the s13 speedrun of all his worst fears and thought "they are going to kill you." s14 again mixes the visceral and the cosmic. dean strips michael's clothes off his back. he welds himself a magic coffin. he talks about reading mommy blogs and i listened and thought "they are going to kill you." in s15 i watched him proved right about everything he'd ever said about god and wanting to be free. i watched him win. and i thought "they are going to kill you. now."

i knew it was coming all along and i thought i would be ready for it. instead, i sobbed in the car on the way to work for two weeks. i sometimes still do. you will always end up here.

i think in every supernatural circle that's worth even a moment of my time, 15.20 is considered a tragedy (or not considered at all). and so much has been said already. so i'm not going to rehash that killing a character who constantly said he wanted out of the life of violence he was forced into is a tragedy. i'm not going to belabor the twisted knife of killing someone who was so frequently suicidal. i'm not going to go on about how the last time cas was dead dean didn't feel like there was anything to live for and was fine suicidally throwing his life away on a routine hunt and the chance he could save a couple trapped ghosts. i'm not going to wax about the job application. i'm not going to unravel - at length - that they had to kill dean because he loved cas and they couldn't let him live long enough to say it. and though i'm not a chuck won truther, i would never pretend i don't see the math.

but i think one of the issues with having watched the finale so many times, is i notice all the little things. there is so much extra-episodic context that makes 15.20 a godawful, crushing, devastating mess. but i'm always torn over which kills me more because some of the intra-episode parallels and details feel so specifically, acutely cruel.

for example, why would they have dean say, "but if we don't keep living, then all that sacrifice is gonna be for nothing" and then literally kill him 10 minutes later?

why is there a scene emphasizing the mercy of a quick death compared to the pain and anguish of long-drawn out suffering...

DEAN: You see, this... This is quick. It's clean. You know, no muss, no fuss. You blink, and you're dead. SAM: But a blade this small... I'm gonna have to keep sawing and sawing to get your head off, and you'll feel it. Every muscle, tendon, every inch. It could take hours.

if we about about to watch dean bleed out for 8 minutes?

why did sam pie him??

why did they have dean say "you never took any of dad's crap" and then four minutes later send him to "heaven" just down the street from john?

speaking of, let's look at dean's face upon hearing his dad's "got a place over yonder" versus after "well, cas helped."

and that brings us to the other themes the finale. because while the intra-episode moments feel cruel and pointed, it is the way it ties off the rest of the show that makes it a tragedy.

i've said before that it's eerie how well dean's speech in faith would fit into the finale. well, let's look at some other lines that show dean never thought he deserved anything different than dying on some random hunt.

1.12 faith

Look, Sammy, what can I say, man, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw.

2.04 children shouldn't play with dead things

I never should've come back, Sam. It wasn't natural. And now look what's come of it. I was dead. And I should have stayed dead. 

2.22 all hell breaks loose part 2

I'm not even supposed to be here. At least this way, something good could come out of it, you know? I--I--It's like my life could mean something.

5.17 99 problems

Look, I have no illusions, okay? I know the life that I live, I know how that’s gonna end for me. Whatever. I’m okay with that. 

6.06 you can't handle the truth

It's the gig. You're covered in blood until you're covered in your own blood. Half the time, you're about to die. Like right now.

8.14 trial and error

I'm a grunt, Sam. You're not. You've always been the brains of this operation. And you told me yourself that you see a way out. You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know – it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me – that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life – become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and – and – and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra – that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get.

10.07 girls girls girls

Now, the truth is... I'm past saving. I know how my story ends. It's at the edge of a blade or the barrel of a gun.

10.16 paint it black

You know, the life I live, the work I do…I pretty much just figured that that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later, I’d go out the same way that I live – pedal to the metal, and that would be it.

15.20 carry on

You knew it was always gonna end like this for me. It was supposed to end like this, right?

1.12 faith, once again

that is his attitude for so long. but notice the gap between season 10 and season 15? i'm not at all saying he full abandoned the attitude that all he was good for was dying on a hunt. but in 10.17 he also says, "there’s things, there’s…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time." in 13.23 he's talking about retiring if he knows the world is safe. in 14.13, he says "I have a family." he says, "I'm good with who I am."

in 15.18, when he thinks he's going to lose a huge part of that family, he says "She's gonna get through that door. And she's gonna kill you, and then she's gonna kill me." and although cas did eventually end up in heaven as well, they very much did kill cas and then kill dean.

and if in the finale after dean dies, the way they showed sam grieving dean was blearily shutting off his alarm at 8 and sleepily getting out of a messy bed and sadly petting miracle, then why.... why did the episode open with dean doing the exact same things if not to show he was grieving.

it reminds me of another thing that happens in canton ohio in november: elliott ness telling dean, "Boo-hoo. Cry me a river, ya nancy. Tell me, are all hunters as soft as you in the future?" and then he continues...

this is maybe one of the smaller little connective gut punches. but there are so many of those.

like why was dean forced to kill lee by impaling him against a wooden pilar if 13 episodes later...

like why is the episode called "carry on"?

like remembering 15.10 when dean says, "Yeah, it’s just how I wanted to die – with a freakin audience."

like when you look at the supernatural wiki transcripts page, it looks like this:

like the parallels between the hunt in faith that dean almost dies on and the hunt in 15.20

like despite all the times he said he knew this was coming, the moment when dean turns away from sam and says, "Well, I did not think this would be the day."

like even if he was trying to be a little silly, we know how he described the funeral he imagined for himself in 11.23. and even in 15.20 there were so many people still alive who loved him and yet only one person is there to grieve him...

like this exchange from 1.20

JOHN: Once a vampire has your scent, it's for life. DEAN: Well. what the hell do we do now? JOHN: You gotta find the nearest funeral home, that's what.

of course john means for dean to go get dead man's blood so he can watch dean play bait while he waits with sam and tipped crossbow bolts. of course he doesn't mean a vampire will get your scent and you're dead so go pick out a coffin. he doesn't mean that; it's only that getting the colt to avenge mary is more important to him than the risk that a vampire might pick up their scent and, oh let's say, one day track them down and kill them.

like the theme of vampires being specifically sexually predatory toward dean (kate kissing him in 1.20, boris assaulting him in 6.05, starr playing with him in 10.08 - not to mention the framing of gordon in 3.07 and desmond in 8.09 drinking his blood). the way jenny stalks over him as he's pinned to the ground in 15.20 doesn't break from this pattern at all. and i hate the layering of violences. i hate that this is who kills him.

like some of dean's first words in the pilot being "It's okay, Sammy." and some of his last being, "tell me that it's okay." over. and over.

like maybe i could handle it being a tragedy if it felt like it was meant to land that way (i still wouldn't be able to, for the record)

like that he wanted rice crispy treats for his next birthday.

like that chuck, even human powerless chuck, outlived him.

like that john lived longer than him too.

and so of course we end up here. with john. i do think we must concede that dean dying on one of john's unfinished hunts - in fact on two unfinished hunts - could not be more cruel. when you can defeat god and escape and his plan for your life but not your own father...

and the thing about the first unfinished hunt with the masked vampires is that john was working it in 1986. the vampires, "target[ed] families that are living outside of town, that are isolated, kids usually between the ages of 5 and 10." the thing is in 1986, dean was 7. was that the first time john used dean as bait, i don't know. but it could have easily been is the thing.

1.20 sets up 15.20 in so many ways. the episode where vampires are introduced. where jenny (though unnamed) is introduced. the episode where you see exactly what dean meant about sam "never taking any of dad's crap." meanwhile in 1.21, when dean starts to push back against john, john says he's "not too crazy about this new tone."

in 1.20 john sets dean up to be bait while he and sam wait in the shadows. in 15.20 dean needles and distracts jenny while he waits for sam to pick up his machete. it recalls 1.20: "you know what to do." it recalls 1.02: "you thinkin what i'm thinkin." like the most common footpath worn into old stone stairs.

the last main theme i want to talk about is parentification. i know i'm not the only one who felt betrayed by sam sorrowful acceptance of dean's death. there's grief, yes. but there's something so profoundly unsettling about basically back-to-back watching dean trying to resign himself to his impending death. and in 15.18, cas' response to that being that he won't let dean die. meanwhile in 15.20, sam's response is to -

but then it clicked for me.

it's because on some deep level, beginning to some extent when sam was less than a year old, dean became in a lot of ways, his parent. and parents are supposed to die before you, right? so sam can be sad. he can grieve. but it's not a grief at the injustice of it - not grief at dean's unfinished life or his early death. sam always knew he would outlive dean.

because if this is not setting in stone the parentification that happened to dean, then why is sam telling dean "you can go now" paralleled only a few minutes later with dean jr later saying the same to sam?

and if not to swing the parentification as a cudgel against my knees, why is every speech dean makes before he thinks he's going to die focused on making sure sam's going to be okay. right up until the very end.

3.16 no rest for the wicked

Keep fighting. Take care of my wheels. Sam, remember what Dad taught you... okay? And remember what I taught you.

9.23 do you believe in miracles

Sam. Hold up. Hold up. I got to say something to you. I'm proud of us.

11.23 alpha and omega

Listen, if—when—when this works, Sam—he's gonna be a mess. So look out for him, okay? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid.

14.12 prophet and loss

I know I wasn’t always the greatest brother to you.... I know things got dicey… you know, with dad… the way he was. And I just… I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should’ve. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, it probably looked like I took his side quite a bit....

15.20 carry on

I'm fading pretty... I'm fading pretty quick, so... there's a few things that I need you to hear. Come here. Let me look at you. Yeah, there he is. I'm so proud of you, Sam. You know that? I've always looked up to you. Man, when we were kids, you were so damn smar... smart. You never... You never took any of dad's crap. I never knew how you did that. And you're stronger than me. You always have been...

1.12 faith, once again and again and always

DEAN: Hey, you better take care of that car. Or, I swear, I'll haunt your ass. SAM: I don't think that's funny. DEAN: Oh, come on, it's a little funny.

i think about 27 year old dean lying in that hospital bed. and i think about 41 year old dean hanging on that beam in the barn and just thinking you know, he did it. looking at sam and being proud. cause dean knows enough about horror movies to see sam as the final girl. sam made it. dean was always gonna make sure he did. he understands it enough to know he's dying so sam doesn't have to. sam can go on and live a life and have his survivor credits montage and dean's like, yeah, this is how it's supposed to go.

dean knew it was never gonna be him.

AND THAT'S WHOLE GODDAMN REASON IT FUCKING SHOULD HAVE BEEN.

he should have gotten to outlive the god who tried to write his story and he should have gotten to outgrow always putting his life behind his brother's (and everyone else's) and he should have survived the deadly path his father forced him onto and he should have gotten to live a long and beautiful gay life in the world he loved so deeply.

and you should be able to watch goddamn supernatural without seeing him be declared dead in 1.06 and feeling the pit in your stomach and without watching 3.11 and going well that's just not funny and without watching fucking 5.07 and going well now that's the oldest he ever got.

anyway, this whole episode fucking destroys me. here's dean as the ten of swords.

and here's to us saving him. lady, he's tolstoy

[maryaandmorevna]

A Song of Swan and Dragons

I cannot believe I'm writing another fanfic (PoW will be finished I promise!) but here we are.

This fic is the result of @lacebvnny and me RP-ing, and everything about OC (Arianne) and the plot can be credited to both of us. She has a few snippets written on her blog so check it out.

The story is safe for now, but it will get progressively darker. The warnings will be updated.

A Song of Swan and Dragons ch.1

Following Princess Rhaenyra as one of her ladies-in-waiting, Arianne Swann was woefully unprepared upon arriving at the Red Keep.

No scroll or tome could have captured the astounding amount of gossip that thrived within the Targaryen court. For a mere lady like her, it felt as though she had made a catastrophic blunder before even having the chance to place her pieces on the board.

Yet, if she allowed her heart to guide her—especially toward the man it had chosen—Arianne believed she could endure anything and emerge triumphant. Prince Jacaerys Velaryon would one day be king, and though her father often said that hope was a fool’s errand, she dared to dream she might one day be his queen.

If only his boor of an uncle would stop tormenting her.

I. Mēre (ao3)

II. Vōs, III. Hare, IV.Izula

(personally, I find ao3 better to read, but the chapter 1 is here under the cut as well)

129 AC, King's Landing.

A moon before the matter of Driftmark’s inheritance was to be settled, Crown Princess Rhaenyra returned to the Red Keep— Accompanied by her consort and children, she sought to solidify her position as heir apparent and rally support for her son, Lucerys Velaryon, as the next Lord of the Tides. Her ladies-in-waiting traveled with her; the youngest among them was Arianne Swann, the only daughter of Lord Swann.

Too young to serve as a true confidante, the princess had the girl be a companion of her stepdaughters and sons, as Arianne was of valyrian descent through her infamous grandmother, the exiled princess Saera. 

I. Mere

(Arianne)

“There you are, my lady.” Miriam fussed as soon as her lady appeared in the doorway. Arianne was still clad in her woolen frock and dark overcoat she arrived in, her thick, long hair in disarray.  The ardous day allowed her maple-hued ringlets to free themselves from the confines of the braids.

“There is but little time to dress you for the feast!” The older woman’s eyebrows knitted together and she pointed towards the several different fabrics that lay draped over the bed. Most of them in Arianne’s house colors – black and white, representing the dual swans.

“I had to help Lady Celtigar settle the young princes,” Arianne sighed, unbuckling her overcoat. Her chamber was arranged simply enough, but thankfully, the bed appeared large and comfortable. Princess Rhaenyra left Dragonstone in quite a rush, and so did all of her ladies and staff.

Arianne packed most of her dresses, a few thin books she was allowed to snatch from the library, and her prized possession—a cyvasse set with lapis lazuli squares, Aunt Johanna’s gift for her ninth name day.

“Mayhaps the black one with the feathers?” Her maid crossed her arms, scrutinizing the dress with mild interest. It was ornate, but more importantly, proper and sensible – which was the most adequate thing for a lady to wear according to her mother and septa.

"I don’t wish to wear black though," Arianne pouted as Miriam held up the ornate gown. Although the black swan had been her house symbol – contrasting the white one, they were also quite reminiscent of her aunt, the black swan of Lys. Johanna hadn’t really been her aunt since she was her father’s cousin, and Arianne wasn’t really allowed to keep correspondence with her.

Father had almost broken her game set when he realized from whom it came – no daughter of his would fraternize with whores and other unsavory women. He’d kept that hatred ever since his own mother abandoned him to chase the indulgences and liberties Volantis offered.

'This is where my grandmother grew up…and yet the Red Keep shunned her,' Arianne thought while noticing the diaphanous, pale sleeve of the gown she loved.

Finely made white fabric was hard and costly to come by - as opposed to the ones they used for chemises and undergarments. As it stood, even she owned only one pristinely pressed white gown. It flared into a soft bluebell-like skirt from the girdled waist. The bottom of it was embroidered with pale marble-colored feathers. It had been another gift her aunt Johanna sent wrapped in silken cloth, a secret one, shared between herself, her maid, and her mother Lady Swann. If her father knew she was draping herself in gifts from the lyseni courtesan...oh she wouldn’t dare think of the grim consequences! 

“The white one,” She exclaimed secure in the knowledge that it was Princess Rhaenyra she answered to now – and the crown princess was much more lax with rigid rules the septas touted while forcing her to embroider.

Miriam was busy examining a dark blue gown Arianne had yet to wear.

"You’ve worn the white one already, my lady."

She did indeed, the memory of her dear home igniting a pleasant sort of warmth beneath her sternum. Arianne donned the gown for her last name day - mother had called her the loveliest pearl above the ocean and told her the gown was lovely and to keep quiet about who'd gifted it to her. 

"But that was in Stonehelm..." Arianne concluded. Shortly after her last name day, she arrived at Dragonstone for Princess Rhaenyra had accepted her father's request that Arianne join her ladies in waiting.

Though she had spent more time with her children these last few months. 

Her stay this time had been vastly different from the visit years ago when all of them were children. Her father, ever wary of his valyrian kin, was anxious to meet his cousin once removed and heir to the throne.

Thus, young Arianne accompanied him...and made friends with the oldest Velaryon boy. They were the same age, only moons apart and he was kind - and so courteous, like knights from her favorite tales, her own Ser Galladon - and did not tease her for wanting to read or for demolishing his side in cyvasse.

How magnificent the library at Dragonstone had been in her child’s eyes. Jace, as he’d insisted she referred to him, laughed and told her the one at the Red Keep was larger.

She even wanted to stay, as in Stonehelm her only companion was her older brother, who often teased her relentlessly – simply because he was older, and a boy.

 Jace even promised her that one day, when his mother was queen, he would ask her to let Arianne try to claim a dragon - the most coveted companion that was denied to her grandmother for her behavior. 

 "No one actually saw me in it here, so they won't gossip about the poor Swann girl reusing her festive dresses."

The truth was that she didn't want to wear black, and the pride in her house wouldn't let her go with blue. Her friend Princess Rhaena would be wearing the black and red colors of House Targaryen, and so would Princess Baela when she arrived with her grandmother from Driftmark. As would many more, she supposed - for this was Targaryen court. 

Arianne wanted to impress Jace.

Perhaps if other people noticed her, he would cease to be so respectful and finally kiss her. Rhaena had told her how Baela kissed someone moons ago and described it as ‘delightful’.

But Jace hadn't...yet...

It was as if he forgot they promised to marry when they were little. He had to have forgotten a silly, child's words - because if he hadn't then what was he waiting to kiss her for? She was seven and ten already! 

She would have to marry soon and it was Jacaerys Velaryon she had hoped would become her lord husband. 

Miriam sighed and gave up, gathering the ivory dress into her hands to secure it over Arianne.

The neckline was perhaps a bit daring, but it was far from anything that could be considered improper. The sleeves were long and flouncy and Arianne loved that she could hide her fidgety and sweaty hands there.

After Miriam had painstakingly made her hair appear less like a wild nest and more like a soft waves cascading down her back with two neatly folded braids around the crown of her head - a style loved by her Princess Rhaenyra - Arianne went to find the rest of the entourage who would be following the heir apparent. 

She ruminated over her decision to wear white when she saw the other ladies-in-waiting.

Her bright visage stuck out like a sore thumb. How was she supposed to pretend she could dance when people would notice the one person who wasn't favoring those dark, gloomy colors? If she made a fool out of herself -

Rhaena wore a beautiful, crimson gown - but she was Rhaena Targaryen, the Rouge Prince's daughter, she could wear anything she wanted.

Jace turned around and greeted her, his large brown eyes widening slightly at her figure. Oh, he was so princely, the thought flitted through her upon noticing his dark, lustrous curls. They appeared perfectly tousled, and so impossibly soft that she gained a completely preposterous ache – to run her fingers through them.

"You look lovely, Arianne." He smiled softly. 

 "Do remember to ask her for a dance this time around!" Thankfully Rhaena hit his arm so no one noticed the way Arianne's breath lodged inside her throat.

The young lady Swann felt her cheeks burn and suddenly she envisioned herself with very, very red skin. The sizzling pinpricks rolled down her cheeks and neck. She realized Jace was glancing at her décolleté and found herself wondering if it was too daring after all. 

She wasn't like Rhaenyra, or Rhaena, or Baela. Oh, they could do as they pleased, royalty all of them - but for a mere lady like her, reputation was more important than life. 

She was already nervous about being here, at the feast for the first time. Why would they hold a feast the same day the princess arrived? The Queen gave them no time to prepare properly!

Oh, and the Mother above knew Arianne needed preparation.

This wasn't Stonehelm or Dragonstone, this was...King's Landing, the Red Keep, and if she tripped and fell here like an idiot then -

Who would ever consider her a worthy wife for the heir to the Iron throne?

Not to mention, her grandmother was banished from this very same court. 

She barely remembered some of the corridors, the last and only time she stepped her foot into the capital was when she was but a girl. 

Arianne recalled her mother being angry at her for losing the handkerchief she got as a present, but Arianne gave it to a crying boy whose face had been bandaged. It was more polite than offering one of her own, as her needlework left much to be desired.

In his last letter, her father had implied Princess Rhaenyra was considering the union between their houses. It could only mean her and Jace.

The thought sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

‘Jace would be king one day, so his wife would be queen, would she not?’

The hall was splendidly lit, full of people who parted ways for them and Arianne was fascinated, walking behind the royal party - Rhaenya, Daemon, and their children. She knew in a month, Lord Vaemond Velaryon would arrive as well and there would be issues, but for now, everything appeared as she had imagined it.

The King was absent, due to his poor health, but the Queen Alicent was there. She would never admit it to a soul, due to the known animosity between the queen and her princess, but Arianne thought she looked perfectly regal and beautiful surrounded by her family. 

She couldn't believe Queen Alicent had children older than her, for her figure was the epitome of elegance.

She didn't know any of them, but she knew their names - Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond and the queen had a daughter - Princess Helena. Prince Daeron was not present, and she had been told he was at Oldtown, with his great uncle Lord Hightower. 

Arianne observed them from the cheerful crowd. She supposed the shorter one was Prince Aegon, as he had both eyes. His bearing wasn’t nearly as princely, at least compared to Jace, even if he possessed the light, silvery hair – a gift of his valyrian blood.

Prince Aegon was staring at his cup, swaying on his feet under the disapproving glare of his mother.

‘A prince and a dragonrider…yet he seems so sullen.’

The other one had to be Prince Aemond then - he was much more interesting to look at. He was taller and leaner than his older brother, dressed so impeccably in his Targaryen black leather - Arianne thought his countenance seemed quite regal.

She couldn't make out his face clearly from this distance, but she could discern the eyepatch and the long line down his right cheek. The story was very vivid in her mind ever since Jace had told it - filling her head with an image of a wicked, cruel boy who claimed Vhagar under the cover of the night.

' "He tried to kill me, so Luke -"

She gulped – her throat constricting tightly with fear.

The mere idea that this poised Targaryen prince tried to kill Jacaerys when they were boys was forcing the fine hairs on her arms upright.

Wasn't it pure luck that it wasn't Jacaerys who was hurt? Thankfully Prince Lucerys came to his defense and nothing happened to Jace, but his uncle had lost an eye. Aemond One-eye was how she’d heard his name in mentions during her stay on Dragonstone.

 His hair, pale as moonlight, cascaded down his shoulders, long and silky and beautiful.

She had never seen a man with such hair. Prince Daemon wore it like that when he was young, or so the stories told.

"Are those your uncles, Jace?" She whispered when Jacaerys Velaryon abandoned his spot to offer her his arm. She touched the crook of his elbow a tad unsurely.

"The ones you told me about."

"They are," Jace shook his head before they were required to make their greetings. The air between the princess and the queen was as tense as a bowstring. Arianne realized the two factions in the dragon court were more than just gossip. This was a public contest, a competition of sorts to see who among the two most powerful women in the kingdoms had more clout.

She glanced towards the prince with the beautiful hair again and quicker than lightning regret flooded into her every bone, vein, and sinew -

because he was staring back at her.

Arianne wanted to hide behind Jace instantly. Prince Aemond saw her look at him and he was now looking at her and so..., so - sharply.

Like she'd done something wrong. As wrong as asking her septa about books other than The Seven-pointed star.

His sole eye was pale blue, a perfectly valyrian shade, and his skin was as smooth as porcelain. 

And he appeared...disdainful.

She didn't know what possessed her to glance back at him briefly. Prince Aemond met her elusive eyes again and tilted his head, his countenance fixed into a glacier devoid of any warmth.

The young Swann girl had never met anyone who seemed to dislike her before she even said a word to them. She made sure to always be courteous and affable  - to not give anyone the wrong idea that she carried a resemblance to her notorious grandmother. 

Then he glanced at some point beneath her chin, trailing his gaze down her dress until it reached the floor where she stood—and Arianne felt a cold shiver of dread creep up her spine and surge through her palms.

She wiped them vehemently on the inside of her long sleeves.

Prince Aemond probably thought she was so rude for sticking out because he was again glaring at her.

She shouldn't have worn white - it drew too much attention, they will talk of her grandmother and she will embarrass her house and –

Mother, Mother above please be merciful to me.

Arianne couldn't even recall what it was that the queen and Princess Rhaenyra talked about but she was thankful to Mother, the Crone, and the Maiden when they returned to the other side of the great hall. She rarely prayed, often falling asleep while reading instead. Mayhaps, Prince Aemond could somehow discern that because his one eye could peer inside her head and he concluded she was a wicked, unruly girl.

Jace was whispering something about Balerion’s skull he wished to show to her but Arianne was too distracted cataloguing the variety of looks thrown their way.

One of the court ladies afforded her a disapproving frown and murmurs wrapped around her throat like vines. The more she moved, the tighter their hold.

"Princess Saera's granddaughter, no wonder she is wearing that -"

"She's a whor...you know, in Volantis." 

Arianne glanced at Jace, wishing he would take her hand and let Vermax fly them away, just like he'd promised when they were children.

The night dragged on, long and tedious.

Although the tables were plied with succulent cuts of meat, fruits, cheeses, and stews, she could scarcely stomach a bite.

Jace rubbed the back of his neck after watching the various lords and ladies twirl around. " I should ask you for a dance, then."

Arianne paled.

"I would love to...but Jace, you know how I am...I'll trip." 

‘And everyone will laugh...and deem me clumsy and unworthy of you...'

Her thoughts lingered on the frosty glare she'd somehow earned earlier from Jace's younger uncle.

She couldn't rationally conclude what possible reason a Targaryen prince had to dislike her so much, but she hadn't dared to even peep in the direction she thought Aemond One-Eye could be. 

"I won't let you fall, my lady. Trust me?" Jace offered her his hand, his full lips curving into a reassuring smile.

.

.

.

(Aemond)

"And what -" Aegon slumped against his brother's shoulder, dark red liquid sloshing and spilling out of his cup. "Are you staring at the whole time? You're sober!" 

Aemond shoved him away, wondering when was the last time the elder prince had a bath. To display himself so unseemly while their enemies were here.

His focus shifted back to the merry crowd, the muscle beneath his jaw ticking.

Aemond wasn't staring at anything. He was simply... observing their kin frolicking around, oblivious to the glaring, gaping wound growing each day: his father was dying, and someone would sit on the throne after him. But who? 

And the kin he wouldn't want to be that someone seemed to have grown their household.

"Oh...." Aegon followed his look, ever so keen on morphing himself into Aemond’s personal nuisance when inebriated.

 "A woman! Ser Criston-" He hiccuped. 

"Pour me another one, my brother has remembered he has a cock!" 

Aemond frowned, how grating his brother's voice sometimes was, especially when -

"Now we need to wonder if he remembers how to use a cock-"

"You shouldn't drink anymore, you look and sound a court's fool.” He sneered, irked that Aegon was not permitting him to think. His sole eye zeroed in on Jacaerys Strong and the woman on his arm, a comely figure adorned in ivory gown.

Aegon shrugged.

"Who is ah...that? She's fine I'd agree." 

Aemond wasn't sure yet. But he found himself glancing at her ever so often. Her face was very lovely, with large eyes surrounded by lashes several shades darker than her hair. Her curls tumbled around her delicate shoulders like a river of molten mahogany – quite the task to follow them as they bounced and swayed with her movement.

He hadn't meant to look for so long but she was truly...inviting to look at.

Prince Aemond took a sip of his drink, and noted how his bastard nephew twirled her around - those white skirts flowing like flower petals.

What bothered him was that he had not known who she was and there she stood - in that disrespectful garment - with the bastard brood. Other ladies in waiting had stood behind, as they should, but she was next to the prince heir of bastards.

His mother would never have such blatant disregard for protocol.

Aemond was privy sometimes to what his grandsire and mother discussed - apparently Rhaenyra the whore was considering giving her eldest bastard's hand to a lady in stormlands. To ally herself there, as Lord Boros Baratheon wasn't as firmly on her side as she had thought.

"Lord Swann's only daughter." Criston Cole answered to Aegon and Aemond both. 

"I do not remember her given name."

It finally dawned on Aemond and he scoffed. So she was pretty and mayhaps the future bastard's queen and also -

"She has valyrian blood." Aemond muttered more to himself than anything. She was the daughter of Saera Targaryen's only legitimate child. Fitting that a harlot like his sister would seek an alliance with a descendant of a most famous whore there was.

One-eyed prince found the idea disappointing for some elusive reason. How woeful that a woman possessing outwardly impeccable breeding – descending from Targaryen princess and the oldest family of the Marcher Lords, was truly the granddaughter of a Volantene madam poised to wed the bastard.

But at least he understood why her delicate face was so lovely — she was, at least partly, of the blood of the dragon. Yet, that riotous hair, as warm as caramelized chestnuts, cascaded down her back, the torrent of curls - 

He thought of his mother's hair, frowning.

"Huh? Who cares about that you twat. Do you think our nephew has gotten there? He does look cunt-struck." 

Aegon fell onto his chair laughing.

"If he hasn't, I cou-"

In a heartbeat, his perfectly spinning spectre of white garments and wild curls misstepped – graciously allowing Aemond to finally blink. She tripped into the bastard, or rather, collided with him.  Lady Swann had found herself a breath away from falling onto the marble flooring.

How disgraceful.

"Oh seven take me-" Aegon continued to irritate his eardrums. 

"Does she stumble into his bed like that too? Perhaps we ought to teach her, as a good kin does -"

Much to his chagrin, Jacaerys Velaryon prevented her from falling - Aemond would have relished that scene, the bastard and his inept little wife. 

He observed how he gripped her sleeves, whispering something in her ear and smiling so stupidly while she seemed to extern considerable effort to remain calm.

The dismay suited her - wide eyes and slightly parted mouth - and Saera's granddaughter, if she was clumsy and simple as she seemed to be, ought to be dismayed. The Red Keep will consume her alive and grind her bones to dust. 

Aemond could now focus on something else, undisturbed. Why did he waste that much time on that girl anyway? She was clearly as ill-suited as her grandmother was if she couldn't learn the steps to the easiest court dance. 

He had never enjoyed dancing, but he knew all of them. It was required.

Not to mention, that dress - he could almost...practically see the tops of her breasts - the creamy, smooth skin between her shoulders. A vapid, stupid lady who wanted men's attention.

Why was he even looking at her? 

He would no longer. She was wholly undeserving of it

.

.

.

(Arianne)

She tucked the strand of her hair behind her ear and twirled her earring. Her catapults advanced.

"I think your king is captured, my lord." Arianne placed her heavy horse between her dragon and the opposing tower and smiled. Their king was now stuck in a fork she'd created. A few murmurs surrounded their table but she tried her best to ignore the various timbres. She had almost cried twice already, so she wasn't going to risk it a third time. 

Instead, Arianne focused on Jace, who stood near her with an indulgent smile on his face.

He seemed proud of her. 

They had played countless times together on Dragonstone, and out of everyone she had won the most. Lady Elinda Massey told her she should let the prince win, for no man or boy liked it when a woman bested them. But Jace had never criticized her for it.

Quite the opposite - he joked that when he became a king she would plan his battle strategies. Arianne almost wanted to ask him if that meant he would wed her as they had promised but her insecurity kept her tongue safely behind her incisors.

"You play well, lady Swann." Lord Beesbury's cousin twice removed simply congratulated her and stood up. She wondered if Jace was trying to avoid playing Tyland Lannister when he offered her to play instead or was he trying to make her feel better after her disastrous dancing? 

Arianne was exceptionally skilled at cyvasse. It pained her to admit she was plain awful at most dances, the rhythm eluded her, and the movement – oh she often wondered if a curse had been placed upon her legs sometime after her birth.

She had missed a step and nearly fell on her bottom.

If he hadn't caught her -

How mortifying!

Next, she played Lady Wylde - the current one, for Lord Wylde had already been married twice before. She wondered if Jace was bored just watching her play, but when she peered up at him he was observing the board deep in thought.

She had positioned her rabble on squares between two mountain tops, reinforced with her spearmen and an elephant. It was a much better tactical position than Lady Wylde’s dragon-led crossbowmen. The mountain tops prevented them from moving diagonally, while Arianne’s dragon was freed to advance into an attacking square.

"A very sound tactic, young lady." She smiled although her opponent wasn't that much older. Swann girl twirled her pearl earring before deciding just to kill the opposing king with her black dragon. Her own had been safe behind a catapult and heavy horse.

Arianne had won once more. She thought she was unusually lucky today - in cyvasse, at least – not so much with anything else.

"It is a shame men do not appreciate it when it comes from a woman's mind. " 

Arianne glanced at her ebony dragon and repositioned the piece back at the start of the board. The lady had been kind to her and she was very thankful for it.

"Small-minded men," Jacaerys crossed his arms, his crimson red cape falling back. 

" My mother will lead our armies when she's queen and I would let my wife one day do the same if she so wished."

Lady Wylde's mouth parted briefly before snapping shut again, and at the same time, a wave of pinpricks grazed down Arianne's neck.

'His wife? His future wife? What was Jace implying -'

She shot him a bewildered look as the murmurs slowly quieted. What would people think now? They weren't betrothed, but the way Jace had said it - everyone would think he meant her! 

The encasing flush tickled her skin. 

"Then we can hope Lady Arianne will be so lucky with her future husband." Her opponent squeezed her arm that rested near a board and departed - as if she understood her predicament.

"Is that his paramour?" Someone muttered just loud enough for Arianne to hear.

She froze. 

Her eyes found Jace, and he had to have heard it too! But he merely frowned at the general direction from which the whispering came. Did they know? Who her grandmother was and now they thought she too was an ill-behaved woman. Seven -

Their ongoing competition had gathered quite a crowd. After Arianne defeated Lord Tyland everyone wanted to try their luck. 

'Paramour? If people think that, then -'

Her reputation would be ruined and how would she explain that to her father? Brother? Mother?

They would be so disappointed. She suddenly felt suffocated by everyone surrounding them, even if they praised her skills in cyvasse she knew they were also not her friends, nor allies. Arianne was only now beginning to see how self-serving everyone at court was. If the tales of Saera's wanton granddaughter entertained them, they would tell them without any regard for decency or the girl's reputation.

Her palms perspirated awfully.

"The Red Keep got its new cyvasse champion! A very lovely one! A toast to your health, young lady!" 

"You're brilliant, Arianne." Jace bent down to whisper in her ear.

"Did you have fun playing? We could go eat cakes." 

Arianne nodded and took his offered arm. Her prince had been right to let her play – if only to distract her from ruminating on her misstep from earlier.

She had loved the game from the moment it was taught to her. Lord Swann would spend hours upon hours developing different positional play and when his son showed no interest, he contented himself to letting his daughter challenge him.

Truthfully, she had yet to win against her father but she had been besting most everyone else who casually enjoyed the game for a while now.

"Will the lady spare a few moments of her time to play against me?" 

Arianne froze and turned her head.

It was him.

Jace's uncle, Aemond. The prince who had glared at her as if he wanted to strike her for offending all the seven gods. 

Aemond emerged, the crowd parted for him and sat down, a ghost of a smirk etched upon his face. His cheekbones, his jaw, even his nose - Arianne had never seen someone look so sharp-edged before.

He was like a marble sculpture carefully cut.

Although the uncle wasn't as handsome as his nephew with a perfectly dashing face and curls - his visage had been marred by a large pink gash stretching from his forehead and down his cheek. Yet, he was imposing and so strangely alluring. Alarming. Like something dangerous and formidable and predatory.

His tone was serene - soft in a manner waves crash softly against the shore. The undercurrent dragging the unsuspecting below.

Her eyes flickered to Jace, hoping he would rescue her from this—she didn’t want to! The prince frightened her terribly!

"‘Hmmm,’ Aemond blinked a few times before, with a mocking grin, turning to Jacaerys.

'Does your—'”

He paused and young Swann girl had an inkling of the word he was about to use - paramour, or worse, a whore, or worse even than that, if such word existed  -

But Aemond grinned even wider. " - lady, have permission to play one more game?"

At the same time, her prince hissed that Arianne did not need his permission, and she glowered. How could he all but say such a thing in the open court? Prince Aemond Targaryen didn't even know her.

"I will play." The words tumbled forth from her lips before she could ponder on them.

.

.

.

(Aemond)

How dared she draw all this attention? 

Aemond tapped his fingers impatiently against the table, his irritation growing.

How did this clumsy granddaughter of a whore - a blight in his proud Targaryen ancestry - manage to be the talk of the evening? Was it that attire? Saera's notoriety? Being close to the future crown prince, should his whore-sister rule?

She was a good cyvasse player. He couldn't deny it much as he itched to.

After she demolished Lady Wylde's defences, Aemond loathed to admit he was intrigued.

When Aegon told him to come and see - his little wench  - the younger prince was confused at first.

He didn't have a...wench.

Aemond was quite careful to avoid ladies at court. Most of them were frightened of his face and he had little interest in them anyway.

He knew he would marry soon and there was no point in forming a relationship that would only result in a court scandal.

He wasn't like Aegon; he was above such base stupidities. So he didn't have a paramour, a wench, a woman.

"You're good at cyvasse, aren’t you? Tyland was just telling me how outmaneuvered he was. He’s considering proposing to her—can you fucking imagine? Perhaps she wouldn’t die of boredom with you, unlike the others."

Aemond glanced at the little crowd playing cyvasse. He didn't know who his little wench was supposed to be, but there wasn't a lady at court he recalled being skilled enough to best Tyland.

He could see the top of Lady Wylde's hair and tried to remember which number wife she was.

 " My mother will lead our armies when she's queen and I would let my wife one day do the same if she so wished." Rhaenyra's bastard's grating voice boomed. In his Keep.

Aemond would sooner plunge the realm into war than let that mongrel sit on the throne.

"Then we can hope Lady Arianne will be so lucky with her future husband." 

Aemond halted.

Her.

It was her.

Arianne - he found out her name - had captured Lady Wylde's king and killed her jade-colored dragon.

Her hair fell in shiny waves down her back, framing that cosseted waist as she leaned forward above the board.

She smiled.

Something slashed the walls of his throat – like a rigged knife that hadn’t been properly sharpened.

"The Red Keep got its new cyvasse champion! A very lovely one! A toast to your health, young lady!" 

Aemond was flabbergasted.

The court liked her. Her riotous hair and her overly daring attire and -

She was clearly at least somewhat intelligent to best Tyland at it. And others.

How many games in a row did she win?

Aemond couldn't accept it - there had to be some fatal flaw, something uncouth about her because bastards didn't deserve to have such beguiling paramours - something worse than just being clumsy – how could the bastard's whore be the court's darling? Were all these toads so simpleminded?

He thought for a moment how he should leave, what business this was of his? The bastards will be gone by the end of a month, one Driftmark seat short.

The one-eyed prince observed the lady - Arianne - place her black dragon and catapults into their starting positions. 

One of her curls fell over her shoulder, and he followed it until it stopped just above her neckline.

He was the last man in this Keep to cast inappropriate glances at women's bosoms but he found himself wondering how hers looked like underneath that dress.

Round, firm, the perfect size for his palms -

He clenched his fingers. 

This was unlike him. Lust was a weakness.

His ivory-clad wench offered her hand to Jacaerys Velaryon, and Aemond's eye twitched at the sight.

If she was indeed his nephew’s bedmate, surely she wouldn't mind satisfying the trueborn Targaryen prince. 

Her harsh response - brows furrowing and her heart-shaped lips pressing into a tight line - ignited a flicker of doubt in Aemond about her alleged proclivities with the Strong whelp.

And he hated how his blood bloomed with contentment at the thought.

Her eyes were now on him and he realized they were so very green. Glittering with determination.

As green as his mother's beacon.

Almond-shaped and lovely, they stared back at him, firm with quiet resolve.

Green was, after all, his favorite color.

.

.

.

(Arianne)

Arianne was having fun.

Aemond made her think twice. She arranged her trebuchets adjacent to her rabble with her heavy horse defending. The catapult was her favorite piece so she placed it far back and let her dragon defend her king.

Jace hummed behind her, clearly agreeing with her defensive tactic.

It was sound, certainly, as she’d seen something similar in a scroll her father bought from a Volantene merchant.

Upon seeing the Prince’s pieces, her eyebrows drew together. Arianne pulled her spearmen back, deciding to see what he would do first.

The rest of the opponents she faced earlier followed a similarly structured play, which allowed her to outmaneuver them - she had spent hours upon hours playing her father and knew the middle-game well.

But not One-eyed Prince; he immediately attacked her rabble.

Aemond wasted no time.

She defended her left flank by placing an elephant diagonally across the trebuchet, humming thoughtfully.

Aemond curled his index finger, it hovered above his jade dragon.

She felt his gaze flicker to her face.

Arianne knew this was irksome for he clearly intended to remove her trebuchet from the board by blocking her with his dragon piece and attacking with the catapult.

However, his catapult was now pinned between the mountain and her elephant.

He could attack all he wanted, but she would keep avoiding battle until it angered him; then, she would have to use his mistakes.

Her orbs settled on him now that he was so near. Arianne observed the way his thin-pale eyebrow moved as he frowned.

Even with that deep gash splitting his right cheek in half, he was beautiful. Not like Jace, but differently, disconcertingly so. Like those valyrian dragonlords she read about. 

He moved his heavy horse instead and then his sole eye zeroed in on her. 

Aemond's gaze was so intense that Arianne thought he might be trying to kill her with it. How dare she meet him head-on? - It seemed to threaten her.

"Hmmm," His voice startled her. 

It had a melodious tilt to it that was strangely pleasant. 

"Will you just spend the entire game avoiding battle?" 

She had to glance back up. Jace shifted on his feet.

"I haven't decided yet, Your Grace." 

Well, it was the truth. Someone muttered something behind her and Arianne groaned inwardly. 

Aemond moved his dragon again, trying to have one of her horses removed from the game. The sigh that escaped her lips as she accepted the exchange and discarded both their light horses from the board was barely audible.

"Will Your Grace just keep attacking?" She didn't know what possessed her to ask. He hadn't developed any of his defensive pieces. His jade king was simply placed behind the last mountain, as lonely as an island in the middle of the vast ocean.

"You do know how this game is won, lady -" The prince waited again. Arianne almost wanted to bristle and snort - he knew her name. He heard Jace say it! Was he pretending it was so unimportant or did he just want her to introduce herself again? Would she have to curtsy as well?

"Arianne." 

"Arianne." The corner of Aemond's mouth quirked up. She hated how it sounded on his tongue, as if he was measuring each syllable for its worth, as if he was tasting whether her name was to his liking.

"I do know," Arianne muttered, avoiding his look and focusing on her figures. It wasn't like he was winning or pressing any advantage for now, he was just forcing them to destroy the pieces. The goal was to kill the enemy king, one could do that without wasting resources annihilating every opposing elephant, spearmen, and rabble.

"Perhaps you'd like to ask my nephew for help, lady Arianne. He is very strongly versed in tactics." 

Before Jace could react, Arianne shook her head with a hint of reactive defiance in the motion.

"It wouldn't be fair. Besides," She dug her nails into her palms and forced her thundering pulse to slow.

She will not let him win because he frightened her.

"I am having fun." 

Taking her trebuchet far back to bolster her king’s defense, Arianne smiled.

He didn’t know she could do this for literal hours.

.

.

.

(Aemond)

Aemond's expression darkened.

She was having fun? 

'I pity any unfortunate wench forced to spend time with you as she'll throw herself from the Keep out of sheer boredom.'

'Boring, studious, exemplary Aemond.'

How Aegon had laughed at him, how they all did, bastards- 

He couldn't remember ever having fun unless he was flying atop Vhagar. 

Cyvasse was part of his studies, something he had to endure but never truly enjoyed. Even when he outmaneuvered his brother, his nephews, and even his teacher, they somehow still found ways to make jabs at his expense - You can only play with a dragon toy on a board, Aemond. I have a real one.

But he had to admit it was somewhat entertaining to chase her across the board. 

Most of his opponents would sooner give up and engage.

"Will you say the same once you lose?" He had removed one of her crossbowmen from the game.

Arianne's laugh was making his fingers tingle - a cacophony of tiny, silver bells.

"Why wouldn't I? I do not always win," Her eyes held some sort of mirth - and Aemond wasn't sure if he wanted it to keep blossoming or quash it down. 

"Contrary to the evidence from tonight."

Jacaerys Velaryon snorted.

Aemond pointedly ignored him.

"What about Your Grace?" Arianne lifted, her long curls spilling over her shoulder. Aemond decided he would not pay them any more attention because they distracted him.

"I do not play for fun," he remarked, not realizing how harsh his tone had become. "I play to win."

Her hand hesitated in placing her next piece.

"Do I bore you, Your Grace? I did win once because my opponent gave up." He peered at her and she seemed to be reminiscing.

"My brother got bored of trying to force my king to fight."

Aemond couldn't help but chuckle, despite himself

"Your brother lacked patience," He admonished. 

"I do not."

Perhaps that wasn't the full truth for he harshly placed his catapult in front of the rabble closest to her king. Arianne simply moved her king away, opting to sacrifice her weakest pieces.

However, if he were to remove them she would have an opening to take his trebuchet, which was a far more valuable piece.

Aemond bit the inside of his cheek and relented, allowing her to escape unscathed.

How fucking infuriating that tilt of her mouth was, as if she was truly enjoying this childish hide and seek across the board. How fucking lovely - pillowy, pink, with a delicately shaped cupid's bow. 

"For how long do you plan to do this?" Aemond forced out in his best attempt to hide impatience. 

"Till' morning if I have to. Perhaps Your Grace would consider developing his side of the board so we could play nicely." 

Aemond bristled.

"Perhaps the lady would consider trying to win instead of just avoiding defeat." 

He forcefully showed his dragon in front of her elephant and removed it from the board.

Aemond noticed his mistake only when he’d already done it.

His heavy horse was now pinned, leaving him dangerously exposed!

If he moved it to safety, his king would be vulnerable to her black dragon—he could either lose the horse or, worse, compromise his king.

His fingers flexed.

He had to retreat his king to safety, sacrificing his heavy horse to the opposing dragon.

Her vibrant green eyes glittered with satisfaction.

Aemond felt the veins in his face throb, the fire licking at his temples. How dare this little descendant of a whore -

"Perhaps Your Grace would keep better watch over his horses?"

Was she mocking him?

The muscle in his jaw spasmed.

Oh the nerve -

"Your pieces will all be destroyed. I won't just kill your king," He snarled, as terrible wroth of embarrassment sloshed inside his stomach. 

"My lady." 

Her large, doe eyes widened.

"What has my kingdom done to earn such hatred from the Prince?" 

Aemond glared at board then back at Arianne Swann.

He didn't know.

He hated how long her lashes were and how decisively she moved her game pieces, and how -

He wanted to win so badly. To have all her pieces toppled until she folded her king over herself and admitted he had been right. 

Suddenly his mind was conjuring reveries where he was the most devastating opponent she ever had and would never be able to forget.

It wasn’t until his nephew cleared his throat that Aemond realized he wasn’t alone with her. Why would he even want to be alone with her, anyway?

But he was enjoying the game, and he would feel even better once he cracked that stupid tactic and won.

"Arianne, just engage his pieces." He noted the bastard putting his hand on her shoulder. A growing itch in his neck told him to cut his hand off.

"Don't you wish to go eat cake with me instead?" 

"Oh," She glanced at the board before giving a small nod to Jace, clearly unfazed by Aemond's growing irritation. 

No -

"You're right of course, Jace." 

Why would she listen to the stupid fucking fool? She said she was having fun, just like he was. 

Arianne moved her trebuchet against Aemond's jade dragon, shrugging, her neckline tempting his gaze despite his efforts to look away.

"Perhaps Your Grace will finally get what he's been hoping for."

The bastard nodded to himself, clearly pleased with her foolishly reckless move.

Why would she take his advice? His nephew had no clue about the game. He was atrocious at it. 

Aemond could feel his blood boil.

.

.

.

(Arianne)

Arianne felt like she was in some sort of daze when Jace pulled her back from the brink.

Perhaps Prince Aemond wasn't that awful, at least not when he stubbornly tried to destroy her side of the board instead of simply killing her king.

His features didn't seem that frightening when he wasn't frowning.

She didn't want to engage all her catapults into attack positions but if she didn't this could last for hours. The moment her king moved forward, Aemond responded by placing his jade-dragon against it, blocking her move.

Arianne noticed he had beautiful hands. His long fingers easily enveloped the jade pieces. 

"Fool's move," he hissed and she had to look up.

His fiery glare was set on her again.

Had she imagined he was civil towards her when they began to play? What had she done?

"But you are Saera's granddaughter," Aemond sneered, his nostrils flaring. "A fool if there ever was one. Banished from the King's Landing for..." 

He left it hanging in the air, but everyone knew. And if anyone didn't know this about her, Aemond now made sure they did.

Arianne could practically feel the japes from around her. 

"If Arianne is a fool what does that make the men that sit on the queen's council? She defeated quite a few of them." Jace bit back.

The Queen was Prince Aemond's mother. 

It was an offense, no doubt.

"Ah," She sighed, rubbing her ear before quickly moving her dragon. 

"The catapult, your grace." She indicated it was destroyed, hoping Aemond would return his hand to the board rather than where it now hovered - near a dagger at his waist.

Aemond bestowed his attention on her and seemed to observe her face for longer than it was considered appropriate. He blinked slowly, then a small, sardonic smile played at the corner of his mouth.

She hoped there wasn't something on her forehead.

His next move was predictable, so Arianne defended.

The game continued, and it seemed he countered every time she tried to retaliate. She placed her onyx dragon adjacent to her catapult, and the one-eyed prince moved as though he had already predicted it.

It was jarring.

Either he was a far better player than he let on or he was reading her thoughts!

Prince Aemond was terrifying enough...he couldn't be reading her thoughts, could he?

Arianne rubbed her pearl earring nervously and moved her black king to safety.

"Now you lost your most powerful piece." Aemond proclaimed coldly before kicking her dragon off the board.

How did he know what she -

"I happen to prefer my catapult." She hoped her pouting wasn't visible. 

"Do not fret then, my lady. It will soon follow."

His visage morphed into one of complacent malice. Aemond leaned back in his chair, a truly sly grin playing on his lips as his fingers tapped the board lightly.

Arianne deflated, realizing her king was trapped. Unless he blundered, death in five moves would mean her defeat.

She moved her catapult but in vain, as somehow the Prince again realized she would try to go for his elephant. Four moves later it was over.

"Do not worry, Arianne. You played very well. Uncle Aemond is..." Jace squeezed her arm reassuringly.

 "Obsessive in his studying."

She met his warm, dark eyes and smiled.

She did feel bad for losing. Perhaps she should write the game down and send a letter to her father, he’d know how to properly convert defense into open play.

It was a rather fun loss though, unlike her loss of balance – and she had tried so hard to grit her teeth and dance better, for Jace.

Arianne inspected the board once more - she had wasted half a night playing cyvasse already and she did want to try the sweets.

She attempted to smile politely at Prince Aemond, showing him she accepted the loss with all the grace a loser could muster. But she halted halfway—his mouth was set in a frightening glower, and his eye blazed with something malignant.

The twinge of apprehension coiled tightly around her ribs.

"I c-concede," she stammered, reaching to fold her king. But his hand was quicker, snatching it in his large palm.

The one-eyed prince slammed the figure against the board with unnecessary vehemence.

"A waste of my time," he hissed. 

"Perhaps this teaches you it is bad manners for a woman to make such a spectacle of being slightly above average at play." 

Her muscles locked.

A spectacle?

Bad mannered!?

Arianne blinked twice to dispel the itching in the corner of her eyes, but she was fairly certain he could notice. What a sore winner if she ever knew one. It was like he wanted to humiliate her and make her cry.

What could she have possibly done to him?

"I..." She peered down at her fallen king and her slain dragon. 

"I was just..." 

"Your manners are lacking, uncle." Jace helped her stand up. 

Arianne was thankful his pace was brisk for she couldn't get soon enough from there.  Now, everyone would think her not only clumsy and inept but presumptuous as well. How stupid she had been to imagine she could best a prince whom everyone praised for excelling at everything

.

.

.

(Aemond)

Aemond's mood was positively sour for the remainder of the night. The hour was growing late and various royal guests had begun to disperse. 

He had won the cyvasse game.

All because she’d listened to the idiotic advice of her rumored paramour.

They could've still been playing if she stuck to her own gameplan and he wouldn't have to be forced to interact with various simple fools throughout the night.

Because she couldn't stop twirling her stupid earring.

Her stupid curls.

Her stupid, stupid, stupidly noticeable ivory dress. No matter where he looked, she seemed to command his attention, an unrelenting presence in the corner of his eye.

And yet when he had won and she -

Knocked over her king. For a fleeting moment, he thought she might cry—and to his surprise, the idea wasn’t as satisfying as he’d imagined

But how luminous and green her eyes were -

I concede -

To concede is to surrender, to yield.

He imagined her saying it to him in private, with no one else to hear.

His chambers, not hers – because he would have the door barred shut lest they get interrupted again.

She'd admit he won and sit on his bed and wait - wait for him, wait until he approached and took his spoils.

She'd be his paramour then.

Aemond groaned and downed his cup. He was on the verge of being drunk. He never allowed himself to indulge that much.

The realization struck him like a longsword—he wanted to take Arianne Swann to bed. And that was... a problem. More so if he was forced to interact with her for the next moon. If she was to stay with his half-sister's entourage.

Was she going to cry over losing? Would she cry if he took more from her? 

Was she the bastard's lover?

What if she wasn't? What if she was untouched and waiting for him to take her? 

Was she really going to cry from losing a stupid cyvasse game? 

Unfortunately, Aemond wouldn't find out as she took his bastard nephew's hand and left.

She hadn't glanced in his direction once.

How dare she leave without his consent!? He had given no such permission.

Aemond tried to focus on remembering the lords who tried to speak to his mother and the ones who didn't -

He tried to keep an eye on Aegon.

Tried to focus on ladies he hadn't met, the sweetcakes and various fruits brought on golden platters - anything to keep his mind elsewhere.

Even tried to observe Daemon, the only real threat should the whore of Dragonstone insist on taking the crown his mother had clearly intended to put on Aegon’s head.

But his eye drifted back to Arianne Swann ever so often. His mind finally made the connection that had been eluding him. The black swan of Lys. While brushing up on his knowledge of Kingdom of the Three Daughters, he was rather chagrined to learn that Lyseni let themselves be ruled by a courtesan they enslaved to a pleasure garden years prior.

Aemond gripped his goblet tightly, as his lips parted in silent realization.

The abducted Westerosi noblewoman - the barbaric act that finally prompted the crown to act against the Triarchy - wasn’t she the kin to Lord Swann, hence the moniker?

Lady Arianne covered her mouth with her hand and her body shook, her curls bouncing from whatever it was that entertained her. Did she even notice the throng of men trailing after her as if she were a piece of sweet meat? Was she truly oblivious to how her dress clung to the curve of her waist—how it managed to be so indecently enticing while revealing nothing at all?

The neckline dipped to frame the delicate lines of her collarbones, ending just before revealing her womanly attributes.

She’s wearing that on purpose, Aemond concluded tartly. Saera’s granddaughter, kin to another famed harlot—was there a single decent woman in her wretched family?

So that was why she was grating on his mind, he bit the inside of his cheek in vexation – because clearly there was something nefarious about the women of her line that drew men in. Not him though, he wasn’t weak-minded like all these toads.

He could see right through her.

Her very presence was an affront—to the court, to him, to everything dignified.

What an utter shame for there were very few of them – those with the blood of the dragon - and to have it wasted on a vapid tart who warmed his bastard nephew’s bed.

A vapid tart, yet one who’d somehow managed to best Tyland at cyvasse.

Aemond took a sip from his goblet again, wondering where they carted Aegon off to before his eye inevitably stuck to the object of his ire again.

How disconcertingly pretty she was.

And what, pray tell, was she laughing about with those fools?

.

.

.

(Arianne)

Arianne covered her mouth and laughed at herself. They were competing who could eat more lemon-flavored cakes and although Prince Lucerys was in the lead, she was trailing right behind.

Her stumble during the twirl long forgotten, she visibly relaxed while listening to the rapt stories of her dragon-riding friends. 

"Don't you ever wish you had one?" Rhaena elbowed her. 

Huh?

"Um...I suppose not?" Arianne hesitated, trying to be tactful. It would be a lie that she never ever wished for a dragon of her own, but coveting it would be unseemly.

 "I am not a Targaryen like you. Besides...they are frightening."

"Even Vermax?"

"Vermax only behaves because Jace tells him to." Arianne shrugged.

Rhaena snorted and drank her wine.

“Still, it is odd. Vermax is so prickly!” Lucerys shrugged. How nice that both he and Rhaena already knew they would be wed – they liked each other and it was leagues preferable to marrying a stranger. A fate that could still await Arianne.

She tried her best not to dwell on it but often her nightmares included her being given away to an old, mean, ugly lord that scarcely washed.

It was so unfair!

The lemon turned sour upon her tongue.

It could be worse, she supposed, there was a lady that would have to suffer being Prince Aemond’s wife. He was meaner than a Stranger.

"I wish I had one. It isn't fair. Vhagar was supposed to be mine." Princess Rhaena glowered. Following her gaze, Arianne noticed the one-eyed Targaryen staring intently at his plate.

She had heard this story several times by now.

"I hate him." Rhaena's frown deepened. "Vhagar was my mother's dragon, I was supposed -"

Arianne didn't know what to say, from what she had read the dragons chose their riders but she wouldn't want to upset her friend. It was still Prince Aemond who attacked other princes and princesses. And even more, she didn't ever want to say anything in defense of that malcontented boor.

"Is he mean to everyone then?" She asked instead. 

Sensing the questioning glance the Targaryen princess threw her way, she explained. "He defeated me in cyvasse earlier and...well, he insulted me."

"Oh, that stupid twat." Rhaena snapped. 

Arianne snorted. 

Aemond Targaryen was a boor and a twat indeed.

"I am going to fraternize," Jace approached them, "with my mother's liege lords. Gods be good." 

"I am going to retire before another moronic Hightower asks me to dance." Rhaena crossed her arms and turned on her heels, inviting Prince Lucerys to escort her.

"I should too, then." Arianne sighed. She's had enough disasters for one night. The Red Keep hadn't been the idyllic court she imagined it to be. If she ever truly became Jace's queen she would rather make it nicer - with kind people and less gossip.

Jace's warm, brown eyes widened slightly.

"No, don't go yet. I just...I'll be done quickly and - I need to tell you something." 

"Oh...alright." She acquiesced without putting up a fight.

But it wasn't alright, with Jace and Rhaena gone Arianne was left fidgeting with her sleeves. She tried to engage in a small talk with other stormlanders but the moment her grandmother was mentioned the murmurings pricked at her ability to do so.

Lady Broome was a cherry on top of her sour cake.

"If I had a daughter with certain...indecent predilections coming from her father's side, I would have whipped her within an inch of her life. You would be sewing and praying, not playing games. " 

Arianne merely smiled and held her retort at bay. She gave up after that, deciding to leave and wait for Jace in the courtyard.

Swann girl walked around a few drunk knights that were lying on the stairs and sighed when she felt fresh air.

'I will not cry. I didn't do anything wrong.'

She had walked a little further away until she could see the sprawling town beneath the keep. How vast the settlement was, its lights spreading as far as she could see. Yet, Oldtown was even larger, though she had never been there.

Arianne leaned on a tree and observed the line of people carrying carts through the Keep's gates.

"What use is a daughter who does not know how to run a household and be a quiet wife to her lord husband?" 

"Bringing unnecessary attention to yourself by playing games."

She gripped the sleeve so tightly that she almost tore it off. Princess Baela, from what Arianne had heard, had behaved ten times more scandalously than she, yet no one dared to mutter their discontent.

But she had a dragon and so did her father.

Arianne’s lungs filled with chilly air.

 If she only had a dragon, a great, monstrous beast - like Balerion - she'd threaten them to stop or else.

Or else I'll have my dragon roast you. Not that she'd ever do it, though. She’d once seen Vermax devour a lamb, and the sight had made her both retch and cry. 

What did those old witches even know about her? She wished to slap them and declare that Jace was no mere lord, and she would not be some lord’s quiet wife. Jace would be King and she would be Queen and sit on his council. Then they'd hold their tongues, for Jace had Vermax, and as her lord husband, he'd frighten them for her. 

"It is not wise to walk around alone at night." The voice startled her into jumping from her skin.

Arianne's neck cramped from how quickly she turned, alarmed by the silent approach.

"For a lady." Aemond clasped his hands behind his back. 

Several moments passed before she recovered from her shock.

What was he doing here? Why was he here? To shove her off the edge until she fell and broke her skull on the cobblestone below? 

"Y-your Grace." She did a quick curtsy before glancing around for any sign of Jace to rescue her as he did after a cyvasse game.

Aemond hummed to himself before he stepped forward. He hadn't come closer than a few paces from her, his angular face trained on the town. An errant shiver rolled down her backbone, not from any chill in the air, but from fear.

She was frightened of Aemond.

‘ Well, who wouldn’t be?’

The prince glanced at her after some time, his gaze slowly traveling lower.

"Are you not cold in that little dress?" 

Arianne's eyelids fluttered several times. 'Little dress?'

The heat blossomed through her cheeks.

"No," she answered with a note of confusion in her tone. 

"I rather prefer the cold."

King's Landing, unlike her home, lacked any wind. She was used to far worse weather. 

Something passed over the one-eyed prince's face.

"A fortune then," he chuckled. "Your...friend is no true fire and blood. Nor salt and sea for that matter." 

She pressed her lips tightly together as she instantly had an idea who he was referring to. It would seem the entire court thought her loose with her morals, and the realization stung. Arianne knew she would have to dispel such misconceptions if she ever hoped to marry her gallant prince.

Was that what he had implied? That Jace was a bastard and she...?

Jace was Laenor Velaryon's son. He was Princess Rhaenyra's heir. 

"I truly am fortunate, your grace." It was hard to make the acid in her tone undiscernible. Arianne returned her attention to the people below, but she could feel his stare on the side of her face.

She wondered if walking away would be rude. Would she even dare? Did she need his permission? Technically, he was her sovereign. 

Maybe if she remained quiet, the boredom would usher him away.

They stood in relative silence, the cheers and music from the hall still permeating the air before Aemond spoke again.

"I was perhaps harsh earlier," he cleared his throat. 

Arianne felt her sinews coil in apprehension. Was he trying to talk to her?

"You...play well." 

Her breath hitched.

What?

Her pulse fluttered nervously through her arteries, rushing so relentlessly her ears rang. 

"T-thank you," She muttered, peering up at his expression. Was he jesting with her? Or was he serious?

The trepidation overwhelmed her.

"It certainly is an honor to hear that," Arianne fiddled with her sleeve. "When Your Grace is clearly the better player."

The compliment seemed to soften the harshest of lines adorning his face, yet he made no comment on it.

Aemond blinked and pored over something near her temples.

"Well, at least when we came to the endgame, all my attacks were predictable," she had started to ramble because his stare was making her dig her fingernails into her palms and shift the weight from one foot to the other.

"It is because you have a tell," he interrupted her offhandedly. 

Arianne halted, offering him a questioning pout.

Aemond moved his arms, bringing one to the pommel of his knife while raising the other to touch his earlobe 

"Before you move a piece into attacking position," he explained in a voice as soft as a pillow. 

"You touch your earring."

'I...what?'

'Wait what?'

Arianne had to blink numerous times before she could think this through. She wasn't doing that, was she? She'd never noticed - and neither had anyone else.

Her hand shot up to twirl her pearl earring, and she paled, realizing he was right.

She tended to do that.

"I...well...h-how did you...I never realized..." 

Something was flooding her cheeks and forehead - it wasn't frustration that was brimming under her skin the entire night - it was an embarrassment

Aemond hummed, the corner of his lips curving.

"I watched you play Lord Rosby and Lady Wylde ..."

'He was watching her?'

Arianne didn't know how to answer that. Why was he watching her and not the board?

Perhaps Prince Aemond realized she was struggling to formulate the sentence because he spoke again.

"Why did you abandon your tactic in favor of my nephew’s?”  

Her eyes shifted towards his collar. The black of House Targaryen made a stark contrast against his pale skin.

Arianne tilted her chin up to better see his face. Seven above, he was tall.

"Well, it was taking a long time and...I had wanted to eat cakes with him. We were supposed to...do that." She wondered why his marble-like face hardened as she spoke – his jaw locked and his mouth settled into a frown.

Aemond flexed his fingers. 

"What fucking foolish reason!" He scolded, his eye blazing with indignation.

Arianne took a step back, surprised at both his vocabulary and vehemence. 

"Well...why did your grace help me with," - She touched her earring, - "this, if he thinks me a fool?" 

His nostrils flared.

"I took pity!" His answer dripped venom and Arianne realized he was only pretending to be civil and she had been right - he hated her.

"We are family after all." the prince added with a hint of amusement.

'Family? Sure, his father was her grandmother's nephew but that was too distant a relation to-'

"I suppose -"

"Dragons are so...ah, generous with their family aren't they?" Aemond snarled, regarding her naive expression. "We welcome everyone, traitors, bastards, bastard's mistresses..."

Arianne stiffened. 

Even him? Was this what everyone thought?

That she was Jace's paramour...that she lost her honor before marriage?

What will her parents think?

Much as she tried, she couldn't stop the itching in her eyes.

Targaryen Prince simply stared at her – the blue of his eye as turbulent as the most voracious of oceans.

Arianne wiped her cheeks when she felt the droplets. 

She was crying. Crying.

She couldn't cry in front of Prince Aemond. He would humiliate her even further.

"I...I a-am not...and I would...like to leave now." Her line of vision fell to her feet and she willed them to move. Unfortunately, his long legs moved as well, blocking her path.

"I do not give you permission to leave, lady Swann." Aemond spat, forcing his arms to rest at his sides. His sole eye moved to map and catalog the wet trails left on her cheekbones.

'W-what?'

What was wrong with him? She was crying! It was common decency to allow a lady her dignity! From the moment she arrived, there was gossip about the debauched Prince Aegon and the dutiful, impeccable Prince Aemond, whose only fault was his missing eye. But she realized the Keep was as full of horse dung as the dirtiest stable in the Seven Kingdoms

He was the most ill-mannered boor she had ever had the misfortune to meet! How did no one else realize this?

Arianne glared up at him through her damp eyelashes. 

"Your words offend me so I... please move-"

"Offend you?" Aemond sucked his bottom lip in and narrowed his eye.

 "So you are not a mistress then? Perhaps like your grandmother, he pays for your company in gold. How much of the crown's coins does he spend to share your bed? More than your famous grandmother? Is he the only one -"

Before she could think her foot flew and hit him in the shin.

Aemond hissed but he didn't stumble. 

"I AM NOT SHARING ANYONE'S BED!" Arianne screamed. 

She yanked off both of her earrings and threw them at his head. 

"How dare you insult me so? I haven't done anything to you! Yet, you state all these awful things about me when I haven't even had my first kiss. You judgmental, prejudiced twat!"

Arianne didn't wait for him to strike her head off, she ran past him. She ran until she reached the stairs and then she ran in the other direction until she was looking for her room.

She couldn't stop crying.

Miriam was sleeping when Arianne opened the door.

The young lady Swann had no heart to wake her and she didn't want to be interrogated about the worst night in her life.

She simply hugged her pillow and cried. She was dead. Tomorrow they would come for her and lead her before the Queen and she would sentence her to hanging for insulting and hitting Prince Aemond.

Not even Jace will be able to save her.

She had forgotten Jace wanted to tell her something.

That awful uncle of his!

The sweet embrace of sleep eluded Arianne for hours as she indulged in fantasies of setting her own dragon on that evil man. If she only had one, she’d let it devour him in one bite and she wouldn’t cry or retch.

She’d laugh. 

.

.

.

Miriam woke her with a scolding.

"My lady, you should've woken me to prepare you for bed! How did you sleep in that corset?" 

Arianne had a splintering headache.

Last night happened.

Oh, the Seven!

"D-did the guards ask for me?" The fearful tilt of her tone made Miriam frown.

"No," she eyed her lady suspiciously. "Why would they?"

Arianne breathed a relief. For now.

‘I kicked a Prince…’

Groaning, she buried her face into her pillow. She didn’t want to die! It wasn’t fair!

"Please get up and eat. I need to do your hair, it's completely knotted!"

"I am not leaving my room today," Arianne pouted. Perhaps if she never showed her face again, Prince Aemond would forget she existed?

"Oh...what happened last night? Did Prince Jacaerys kiss you?"

She winced.

Absolutely not.

"It was awful. I hate this place." Arianne muttered, taking a sip of water. She ate while Miriam fussed over the state of her dress.

"My lady, where are your earrings?" The question caught her unprepared and Arianne blanched.

"I...lost them."

"Both of them?" Miriam blinked several times.

I tossed them at that awful, awful -

"Yes." She pursed her lips and realized her appetite was missing.

The morning was uneventful. She had a bath and she and Miriam shared a meal later. Lady Massey informed her yesterday that she was to ensure Princess Rhaenyra’s things were put in order as these servants cannot be trusted for they are employed by the Queen.

The Swann girl hoped she wouldn’t have to scold too many of them.

Also, the younger princes needed to be taken to their lessons.

Arianne was still pretty upset but she tried to think about what Jace wanted to talk about. Her daydreams imagined him professing she was dear to his heart and -

her worst scenarios had him solemnly telling her that she was mistaken and he could never accept her for a wife. Not next to Princess Baela, not when Lord Paramount of Stormlands had four unwed daughters.

Miriam stood up because she heard a knock. 

'Oh no.' She turned rigid. They were here to put her in chains. To have her arrested for capital transgression against the prince. 

Aemond would have her executed.

Or Queen Alicent would.

"My lady, this is for you." Miriam was holding a small box and turning it around in her palm.

"Do you think prince -" Her other hand flew to her mouth to stifle the giggles.

"Just give me that!" Arianne scowled. She wasn't going to get excited over Jace's gift only for it to be from some lesser lord trying to marry her for her nice dowry.

Her fingers trembled as she opened it.

Arianne descended into shock.

Her pearl earrings.

What?

Was this another cruelty from One-eyed Prince?

Arianne put the box on the table and pulled a small piece of paper.

When she had read it she got up, tossed herself onto her bedding, and screamed into the pillow.

' Much as I appreciated your gift, Lady Arianne, I have no use for earrings. When we play cyvasse again and you win, you might be entitled to my forgiveness for the epithets you gave me. Should you lose, know that you would owe me twice, and I will not forget to collect your debt. Mayhaps you'll think of something of more value than jewelry—something of firsts.

My leg is completely fine, in case your ladyship was worried.  – Aemond Targaryen.'

Seven hells take him, he hadn't forgotten about her. 

"Miriam," she wailed. "I am not leaving these chambers until we are to return home." 

Her maid crossed her arms disapprovingly.

“Well, must I remind your ladyship that you are to take the young princes to the maester for their lessons?”

Next

[otrtbs]

as a fellow art history major i am ASTOUNDED by your correct opinions re your art monsters fic - the characterisation of each character's definition of art is so SEXY i cannot believe how well all of them fit... also i literally just picked up a copy of lauren elkin's art monsters the day i found this fic (unrelated i swear!) anyway if you ever want to yell art history/jegulus then please....

HIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHIIIIIII FELLOW ART HISTORIAN HI!! HELLO!!

first of all, this is so sweet. second of all, i'm so glad you think they fit this is so validating for me. art monsters is just an excuse for me to write out all my pretentious art history thoughts and to rant and rave about art history.... like it really is my favorite thing in the world.

also have you read elkin's book??? i'm literally obsessed with it. i picked it up at an art museum gift shop in sydney and she's perf.

would 13/10 love to chat abt art history and jegulus any time !!! <3

[dilutedconfusion]

A Moth to a Flame

Eustass Kid x F!Reader (Part 4)

HEYYYY YA’LLL i did it. I wrote the next chapter. This one is even bigger than the last and cost me at least half of my brain cells to write. I messed around with it a bunch to try and get the feeling right so hopefully it worked out in my favor (I’m not entirely sure it did but I’ve re-read it too many times so WAHHH) ALSO strap in cause there’s a bit of angst in the form of an argument in this one. As always I wish all my beautiful astounding readers a lovely day/night. Stay safe and stay rotted 💞

Summary: You just took a complete nose dive into the ocean only for Kid to watch from a distance. But the first part of this chapter leads up to the events of that happening. I need to explain just how Kid ended up on that shoreline in the first place and then we’ll see if you live or die <3

Warnings: Blood, Drowning, Vomiting

Word Count: 8.8k

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Tags: @st4rfevrr @archangelshavethetardis @likeeliterallywtf @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth @tulipps-maehem @ferretsqueen @thesnailus @shamblespirate @gabi-moureira

“Fuck this is good.” Kid mumbled out, mouth full of chicken as he spoke. Little blobs of spit were flying out of his mouth but Killer was used to the barrage. “That little waitress lady sure annoyed the shit out of me but at least this place has good food.”

Killer just nodded in agreement though he hadn’t taken a bite of the chicken. Not willing to remove his mask even if the back of the bar was empty.

It was late at night by now, the faint light through the windows barely masking the dark void-like sheen as the rain sprinkled down. Leaving nothing but sparkling drops of water to watch roll down the glass.

Though instead of watching that Killer watched Kid down a whole bottle of rum. Taking shot-like gulps out of his glass and using chicken as a chaser for about 10 minutes.

When Kid had walked back with the food he could sense something had happened. It was easy to spot when he noticed the slight shade of red washed over the apples of his cheeks. It was permanent at this point. But Killer couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or something else.

“You took a while to grab the food ya know. You didn’t get held up did you?” Killer asked quietly, leaning back on the booth and propping his arm up comfortably.

Kid looked up at Killer from his plate, eyes glancing over his friend's mask for just a moment before gliding back downwards. “Nah, the waitress just took her sweet time. I didn’t trust her to remember to bring the food back so I waited to do it myself.”

“So you just waited up there patiently? That’s not like you. Thought you would’ve started up one fight. Ease up a little.” Killer remarked, a quizzical glance thrown at Kid behind the space of his mask.

Kid’s mouth was occupied by the rim of his glass when his body hesitated. His eyes bore into his companion for only a moment before he swallowed loudly and set the cup down. “I wish,” was all he whispered out, which made Killer a bit more worried.

“Well, I did hear you talking to someone. Was the waitress giving you shit?” Killer leaned forward, eyeing Kid. His tone is neutral and calm as always. Trying not to fan the emotional storm that Kid could so often be.

Kid’s sharp amber eyes stared distantly at the rest of the room before he took another sip of rum and spoke. The half-melted ice cubes quietly clinking against the glass. “It…doesn’t matter. I was talking to that girl. Ya know, the one that was stalking us at the docks. She was sitting at the bar. She followed us here clearly.”

Killers eyes widened at that. Remembering the mental image of you standing there awkwardly at the dock when they first arrived. It was a bit of a shock at first but Killer just assumed you were nosy. Or at least he hoped that’s all it was was though it was starting to sound like his hopes were wrong.

“She followed us here? Are you sure she isn’t working for someone 'cause that’s suspicious as fuck Kid.” Killer leaned forward, his voice a tad bit more concerned considering they couldn’t take on another problem.

We need a break. Kid needs a break. This could be bad.

“No, it wasn’t like that. She talked to me normally. Complained about me killing people and like half-assed threatened me if I decided to pillage this town or whatever. Nothing super serious.” Kid had a certain brashness in the way he said that as if he was trying to prove that what he was saying was true. The harshness of his voice rasped out despite himself.

Killer eyed Kid, searching for something more caught on his tongue. He knew something was up, he just needed to get Kid to say it out loud. “Is that all?” He asked, placing his elbows on the table in front of him in a serious manner.

Kid tried piercing through Killer to try and break down what he was getting at. It was almost too embarrassing to even mention what happened, even to the person he trusted most. Yet with a weak little sigh he decided to give it up. “I don’t know. She like…said some stuff. Brought up my injuries like she had any right to talk about them but then she….”

Kid trailed off, scratching at the slight stubble on his chin he had meant to shave before finally responding quite gruffly. “She gave me this look. It wasn’t some useless pity or sympathy or anything like that. It felt very genuine I guess. Like she understood me.”

Killers eyes immediately widened, shocked by the fact that a mere stranger had gotten to Kid in any way, shape, or form. That barely happened. Not in all the years he knew Kid did he ever see the man connect with someone right away, even just by understanding their feelings. Kid was quite adamant that he didn’t have time for shit like that.

Staying quiet for only a moment Killer finally responded, his voice a bit more hushed. “So she…looked at you and you stopped dead in your tracks from ripping her head off?”

Kids' eyes narrowed in what Killer perceived as shame. Shame for himself and maybe even a bit of embarrassment. “Well, she deserved to get her head torn off. She kept talking shit about me the whole time. I was breathing so deeply to control myself I was nearly whistling out of my nose. White knuckled through it like a pussy.” Kid stroked a hand through his hair, tossing it a bit as his right leg started bouncing uncontrollably under the table.

Killer took note of his body language, the ground vibrating softly, and the way Kid clammed up at even mentioning what happened.

She did get to him.

Killer didn’t know what to say. Not wanting to assume anything nor agree with the fact that Kid did indeed let her off easy. Which was like his number one rule. No mercy above all else.

“It’s fine. She ain’t worth it anyway. I’d bet it would be like squashing a grape killing someone like her.” Killer conscientiously replied. Trying to smooth Kid over the best he could.

It’s strange seeing Kid like this. It almost feels…uncanny.

Kid's lips just tugged down into a frown, his brow a tight line of knots. “Well, you didn’t hear what she was saying to me. I would rip out anyone’s esophagus before that shit even left their tongue.”

Kids hand clenched tightly around his glass. Killer glanced between Kid and the glass expecting it to shatter though it didn’t. Just like Kid the glass was on the edge of caving in. The kind of glass that would cut and scar Kid’s hand if he just applied a bit more pressure. A reflection of self cast upon the transparent cup. Kid didn’t want his feelings to spill but if he kept this up, something was bound to snap. Turning both the cup and Kid into nothing but sharp shards only capable of harming himself and others.

“I know you would’ve but you didn’t. You were holding yourself back.” Killer spoke as plainly as he could. Getting to the root of the issue despite not entirely caring about Kids desire to harm you. In any other case he would’ve been more gung-ho about enacting revenge. But to Killer right now wasn’t the right time and it felt like no matter what he said, Kid would choose to be upset.

His injuries must be hurting him badly for him to back off like that. Or maybe…that girl wasn’t the kind of person to kill?

“Well I held myself back and now I’m regretting it.” Kid mumbled, shoving the last leg of a chicken in between his teeth and smacking his lips as he chewed.

“Well, it happened and you can’t change it. If you see her later and want her dead, I’m all for helping out. But for now let's stop thinking about it and get the fuck out of here.”

Kid let out a little grunt of agreement and tore the rest of the chicken off the bone in one bite. Placing the bone down on the plate, he slid it towards the middle of the table. Wiping the grease around his lips with the back of his hand he then pulled a bag of berries and placed them on the table.

So with a rough jangle of a few metal coins and some grunts later they both stood up. However, Kid’s body swayed a whole lot more than Killer's from the alcohol.

“You good? Ain’t gonna pass out on me right?” Killer asked, adjusting his jeans a bit as he spoke.

“Yep. Now get a move on.” Kid spat back short and sweet. Yet it wasn’t entirely alcohol making him sway. Surprisingly he could still feel his stump throbbing just as much as he had when sober.

What a waste of booze if I ain’t going numb. Gonna have to change these goddamn bandages too. Kid gripped his stump for a moment as he walked behind Killer. Feeling how tender his flesh was with delicate strokes. But when he breached the front portion of the bar he stopped. Trying not to pay attention to how the waitress stared at the both of them while they walked out.

The brisk chill in the air hit Kid’s sharp nose first. Traveling along the warm apexes of his cheeks and flowing softly against the center of his chest. His back stayed warm whilst the rest of him became enraptured with the descending cold.

“Good. The rain let up a bit.” Killer mumbled, stepping out in the open air and waiting for Kid to make it past the door as he held it open. There were no lights on the street except for a littering of lanterns around each building. So they walked together in half darkness. The soft clicking of their heels paired with some talkative birds finding shelter in the rain. Other than that it felt as if the whole world was silent.

“Bet the rest of the crew is back on board already,” Killer explained softly, breaking the silence between them for the second time tonight.

Kid barely glanced at Killer beside him. Grunting less in agreement and more just to mildly acknowledge what his pair had said. Because in all honesty Kid didn’t need to be told that. Heat and Wire, who usually joined the two of them on their bar trips, had been absent.

Killer had told him it was because they had other shit to do. Something involved with making sure this town had the right supplies for their restock. But Kid knew they were absent because they were hesitant to be around him right now.

So maybe they were just doing their jobs as they were told but he doubted they would be happy if he decided to give them the day off.

They probably wanted to head to the only bar in town but I was there.

Shit, they probably hit the sack early just so they didn’t have to deal with me.

Kid could feel a vein in his forehead throbbing softly. Twitching his skin and only pissing him off even more.

Maybe if I stopped yelling at them they wouldn’t back off from me.

Kid hadn’t been in the best of moods since he came face to face with Benn Beckman and a part of him had taken that anger and frustration out on his crew. He knew it was wrong, yes. But that’s why he needed to be alone for a while. This all-consuming lunging in the gut is only proof of that.

But as the two walked the cold started to relieve the pain running across Kid's body. Soaking into his thick scars and past his bandages to numb the horrendous ache he was feeling. It made his body feel a bit lighter. More manageable. For even the short amount of time that it took to walk closer and closer to the Victoria.

When the two of them reached the edge of the docks Kid started slowing down. Making Killer stop in his tracks to turn around to look back at him.

But before Killer could even speak, Kid's voice reached him. “I think…I think I’m gonna take a walk.” His voice was quiet, his eyes gliding down the shoreline of the bay off to his right. A shadow of a man standing on two rickety feet. Like a strange caricature of himself he stood.

Killer paused, willing himself to try and think of something remotely useful. His Captain, his best friend, was about to have a drunken walk at night in the rain. He could already imagine him stumbling around in the dark. Too mad to cry but too tired to punch anything till he felt better. It made Killer's fist clutch at his sides as he swiftly turned around to fully face his Captain. A deep well of emotions was getting stirred in his chest.

And yet he’s still refusing to admit anything is wrong?

With a slightly aggravated tone, Killer finally spoke, “This isn’t…because of what happened is it? You told me you were fine. You made it very clear by screaming it at me but…I’m not about to let you go sulk by yourself.” Killer took a step closer and straightened out his spine. Trying to prove just how serious he was about this.

Kid's attention snapped back to Killers the moment those words left his tongue. Glowering at him like he was trying to control him. Trying to defy his pride.

“Well, I was being serious. I’m fine and I don’t need permission from anybody to take a walk.” With that Kid started walking away, going down the edge of the docks in a stomping fashion.

“You shouldn’t be out walking in the rain. If your bandages get soaked through it could fuck up your wounds Kid.” Killer called, taking another step towards his Captain but not following him just yet.

Kid just kept on walking regardless of whatever Killer said. His coat billowed on his shoulders with each step. Like a red flag waving in the breeze and daring Killer to chase after him. But something snapped in Kids voice. Suddenly raising in volume and dripping with venom. “I fucking know that and I don’t care! So back off!”

Killer inhaled deeply through his nose. Holding his fists back from wanting to knock Kid out and just drag him back to the ship. He started briskly walking after Kid, not caring if he didn’t want him to follow or not.

“Then let me come with you. There’s a goddamn noble town up north crawling with marines. You can’t be walking around drunk if shit goes down.” Killer's tone was still controlled but became more raspy as he spoke. The pressure upon the damn of his feelings crackling and hissing at the seems.

It wasn’t a tone Kid heard often and despite knowing the worry he was causing Killer, he chose not to focus on it. Driving headfirst into a sea of pride. He wanted to lose himself. If only for one night.

“You think I can’t protect myself? Are you calling me weak Kil? Is that what you’re fucking doing right now?” Kid’s head jerked back to glare at his companion. Pausing his demonstrative walk for a moment to leave them both at a standstill. If anyone on the Victoria nearby was listening, they could most certainly feel the piles of tension stacking up between them.

Killers body hunched inwards, running a quick hand through his hair as he absentmindedly kicked at the ground. His muscles were just urging and wishing to fight.“No-that’s not…” Killer paused, letting out a low grunt and gritting his teeth.

“Shit Kid! What if someone attacks a ship? We would need our Captain here.”

Killer knew that was a bad excuse. The moment he said he knew it sounded desperate. But he couldn’t help himself from trying to convince Kid with logic.

Emotions were out the window. They always have been and always will be when it comes to open communication between these two. Killer would rather pull out his teeth with two needles than tell Kid that he hated seeing him like this. That he couldn’t stand seeing someone so strong get broken down. The yelling and the fights were haunting his brain. All he wanted to do was tie down Kid so he could rest and mend his wounds every five seconds until he got better. But Kid hadn’t been willing to rest and he still wasn’t. Killer could barely think it made him so mad.

But of course, Kid wasn’t picking up on any of Killer's true intentions. He was seeing a splattering of pity across his face and every other person he cared about. But he hated pity. That word was all he could ever think about lately. He wanted things to go back to normal. He wanted his crew to believe in him without questioning if he could handle it or not.

So both of them came to a halt. Lost between the words desperate and pity they stood as shadows of men.

“So now you’re belittling my crew huh? Don’t you think you and everyone else can handle a couple of marines? Bullshit! I’m just going for a walk Kil not leaving your asses.” Kid knew Killer was right. Shit, he could feel it in his bones. But it wasn’t a matter of what was best for him or the crew. Kid wanted what he wanted and come hell or high-water he was going to get it.

“I know that! But I don’t like this.” Killer stepped forward, only slightly closing the gap between them. Still not willing to explain himself. Still coming up with bad excuses.

I just wish for once he would just listen to me on this. Set aside his pride. This thought was imprinted in Killer's mind like mud. Getting between the crevices of his brain and washing him wry with feeling.

But today wasn’t the day Kid was going to set aside his pride. If anything, hearing Killer's voice so needy nearly broke him apart. Sadness slinked through his ears with every word and plea. So though he loved a good fight, his voice quieted down to a mumble. Losing the hope to convince Killer to trust him otherwise.

“Whatever. Go back to the ship. I’ll be back soon.” It’s like the energy was sucked right out of him. Letting out a big huff of air and biting the inside of his mouth to keep it from screaming. He turned back around towards the shoreline and started walking once more.

Killer didn’t follow him. Mask trained on his Captain as he walked off the dock and his feet sunk into the sandy shore. It was dark so Kid nearly disappeared instantly once he was out of range from the lanterns.

Like a moth to a moon, Killer wanted to follow him. But he supposed Kid’s light was gone for now.

__________

Kid had been ambling for barely 10 minutes. The waves paired with the swirling whirlwind of his mind affected him greatly. His thoughts were loud and so was the ocean. A reflection of how he felt lost in a sea of which he shouldn’t touch. The feeling of turmoil was the best way to describe it.

Kid didn’t like sulking. In his mind, he has only experienced what he considered as true sadness just a few times.

When I was abandoned as a child.

When Victoria died.

He hadn’t thought about her in a while but he supposed it was because he always felt like she was around regardless of her death. Her spirit in his ship. Her spirit in his goals. She was one of the many reasons to keep going because if he didn’t achieve his dreams then to him it was like she died for nothing.

I can’t sit in my shit and act like it isn’t my fault.

He didn’t think losing an arm was worthy of being sad over. Which in turn just made him feel worse anytime he got frustrated about it.

It's not worth it. Feeling feelings. Look what the fuck it's doing to me. To my crew.

His eyes stared blankly out in front of him. His pace was consistent as he lost himself in thoughts. The cold was still easing his pain and the rain had died down even more. But he could feel the weight of water across his skin and clothes. Soaking in just a tad bit and leaving ghostly chills up his spine.

He swept back his damp hair as it fell over his goggles before finally looking up from the sand and out onto the sea. Without even realizing it Kid had walked quite aways. Stopping in place he noticed a jetty tucked along the shore about 50 feet ahead of him.

Squinting his eyes he traced the silhouette of the dark shadowy mass. The moon hanging high up in the sky was partly covered in clouds so no real details popped out at him. This sense of the unknown peeking his curiosity enough that he decided to take a look closer at it.

He didn’t know why he cared to look. He had been staring at the sand this whole time without even considering the view around him. But something in his gut made him curious. Forced him to look even.

It's just a stupid jetty. I’ve seen a million of these things. Why do I care?

He walked up closer to it. Standing right where the boulders and sand met he looked down at the jagged heaps of rocks.

I can’t even see jack-shit.

He let out a low groan and nearly turned away to keep walking.

Maybe I should head into the forest. Get away from the water. This thought floated in and out of his head almost instantly. Because before he could fully turn around he saw something move in his peripheral vision.

“Huh?” Left his cold lips, just his head turning to stare down the jetty in quick succession. It was then he saw it.

A break in the clouds had opened for the first time in a while. A much brighter cool milky glow landed delicately across the small chunk of land and water between Kid and the jetty. The ocean came alight, letting him see the swirls of green and blue more definitively. Like a Van Gogh painting they moved, each stroke a current churning around itself.

Without a proper warning, his heart skipped in shock. A person was standing on the jetty a good bit ahead of him. He could see the outline of their figure, back cast towards him as they stood on an outcropping of rocks on the jetty line.

What the hell? Was the first thing that came to mind. Perplexed, he stared until he noticed something equally surprising.

It's that girl.

He blinked in utter disbelief. Scowling hard he turned completely towards you. Almost rubbing his eyes out of disbelief as if you were some kind of mirage made out of sea foam and moonlight. But as he watched you grip onto the edge of rocks and walk even further down the jetty it finally hit him that you were indeed, real.

Is she trying to get herself killed?

Panic struck him nearly as hard as the waves came crashing down onto the shore. His stomach sank into his gut as he swallowed hard. Fingers twitching at his side. Letting his eyes scan the area around you searching for a reason why you might be out there.

Maybe she’s trying to reach something? Maybe someone else is out there?

These thoughts floated by and all that was left was something even more confusing. From the looks of it, there was nothing substantial down the line of the jetty. No other person or object he could see in his apparent field of vision. Yet he kept looking, watching over you and expecting you to slip with each small step you took.

He didn't know why this was his instinctive reaction. To let his body tense up at the thought of you falling in and drowning. The fact that he could easily watch somebody die and just stand here idly wasn’t something that had ever bothered him in the past. He often was jealous of those who got to enact pain onto others who deserved it. Which was a part of the reason he was so quick to violence.

Yet seeing you do something as reckless as walking on a jetty during a rough storm at night irked him.

I’m seriously not in the mood to watch this stupid bitch die in front of me.

But if Kid let himself calm down he would've remembered wanting you dead. He would’ve remembered complaining about how you treated him and how he had mistakenly given you mercy. But this feeling in his gut didn’t want him to remember.

All he could think about was you.

That fucking idiot is going to get herself killed and not even in a satisfying way.

He clenched his fist as his eyes traced the line of waves. At first, he thought he saw another line of boulders. One much smoother and taller than the first. But as the moon peaked out over that portion of water he saw it fully.

It was a wall-like wave looming closer to you from the other side of the jetty. The kind that would destroy ships and drown hundreds. It rolled in, white-tipped as it churned closer and closer.

It took him a second to realize what was about to happen. You had no idea that the jetty was about to get hit by that massive thing but he did. His eyes helplessly flickering between your form and that bastardly wave.

She’s going to get hit. There’s no way she’ll survive that.

A strange feeling emerged in Kid. One he didn’t often feel and in his personal opinion felt…itchy. Like in the back of his brain something was scraping away at his thoughts and sending warm trails down to his heart. He wanted to help you. But that realization could only be described as completely and utterly disgusting.

Am I seriously about to help her? He mulled over himself for a moment. Glancing between you and the wave. Each passing second just making him more erratically nervous as he watched that wave loom closer. Clenching his jaw and rolling his eyes at his apparent sympathy before finally caving in.

“WATCH OUT!” He yelled, his voice still so quiet compared to everything else around him.

It took you a second to hear him. His eyes glided over how your body paused upon hearing his voice but you still didn’t turn around to look at him.

I’m trying to help this bitch and she doesn’t even pay attention to me?

The sass on Kid's face became almost palpable. With a quick scoff followed by wiping the rain off his face he gave it one more useless shot.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?! THERE'S A WAVE COMING!” His voice cracked a bit as he yelled. Becoming more and more frustrated that he even had to deal with any of this shit.

He wasn’t a hero. He didn’t want to run along that stupid jetty and get caught up in the wave to save some stranger.

This isn’t worth it. A dumb bitch like her deserves to die if she’s really stupid enough to try and pull whatever this is off.

But when you finally turned towards him he was struck by something.

Something that tasted like honey on his tongue and compassion in his chest.

Kid almost couldn’t believe it when he saw the halo of light surrounding you. Maybe it was the water in the air. Picking up the moonlight and reflecting it at him. But it framed your head and made your skin nearly glow. Your hair was shiny and flowing. Face round and inviting. Your soft eyes landed on him like deep hollow orbs. The kind of eyes that if he stared at them for too long would swallow him whole.

Yet of course on your lips and eyes was an expression he’d seen before. It was that same look you had given him earlier. That same look that had stopped him dead in his tracks.

But instead of annoying him everything about you drew him in. Almost unable to look away he took a meaningful step closer. Wanting to see you more despite himself. Wanting to keep that expression of yours alive because it reminded him of something.

Or moreover, of someone.

I can’t let another girl die.

I just can’t.

An image of Victoria brushed across his eyes for only a moment. A memory so supple and full of emotion it blossomed into something new.

Something that was going to keep you alive no matter what.

“TAKE FUCKING COVER YOU ASSHOLE!” Left his lips before he could even process whatever he was feeling. It made his heart beat loudly in his ears. A strange cold sweat taking hold of his body.

He pointed his arm off to the right to try and signal something was coming. But your body didn’t move. He could see the curl of your lips go downturned in confusion. The way your eyebrows knitted together softly. That image of you getting seared onto the back of his eyelids before that image inevitably disappeared.

Loud as a bomb, the wave landed against the rocks. Cascading on the jetty and swallowing your body whole. An abstract painting of water splashing against the stone. Rough paint strokes of green and blue representing the clawing current surrounding you. The wave only taking seconds before it finally bubbled down and leveled out onto the other side of the jetty.

Kid swallowed hard, a tight ball of pressure building in his throat as he looked over the spot where you once stood.

And of course, it was empty.

“FUCK! FUCK!” Kid instinctively tried to dash for the water. Forgetting for a moment that he literally couldn’t swim and throwing his coat onto the dry part of the shore. As he walked into the water a wave hit across his legs and stomach, drenching his clothes in an instant and almost knocking him off balance. He let out a little searing hiss at the cold. Urging his body to just suck it up and deal with it.

The booze, injuries, and mental despair was making this moment so much harder to process for Kid. To even realize what was happening around him. But as he tried to force himself through the first line of waves that ever dreaded feeling of complete exhaustion took hold. His muscles going soft as the curse of his powers sunk in.

“FUCKING GODDAMN IT!” He screamed as he forced himself deeper into the waters. The waves dared to suck him in as they sloshed over his chest. His feet still on the ground so he wouldn’t drown thankfully. But if he was knocked over or pulled in with the tide then it was over for both of you.

He knew that. Well aware for the most part yet that wasn’t going to stop him. He had dove in the water for his crew a few times which led them to bickering at him for ‘trying’ to save their life. And though he didn’t know you, maybe that instinct was still somehow embedded in his brain.

But his intelligence to handle the situation blew behind him with the wind. His mind now just a hollow cave of liquor and remorse. Any normal person would’ve reacted as he had.

Or at least that's what he was going to say once this was all over.

The weight of his clothes and the water sinking into his boots was making it incredibly difficult to move. He bounded backward as another wave threatened to send him under. Thrashing over his face the cold sunk deep into his skin. Drenching his hair as the salt stung his eyes and lips.

He took a deep breath of relief as the wave left, popping his head out of the water to see your head floating in the distance. Your face was only a shadow but you seemed to be trying to tread in the water. The currents pushing you closer to Kid yet another wall of waves crashed down on top of you, making you disappear once more.

“SON OF A BITCH!” Kid howled, his mouth only getting filled with water so he spat it out quickly. You were right there. Maybe 15 feet ahead of him in the water. That distance felt so insignificant he could nearly combust where he stood.

He tried to walk forward more but the water came up to his collarbone at this point, leaving him weak and defenseless as more ocean water erupted into his mouth and nose. With ragged coughs he decided to give up on chasing you into the water. Swiping his wet locks out of his eyes he bounded backwards and kept his feet on the sand below to work his way back onto the shore. The waves pushing him down so his ass hit the muddy sand hard.

“Me and my stupid devil fruit getting in the goddamn way again.” He grumbled to himself. If he wasn’t a limp bag of rocks in the water he would’ve easily swam out there to you. Scooped you up and dragged you ashore. He could almost see that version of his life playing like a VHS in his head. Though it did nothing but make him more frustrated.

His eyes never left the water even for a moment. He wanted to see you come back up for air again. He wanted to see you alive.

Though his whole body still felt deathly weak from the water he wasn’t fully submerged anymore which meant his devil fruit came back into play. Raising his arm little purple sparks of lightning started to trace his skin. Desperately trying to pull up any metal that might be submerged near you.

Maybe she could grab onto whatever is down there. I can drag her back in that way. He felt a tingly sensation ran up his humerus, a classic sign that there was indeed something hidden in the waters. A wave splashed against his legs so he dragged his ass back further onto the sand. Focusing on what little strength he had in his right arm.

What if what I pull up hits her? She hasn’t come back up for air again. I don’t know where she is.

And in truth, you didn’t know where you were either.

It was like a sensory deprivation tank under the water. Your ears felt swollen and brimming with nothing but a loud ringing and aquatic bubbles running across your skin. They tickled you as you floated and thrashed around. Eyes opening but seeing nothing but darkness in every direction.

You tried to move. Tried to swim to what you thought might be the surface one more time but something deep and gnarly was dragging you down. The sea itself clasped on your ankles like some kind of God seeking revenge. It wanted to chill you to the bone. It wanted to leak into your lungs. It wanted your flesh.

I’m going to die an idiot.

There was blood running in the water around you. Your head, side, and hands were screaming with pain yet you couldn’t remember what happened. Everything was a complete blur. It almost felt as if you were floating out in space. Barely any sound and just an endless chill numbing every inch of skin.

Did I hit something when I fell?

As your mind searched for answers you heard something else in the darkness. A clunking sound loud and scraping moved below you. Like a snake, you watched something dark slither against the ocean floor. It was deep and though you were on the precipice of blacking out you kept your eyes on it.

Great. I’m going to die an idiot and get eaten alive.

Staring distantly it slowly started to rise in the water. Caught between two currents you managed to stay near the object until eventually, you saw the definite shape of what it was. To your surprise, it wasn’t a sea king. Instead, it was a chain. Thick and crusted over with barnacles and wrapped in seaweed it rose.

It made your senses kick back in. The cold and lack of air dared to take you away but the shock kept you awake.

What in the world?

The chain rose higher and higher until it came closer to you. You kicked your feet reaching out for it. Barely making any distance towards the chain as the current sloshed you around. But eventually the tips of your fingers scraped against it. Giving you just enough hold to fully grip onto one of the chain links with weak hands.

You could feel the split-open caverns of your flesh dig into the barnacles when you grabbed on. It made you cringe hard, lungs burning and filling with water as you tried to take in an anguished breath. Round glass-like bubbles rose to the surface above. You’re once hollow lungs now brimming with seawater.

In a desperate attempt, you yanked your satchel that was still floating helplessly around your shoulders and used it to tie your hands to the chain. Wrapping the strap through the chain and feeding arms through it so it would hold.

The chain started rising higher and higher toward the surface. Your eyes blinking and fading to an even darker shade of black in your vision. You could feel the tips of your fingers down to your toes loosing their substance of life. Unable to break away from this feeling you passed out. Though the chained had finally dared to breach the briny depths, you were already gone. Your body limp and nearly lifeless as you reached the surface with a resounding splash.

Kids eyes widened when he made you out amongst the waves. He was hoping to see your face alive and well but all he saw were your hands strung to the chain he had dredged up.

“SHIT!” He yelled, clenching the taught muscles of his arm even tighter. More little sparks of lightning danced along his skin in a fury. The chain was not that heavy but the current of the ocean kept trying to pull it away from him. He finally stood up off the shore, getting a better view to see the rest of your body floating about a foot under the water.

It didn’t take long until the chain finally found its way towards him. He let it slide up on shore, your body dragging along with it. Taking a few steps into the sea he reached out and grabbed onto the strap of your satchel. His eyes were blurry and burning but he managed to undo the knot around your wrists with his one hand. After throwing the bag further onto the beach his eyes returned to you. Now that your hands had slipped free he quickly grabbed onto the soft fat of your stomach. Working his arm with a bit of difficulty around your middle to pick you up as best he could.

If I had my other fucking arm this would be a lot easier. He grumbled to himself though his complaining instantly faded as he felt your strikingly cold skin. Your hefty body should have been light work for him to carry but right now it was just plain annoying. So he hunched over and let you slump onto his forearm. Dragging you inland as your feet left lines in the sand until he finally set you down face first.

He kneeled on the ground and rolled you over on your back. Your nose and cheeks now crusted with a bit of sand along with most of your clothes. Your soft eyelashes closed against your face. He noticed the tone of your skin was a few shades lighter and slightly blue along your lips.

“Fuck.” He whispered under his breath, taking two of his fingers and placing them on your neck. He almost didn’t want to know. Almost hoping you would just wake up and be fine so he didn’t have to go through this anymore. But by the looks of the bleeding gash on your forehead and side, he supposed he couldn’t just trust faith to bring you back to life.

It took a couple of seconds but he finally felt some semblance of a heartbeat. It was slow and weak against his fingers but you were alive.

Thank god. I didn’t do this shit for nothing.

Now that he finally got you back another wave of panic struck him once more. He needed to keep you alive and considering he knew next to nothing about first aid, it was going to be a struggle.

Chewing his lips he decided your wounds could wait. They weren’t bleeding out too badly. A slow drizzle of blood across your face and into your hair. The gash on your side turning the sand below red. But you weren’t breathing which meant Kid needed to administer CPR.

Which, of course, he only had a faint inclination on how to do.

“Here the fuck we go.” He told himself, trying to hype himself up despite his fear. He placed his one hand between your breasts, feeling the center of your sternum and pressing down on it.

I’m supposed to use two hands. Hopefully, this will be enough.

He thought over his rhythm for only a moment before pressing down on you as hard as he could. Keeping his large hand flat he covered up all the space between your breasts so hopefully he would cover the right area. He spastically jerked his muscles with each compression until he felt something inside of you snap.

Shit. I broke her bone. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

He paused looking at your face and chest. Hoping to see signs of something coming to life but nothing happened. So without another nervous thought, he kept the compressions going for a few minutes. Or maybe it was less than that, he wasn’t entirely sure.

“Can you just wake up?! I’m done saving your ass. This shit is taking too long.” He told you, voice horse with exertion and even a bit of pain.

It bothered him having to do something like this. To have somebody's life in his hands usually meant he was the one to kill them. But right now he was trying to keep someone alive. Which made him realize keeping a human body alive was a lot harder than he would ever admit.

Getting irritated he paused, lifting his hand off your chest to hover it over your slightly agape mouth. Not a single breath of air escaping it.

“Oh my sweet fuck.” He growled, face torn and eyes almost daring to shed tears as he leaned his face towards yours. He lifted your chin towards the sky and opened your mouth a bit more.

“Pucker up.” Left his lips in a joking attempt to make this situation slightly more manageable. To calm his shaking hands and repress his urge to just shake you silly until you came back to life.

Please just wake up. Please just wake up.

He was about to kiss a woman, which he's done many times before but this one happened to be near dead and unconscious. It was less of a kiss and more of a desperate attempt to save you. Which some would argue is even more intimate than any kiss could be.

Pinching your nose he took in a deep breath before latching his lips with yours and breathing outwards. Your lips were dry and cold against his. Lacking all the warmth he wished you had.

Staring down at your chest he gave you a few deep breaths. Trying to spot your lungs heaving up and down as he filled you up like a balloon. After the first few breaths, he finally noticed your chest rise much higher. The mound of your stomach going along with it and giving him a sense of hope maybe he was doing the right thing.

So he pulled up and took another deep breath in before locking lips once more. Keeping your nose tightly shut and making sure his breath was even and long-lasting as it flooded your lungs.

The feeling of the cold slimy unconscious pool your mind lay in suddenly started sliding off as you woke up. Though you hadn’t even realized you were awake before a gush of water came rushing out of your lungs.

Kid instinctively pulled back the second he felt your muscles contract. But that didn’t stop him from getting sea water splashed over his face and even a bit in his mouth.

“Say it, don't spray it asshole.” He leaned back up and spat the water on the sand. Wiping his lips as he watched your body roll over onto its side. Your eyes blinked rapidly and filled up with tears within an instant. Loud choking and gushing noises erupting out of you while you vomited out all the sea water your lungs had taken in.

Some of it hit Kid's lap but he decided not to care. Because you were both thoroughly soaked to the bone, a little more water straight from your lungs and stomach wouldn’t hurt. So he just watched you as deeply uncomfortable feeling stabbed his chest. Runny lines of tears and snot were dripping from your face. You’re eyes barely able to stay open as they constantly blinked away those burning tears. You managed to half way propped yourself up on one arm. Your spine contracting spastically with each retch.

He didn’t like seeing you writhe for whatever reason. Though he couldn’t tell if it’s because he thought it was gross and weak or something else.

Suddenly loud gasps started escaping your mouth making it seem like you still couldn’t breathe. Your throat seemingly sewed shut. Only letting stuff out but not in. Like a fish out of water, your torso twitched even more, your weak hand reaching up and grabbing onto your throat to urge it to open again.

Kids eyes widened at this, realizing that maybe it was too soon to start acting like an uncaring asshole considering you were close to death, yet again. “Goddamn it, just breathe!” He yelled, scooping his hand under the sand and to sit you up.

His voice barely even reached you. Even if you could breathe it felt like you couldn’t. A panic attack revolted against you, making every breath you tried to take weak and small. Barely filling up your lungs and keeping you conscious by a thin thread.

Your watery eyes looked up at him desperately. Pleading him to do something. To do anything to make it stop. A frown took over his face as he drank in your desperation. His stomach sinking to the ground while the uncommon feeling of sympathy flooded his nerves.

What in the hell am I supposed to do?

He wasn’t one for comfort and he already used all the first aid tricks he knew. So he started roughly patting your back, hoping to brute force whatever was blocking your airway. “Is there water still in there? Why can’t you breathe?”

The patting made you cough once again. Dribbles of seawater spilling past your lips and stinging the soft tissue of your mouth. You closed your eyes and leaned your side against Kid's chest. Trying anything to help you calm down you started focusing on your heartbeat. Urging your muscles to relax and using Kids body to stay upwards.

Kid just stared down at you, his pats getting slower and a bit softer. He was worried that if he spoke at all it would ruin whatever sense of peace you were chasing after. He was worried that he would just make it worse.

I always make shit like this worse.

The feeling of your equally drenched and clammy body against his was a bit uncomfortable but he knew it would be a dick move just to let you fall over. So he held onto your back and cradled you slightly. Grimacing the whole time while he listened to your breaths getting deeper and deeper.

Watching you silently he ended up just looking you over. Staring at your skin covered in dewdrops glistening in the moonlight. Noticing how your blood mixed with the water and thinned out to a brisk trickle across your cheek. There were stark tear lines dragging across you skin. Even some faint snot mixed with sea water dripping out of your nose. The warmth rising back into your skin and becoming noticeable against his chest.

Eventually, your eyes opened back up, dazed but no longer flooded with tears.

“You done dying?” He mumbled out, his low voice rumbling in his chest so much you could feel it against your skin.

You slowly looked up at him, his face and body so much closer than it's ever been before. His hair was drenched and lying gently over his goggles and shoulders. Cute curly waves with little drips of water slipping them. His bandages soaked and peeling in some parts to revel the deep gashes along his chest. The ones still healing on his face were shiny and red as if they were irritated. Red-smeared lipstick around the edges of his permanently frowning mouth. His warm breath that smelled of liquor and seawater fanning over you.

Despite the cold numbness draped over your nerves you still managed to feel his chest against you. The way his skin was almost burning it was so warm compared to yours. His thick arm holding the soft space below your shoulder blades in such a delicate way.

Though you noticed all of this, a part of you felt like he wasn’t even there. That he was just a mirage or you were already dead and gone. Left with nothing but this man to ease you over into the afterlife.

“Uh-huh," Was all you could manage to get out. Your throat was now drying up as the salt took hold. Making you rasp and wheeze a bit with each breath.

Kid just rolled his eyes at that, “Well I just want you to know right now that you are a complete fucking dumbass who has no sense of self-preservation and I wish I never met you.”

You blinked slowly, a wave of drowsiness cascading upon you. “Okay.” You said with a shaky breath. Shivering deeply, your eyes closed once more. Kid watched as your head fell against his chest, letting him know that you had passed out for good.

“This bitch.” Left his mouth almost instantly. He was hoping you’d stay awake so you could walk or hold onto him if he was forced to carry you.

I don’t want to carry her. I’m tired and I’m drunk and I don’t deserve this.

He just stared at you against him. Urging his hand to let you fall onto the sand and leave you there.

This was supposed to be my break. I wanted to relax. What do I owe this random girl? I already saved her life which is way more than anyone should expect from me. So she can wake up and figure the rest of this shit out herself.

His face scrunched up as he mulled it over. He stared down at you against his chest. Feeling your soft hair against him. Your spine and arms were nearly vibrating with each deep shiver that ran through you. Like a wounded animal, you curled into him which warmed the small embers of his heart yet repulsed him beyond belief.

“God fucking damn it fine! You won this round.” He yelled at you, a loud exasperated sigh bellowing out of him. With that he softly set you down on the sand. Standing up to go grab his coat that surprisingly hadn’t flown away in the wind. He yanked it off the sand and dusted it off before noticing your bag still laying completely soaked a few feet away from him.

Am I seriously about to hold this girl's shit as well? He asked himself, staring at the green satchel vehemently before roughly picking it up and slinging the strap over his shoulder.

I guess I fucking am. He nearly slapped himself in the face with how ticked off he was. He saved your life and was a bit proud of that fact. But the amount of kindness he was providing was just down right deplorable.

He walked back over to you and kneeled back down onto the sand. Still holding onto his coat and looking between you and the fur.

Of course this bitch is visibly shaking. He just stared at you for a moment, hoping you’d stop so he could throw the coat over his shoulders instead. But your body was insistently twitching violently from head to toe. Your face naturally scrunching up in pain despite being blacked out.

It's not like I’m not cold. I got dunked in the water too. But of course your unconscious body was asking for yet another round of his sympathy.

“Whatever. Take this you greedy little shit.” Kid took his coat and started wrapping it around you. Making sure your arms were funneled through the sleeves so it wouldn’t fall off.

With a grunt, he tried to lift you onto his shoulder. Hunching over so his shoulder was close to your stomach and using his one hand to slide you onto him. He had to pick you up by the ass just a bit, feeling the fat meat of it in his hand as he pulled you up onto him until your hips were in line with his shoulder.

He tried not to think about it too much considering he was groping the ass of a half-dead woman but he managed to get you in a good position. Getting up off the ground with another loud grunt he almost instantly toppled over to one side. Your heavy body was hanging loosely off him so he gripped your legs tightly before you could slide off his shoulder.

“And you couldn’t be just a bit lighter eh? Making me put some actual effort into this shit.” He started walking towards his ship in the distance. Each step just a bit louder than usual against the sand. Your head and arms swaying upside down in a half-pleasant, half horrible sensation.

“Oh and just so you know. This is the last time you’ll get a lick of kindness from me. Expect nothing but shit-talking and maybe a good gut punch from here on out.” He told you but of course this whole time you were dead asleep. So it didn’t matter if you heard his declaration or not. Kid was going to give you what he wanted to give you. He just hoped his stupid feelings wouldn’t get in the way of his prerogatives.

A/N: GEEHEE✨ GEEHEE✨I love writing Kid being a big bootyhole. It’s so sweet and endearing and nice. Would he have a soft spot for a stranger normally? No. But do you remind him of someone he cared about? Yes. Oh and just to be clear when I talk Y/N’s expression and how you remind him of Victoria I don’t mean that you look like her. You look like you of course I just view it as the aura or substance of who Y/N is relates to Victoria in a strange way. Hope that makes sense. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pretty and isn’t willing to realize it. WHAT?? WHO SAID THAT?

[murderandcoffee]

I got a comment on my oldest fic on ao3 the other day, and through that comment I learned that there is someone out in the world who does a yearly re-read of my fic. and that blows my mind. you mean to tell me that there is a living, breathing person with a life of their own who, once a year, comes back to my fic and re-reads it? I'm astounded. that's insane to think about. I'm touched.

[silverskye13]

Skye hold my hand I just read the newest chapter

First, I LOVE how Tanguish recognises the space where the unhealthy behaviours existed before (mostly: compromise bit I'm looking at you). It shows so much growth as a character and the progression of him as his own being.

Second, the descriptions in this chapter were astounding. I adored the one of the little nook Tanguish ran to. Felt very small and cosy. Also the description of the main hall.

Which leads me to number three, Welsknight (derogatory). WHY IS HE THERE. WHAT DID HE DO. TANGUISH MY SWEET CHILD EITHER RUN OR KILL HIM!!!!

(bonus: hmmm Impulse having trouble with favours and wanting things and hoarding....couldn't possibly have any relation to the Demon being so strong could it....it would never....not in a Silverskye13 story....)

(bonus bonus: if Impulse does not get his happy ending I will be so sad. And btw when I originally read it the way I read it was 'ah it's improving so the Demon might get weaker yay' and then I scrolled down to the comments and had to re-evaluate to 'oh no, the Demon is stronger. Fuck.')

[Holds your hand] :) we go on this journey together I see I see

Yes good! Picking up on the character changes! I really wanted to emphasize the fact that Tanguish is the one that's been changing, while Tango has been stuck in a bit of a stasis. Tanguish saw a problem and reshaped his entire character to fix it. Tango... Didn't. In fact, he's resisted change at every milestone.

Not gonna lie, the description of the main hall was my fun little sprint at the end. I wanted to focus on something new with the architecture that I hadn't done before? And decided sound would be the angle of choice. Channeling every time I've gone into an empty church and just Listened To The Acoustics.

Welsknight :) these chapters have been me poking you guys and going, "Hey, remember how this story has antagonists that aren't just the internal struggles of the main characters?"

Impulse is going through it as well! We'll get back to him. Eventually. There is a time and place.

[voylitscope]

I have been feeling sick for the past couple of days. So, while fevered and with cold medicine in my system, I rewatched the Cap trilogy one night and then the Avengers movies as if they were a trilogy on the next. (There are three of them if you don't watch Endgame!) I also wrote down nearly 5,000 words of, honestly, unhinged thoughts about the Cap trilogy and another just over 3,000 about the Avengers movies while I watched.

And many of these words are me repeatedly, often in capslock, saying, at relevant points, that either a) Steve is the actual cutest, b) Steve is correct about everything at all times, c) Bucky did nothing wrong and deserves none of this, or d)it is still astounding to me that lines like, "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,'" are actually canon. Which, you know, was incredibly valid of my fevered self.

But, rereading all of those words now that I'm a bit more coherent, I thought this note I made during CA:TFA was especially correct and valid:

No one in the HISTORY OF FILM has ever refused to Not Die unless the Other Person with them Also Did Not Die, with the sheer force and will and determination of Bucky Barnes. "No, I will NOT survive this without you!" Bucky yelled, and it was the very most ardently that type of line had ever been delivered in all of cinema.

And I know we talk about that a lot, but I feel like we could always stand to talk about it more, honestly. I feel like we should maybe never stop talking about it.

I also made this note during CA:CW, and I think my fevered, tired, multiple hours-into movie-watching, self had a point here that we could also talk about more often:

Okay BUT: Vision becoming so distracted by Wanda he makes a mistake in targeting is meant to be read as romantic re: Vision and Wanda. This is clearly intended canon. So, okay. Sure. Steve (in this same movie!) becoming distracted by Bucky's mere mention and missing clocking that bomb in Lagos, is, then, by that same logic ___?