#Had to have the crab king on the cover

[nosnexus]

ULTIMATE LEGENDS!

[humanpurposes]

Can I Be Yours? - Nightblooms II

Aemond returns to the pleasure house after the battle of Rook's Rest // Main Masterlist

Aemond x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, dub-con, angst, sex work, unresolved childhood trauma, implied underage and non-con (not explicitly depicted), mentions of war, violence and death, ambiguous ending

Words: 3k

Each day she arrives at the market shortly after sunrise. She has the coin to pay for the usual cheap cuts of meat, for fats and vegetables to make into something edible, but there is nothing to buy; most of the vendors have sold the last of their wares. Summer is at an end, there are less crops coming from the Reach and the sea is still cut off with no end in sight to the blockade. 

King’s Landing has never been a place where she feels at ease but as the season shifts and the war goes on, families are starving and people are getting desperate, fighting over what they can get their hands on. They’ve all been reduced to dogs, clawing at each other over scraps while carts of livestock and fresh produce trundle through the streets towards the Red Keep, guarded by men in Hightower green.

She manages to buy some crabs and vegetables she’ll have to cut the mould from. They have a store of grain in the kitchens to make flatbread, though they have to use less and less each day, anticipating when they’ll be able to find more.

She eats less of her share so the younger girls won’t have to go hungry. Besides, she hasn’t had much of an appetite for days.

She had spent hours trying to rinse herself clean of the King and his companions after they’d had their way with her– after Aemond had left her to their mercy. That night she scrubbed at her skin with salt, then a cloth, then a bristled brush. That feeling was still there, like sweat sticking to her skin, like her body was not her own. She heard their voices and their cold laughter with the rush of water past her ears. She scrubbed harder and harder until she tinted the water pink with her blood.

One morning, one of the girls returns to the pleasure house, unsuccessful in finding a cure for her babe’s fever, but startled by something else.

The Hightower army has returned from a battle, dragging the head of a dragon on a cart through the city.

“It’s monstrous,” the girl says, trying to measure the scale of the head with her arms. “It had black blood, and gods, the smell, like charred meat!”

Sylvi hovers over her shoulder. “Slain by your favourite, I wonder?”

Favourite? Clearly she was not so favoured by Prince Aemond.

Men are led by their desires. That’s why, even as the city is starving, they find the money to come here and seek their pleasure. They are fickle, easily satiated and have no loyalties but to themselves, to their own preservation.

Sylvi huffs when she does not react to her teasing. “Seven above, do try to look less miserable, girl.”

She’s been trying for days, but she can’t force a pleasant demeanour when she feels so hollow.

The returning soldiers come to the Street of Silk that night, newly paid and come to bask in their victory. Her gown is a deep shade of blue and Sylvi has given her some of her jewellery, sapphire earrings and a heavy gold necklace that feels like a collar, to cover the bruises on her neck left by the King.

She catches the eye of a soldier in the main chamber. He takes her by the waist and drags her onto his thigh.

He moves clumsily, trying to drag her core against his leg or the bulge in his breeches, she cannot tell and she does not care. 

Look less miserable, it’s only a motion of the body.

Look less miserable, men want a woman who is warm, who smiles.

Look less miserable, but has he noticed her fallen face and the empty look in her eyes? Likely not.

Her body feels numb again.

“Look at me,” the man demands.

She turns her head towards him but her eyes are down, elsewhere completely. She pictures candlelight, a veil around the edges of a bed so the bodies around her are like shadows. She feels a weight on her chest and stomach, limbs intertwined with hers, long, loose hair spilling over her bare skin. A voice is just out of reach.

Look at me, look at me, look at me–

“My Prince!”

Her senses come back to her as quickly as a match takes to flame. Her head darts to where the soldier is looking, to the man standing before them, dark leathers, silver hair, an eyepatch over his face and a sword hanging from his hip.

Aemond tilts his head, his one eye intent on her. 

“Apologies, Prince Regent,” the soldier says, and shoves her off his lap so he can stand.

She stumbles but holds her ground. Her eyes are on the floor but imagining his face frowning in displeasure, the sight of his scar, the lines of his muscles under his skin. She cannot bear to truly look upon him, but he’s watching her.

Why come now? Why her, when she has already proved worthless to him?

“Come,” Aemond says without reaching for her, without waiting for her to match his gaze. She follows, if only to escape the wanton soldier.

Aemond takes her to the same chamber, standing at the foot of the same bed where they used to lay together.

She stands before him with her eyes lowered.

He towers over her and lifts her chin to match his gaze with a gloved hand. The leather against her skin is unnatural, cold, disturbing her very being like ripples through a peaceful surface of water. The sight of him only brings her pain, as does the separation from him. Fear and admiration twist together and writhe in her gut.

He reaches to remove the necklace first, letting it fall to the floor. “An ugly thing,” he mutters, “do not wear this again, I find it distracting.” It bares her bruises. He traces his gloved fingers over the flushes of red and purple in her skin.

Next he undoes her dress, another gown designed to fall away from one clasp. She does not remove the rest to bare herself, so he tugs the gown away himself, pulling her forward by her wrists to make her step away from where it pools on the floor.

Without any further preamble he surges into her, cupping her jaw with his hands and kissing her passionately. He demands reception with his lips, tongue and teeth, but she will not give it to him. She remains as steadfast as she can.

He pauses, kissing her again, then again.

“What’s the matter?” His voice is subtle and as soft as the edge of a knife. Gently, he takes a hold of her neck. It is tender, but not quite a comfort. Her pulse beats furiously against his fingers. “You are angry with me, is that it?”

Has he thought of her these last few days? Does he blame himself for the bruises on her neck? 

She says nothing.

“I’ll not fuck an unwilling whore.”

“No,” it falls from her lips like a breath.

Aemond tuts and tilts his head. “No?”

She parts her lips but she cannot speak.

His one-eyed stare darkens. He will take her silence for defiance, and that is not what he pays for.

If all he seeks is carnal desire she will grant him this. She tears away the layers of him, his gloves, the buckles on his jerkin, her fingers fumbling in her determination.

Aemond grunts as she pushes the sleeves from his shoulders, the leather landing with a heavy thud on the floor. His face is perplexed but he does not resist.

She tugs at the strings of his undershirt and pulls it over his head. When his chest is bare she puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls herself in, crashing her lips into his. Everything becomes a single feeling, a fire in her chest, hurt and rage and— she’s not naive enough to call it love, but it’s an urge that spurns her to be close to him. Their teeth clash. She loses her focus and her lips graze over his cheek. She finds him again, drawing her tongue against his, dragging her teeth over his lip–

“Fuck!” Aemond hisses, snatching himself away from her. He dabs his fingertips to his lip, checking for blood that isn’t there. 

His eye is wide but gleaming, excited at the challenge. 

Her heart leaps when Aemond grasps her jaw. He drags her chin up, fingertips pressing into the bone. “I find your insolence tiresome,” he snarls.

The edge of his nose brushes against hers. She feels his breath, how his chest rises and falls against her body, how his heart beats as frantically as hers.

She shakes her head. “I am yours, my Prince.”

He lays her on the bed, pushing her thighs apart and holding them down as he kneels.

He sighs at the sight of her.

Each drag of his tongue is divine, circling and pressing at the places he has come to know will please her the most. She tries to chase the friction with her hips but he holds her firmly in place.

She reaches for his hair, slipping the eyepatch from his face so she can see all of him. He looks up at her as she does, his lips glistening with her arousal while his sapphire consumes the golden light of the candles. 

Between the movements of his mouth he mutters to himself, words she has heard before but does not know the meaning to. His voice is heavy and breathless and she adores it. 

Her peak comes suddenly, a wave of warmth and weightlessness that lingers after Aemond has drawn his mouth away from her.

He’s just out of her reach, standing over the bed and slowly pulling on the strings of his breeches. 

She brings herself to sit, only to be thrown down again and roughly turned onto her front.

“Aemond?”

His hands pull her up by her hips. His thumb glides in circles over her entrance and she stutters into compliance. There’s a ruffle of fabric before he replaces his digit with the head of his cock. He teases her as he rocks back and forth. The pleasure is sparse, a delicious kind of torture. She grips at the linens and sinks her teeth into her lip.

On one motion of his hips, Aemond slips inside of her. She sighs at the stretch of it. He stills for a moment to let her adjust, pushing himself to the hilt and slowly drawing back. She feels how his fingertips dig into her flesh, marks that will stay for days. She can picture the look in his eye, his resolve melting away.

She props herself up on her hands, turning over her shoulder. He meets her, pressing his nose against her cheek, teasing his lips over her skin.

“Do you still find me insolent?” she whispers.

Aemond hums. 

He draws back, only to snap his hips harshly into her rear. It knocks the breath from her lungs and he holds his arm around her to hold her close to him, his palm pressing into her stomach as he fucks her roughly and without reprieve.

This is the Prince she has only ever seen glimpses of. She’s heard the workings of his mind and his regrets, but she’s never seen him unleash himself, a dragonrider, a warrior, now a demanding lover.

Each kiss of his cock at her sweet spot aches and drives her towards bliss. She grasps at his hand, leaning her head into his. His sweat drips onto her brow. His moans fall upon the shell of her ear.

She feels another peak edging closer when Aemond pushes her torso down against the bed. He keeps his hands on her shoulders. Her own moans are muffled against the mattress and she cannot move. She can only take what she is given, fast fucking and brutal precision. 

He comes with a unrestrained groan, spilling himself deep within her cunt. His weight falls against her back and he nestles his face into her neck, whispering some appraisal in an ancient language, gently fucking his seed deeper.

She whines as she catches her breath, letting herself settle with him on top of her. They stay like this for a time. Before he finally moves, Aemond presses a delicate kiss to her brow.

They lay amongst linen and silk, his head on her chest, his arms wrapped around her ribs, moving with her as she breathes. 

He tells her of Rook’s Rest, of his plan to attack during the daylight and bait their enemy into sending a dragon, then he would lead Vhagar into an ambush. He had not expected Aegon to join the battle, and when the smoke cleared, only Aemond and Vhagar remained unscathed.

“Perhaps I should have been more forgiving, but he got in my way.”

What did you do? She wonders, but cannot bring herself to give a voice to her question. 

That soldier had named Aemond as Regent. Not the title he wants, but it is a brutal reminder that only one life stands between him and the throne he pursues. 

“And even when he is… incapacitated, my victory is named as his. It was meant to be mine.”

The dragon head was his doing after all. 

Tears run freely down her cheeks, not that he will see.

He takes a breath and waits. She’s done this enough times by now to know he’s waiting for her to say something. He needs her to say something.

What loyalty has your brother ever shown you? He knows you were better suited to war, at least now he will not overestimate himself.

She does not wish to think of Aegon. 

“You left me,” she utters.

Aemond tilts his head towards her. She meets his eye. When he sees the tears on her face his own expression softens.

“You left me to entertain those men. You didn’t even look back.”

Aemond swallows thickly, making a soft clicking sound with his tongue. “I had to.”

“Had to?”

“You would not understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You are a Prince. To you, I am nothing but a body to be used.”

“I’ve never said that.”

“You do not need to say it. It is the nature of the world we live in.” 

He shifts himself to lay beside her, face-to-face. His thumb strokes over her cheek and at the corner of her mouth. “I’ve only ever admired you,” he says. “You came to me when I felt alone.”

Back when they were children, when she was innocent enough to think the gods favoured those who were kind, merciful, good. 

“You looked lost. I was the same the first time…” the first time Sylvi brought her into a room with a strange man. When she sees girls of the same age, she wants to take them into her arms and shield them from strangers, from the people who promise to care for them and do not. “I knew how it felt to be used and then discarded, like none of it mattered. But it did. It mattered to me.” 

Aemond’s eye shimmers like glass.

“I needed you, do you understand that? I needed your protection,” she says.

He blinks and a tear falls from his eye. 

“You taunt me with this,” she says, wiping it away with her thumb.

He holds her hand against his jaw. “I’m not trying to taunt you,” he pleads. “You are the only one, the only one I can speak my mind to.”

She has seen his pride, his remorse, his shame, but she has never seen fear in Aemond. She does now. He clasps onto her hand like she’ll fade away.

“I try. I know my place in my family. I know what they need of me. I try, but I am not always strong enough.”

Jaehaerys, the little Prince who lost his head. He has a sister and a mother grieving his loss, what of them?

What of Aegon?

“I’ll protect you,” he says, kissing the heel of her palm, the inside of her wrist.

How will he do that? Before morning he will leave a purse of gold in her hand and return to his Keep. While he plots his war and demands taxes and tithes from the people of the Crownlands, she will endure in a city that is slowly starving to death.

And when the war of dragons comes to the skies over King’s Landing? Will he pick her out from the masses atop Vhagar? Will he find a way to spare her from the fire and the bloodshed?

It does not bear thinking about. She holds him and tries to forget anything other than this feeling, his weight and warmth, his hair between her fingertips, the points in his bones, his legs intertwined with hers. Everything about him that is cold and cruel. Everything about him that is quietly beautiful.

I've kinda given up on taglists <3

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Summer Storm [Yandere Summer Spirit x Reader]

Title: Summer Storm [Yandere Summer Spirit x Reader]

Synopsis: You had forgotten what he was. Now you remember.

For Horrorfest request: –“Let's talk, you and I. Let's talk about fear.” –Stephan King, “Night Shift.” And I think this one would be pretty good for your Summer spirit, in a moment of terrifying clarity! Like he's not flippant or playing around/indulging you right now he's serious.

Word count: 600ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

“What would you do, if I left you?”

The question had been asked so stupidly, so carelessly. Not because you were unaware of the weight of it, but because you thought he would brush it off, and you could force yourself to brush it off, for at least another summer. 

You thought he would laugh and smear the white globs of sunscreen he sometimes produced from thin air onto your nose; you thought he would push you into the ocean, or find a crab along the beach and threaten you with it.

You thought those things because you had forgotten.

You had forgotten what he truly was, in the lazy haze of those endless summers. He had become lost in the refreshing breezes cutting through the heavy shimmering air, in the taste of melting popsicles on his lips as he kissed you, and kissed you. Lost in the laughter as he pulled you through another season, hot summer grass tickling your legs, saltwater sticking to your skin. 

But you remember now. You see him now, sitting next to you, even though he has his sand covered legs pulled up to his chest as he might have on any other summer evening spent on the beach.

“What… did you say?” You ask, even though you know the answer. It’s an answer that cut through the hot hazy fog of your brain and reminded you that the man in front of you was no man at all.

He tilts his head towards, eyes gazing forward, the color of them now the awful gray-green of a summer storm. You want him to repeat it–you don’t want him to repeat it. But he must, and he will; both of you agree upon this without saying a word. 

He doesn’t sneer as he speaks. Doesn’t gloat, doesn’t threaten. He doesn’t loom over you or speak in dark growls of a dime novel villain. He merely states a simple fact, spoken into the hot evening as easily as any pleasantry you’ve shared before. 

“I would destroy every crop in the country. I would see to it that there is no summer harvest. I would wither everything that dares to bloom in autumn. I would see them all starve come winter and I do not yet know if I would have enough pity for you by the next summer to let anything be picked even then.”

The words join the fireflies beginning to dot the horizon, flickering in your heart in the dying evening sunlight. Unlike the fireflies, the words will still be there by morning, a permanent scythe hanging above your head.

Hanging above the heads of the people you loved–and the people you didn’t. People you didn’t know. Children who had been born since he took you away, some of them perhaps relatives, nieces and nephews that you’ll never hold. 

Innocents, not-so-innocents. People who would starve and wither like the crops, if he willed it.

If you willed it, you think, abruptly–and not without the thought catching something dark inside your chest. That same dark part that had not quite forgotten what summer could do, if it wanted.

“But I won’t leave you,” is your answer, a forced lightness to it; a forced breeze of your own, as artificial as the electric fans he sometimes shows you. “I was–I was only asking. To see what you would say.”

His eyes remain storm-gray for a few moments longer, and then he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. Calming himself down, you think, letting the storm ebb away into some other world, some other season.

“I sometimes forget,” he admits, smiling in a way you don’t want to understand, “how often people ask things they’d rather not know.” 

A firefly lands on his knee; it glows, then it doesn’t. 

[celtigxr]

- - - - - The Pink Dread Master List

Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size!Celtigar!OfC Slow Burn - Friends to Enemies to Lovers

Summary: Theres so much bad blood between these two, but there is also longing... for what they used to have, for what might have been, had it not been for Aemond's betrayal.

Alternatively: First loves. Heartbreaks. Betrayals. Jealousy. Revenge. And repeat. The feud between former friends, Aemond and Valeana, sends a shockwave of social chaos for the Seven Realms as all gather to King's Landing for the Royal Conclave. A season of peace, intended to forge alliances through courtships and marriages, only for it to become a war of a different kind.

Cross Posted with AO3

Mindful of tags of TW below

Please reply if you want to be added to the tag list

Disclaimer: AI is not used in the writing of this story. It is primarily used to generate images when needed (for dresses, mostly), and to help with unique bard like songs, since I am terrible at writing songs and poems. Other than that, rest assured every word is written by me. I will clarify in each chapter when AI is being used and what for.

General Tags: MDNI, AemonxValeana end game, other ships, AFAB, PlusSize!OFC, Celtigar!OFC, Disabeled!OFC, Jealous!Aemond, Angry!Aemond, Healthy!Viserys, Enemies to Lovers, Aged Up characters, Fix It AU, The Dragons Do Not Dance, Eventual Smut, Redemption Arc for Aegon, Slight AegonxOFC, Slow Burn, pining, longing, angst. More may be added along the way. Genre: +18/MDNI, Romantic Comedy, Angst, Young Adult Drama, if Bridgerton had dragons. TW/CW: The story will contain realistic mental health themes. To avoid tumblr taking this post down, they will be coded:

Things such as E. D." Unalive Ideations, B0dy Dysm0rph!a, Blatant Fatph0bia, P T S D, descriptive trigger-induced anxiety attack due to P T S D, and a brief S A (By all definitions, it is, but... You'll see).

Other tw: Typical themes you find in the asoiaf universe. TW will be posted for individual chapters as we go. More may be added here.

Author's Note: Val and Aemond are end game in this, but the other ships are a surprise. I've got spreadsheets n shit.

Credits: Story cover made by me, divider found on pngtree

Prologue: With Friends Like These Chapter One: Return of the Crabs Chapter Two: Familiar Strangers Chapter Three: A King's Command Chapter Four: Unforgiven Chapter Five: Aegon's Doom Chapter Six: Aegon's Delight Chapter Seven: O, Brother Chapter Eight: Still Falling For You Chapter Nine: Protector Chapter Ten: What a Pity Chapter Eleven: Peace of Mind Chapter Twelve: High Horse Chapter Thirteen: Girl's Night Chapter Fourteen: The Will of Man Chapter Fifteen: Restless Chapter Sixteen: Eggs & Bacon Chapter Seventeen: The Daring Chapter Eighteen: Hydrangeas Chapter Nineteen: Pyres & Proposals Chapter Twenty: Family Matters Chapter Twenty-One: Green & Black Chapter Twenty-Two: Maiden's Day Chapter Twenty-Three: A Clash of Princes Chapter Twenty-Four: The Black Dread Chapter Twenty-Five: You Know Nothing Chapter Twenty-Six: A Helping Hand Chapter Twenty-Seven: Worth Less (November 30th) Chapter Twenty-Eight: Terrify Me (December 7th) Chapter Twenty-Nine: Eclipse (TBA) Chapter Thirty: The Realm's Delight (TBA) Chapter Thirty-One: Dark Sister (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Two: Heart Racing (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Three: A House United (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Four: The House of Valyria (TBA) Chapter Thirty-Five: ( to be written ) More chapters to come...

EXTRAS:

Music:

Please do not re-post, redistribute, or plagiarize my stories. I have no problems being a Karen and reporting immediately upon discovery without warning. All rights reserved for GRRM, the creator for this universe and characters, and HBO.

[more-lavender-syrup]

Power Play

Description: You knew something was wrong when you awakened to Daemon missing. However, when he comes home wounded, you do your best to comfort him in every way possible. But it would be much easier if Daemon didn’t turn everything into a power struggle Word Count: 3,083 Warnings/Notes: this is pretty much entirely smit, oral (m!receiving), PIV, riding, reader stitches Daemon's wound, reader has prophetic dreams that people ignore, Daemon can’t handle being taken care of so he turns it into a power play Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x f!WifeReader

It was the same melody, played over and over again. It was a song of screams and fire.

He was hurt; you knew it. You had felt it, as if you yourself had been maimed. But, despite the terror that coursed through you, your eyes still searched the darkness. 

Your hand searched for a warm form in the bed. But, when nothing was found, you opened your eyes only to see the empty space that remained. 

You had been wrong before. It didn’t happen often, but you had been wrong. 

Cold night air bit at your skin as you pushed yourself upward. The blankets that covered you slid downward, pooling at your torso to expose your naked form below.

“Daemon?” You called. 

He had been there when you had fallen asleep. But, now the only proof that remained of him was the indention in the mattress beside you. 

“Daemon, please?” You called again. Yet, there was no answer. You quickly pushed yourself out of bed and reached for the thin nightgown that he had expertly stripped off of you hours before. 

Pulling it on, you searched for any sign of him. Somewhere in the hall, you heard someone speak.

“Daemon?”

You quickly stepped out into the hall, pulling the door closed behind you.

A group of handmaids were lurking in the hallway. They each turned their tired eyes to you, searching for some kind of explanation.

“Are you alright? We heard you yelling.” One of the women asked as her eyes dragged over your thin gown.

“Where’s my husband?” You asked.

“The king said that he left. His majesty said that Prince Daemon was needed for something. I think he said something about a crab, but I didn’t hear what.” It was clear that the handmaid was exhausted.

“When did he leave?” You asked. But the woman could only shake her head. She had no idea.

“Fuck.” You whispered under your breath as you rushed down the hallway. Surely someone who could help would still be up. Perhaps the maester was still awake; he was usually willing to humor you.

You bounded down a staircase and then made a sharp left down a tiny corridor. But, as you rounded a corner, a set of arms shot outward and quickly clamped a hand over your mouth. The form pulled you backward before your back hit the wall beside you.

Panic shot through your body as you remembered the stories of maidens being taken in the night. You struggled in the darkness, only to hear a familiar story slice through your fantasies.

“It’s just me.” Daemon whispered as he pulled his hand away from your face. 

“Where’s your guard? Do you know how easy it would have been to snatch you and vanish into the night?” He scolded. You rolled your eyes. 

“The only person attacking people at this time of night is you.” He frowned at the comment. You squirmed in his arms, however he did not release you. Instead, he began to inspect you, searching for some idea as to what you were doing out in the middle of the night. You could feel his heartbeat through his thin clothes. Warmth seemed to radiate off of his skin, warming you to your core.

As his body pressed against yours, you felt a hot rush of liquid soak into the material of your dress. He was bleeding.

***

You had insisted on helping him back to your shared room. However, with each step, he scoffed and told you that he was perfectly fine. The blood that was dripped from his leg with every step told a different story. 

When you reached the room, you helped shuffle him to the bed. Then, you rushed to get the small kit that the maester had left behind for you. The maester was well aware of Daemon’s aversion to help; the hope had been that Daemon was more willing to accept help from his wife, rather than the maester. And, on occasion, that had been exactly the case.

You glanced over at the bed, only to see Daemon watching you like a lion watches his prey.

“Pants. Off. Now.” You instructed as you began to make your way back to the bed. He rolled his eyes, however he did as he had been told. 

He began to undo his pants. As he worked, he emphasized each movement. You watched as he stripped down, checking for any new wounds that would require your attention.

As he pulled his pants downward, his already hard cock sprung free.

“Now, if this is what you wanted then you could have simply asked. It’s a prince’s duty to never leave a lady in need.”

“I’m well aware of what you think your duty is.” I mumbled. 

There was a gash that covered the side of his calf. Blood wept from the wound, staining the blankets below.

“What happened?”

“A man took a cheap shot. Luckily it wasn’t valyrian steel or else I would have lost the leg.” Daemon said it so casually. 

You quickly knelt downward and began to poke and prod at the wound. You removed the small pieces of shrapnel and dirt that had sunk into the wound. After a moment, you began to speak.

“You could have died.”

“And yet,” he waved a bloodied arm to demonstrate his point, “I’m still here to piss you off.” You rolled your eyes as you carefully finished cleaning the wound. 

The gash was deep; but not so deep that you needed to send for a maester.

Once you were satisfied, you reached for the small sewing set that lay at the bottom of the box. Daemon watched you thread the needle with a deep fascination, though when you actually began to work, he turned his attention to the ceiling above him.

“You shouldn’t be up at this hour. You also shouldn’t be wandering around without a guard.” He scolded.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You said as you carefully sewed the wound shut. Each stitch was carefully placed. You just needed the wound to close and heal properly. It didn’t need to look pretty.

“Then you could have called for one of your handmaids to keep your company.” Daemon said. He didn’t want you to be alone at night; not when there was a chance you could be hurt. “You can’t do this again. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been for you to have been killed?”

“I’m not going to force someone else to endure my paranoia.” You said as you tied a knot on the end of the thread. 

“I don’t want you wandering around at night. Not when anyone could be roaming around.” You reached for the scissors that you had placed beside his thigh. You carefully snipped the thread, content with your makeshift patch that you had sewn on his leg. It should hold for now; at least, long enough for him to heal. 

“I had a dream about you. That’s why I went looking for you.” You said. That was enough to make Daemon’s face twitch. “I dreamed that you were injured. That you had gotten shot off your dragon and that you were lying somewhere.”

His face twitched again. He would never admit it to you, but that was far closer to the truth than the story he had told you. He had lied to you to keep you from worrying; maybe if you thought that he was never in any real danger, then you would be fine.

You pushed the needle back into the pin cushion and then dropped it back into the box beside you. He turned his gaze from the ceiling to you.

You lay a hand on his leg. His skin was speckled with flecks of blood. New bruises painted his skin and they would only get darker by morning. As your fingers traced his skin, his mind drifted to less tender things. You didn’t even notice until something glinted faintly in the candlelight. 

Clear fluid was leaking from his cock.

“Daemon.” You said. His eyes burned into your skin. He didn’t bother to answer. He already knew what you would do; you had always been so sweet to him. You had always been such a good and dutiful wife.

You watched his cock bob against him. He was aching with need. 

Maybe if you were very careful then it would be fine.

You sighed as you crawled closer to him.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You said. 

“Shouldn’t I be worried about hurting you?” He asked. It was true; Daemon had always been overly gingerly with you, even when you had asked him to be rough. He didn’t have it in him to hurt you. He adored you too much. 

“Just let me know if something hurts. Okay?” He was coated in so many new bruises that you could easily cause more harm than good. But he just looked so desperate. 

You leaned forward and gently wrapped your hand around the base of his cock. You stroked him twice before you leaned your face downward.

You carefully took him in your mouth, sliding him as far back as you could take. You closed your lips around his length. A hand landed on the back of your head. He closed his fingers in your messy locks, easing you down on his cock.

Salty fluid dripped from his tip as you began to bob your head up and down. He needed a release. Badly. His face twitched with every movement. 

Your tongue slid against the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock. He groaned, lifting his hips up to sink himself deeper in your mouth. 

But it wasn’t enough. He missed the feeling of you curling around him, desperate for more as your hips ground together.

“Need to fuck you.” He groaned.

Fuck, that sounded perfect. 

You pulled your head back, allowing him to slip from your lips with a soft ‘pop.’

“You have to be careful.” You warned him. He frantically nodded; it didn’t matter what you said; he could have agreed if it meant that he got to be inside of you. 

He began to push himself off of the bed, however you quickly stopped him. 

“I want to ride you.” You told him. He grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You quickly pushed your dress off of your shoulders and let it fall downward. It slipped down your body, exposing your bare skin below. Once  you were free of the thing, you pushed it into the floor with Daemon’s pants. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He said. His eyes drank you in as you crawled closer to him.

“Lean back.” You ordered. Without hesitation, he laid back, pushing himself against the mattress. He was desperate. A thin sheen of sweat had taken over his skin.

One of your legs slipped over his hips. You were careful as you straddled him, making sure not to brush the stitches that you had just given him. You slipped one of your hands down into the space between you and carefully wrapped your hand around his velveting length. He was still slick from your spit. You guided him between your folds. Then, in one fluid motion, you slid downward, taking in every inch of him all at once.

“Fucking hell.” Daemon groaned. He stretched you out, making your body spasm to accommodate him.

After a moment, you lifted your ass upward, sliding his cock almost completely out of you. Then, you dropped downward again, fucking yourself on him.

You felt the back of his thigh brush your ass as he moved his legs. He wanted to fuck you harder; deeper. However, it also had the unfortunate side effect of pulling on the stitches that adorned his leg. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You warned him. However, he seemed keen on refusing any kind of self-preservation. He moved his legs again, pulling on your patchwork.

“Daemon, you need to stay still before I tie you to the headboard.”

“Oh?” He took it as more of a welcomed suggestion, rather than a threat.

He lifted his hips off of the bed.

“Stop. You’re going to pull on your stitches.” You ordered. “I won’t move until you stay still.” 

He furrowed his pale brow; he took your commands to be challenges, rather than orders.

“I’m fine with the stitches popping. Quite frankly, they’re annoying so it'll be a relief to see them go.”

“Your lack of concern for your own health is horrifying.” You told him. 

“I’m not going to die from a little blood loss. And if I do, then frankly I was already too weak; no point in living when a little nick can take me out.”

“When you get a chance, please write that down so I can remember to share that with my future suitors when I become a widow.” Daemon grinned to himself before he ground his hips against yours. He curled his arms around your waist. He wanted to get more control. 

You were not going to let that happen.

You rolled your eyes. You quickly grasped each of Daemon’s arms. His skin was hot to the touch. You leaned forward, pinning his arms over his head. All the while, you kept him buried inside of you. 

Daemon was allowing you to hold him there; you knew for a fact that if your prince had wanted to, he could have easily flipped you over and had his way with you.

“Just let me take care of you without you hurting yourself.” You said. 

“I’m not helpless.” The prince scoffed at the notion.

“No, but you are hurt.”

He rolled his eyes before he shot upright, breaking free of your weak hold. He bolted upright and frantically reached out for you. He curled his arm around your waist, pulling your small frame as close to his chest as possible. He lifted you upright slightly; not enough to pull out of you, but enough so that you were no longer perched on top of him.

Then, without warning, he slammed his hips inside of you, hitting so deep that you saw stars.

“Daemon!”

His arm slipped from your waist, dropping you down on his cock once again. Both of his hands moved to your shoulders, where they slowly began to trace downward. 

“What’re you doing?” You asked. But, instead of answering, Daemon leaned in and captured your lips in an all consuming kiss. Unfortunately, the kiss was a mere distraction. 

After all, he was a master of strategy.

While your lips danced over his, tongues tracing one another’s mouths, Daemon curled a single hand around your wrists, pinning them behind your back. Once he knew he had trapped you, he returned his other arm to its previous position on your waist. You pulled your lips away from the wet kiss just in time to feel him lifting you upward once more. 

“Daemon,” You gasped. With that, he fucked himself into you again. He couldn’t help but grin at how your toes curled and the air hitched in your throat. 

“You’re going to hurt yourself.” You said. Your arms struggled against his iron grip, but he did not let go.

“Now weren’t you the one who started this whole mess?” He taunted. Instead of pulling out this time, he left his cock buried inside of you and gave you the chance to grind against his hips. The friction was beautiful; it was enough to make your head spin as you rocked yourself against him. 

“I thought I was going to hurt myself.” He taunted again. He felt you flutter around him as he slowly pulled his hips backwards, readying himself for another thrust. “What do you want?” He asked.

You looked at him with pleading eyes. 

Your concerns about hurting him had melted away as you drifted closer to the edge. Now, all you wanted was him. You wanted his touch and the pleasure that only he was able to give you.

Daemon leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours.

“Come on. I know you can do it.” His voice was low and needy.

Your bodies moved in time with one another; your hips met every thrust, grinding yourself against him before you moved your hips upward again. Every movement was lined with desperation.

Then, the spring that had been twisting inside of you snapped. Pleasure shot through you, making your toes curl and your head fall backward. 

Daemon quickly released your arms. His free hand shot up to the back of your head, pulling you close before you had the chance to move away. He pressed his mouth against yours as your body was flooded with heat. You fluttered around him, overcome with pleasure. Daemon fucked himself into you again. That was all it took for him to tip over the edge. He groaned into your mouth as his cock twitched, filling you with everything that he had to give.

You curled your now-freed arms around his neck, holding him close as his lips danced over yours. 

Your lips remained locked as pleasure overtook your movements, allowing you both to ride out the highs of your orgasms. 

After a moment, your bodies stilled their motions. You pulled your lips free from his. You opened your eyes, searching for something in his face. He offered you a soft grin as he traced a hand up your spine.

The room had gone quiet. The only sounds left in the space were your mixed heartbeats and frantic breathing.

The world seemed so much more peaceful now.

You glanced over your shoulder. His legs were folded slightly, though the stitches that you had given him were still completely intact. He wasn’t bleeding and you hadn’t caused any more damage than he had come home with.

That was good enough for you. Daemon was still curled around you, pawing at your skin as he came down from his high. 

You turned back, meeting his gaze for a moment before he buried his face in your neck. 

You carded your fingers through his snowy locks, trying to catch your breath. His lips ghosted over your throat, pressing soft kisses every so often.

He was so beautiful like this. He seemed so gentle. The only thing that contradicted that idea were the dark bruises that were blossoming across his skin. 

“My sweet prince.” You whispered.

Daemon grinned against your skin at the notion of anyone thinking he was sweet.

[kuroppiii]

   women love me, fish fear me ᵕ̈         timeskip!boyfie!nishinoya yū         x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : traveling the world    ⋮⋮  with noya can be a handful at ⋮⋮  times ...

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🧸 directory  ‹ ✩  like what you read ? check out more of my blog !  •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ i actually loved writing this so much ?? not me making myself giggle and kick my feet around … this one is so silly , chattt i hope you like it toooo ”

"YŪ, DO NOT TOUCH ME WITH THAT!"

your boyfriend was currently holding a big-ass king crab in his hands as the fishing boat rocked under your feet.

your travels have brought the two of you to the waters right off the shores of british columbia, canada. this isn't the first time nishinoya had convinced you to fish for your own dinner at the destination you found yourselves in. what better way to immerse yourself in the culture than eating only the best of what's in season for the region?

however, this is the first time that this little tradition has brought you face-to-face with a sea creature with arms about the same-length arms as yours.

"hurry up then, babe! take a picture so i can send it to the guys back home!" nishinoya only giggles as if he's not holding an absolute beast of a crustacean, “this is going to taste amazing tonight, i can’t wait. maybe we should grill it—wait does our airbnb even have a grill?…”

in the most loving way possible, you think to yourself how you could not possibly give a fuck about trying to remember if the airbnb had a grill or not right now.

not with that crab—something of magnitude you’ve never seen before in your life—staring you straight in the eye.

you try your best with slightly-trembling hands to fumble with the phone in your grasp, lining up the shot at the same time as squinting to see the screen under the blazing summer sun and its rays.

once you overcome the glare of the shimmering, almost sparkling, waters around you, nishinoya's image becomes clear through your phone screen as you snap a few photos.

his colorful rayband sunglasses are pushing back against the blonde tuft at the front of his hair slightly-damp hair. the mist that floats up from the current splashing against the base of the boat and has you both covered in a thin sheen layer of water—which is doing your boyfriend so many favors because the sun reflects off his tanktop-clad arms as they flex to hold up the king crab in front of him.

probably taking more pictures than necessary (perhaps a bit distracted by how you were ogling the man in front of you), you almost can forget about the fear the crab was instilling in you when you’re interrupted as nishinoya suddenly yells out,

"OW!"

he doubles over, still holding the crab but now trying to hold it as far away from his as possible, and winces in pain.

"OH MY GOD, BABE ARE YOU OK?" you ask him in a panic. your first reflex is to rush to his side to make sure everything’s okay—but again, there’s a huge fucking crab in your way.

flustered about this fact, you start to turn to get the boat captain for assistance. but then suddenly nishinoya starts to laugh.

“sorry baby, i was just playin’,” nishinoya admits through the gasps of air from his laughing fit, “i’m fine!”

you can even hear the captain laugh along with nishinoya’s little prank as he steers the boat a short ways behind you and nishinoya.

if the sun beating down on you wasn’t enough, you feel your face get even warmer and you can practically see yourself blushing as red as the crab your boyfriend just faked pinched him.

you wanted to be frustrated at him for joking around about something that could be very real and very dangerous.

but when you looked at nishinoya—quite literally glowing under the summer sun and with a smile that was wide and almost brighter in your eyes than that very same sun—you couldn’t bring yourself to be actually upset at him for very long.

“don’t scare me like that!” you still lightly scold him but feel his contagious laughter creep onto your face in the form of a reluctant smile on your lips. you try to playfully nudge at the side of his head for emphasis, but only your fingertips manage to graze his sea-salty hair as you try not to touch the giant crab by attempting to reach as far above it and its claws as you can.

but that night in your airbnb, a small log cabin that overlooked the shoreline where you were on that crabbing boat just hours before, you and nishinoya did manage to find a grill.

and your boyfriend wound up being right—the crab did taste really good after he cooked it for the both of you for dinner.

“told ya it would be worth it, sweetie,” he lovingly bragged.

you roll your eyes as you crack open another one of the crab legs but before you can dig in, nishinoya leans over the candlelit table where you two share your meal on the airbnb’s back porch.

the two of you kiss, and you can taste the garlic butter that's been accompanying your meal on nishinoya’s lips. it leaves you giggling as he pulls back, and it doesn't help that once he’s seated again, you swear you can see love swimming around in his eyes.

you're so in love with this man.

but if you said the best part about getting to travel the world was seeing your boyfriend enjoying the antics you both get into as he pursues this journey that means so much to him, you’d be wrong in his opinion.

in actuality, nishinoya’s favorite part is moments like these. seeing you in front of him, a beautiful sunset of pink, purple, and orange hues swirling to create a backdrop to your happy and serene face… that’s the thing he’d travel to the ends of the earth for, over and over again.

[cyten0]

A Symphony In Crimson

Act 1: A Movement in Black

Chapter 9

The house has been much nicer this time around. It feels like everyone is working together a bit better, there’s a closer bond of trust. The others were quite surprised by Bonnie’s marksmanship! But honestly, all of them seem a little stronger.

The first floor has been a breeze really. Which is good, since it means you haven’t had to take any hits really. Nothing to try and cover up. Plus, the party has taken less hits, which means less temptation. Stars you’re hungry.

You’re sitting down for snacks when Odile does their coinflip thing with Isa. Looks like they lost this time.

▲ “What was that about, madam?”

◆ “Ah well. I asked the Favor tree to win my next coin flip.”

✿ “Huh?”

◉ “Such a silly favor.”

◆ “Purely for scientific reasons. I wanted to see if there was anything to this Favor tree business. As we can see, apparently not much.”

The others look a little disappointed by that, and you’re just a little hurt for some reason, as usual.

▲ “… Well you didn’t put any belief into it, so of course nothing happened! Sif actually told me a bit about that!”

Huh! Oh right! You did!

◆ “Really? Tell me more.���

Oh STARS yes, you get to talk more about this, it’s so cool! It still hurts your head to talk about, but it’s SO WORTH IT!!!!

✦ “Using favor trees, and the right steps, you can call energy from the stars! The trees aren’t the only way, but its certainly one of them! But in order to do so, you have to care about what you’re wishing for, otherwise they won’t feel compelled to answer you. You can do all the steps perfectly right, and not get a thing! But if you care enough, you can get something even if you do nearly every step wrong.”

✿ “Woah! That’s so cool!”

◆ “I’ve never heard this before…... Oh, Is this a field of study from your homeland?”

Oh, they remembered! They must have spent some effort doing that. You nod.

◆ “Fascinating. How effective is this method?”

Heh, time to shock them all.

✦ “Well, it might not have been a favor tree, but. I bet the king used a similar method to get Timecraft!”

◉ “WHAT!!!”

▲ “Oh Crab!”

◆ “You’re Certain?”

✦ “Like I said, That power comes from the stars. It’s no coincidence his armor is decorated with them.”

✿ “Oh yeah! The poster!”

◉ “Does that mean ANYONE could do that? And be just as dangerous?”

No it’s not that good but… Hm… It hurts your head but...

✦ “No. Getting that much power would not only require an insane commitment, but would require really lengthy, costly, and complicated rituals that would take months in order to draw from enough stars.”

◉ “Oh thank change.”

▲ “Makes you wonder about his motive though…”

Huh. Isa’s right, it does mean the king is awfully dedicated. Big wishes like that take effort…

A wish like that is probably why your here, right? But you still need more information. This gives information as to what it is, but it doesn’t make sense why you’d be here. Your wish was way too small, can’t be that. If only you could read that book in the storage room, the picture on the cover makes you think it might be about wishcraft.

But trying to remember a language from barricaded memories of memories is a few steps of separation too many. And your head still hurts a TON from yesterday.

Ah well. You’ll figure out, bit by bit. Your making progress! It’s only been… Hm. You haven't kept track how many times you’ve looped. Might want to ask loop about that. Anyways, it’s time for snacks, and you’re super hungry! You’ll try and cut down just a little bit, but that’s gonna be a tall order.

>>>

You’re in the library. Your eyes got caught by the diary again, and Mirabelle is reading it out again. Then the others start talking about the country. It’s hard to listen to it again.

✿ “Still…. The name of that country…. What was it again?”

▲ “Oh, I think it was something like A-”

You all suddenly get a massive headache as Isa tries to say it! Your head feels like it’s going to split open it hurts so blinding much! It hurts so much you can only see red! You cover your eyes so they don’t notice. It hurts it hurts it hurts!!!!

But…. Then… The pain…. Subsides…..

You look up. That. Didn’t happen last time. What… Odile. She stopped Mira from interrupting?

✿ “Ow. Crab, that hurt way more then I thought.”

◉ “Ow ow ow… Madam, why did you let that happen?”

◆ “Gems, that hurt…. Siffrin?”

She… She did that for you…? Just so you’d have a chance to? You really don’t deserve that. Others shouldn’t have to hurt for your needs. But….

✦ “….. Starts with an A. Heh. It’s something!”

The others give puzzled looks, as you slot the diary back into the bookshelf. That one. That helps a lot more then just Siffrin. That’s for all of them.

>>>

You’re on the third floor, in the room with the person doing bodycraft again. Key is obtained, but you’re a little bored, so you decide to take a look at the closet.

▲ “Oh, look at this shirt! It’s the same material as your cloak, right Sif?”

◆ “It looks very warm. I’m surprised you managed to wear it all through summer.”

Right. This cloak was one of the first things you ever had. You never questioned it much.

✦ “It’s actually quite cool? Never get hot in it really.”

◉ “Really?”

▲ “...Sif, mind if I take a look real quick?”

Huh! You're a little nervous to have him so close, but… Okay. The only wounds you’ve taken are covered up well enough, so it… Should be fine, right?

You nod. Isabeau kneels and takes a hold of your cloak lifting it up and examining. it. You can feel his breath against your body, feel the warmth exude from him, hear his heartbeat so keenly, smell his body and it’s taste, feel the slight tugs and motions as he handles the fabric... It’s hard to focus.

▲ “… Holy Crab… This is some impressive work.”

✦ “Huh? What do you mean?”

▲ “Okay, starting on the simple side, It’s got a very interesting stitching style. Not very Vaugardian at all, and seems to focus on being highly durable. Like, borderline armor durable. It’s even fireproof. Difficult to pull off. Plus it’s been treated to be stainless as well.”

◉ “Huh! That’s some good traveling cloths.”

▲ “Oh that’s just the beginning. Someone decided to take this already impressive cloak, and literally stitch craft into the fabric. And not just a little, there’s a bunch! Self repair, temperature regulation, it even adjusts to your size! And to top it off, while you can’t tell normally, some of the fabric inside glows a little in dark places, showing some interesting patterns!... Hey, they even sewed a little butterfly emblem on the inseam!”

✿ “Woah! That sounds REALLY fancy!”

▲ “Honestly Sif, this cloak alone is practically worth an entire village?!? Where did you even get this?”

… You don’t speak. You remember Siffrin was important in his homeland. Guess you got an idea how important.

▲ “… Oh. Hey, it’s alright! I’m sure they’d be happy with how you’ve used it.”

✦ “… Yeah.”

The others are confused, but you move on. It’s fine.

>>>

Got the third floor handled, and got food at the bathrooms. Odile didn’t interupt this time, even though you ate a lot during the snack breaks, maybe because of the increased trust? And now you’ve obtained the Keyknife! And are back at the entrance…

Hm. You wonder. You’re curious about that statue. You remember Mira mentioning that these statues are connections to the Change god. Who’s is the one that blessed you?

✦ “Hey, Before we go ahead, I want to check something”

◉ “Huh? Okay, let’s go!”

>>>

You’re back in the statue room. You’re not expecting anything, but you ARE curious about it. You take a closer look.

Hm. Not to judge but… Oh, Looks like the others are judging instead.

✿ “Can noses look like that?”

▲ “Wow, it’s left eye is somehow above the right brow.”

◆ “I can’t tell if it’s smiling or frowning.

You notice Mirabelle is oddly quiet. You had suspicions but...

✦ “...Mirabelle?”

◉ “I… I was trying to make it look nice and gentle…”

▲ “CRAB, MIRA WE’RE SO SORRY!!!!”

✿ “SORRY WE SAID YOUR STATUE SUCKED!!!!”

◉ “It’s alright…. I’ll get my revenge on you all someday.”

The others shudder, and you smile a bit.

Hm. So this is Mirabelle's statue, huh? A connection between her and the change god, the only one unharmed in the house, and the one that gives you this blessing each time...

✦ “Mira, can you put your hand on the statue?”

◉ “Um? Okay, sure?”

She puts her hand on the statue, and suddenly, the room shifts!

You’re both pulled into that strange realm again! But. You’re still here? You havn’t been teleported, you’ve been brought…. Elsewhere.

You look around. It’s nothing but pure white as far as you can see. There’s a faint humming, in that sound only you can hear.

There’s a figure approaching. You don’t know what to do! Wait is that?

◉ “Euphrasie?”

Is that the name of the Head Housemaiden? They seem a little surprised, but then…

❍✿ Incorrect buzzer

❍✿ “mirabelle!!! i can't believe u can't recognize me ಠ_ಠ"

They’re wearing Bonnies face now?

◉ “Wait you changed shapes?!? Are-”

❍◉ “yay!!! o(≧▽≦)o got it so fast! it’s me! The Change God ＠＾▽＾＠”

You’re stunned. You can’t move. Wait, Mirabelle’s crying!

❍◎ “oh no don’t cry! i didn’t want to make you cry (╥﹏╥)”

◉ “I’m so sorry!!!! For not changing enough, for being useless, for lying and making everyone think you blessed me, for-”

❍▲ “nonono you’re all good! ( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : ) i’m not worried about any of that. you’re a-okay!(≧◡≦) “

◉ “Huh?

❍✿ “if I was upset, i wouldn’t have helped you all earlier! (⁀ᗢ⁀) but I did because I’m rooting for you. both of you!”

H-huh! They… they are?… Mirabelle dries her tears, and seems happier.

❍◆ “i’m about to tell you something, that you won’t remember for a lot of reasons. well, your brain won’t, but your heart will!!!”

❍▲ “it’s true that, as the Change God, i can’t do much to help you all. but i feel okay with that, because you all have the real power! you’re really strong mirabelle! ლ(ಠ益ಠ)ლ”

❍◎ “just the will to change things is enough to do anything! and look how far you’ve gotten without my help!o(>ω<)o but if that’s not enough…”

The figure’s form dissipates, revealing a single, small, cloaked figure, with the face of the statue from earlier. For a brief second, their voice feels different.

❍ “You are loved, mirabelle. i see you changing, even if you do not. you are always changing, evolving, growing. and even if you’re not, that’s ok. Because life might be about changes, but sometimes it’s about staying right where you are, sometimes. i’m proud of you, and i love you!”

She looks at them not sure what to say. You’re just happy to see her happy at this point.

❍ “and i love this stupid face you made me and i’m never letting anyone destroy it!!! got it?”

Mirabelle gives them a hug. The figure seems surprised! But allows it.

◉ “….Thank you. You’re not what I was expecting, but I’d expect nothing less. Thank you so much…”

❍◎ “hehehe…. euphie is right, you’re super stinking cute!”

Mirabelle lets go, and wipes away her tears.

❍✿ “okay! that’s your special god call! i’ll send you back now, but i’ma chat with your friend here a little more!”

◉ “Huh? WAH-”

In a blink, Mirabelle is gone. It’s just you and the change god now…

Their disguise melts. Their form shifts. Their cloak billows out and grows to tower over you. Their face pure shadow. As they speak, their demeanor shifts, ever so slightly. Their voice echoes in the unheard sound only you hear. The space fills with twirling shapes.

❍ “Sorry to keep you waiting. But I wanted to talk to her first. She needs those words desperately, and has been waiting for them from me for a while now!”

✦ “I-I um!”

❍ “It’s alright!!! I know. I know. About the island, about the timeloops, about who you are and... It’s okay…. I-I’m sorry I can’t help you much! It made me very happy to see my little gift helped make you happy!!! Y-You’ve been through a lot.”

You… They care. They care? And they did know? They know and… and you’re crying. You’ve stopped holding your eyes in shape, your horn is out, your heart glows, you just collapse. And you’re crying.

❍ “I um!! okay, maybe you just need a second to let it out a bit? Oh, I’m not very good at this….”

They give you a hug. You can barely breathe through the tears. They know what you did, this being that cares so much for life, and yet… Hearing them say it, hearing them tell you they care even despite everything...

❍ “...You know, for a lot of people, I’d be kinda upset at the whole ‘locking a major place of change in time’ thing, but I know you’re trying, and you don’t want to do that. Just like you didn’t want to hurt those on the island… I’m sure you’ll find a way to fix it, and you’ll make good use of the time. I’m rooting for you.”

✦ “I-I!!… thank you…I don’t know if I deserve it though….”

❍ “…. I have a message from my partner. A patron of your home.”

Huh?!!!

They pull back a bit, still holding you, looking you head on with their void of a face. And sing, in the voice of the stars:

Oh dear and precious fallen star

We’ve seen you travel, long and far.

Through trials filled with pain and fear

We know you’ll hold to all that’s dear

So sing your song, o mournful Dove

But know that you have always been Loved.

You… You feel hands. Hugging you. Not the change gods, but ones that feel… familiar… Feel kind. Feel like…

You see tears drip down from the Change Gods hood. They’re crying? Why are they crying for you? You killed so many… you don’t deserve it...

❍ “You have always been loved. Not as Siffrin, but as you….”

They pull you close again. Your tears mix with theirs as they pool into the space below you.

❍ “Y-Your cloak was made so you could wander the streets... Your tinkers tools so you could make things yourself…. That device in your pocket to show you the world when it wasn’t safe for you to be out... That gun so you could defend yourself even when you didn’t trust yourself up close... Your skill with music was taught because it helped you talk and they wanted to hear your voice… and…. And….”

You can’t… You can’t stop crying…. They… were for you? All along? But…. But…

❍ “And I wish I could have done something!!! You shouldn’t have had to deal with any of this!!! So please, please!!! Don’t forget that!!! Don’t forget that people have loved you always, no matter what!!!”

❍ “…You’re so young. So young for what you are. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.”

You… you hug them back. Stars, you need to hug them. You need to hold them close. You wish you could hug these figures you barely remember, tell them you’re sorry, wish you could remember who they were. Wish you could remember why they cared for you. And… at the very least, you’ll hold close someone. You need to hug SOMEONE. The Change God hugs you tighter.

❍ “...I… Can’t keep you here for much longer. So. Don’t worry, I’ll give you the keyknife as many times as you need it, I’ll wait for you to get out of this, and… I’ll be rooting for you. Okay? Just promise me, you’ll remember what I said?”

You struggle to speak through your tears. You… really were loved…

✦ “…Yeah. I will. T-Thank you…”

You feel them fade away, as the room starts to form.

You put yourself back together as it does. Physically at least. But the tears aren’t stopping. You turn towards Mira. She’s crying a little too.

✿ “HEY!!!!”

▲ “Mira, Sif! Are you both alright?!”

◉ “What… just happened? I can’t… Siffrin?”

You can’t speak. You can’t stop crying.

▲ “SIF?!? Are you okay? Say something!!”

✦ “S̴̯̕orry! I just… I…”

You can’t help but laugh. You… You feel a bittersweet mixture of joy and sorrow. You don’t know how to process it at all.

◉ “I think we experienced something… Incredible? But I can’t remember it anymore.”

You do. You’ll never forget. You won’t let yourself. You take a deep breath, and dry your tears.

◆ “Are you alright now Siffrin?”

✦ “I… Yeah. Come on. We have a king to beat.”

You smile. It’s bittersweet… You want to remember them. So badly now. They loved you, they cared for you. And you can’t even remember a thing about them…

No. One more memory surfaces. They said… they said…

It takes strength to see what you want from the world. Don’t give up on it ever.

You HAVE to find a way to remember them. You can’t let them be forgotten, not a second longer, not when you’ve gotten so close… But… You’ll need help… and there’s only one person who’d try. Who COULD help.

It’s time to meet the king.

✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸✸

...There’s a look in Stardust's eye.

This loop was doing so good. They’re all happy. They deserve that. They’ve been at this for a while, even if they aren’t aware of it. And the change god was very kind to say that. But…

Stardust isn’t thinking clearly. They haven't been for a while. The last two they remembered clearer because you fed them proper food, but it’s not easy to get that. And you have this sinking feeling things are going to take a turn for the worse. Very fast.

You hope you are wrong.

[zelphin124]

Summer x Y/N, pt 2

Hah, you thought I was done? THINK AGAIN- TO THE CAFE! Happy birthday Summer! I'm fashionably late, but I was at work so eat that you highlighter. Anyway.

~o0o~

Cocoa Cafe, 1pm, CoffeeTale.

The smell of coffee beans engulfed you when you entered the cafe. The cafe was made from a massive tree, with thick branches weaved perfectly for its walls, and the roof draped with millions of luscious leaves. A small, stone outlet for the gentle fire-cooked water rested in the corner. Each table and seat were made from natural materials, and there were zero signs of mess or bugs in the area. The birds that gently chirped made it obvious who kept the place clean.

There were many people in the cafe. To your surprise, monsters and humans from every affiliation were here. Many were from different alternate universes, and many were enemies with each other. However, none of them raised a finger of harm toward the other, as if this place was magically keeping peace.

"Hello there! Welcome to Cocoa Cafe! I'm Cocoa, what's your name?"

It must have been the most jolly greeting you have ever received in your life. Your head naturally turned toward the counter. Your eyes gazed down the trunk of the tree that made up most of the shelves before they rested on a short, smiley sans. He wore a tan hoodie and dark pants with lavender slippers. His eyes were marshmallows, and he had a large crack in his head that constantly spewed out cocoa.

You returned a greeting before walking up to him, giving your name.

"What a lovely name! What can I get started for you today?" He smiled gently at you, pulling out a small pen and paper.

You had a feeling he was going off a script, but you also knew he was being genuine as if he loved his job. However, you weren't here to try something new.

The king had given you a promise, and you showed up early to anticipate it.

You communicated that to Cocoa, who eagerly stared into your soul.

"Oh! Your Summer's date! Right! Don't worry about the payment, and I have a table for you guys over here!" He immediately sat down his possessions and guided you over to a cloth table with many flowers scattered across it.

They just so happened to be your favorite flowers.

"Summer will be here shortly. He informed me that he was running late... I think there was some king stuff he had to partake in which took longer than expected."

Cocoa did not seem phased by your reaction, whatever it was. He simply set the table before grabbing his notes. "Please, get whatever you'd like. His majesty will cover it."

Whatever you asked for, Cocoa said they had. It didn't matter if you listed a PB&J to crab roasted on a unicorn, Cocoa explained how he had it all. It was peculiar, but you were able to get exactly what you craved.

"It will be out shortly! I will have Eggnog get started on it immediately!"

Cocoa didn't turn around before a loud thud shook the cafe outside.

You could see through the spare windows a large Gaster Blaster dragon, who knelt to the ground with such grace and honor. It had various printings similar to the king you met last night.

Lo and behold, that same king gracefully dismounted the dragon's back.

Summer strode into the cafe with a bright yellow outfit and a less attention-demanding crown. His grin remained the same, and he bee-lined toward Cocoa, sharing a few hushed words before he spotted you.

His eyes lit up the whole room when they did.

The way he approached you was similar to a ray of sunlight gently beaming on your face after being hidden by a cloud. You didn't have time to react before he took your hand and kissed it gently. "You have graced your beauty once more. Thank you for your patience, darling."

You explained to him that it would be foolish of you to turn down an offer like this.

The king smirked. "Foolish indeed. You wouldn't want to turn down an offer from a king."

Everything Summer did was with grace and elegance. The way he moved, the way he looked at you and his surroundings as if he was the embodiment of grace and charm himself. There was never a dull moment. He made good small talk - if you could even call it that. The questions he asked were deep and inspiring. They forced you to take a deeper look at things you believed, and when he cracked a joke or a flirt, you couldn't help but reward him with genuine smiles and laughs.

Cocoa came out with your food the moment you started to get hungry. Summer told you about his favorite sandwich, but that monte cristo looked better in person.

To your surprise, he had no problem sharing it with you.

"How can I resist such a captivating face?" He teased, reaching out his hand and holding yours. "Ask and you shall receive, princess."

His wink sent an array of shivers down your spine. Your face was red the moment he touched your hand. He made you feel like no one else before, as if you could melt like butter in his arms and he'd be perfectly okay putting you back together. The peace that engraved your heart was permanent, and you never wanted to let that go.

"I could stare into your eyes all day..." The king muttered, adjusting his crown. "This has been enjoyable, and I deeply apologize for the short time span, but a king can never stay away from his kingdom for too long."

It appears the meal had been paid for in advance, as the king got up, swept you off your feet, and gave you a lovely embrace as a goodbye. "I hope to see you again soon, darling~"

To your disappointment, he vanished from sight, and so did his dragon.

"Ah, he's always like that... coming and going on short notice... haha!" Cocoa smiled as he cleaned up your plates.

You didn't mind it... but you did hope to see him again.

~o0o~

Sorry yall it was really rushed. BUT! Here it is.

[sis-goleona]

Title: Half dead?-(part two to the Half dead? series)

Pairing: The Cat King x Male! Reader

Word Count: 1,724

Summary: The King remembers how he found the reader...Something quite demonic.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

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Thomas held the silver plate delicately in both of his hands, keeping the plate steady to ensure none of the strategically placed food slipped off. He rarely made dinner for anyone other than himself, the cats in his care had their means of finding sustenance. The food in question was various types of shellfish, crab legs, shrimp, and lobster tail. The king ensured he cooked the most expensive cuts to impress his special guest. The cats dragged a few bottles of water on a towel behind them. Thomas was pleased that these cats decided to help out of their own volition, usually, they are less than helpful when the king needs to get a job done....the cats are stubborn (much like him, but he won't admit that) they only do things if it benefits them. Cats are cats and nobody knows that better than the Cat King himself. Stepping into his bedroom, the yellow-eyed immortal took in the sight before him. The reader was fast asleep on the rounded bed in the center of the room. His eyes were shut and brows tightly knit together, he looked ... feverish, sickly almost, though the life did come back into his features, a stark difference from when he first laid eyes on him. The reader’s arms lay still by his sides, his hands lay just below his stomach; careful not to touch the large wound that spread from the top of his chest to his navel. When the cat king first laid eyes on the reader he was very unaware of the type of injuries he had sustained.

The king followed his little creatures out into the deep greenery of Port Townsend, a dense forest that lay delicately on the edge of the ocean. Thomas didn’t leave his warehouse all that often but when his cats called for him he was sure to follow. Any type of disturbance that may cause harm to his friends needs to be dealt with immediately. Especially now that the Witch is gone and dead he needed to keep his yellow eyes out for danger, constantly. It was just the break of a golden dawn when his cats alerted him to a gruesome sight; at the very edge of the lush green forest was a man, he lay face down on the grass, a dark black thick fluid surrounded his body, his arm was stretched out and lied limply, the liquid covering the entirety of the hand. This person wore what looked to be an oversized sweatshirt that covered the upper half of his body and stopped short at his wrists which were barely recognizable. He wore a pair of light gray well what looked to be light gray slacks, the liquid covered the pants but left splotches of untouched fabric. The unusual part about the whole thing was, that he wasn’t wearing shoes, just a pair of multicolored socks that were darkened and stained by grass, dirt, and whatever the liquid was. The cat king’s eyes scanned the area, nothing out of place in the normally quiet port town. A soft meow beckoned his attention, a brown tabby cat looked up at their king with a glint in their sharp green eyes, usually a look cats give when they have found a prize or brought in a plump rat as an offering for the king. The object of the feline’s obsession was a boot, a light pastel purple color that surrounded most of the leathery fabric, the base was made of black semi-translucent rubber there was an orange string that weaved in and out of the trim to sew the leather and rubber together. ‘Funny’, he thought, this boot color is so bright compared to the limp body’s dark clothing. Of course, the thought that this shoe may not belong to him ran across his mind, but in the small port town, not many people left their newly, expensive-looking boots destitute in the woods. Slowly; Thomas stepped toward the unnamed body that lay unmoving across the crisp early morning grass. The sound of gravel crunching underneath the yellow eye’s shoes and a couple of inquisitive meows from his furry companions filled the early morning air, “weird” the king muttered to himself, there were no other sounds in the forest, it was incredibly quiet usually the woods are full of songs from the wildlife but there was no chirping from birds or crickets making whatever sound crickets make nor was there any scuttering of little rodents. No matter, he needed to see if this human was still alive. He finally got close enough to see the texture of the sweatshirt and to smell the iconic metallic smell of blood, except this was not blood it was a pure black thick substance. The king squatted down to the level of the man’s head. And in this proximity, he picked up the scent of…rotten eggs…” fuck that's sulfur” All different kinds of alarm bells went off in his brain; black liquid, rotten egg smell “Children, let’s get this human back to the warehouse, there is a demon loose in port Townsend and I have a feeling they can tell us a few things” Thomas announced to the cats that surrounded him, they all looked up in unison a familiar look of distaste riddled in between their feline features. 

Reader stirred in his sleep alerted by the sound of soft footsteps and light purring from the five cats behind their king. Thomas looked around, finding a steel table to prop the plate on. His feet carried him to the reader's bedside. His yellow feline eyes took in the features that made up the resting human’s face, It was soft looking; supple yet textured it looked like skin yes..but the king wanted to reach out his hand and delicately place his fingers upon his cheeks and carry them down to his slightly parted lips, he wanted to see if the human skin felt exactly how it looked. He stopped his movements sharply, his hand suspended right above the sleeping face, he realized he was acting on his imagination, he brought his arm down to the collarbone of the sleeping man and shook him lightly. Reader’s eyes shot open, fear immediately replacing those calm and relaxed features. His whole body tensed while his eyes took in his surroundings, and then they landed on the raised eyebrows of his host, he allowed his body to relax once more. “Sorry, love didn’t mean to startle you,” the king said with a coy smile. Reader sucked in his bottom lip, letting it rest in between his teeth, a movement the king picked up on, it was so very inviting. ‘Right,’ the king thought to himself ‘food for the guest’. Thomas, again, picks up the plate and proceeds to set it down in front of Reader.

Upon seeing the plate full of white meaty sustenance his face drops....he was oh so hungry but nothing on that plate will be able to touch him. Thomas immediately understood the expression on his face...disappointment. The king tried his best not to get upset, he went all out for this dish! And even the sight of it made the reader disappointed.

"I cannot eat shell...fish," he said suddenly, his hands quick to motion. "Allergic". Thomas read over his face again, he looked almost apologetic, like it was his fault he couldn't eat the one thing he was allergic to. The yellow-eyed king sighed and replaced his frown with a soft smile. He closed his eyes, relieved to know that his guest wasn't all that disappointed. "You know what? I should have asked if you had any dietary restrictions...My bad". The reader also let a small smile rest upon his lips. But a growl that erupted from his stomach stopped this rather sweet interaction. "Right, um...how about PB&J? Will that work" Thomas hoped this would suffice, he didn't have that much food in his fridge, just shellfish and ingredients for a PB&J. The king thanked his lucky stars that the reader didn't have to wait any longer for food. What kind of host would he be if he left the poor sickly boy all alone in his bed while he went out...He definitely didn't want the reader to get into any of his stuff while he was away! That's what he told himself, he didn't want to admit to himself that he didn't want the reader to leave him. Now and then Thomas would think back to Edwin, those words he spoke in their last meeting "We're both lonely" Lonely? LONELY? As if I, the cat king who is surrounded by loyal followers could ever be lonely. At least that's what he told himself...He knew deep down that it was true, he also knew that Edwin's leaving caused a lot more sorrow than others who had left him before. "That sounds good" the groggy voice spoke out, quickly cutting the Cat King's thoughts into pieces. "Great...actually...I'm h-hungry" Now this was the most the reader had spoken in a while, and he felt it in his throat. It was beyond dry and he was in desperate need of liquid. It almost made him gag, the friction was overbearing. He let out a raspy cough that felt like the delicate flesh of his throat was ripping itself apart. The reader grasped his neck as a means to stop the pain, but it provided little comfort. Thomas quickly picked the cold bottle up and brought it to the reader, in hopes that it would soothe whatever spell hit him. 

Once calmed down. (And fed) the yellow-eyed king took a seat on the edge of the circular bed, it dipped ever so slightly under his weight, the sheets rippled and pulled in response to the sudden change. He drew in a deep breath, it filled his lungs and raised his chest. He held it there for a bit before exhaling. He was preparing himself to ask the question about how the reader had attained those horrific cut wounds that traversed his body. The king thought back to when he found the body and all the evidence that led to the idea of a demon being somewhat involved…He needed the reader to explain what the hell had happened out there. “Reader…let’s talk about the demon that tried to murder you” 

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The second part is officially done. If you guys read this and have any criticism please let me know! this is the first time that I have written a short story and posted it. Thank you so much!!!!!

-Love Author Sybil

[nerd-goes-blogging]

how did I get here?

('bout how I became a dedicated Tintin fan)

You know, there’s a reason I call Tintin and Snowy my favourite.

I met them when I was 12 years old, in a dusty corner of my school library. An instant connection developed between us and since then we had never been apart. 

On his birthday, 9th January, my thoughts turned nostalgic about the young reporter who brightened and inspired my teenage years. Well, back then I wrote a journal entry dedicated to him and his glorious adventures. While creating this blog, the first content that came to my mind was this journal entry.

So, why not?

Here's to all those amazing memories I’ve made so far with this reporter and many more to come.

Back in middle school days, I remember searching for a book series to follow diligently. There were many of them. Mostly fantasies and fictions and dark romance. Some were menacing and awkward. As a whole, not an ideal read for me, I thought. I didn’t (and still don’t) want my head to be occupied with weird thoughts which yield nothing. But I knew my search would end one day. And it did.. 

One day, rummaging through the junior library at school, I noticed some illustrated books, which resembled the comics’s style but quite refined. With the librarian's permission I opened the locked up cabinet which seemed to have jammed due to rust.

That was my pirate treasure, a bounty which I was lucky enough to stumble upon.

The first book which I read from the series was ‘The Castafiore’s Emerald’. The only adventure completely based in the Marlinspike Hall, gives a cozy kind of feeling. Not only did I appreciate Tintin's wits, but I was also amused by Captain Haddock’s funny curses and alliteration which were insulting enough to trash anyone. I really felt that I was where I belonged. I decided to stick to it and started to gather more information and facts about the young protagonist and his brilliant creator, Hergé . The internet, of course, helped me to a great extent as all 24 volumes of the adventures were available there. Also, that was my first year learning french. When Madame came to know about my new hobby, she encouraged me to carry it further and suggested that I'd get the gist of both, the language and the stories, if I read them in french. So, I did that, and how! By the end of middle school, I had read all 24 volumes, some in french as well.

Since then, I’ve read the whole series many times. I've lost count of the number of times I've ...

cheered when Tintin fought Bobby Smiles in Chicago in the book ‘Tintin in America’, 

gasped at the revelation of Rastapopoulos as an antagonist in ‘The Blue Lotus’ (who continued on to become the prime villain in the series), 

chuckled to see (or hear) Bianca Castafiore’s god forsaken singing and Tintin’s reaction in ‘King Ottokar’s Sceptre’, 

been amused at the introduction of Captain Haddock into the series in ‘The Crab with Golden Claws’, 

got my funny bone tickled as Captain Haddock grouched on Professor Cuthbert Calculus’ “hard of hearing” trouble, 

got thrilled with the hero’s treasure hunt in ‘The Secret of the Unicorn’

got terrified at the vengeance of Inca Rascar Capac and Tintin, Snowy and Captain Haddock’s quest to release the professor from the captivity of the Incas in ‘The Seven Crystal Balls’ & ‘The Prisoners of the Sun’ (this story is hands down my most fav :)

greeted the Emir and his son Abdullah (devil’s incarnation) in ‘Land of Black Gold’, 

followed the friends to the moon and back (literally!) 

visited Borduria and Syldavia, 

cried my heart out (when I first read it, I was so touched) in the joyous reunion of Tintin and Tchang, 

rolled with laughter on seeing the magazine cover of Paris Flash in ‘The Castafiore Emerald’, 

encountered all sorts of people (even aliens! in ‘flight 714’) 

and went to an extent of a military coup for General Alcazar. 

Oh, and not to forget the cliffhanger of the unfinished ‘Tintin and the Alph-art’ (left for fans to complete it with our imagination, I like to believe!)

 

Phew! The list is much longer than this & the memories are limitless!!

You might wonder why I'm so into Tintin's adventures and what makes him different from other comic book heroes? 

More importantly, what made me stay? 

You can find this out and more in my next blog.

Until then, stay nerdy ✨👩‍🎓

The Nerdy Olive :)

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Jade, Riddle: Days that we Treasure

Why do they use the most Obviously Evil and Unsettling images ever 😭 Who looks at the Mega Ursula painting and goes, “Ah, yes. This is a perfectly sane and totally good person”??????? Or that unsettling image of the Evil Queen??? They did NOT get their best angles…

THE TWINS ArE NOT BEATING BACK THE LEECH CRIME FAMILY ALLEGATIONS ANYTIME SOON... Jade says his dad taught him and Floyd skills like how to break free of ropes and how to pick locks... 💀 and then Jade talks about how he beat up some sharks and made them bleed--

It's really cute to hear about how Jade collected baubles just like Ariel did 🥺 even gifting some coins to Azul!! Him chucking everything once he lost interest broke my heart though... (Some clarification: Jade indicates that he used to like manholes; this is a unique cultural aspect of Japan, as manhole covers tend to have fun designs there. He was probably referring to those, not just plain manhole covers.)

A Tale as Old as Time.

"Oya, what a charming portrait of a crustacean."

Jade spoke of a painting of a crab, lips pursed as if midsong, a flurry of bubbles and sea life swirling around it. Light shone down from the surface world, as if spotlighting a lone performer on an otherwise dark stage. Such fun! Such whimsy! Such…

… easy game, Jade thought. His polite smile tugged into what was decidedly a far less polite smirk.

He had honed a discerning eye, parsing people as easily as one might parse papers. One look was all that was needed for him to tell: the crab would easily be suckered into signing a contract. Gullible, cheery fools like him always were.

His grin grew. Fingers curled against his chin, almost resembling a folded paw which concealed claws.

“I don’t like that look of yours,” Riddle declared. His resolute tone resounded in the darkened museum as he fell beside the eel. “It looks extremely suspicious!”

“Riddle-san. How good of you to join me.” With a hand shifting to be placed over his head, Jade gave him a curt bow. "I apologize if you were disarmed by my expression. You see, I have a tendency to smile awkwardly out of nervousness."

Riddle made a face and shook his head. “I’m not sure if I entirely believe that.”

"Who can you trust, if not your dear classmates?"

Riddle gave no response, only meeting him with an exasperated look. Jade’s chuckles were loud in the cavernous quiet of the museum.

He gestured to the platinum frame containing the singing crustacean. “Are you familiar with this gentlecrab?"

"I have learned a bit of the history of merpeople," Riddle declared proudly, puffing his chest out like a swaggering peacock. "He is the Sea King's favored composer. From what I understand, music is highly regarded in your culture—and it is for that reason that this composer was able to earn such an important position in the king’s court. He was not only wise, but also wove stunning melodies which captured the hearts of all sea creatures. Truly an ideal candidate to stand by the king’s side.”

“That’s right. My, you certainly put in the extra effort to your studies. As expected of Riddle-san.”

Jade brought a hand to his mouth. “Ah, but there are many stories of him that the land textbooks do not tell. For example, did you know that this great composer was also a friend and confidant to the Mermaid Princess?”

“The Mermaid Princess… Surely you don’t mean the Mermaid Princess that bridged the humans and merpeople?”

“The very same.” Jade gave a light laugh. “They say she was spirited and defiant, with a deep fondness for humans, in spite of her father’s protests. The great composer discovered her hidden grotto, which was full of gadgets and gizmos aplenty, items the Mermaid Princess had scavenged from shipwrecks—and his loyalty was put to the test.”

Jade held out both hands, lifting one while lowering the other, then swapping sides. He simulated a scale and changing weights.

“The Sea King, who detested humans, and the Mermaid Princess, who loved them. Which of the two would the composer follow?”

“What a ridiculous question!” Riddle frowned, sweeping out an arm—as if to collapse a house of cards. “Of course the Sea King is the most correct. He has the most authority in the circumstances, and furthermore, the composer is in service to the king. It is clear that it is the composer should side with the Sea King.”

Jade's eyes glinted like coins shifting in the darkness. "In the end, he chose to support the Mermaid Princess."

"What?!" Riddle recoiled in visible shock. "That's preposterous! On what grounds....!"

“He must have valued the Mermaid Princess’s friendship with all of his heart,” Jade replied teasingly, “or rather, it was because he understood her sorrow and desire.”

“A man of his skill and stature, understanding her feelings and breaking the rules on her behalf…? I can’t picture it myself.”

"Perhaps it is difficult to understand without full context." Jade's brows turned upward, almost passing for sympathetic. "... There was a dark era of the Sea King's rule when music of any kind was expressly forbidden. However, the great composer—in an act of rebellion—played to his heart's content in secret. The Mermaid Princess came upon his secret and learned of the joys of song and dance from him. She understood that, to the composer, music was his most prized possession. His treasure. He could not bear to be without it, just as a fish cannot be without water."

Riddle's face creased. "I see, so the Mermaid Princess and this composer... They understood one another's circumstances. Both of them knew the pain of longing for something forbidden."

"Yes. To them, it was worth disregarding the law to attain that which they loved the most." Jade's suspiciously pleasant smile returned. "I believe that is incredibly courageous and admirable of them."

"That is hardly surprising, seeing as you and your brother constantly skirt school rules!" Riddle grumbled under his breath. "And no matter the reason for it or the results achieved, you are all still guilty of your crimes!!"

"Such harsh accusations." Jade's lips peeled, revealing the many tiny, razor-sharp teeth he so often hid from public view. "Most graciously, the story I was telling you has a happy ending. Th Sea King pardoned them both for their transgressions. As they say, all's well that ends well."

"Rule-breakers walking away without so much as a light sentence... That's considered a happy ending for you?!" Riddle's snarl filled the room, rattling the portraits that lined the walls, the priceless artifacts out on display. He was redder than the crab composer himself.

"Oya, Riddle-san. What a loud voice—you may just disturb the other museum goers.” Jade tossed a glance at the room adjacent to theirs. Their peers milled about, clamoring for glimpses of pieces of art, scraps of history, and shards of greatness.

The dorm leader hastily cleared his throat. “Apologies... I lost control of my temper for but a moment.”

“There is no need for an apology. I’m certain the merciful Sea King would have granted you clemency as well.”

“D-Do not tease me!!” Riddle’s face inflamed once more, earning a stifled snort from his classmate. “S-Stop laughing!! It’s NOT funny!!”

His protests were of no use. Jade’s snort swelled into barely concealed chuckling, and then finally burst into a monstrous grin. It didn’t quite match with the soft laugh that bubbled up from his throat.

The surface world had introduced to him a plethora of new wonders. Mushrooms, mountains, and what else…? The very people of the land.

I will never tired of these peaceful, fun-filled days.

They were his invaluable treasures, things well-worth fighting for.

[randomwriteronline]

I care if an au or not, Sidorak/Roodaka where the duo are like an evil couple but Roodaka actually likes that dumbass.

The plan was very, very simple.

At the right time: get rid of the fool.

That was it.

Couldn't have been any easier. Truly, it was kind of embarrassing - for him of course, because he was so insignificant in the grand scheme of things that the end of his life was little more than a footnote in her plans, but also for her, because for a Vortixx of her cunning this lack of strategy was frankly laughable.

But she didn't want to expend her energies on coming up with something more complex when she was already so many steps ahead of him; and so she had endured the stupid arrogance with which he tried (failing) to hide his fearful respect of her and his yakking about having played such an important part in her schemes, and she had pretended to enjoy his talks of joining his side much closer as queen of the Visorak like she hadn't been unofficially covering that role ever since the Makuta had first assigned the horde to the two of them, and had faked the slightest interest and deference just so that silly little infatuation he couldn't disguise from her keen eyes would keep on blinding him to her machinations even just a little more.

At the very least, despite being a disastrous egocentric attention hog, he did have enough sense in him to recognize her as the one superior in brawn and brain between the two of them.

And yes, it was... Pleasant, to know he was attracted to her.

It made her sound so disgustingly shallow - like the specter of a lagoon half drained by toxic waste. But it wasn't as though Vortixx were very keen on paying attention to something as trivial as their bodies, with how similar they all looked! It was just not a detail one ever expected to draw any attention!

But that idiot had met plenty of her kind already and would very much keep seeing plenty more, and still continued to stammer specifically when she traced the edge of her chin with a finger when deep in thought, staring intently while holding his breath like he was being subjected to some new kind of torture. And it would have been a lie to say that it didn't make her feel... A little pleased. Mayeb even a little proud.

A little flustered.

Bah. No way. How perfectly foolish.

If she went down this line of thinking she'd risk turning too soft to get him out of the picture.

Which was never going to happen, of course.

Because she was the Visorak queen.

And Sidorak's.

Technically.

Not yet.

Formalities and whatnot.

She always kept that nonsensical notion at a distance, but there was no harm in indulging in the absurd picture it painted - giving her access to whatever chambers the Steltian had previously had all to himself without arousing any suspicion, permitting so many new and exciting ways to get him out of her path to total control... She had no need to disguise it either, since she would have inherited the power from him anyways, but what lousy excuse for an assassination doesn't have a subterfuge or two?

And while she indulged in these silly thoughts, Sidorak presented her plans as proudly as if he'd made them himself (which he always did), but slowly forgot to put his name in front of hers to get as much of the merit as possible.

Oh, he still included himself in her schemings of course. He had to look good, as a king and all.

He was still arrogant, and egocentric, and pompous, and a perfect imbecile; but Roodaka found him a little less eager to throw her under the Ussal crab, and ever more infatuated.

His offers for her to occupy a throne by his own were getting less formal, almost hopeful. He'd started to heat up when she grasped his snout in her hands (why'd she start to do that, by the way? Because seeing his eyes widen and a dopey grin spread lopsidedly on his face was somewhat endearing?) and she'd started to enjoy his renewed attentions and more vocal appreciation of her cunning brilliance.

By now she had him twisted around her claw. She was still planning to get rid of him, of course, but new possibilities had opened up: smitten as he was she could have easily puppeted him around to do her bidding without her needing to lift a finger, and she could have used him as bait or perhaps a distraction in case some hotheaded idiot thought of taking the horde from them... She could have laid back in total safety, pulling the strings from behind him without ever having to worry for her safety! He was so confused by his attraction that he had even agreed to let her do most of planning in his stead, since she was such a tactical genius, and he would have posed in the front to carry out her instructions just like a devoted king should...

Hm.

Hm!

Well. In the end, he might have been more useful alive than dead.

Roodaka came to that satisfactory conclusion with a pleased hum and a big smile, snuggling her snout further into Sidorak's neck. The Steltian hummed back fondly in his sleep as his arms gently tightened around her, which caused a flustered buzz to flutter within her heartlight.

She stared into the dark for a few more minutes.

Ah, cripes.

Turns out infatuation is a two-way street.

[humanpurposes]

Karma is a God

Chapter 13: The Riverlands

The Dance of the Dragons begins on a lie, and Aemond owes a debt, one Lucerra will see repaid in Fire and Blood // Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond x Lucerra Velaryon (fem!Lucerys)

Warnings for this chapter: spoilers for F&B and future seasons of HotD, canon divergence, descriptions of violence

Words: 7700

A/n: Also available to read on AO3.

The skies over Blackwater Bay and Crackclaw Point are clear. There are no clouds to hide in and Grey Ghost makes quick work of the distance from Dragonstone to Maidenpool.

The Queen had ordered that she fly straight back to King’s Landing after accompanying Baela and Rhaena to Dragonstone, but as much as she fears her mother’s wroth, she fears what might happen if she sits idly.

To the south, Borros Baratheon has summoned his banners to Storm’s End. To the west, the Lannisters clash with the Iron Fleet. The Tyrells have taken a neutral stance, but the Hightower army is rebuilding in the Reach, rallying behind Prince Daeron and Criston Cole.

As for the Riverlands… the reports they receive are harrowing.

For almost two moons, Aemond has terrorised the Riverlands, unleashing dragonfire and death upon all those he deems to be traitors. Everything in his path turns to ash; towns, cities, castles, crops, and too many lives to count.

They fly high enough that the world spreads out below them like a map. As they approach the southern shore of the Bay of Crabs, she can see where the green fields turn to black. Smoke rises from the ground, trees reach against a grey sky, charred and bare. No life remains where Vhagar flies.

Could he hear the screams as he did it? Was he blind to the suffering, or did he bathe himself in it?

She had heard the cries of dying men as she burnt the Tyroshi war ships by Driftmark, but they were distant, a noise lingering in the back of her mind. All she remembers of that night is the smell of smoke, flashes of golden flames blurred through her tears, emptiness and rage. Thousands of lives ended, for the sake of avenging two already lost.

It is not the same, she tells herself.

They were soldiers. Any one of them could have been the man who released the quarrel that killed Jace, or manned the ship that sunk the Gay Abandon and young Viserys with it.

Aemond kills because he is cruel.

And I…

Death could not save the people who died at Hightide and Spicetown, it could not bring back her brothers, or any other lives lost at The Gullet. That thought has lingered in her mind ever since, a parasite draining the warmth from her body, the life from her soul.

But this is war. Either she will die a martyr, like Jace, like Rhaenys, or survival will chip away at the person she once was.

Maidenpool is nothing compared to the grandeur of Dragonstone or the high walls and towers of The Red Keep. Its keep and battlements are grey and cobbled, covered in moss and ivy so it blends in seamlessly with the surrounding greenery and the backdrop of the sea.

The castle is not the first thing she spots though, rather the blood red dragon that lies before the outer walls. Caraxes is curled in on himself, in a rare moment of peace as he sleeps. But he stirs as they land, rearing his head and glaring at them through wide, golden eyes.

Grey Ghost is uneasy, and not without cause. The Bloodwyrm is monstrously large, bloodthirsty and chaotic.

She remembers the first time she saw Caraxes, as their families gathered on Driftmark for the funeral of Laena Velaryon. Jace had flown on Vermax, while she, too small to ride Arrax, rode in a carriage with her mother and father. They reached Hightide and suddenly she heard a thunderous roar and a whistling, rippling shriek. What a sight they were, Caraxes and Vhagar, soaring from the East with the sunrise. They terrified her in different ways. Vhagar was colossal, and though Caraxes was smaller, he was swift, with piercing eyes, sharp teeth and a serpentine neck that she couldn’t help but follow as it swayed and slithered.

The gates open before she has dismounted. Daemon leads an escort of guards to meet her, dressed in his riding leathers rather than his armour. He knows not to come too close to Grey Ghost.

Her dragon is steadfastly steady as she dismounts, his head fixed on the men who have dared to approach his rider.

Strangers, hisses the voice in her head. Danger.

“Princess Lucerra,” Daemon says, resting his hands on the hilt of Dark Sister which hangs from his hip. “What a pleasant surprise.” His voice is calm but in a way that makes her nervous.

“Your Grace,” she says, keeping a gloved hand against Grey Ghost’s hide, stroking along his scales to calm him. 

Daemon observes this with a small smile, and a turn of his head towards the guards, who relax their stances. “You should know better than to announce on dragonback unannounced.”

“And yet you were able to determine I was not an enemy,” Luke says. “I came from Dragonstone.”

His amusement fades into something more concerned. “Baela and Rhaena?”

Rhaenyra needed a dragon to protect the island and patrol the sea, if necessary. It couldn’t be Tylesys, Sheepstealer was still weak from the encounter with Tessarion, and she wanted Seasmoke, Vermithor and Silverwing to stay in King’s Landing. By the slight frown in Daemon’s face, he has some trepidation about Baela being the one to take on such a burden. But she is brave enough for it, and besides, Dragonstone is defended by water and the Velaryon Fleet. So long as Daeron and Tessarion remain in the Reach, the girls will be safe.

“Your daughters are safely delivered,” she says.

Daemon looks between her and her dragon. “Does your mother approve of you being here?” he asks.

Her breath catches effortlessly in her throat. “She does not know.”

He smiles again. “I have to admit, I did anticipate you might find your way here.”

The small council met the very day they received the first letter from Riverrun.

Prince Aemond has declared a one man war on the Riverlands, intent on burning all those who align themselves to Queen Rhaenyra.

The sight before her eyes was dull and gloomy. She winced at flashes of lighting and rumbles of thunder that were not there to be seen or heard. She saw only him, the scar she had left him, the sapphire set within the socket. His voice drifted through her, just out of earshot but there nonetheless.

“I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine.”

“Do this, dōna ilībōños, and I will consider your debt fulfilled.”

“My nephew must not be left unchecked,” Daemon’s voice said.

Suddenly the other faces in the room materialised into view. Rhaenyra’s eyes were down, fixed on the golden ball placed before her. Lord Corlys’ brow was twisted in contemplation and concern. The other men of the Small Council were watching Daemon, who in turn had his eyes on her.

He watched her for the entirety of their gathering, and she knew what he was looking for. She gave him nothing, not the smallest movement in her face or a hint of an expression. She had become rather well practised at this.

But the moment she was back in her chambers, the moment she was alone, she gave into the fury and fear simmering inside of her. She only managed to seat herself on the edge of her bed before the tears began to stream down her face. She caught them in her palms as she wept.

Aemond was rarely cruel as a child, if he was it was because he had been pushed too far, by Aegon, by Jace, and by her own doing. She had expected him to hate her when she returned to the Red Keep, and she had been right in her assumption. A debt was owed, one he had wanted her to pay with her life.

Whose fault could it be but hers that Aemond had grown into he had become? 

A weight hung heavy in her chest. She hadn’t been the one to mount Vhagar or utter the command that scorched the Riverlands, but she knew she had a part in this, in some twisting of fate, in the overlaps and knots in the threads of life.

Two moons passed and hardly anything came from Daemon’s hunt. News would come of a castle or town left in ashes, farms and fields obliterated, whole herds of livestock lost to the dragon’s jaws, but Daemon could not fly fast enough. By the time word reached him of an attack, there would no traceable signs of Aemond and Vhagar but the devastation they left behind.

The night before she left to escort Baela and Rhaena to Dragonstone, she took supper with Lord Corlys and her siblings, which included Alyn and Addam. Moments like this were the closest she came to feeling she had a home in the Red Keep, despite the notable absences. She forced herself to smile as Joffrey tried to imitate everything about Lord Corlys, the way he held his cutlery, the way he leaned back in his chair and kept his cup close to his lips. Her brother was to be the future Lord of the Tides afterall.

Rhaena kept her little pink dragon, Morning, on her shoulder. She and Addam fed her scraps of beef and praised her when she cooed.

Baela sat beside Alyn, with perfect posture and a tight smile on her lips at everything he said. But her resolve was slipping. With every joke Alyn whispered in her ear, she leaned a little further into him and laughed a little louder.

At first the sight made Luke’s stomach churn, as if she could still see the distant battle at The Gullet, like she could still smell the smoke as the Tyroshi ships were bathed in Grey Ghost’s fire. Until she wondered if Jace had ever told Baela of his time at Winterfell, why he had a scar on his palm and why, if she travelled north to see for herself, Cregan Stark would have one to match.

Alyn was charming, Luke supposed, gracious, with a smile that sparked excitement. 

What did it matter where Baela chose to seek happiness? Surely it was better that she did not dwell on memories and live her life with the burden of the past. What would that bring but grief and regret? 

After seeing young Aegon to bed and allowing Joffrey one game of Cyvasse, Luke visited her mother. Rhaenyra could be found where she usually was, in her father’s chambers sitting by a dying hearth and gazing over the model of Old Valyria, coated with dust and cobwebs after so many years of neglect. Luke sat by her side, tracing her fingertips over her hands and the cuts along her skin. Some were red and fresh, some were older and clotted, others had faded into thin scars.

“They are meaningless,” her mother whispered without turning her eyes to her daughter. “A consequence of our ancestor choosing to forge his throne from the swords of his enemies. My father suffered the same.”

Watching her mother was like watching a warm and golden autumn fade into a desolate winter. She could not endure it for long.

Her back fell against the door as she returned to her bedchamber, frozen in place by what she saw. Another envelope, sealed with a winged insect stamped into amber wax, left on the floor by her bed, exactly where she had found the last one.

She held her breath for a moment, waiting for any kind of sound, a footstep, a voice, a scuttling of a rodent, but whoever had delivered it must have been long gone.

Once again, she reached for the knife by her bedside, slicing through the envelope to save the seal.

There was just one line, and no signature.

Search for him and he will find you.

She knew what had to be done. She could not sit idly, not while her mother’s allies burned and she had a debt of her own to claim.

Daemon steps towards her. “You want to be the one to do it,” he says.

She often has this feeling, like she’s drowning in her own skin. Like the world around her is cold and dark and she cannot breathe. She sees only one way to save herself from it.

“I have to be.”

The castle is quiet, filled with servants who scurry through the halls with their heads down, and knights and Lords who offer no looks of warmth to their Prince and Princess. It is unusual that Daemon does not reprimand them for it.

He sees that she is brought to a chamber that overlooks the sea and is given supper. It is no great feast– many of the crops and livestock of the Riverlands have been lost to Vhagar’s fire, but she is given a plate of shucked oysters and another with white fish and potatoes. Daemon does not eat with her, or visit her once she is finished. 

The sounds of the waves roar in her ears as she lies in the bed and pulls the sheets around her. Each time she starts to fall asleep she feels weightless, and suddenly she is slipping from Arrax’s saddle and hurtling through to storm into the waves of Shipbreaker Bay–

But she wakes before her body meets the water.

A maid comes to her early in the morning just after sunrise. She bathes and dresses in her riding leathers, firmly fixing her sword to her hip, letting her fingertips linger on the golden seahorse hilt.

“He should be taken as a prisoner,” was Lord Corlys’ counter to Daemon’s pledge to find Aemond. “If he is dead, the Greens will make a King of Daeron and rally behind him.”

Rhaenyra at last looked up when he said it. “My brother forsook any chance of mercy when he tried to claim the life of my daughter,” she said.

Grey Ghost and Caraxes wait for them beyond the castle walls, restless the way dragons always are before they take flight. 

“I have word from Sabitha Frey,” Daemon says before they mount their dragons. “She has recaptured Harrenhal along with the Blackwoods.”

“I can’t imagine it was difficult,” Luke says. “It was left completely undefended.”

Daemon chuckles as he hauls himself into Caraxes’ saddle, a much steeper climb than it is for her to mount Grey Ghost. Aemond would have further to climb than either of them, a thought which she tries to dismiss. 

“We have our hold in the Riverlands once more,” he calls to her as Caraxes starts to move. The dragon whistles like a dolphin and bellows a screeching roar as he lurches forward, bounding off the ground and swiftly ascending into the air with powerful beats of his wings that shake the trees. Daemon steers him west, over the burned landscape.

Danger, whispers the voice in her head.

She drives Grey Ghost forward nonetheless.

As they fly, the air around them is hazy and thick. Luke keeps her sleeve over her nose and mouth. She is used to wind and rain rushing against her face, but smoke is a different beast altogether. It stings in her eyes, burns in her throat, seeps into her lungs and her bloodstream.

Heat lingers even after the fires have died and eaten everything away to ash. She feels it through her leathers.

Harrenhal is not out of place among this scorched wasteland. She sees the lake first, as vast as an ocean, black water glimmering under the sun’s early rays, splashes of white foam with the waves. In the centre is an island, so thick with trees she cannot see the ground underneath.

She feels unsettled, as though she is being watched. This must be the famed God’s Eye.

Standing over the water, shrouded in smoke and mist, is Harrenhal. She can see the path of Balerion’s fire through the five towers, where the stone is melted, twisted, and crumbled to ruins.

Harwin Strong once told her of the curse of Harrenhal, that every family who dared to hold it was doomed to meet a terrible end, and now her mother’s banners hang over the front gates. 

Caraxes lands on the lakeshore where Daemon waits for her to dismount. This is a place familiar to him. This is where he was when news came of Arrax’s demise above Shipbreaker Bay. This is where he gave the order to seek justice for the deaths of his daughters. He remained here while Rhaenys burned at Rook’s Rest, as the Triarchy sank the ship that carried his son, as the Velaryon Fleet held The Gullet, as Jace and Vermax were lost to quarrels and treacherous waters.

Now is not the time to unleash her anger, but Daemon has always had a way of seeing right through her.

He leads her up the slight slope to the gatehouse, into the castle itself. The soldiers they pass bear the sigils of the Freys and the Blackwoods, proud and powerful houses of the Riverlands. Unlike those they passed at Maidenpool, the men and women here look upon their Prince with reverence. Daemon, with Dark Sister by his side, his short, silver hair braided away from his face, looks nothing less than a force of nature, a warrior, a would-be-King, the kind of man to inspire fear from both his enemies and his allies.

And when the fearful eyes come to her, they become curious. It is a question that has haunted her all her life; what do they see when they look at her? A Velaryon, a Targaryen or a Strong? A Princess, an heir, or an outlier, an insult to custom and duty? Perhaps now they see what she has become.

She follows Daemon through quiet hallways, through archways and holes in the walls where there should be doors, until they come to a cavernous hall. The light hardly reaches through the glassless windows on the far side of the room, but she makes out arches and buttresses hundreds of feet high, hearths untouched for decades. On the walls there are carvings of the sigil of House Hoare, images of the sea, krakens and sea monsters, men bathing– or drowning, under the dim light of the braziers, the last remnants of the Iron Islanders who once made this their home.

In the centre of the hall, still quite a distance away, is a table, around which a man and two women are gathered. Candlelight flickers against their faces as she and Daemon approach.

A woman stands at the head of the table, studying a map of the Riverlands and the Crownlands. Her chestplate bears two sigils, one of a black toad, one of two, blue towers. Her hair is pulled tightly from her face. Despite the soft, round edges of her cheeks and jaw, there is a stern look about her, a sharpness in her eyes and the thin line of her mouth.

The man is young, dressed in armour, marked by the sigil of a weirwood surrounded by ravens. He has a head of curly black hair, to match the second woman, only hers reaches below her waist. She is breathtakingly beautiful, tall and broad, dressed in white and black with a red cloak hanging from her shoulders.

“Princess Lucerra,” Daemon says, ushering Luke to stand at the other end of the table, overlooking the Kingswood and the Rose Road past Tumbleton and Bitterbridge. “Lady Sabitha Frey, Lord Benjicot Blackwood of Raventree Hall, and Lady Alysanne Blackwood.”

Only now do they look at her, with the same curiosity that she is used to.

“What an honour it is to be acquainted with you, Princess,” Lady Sabitha says, stiffly.

The two Blackwoods bow their heads, and Lady Alysanne offers her a small smile.

“We are glad to have you join us, Prince Daemon,” says Lord Benjicot. 

Daemon hums in acknowledgement as he sets Dark Sister down on the table. “It seems a far more convenient base than Maidenpool,” he says, darkly.

A gust of wind howls in the distance. It is quiet, but with the echo through the hall it sounds monstrous and unnatural.

Lady Sabitha seems to have command of this gathering. Luke has heard rumours of Lady Frey’s character, most of them from Daemon. He says she is merciless and efficient. She finds she agrees with this assessment, but rather admires her for it. She has lost her husband in this war, and now her seat. The Twins, along with her son, have been taken by the Lannisters, who now block the road south.

“The Riverlands are loyal to you, Your Grace,” she says to Daemon, “but we have little chance of mustering more men than we have here.”

“What of the Tullys?” Luke asks.

Lady Alysanne sighs. “They cannot be relied upon. Elmo Tully would pledge their banners to the true Queen, but he will not act against Lord Grover’s wishes.”

“The Lord of Riverrun is as decisive as he is young and spritely,” Daemon says. “We cannot afford to wait for the old man to die while the Hightowers recover their strength.”

“But with Jason Lannister at the Twins, the Starks will have to fight through an army to reach us,” Alysanne says.

They fall into quiet, studying the map and the figures upon it, the hightower in the Reach, the stag at the edge of the Stormlands, the lion and the wolf to the north.

“And then there is the more pressing issue,” Lord Benjicot says darkly. 

Luke counts the dragons upon the map. Tessarion in the Reach; Moondancer at Dragonstone; Syrax, Vermithor, Silverwing, Seasmoke, Tyraxes and Dreamfyre at King’s Landing. Lady Sabitha moves Caraxes and Grey Ghost to Harrenhal. Two figures remain, a golden dragon for Sunfyre, kept at the edge of the map, and Vhagar, hovering over Pinkmaiden, seat of House Piper.

“He was last seen here?” Luke asks quietly, reaching out a finger, but stopping herself before she touches Vhagar’s figure.

“Not three days ago,” Benjicot says. He places the tip of his finger over Riverrun first. “He began his assaults here, after Harrenhal was abandoned. He won’t directly attack the Tullys, but he targeted the lands that surround them.” Then he traces east, over the towns along the River Road, marking Aemond’s warpath. 

“I went to Darry,” Daemon says, “by the time I got there, Vhagar was feasting on whole farms of sheep at the border of the Vale.”

“We think he might be seeking shelter here–” Lord Benjicot points to the mountain range that marks the border of the Westerlands. “Out of Prince Daemon’s reach, close enough to continue his attacks.”

“And he was not seen after Pink Maiden?” Luke says.

“He attacked at nightfall. Even with Vhagar’s size, it was impossible to tell where they went.”

Her eyes follow as he moves Vhagar’s figure to the mountains, and a heavy hand lands on her shoulder. The weight strains her neck.

“Perhaps I could ride out on Grey Ghost and search the mountains?” she says.

Daemon does not give the others a moment to consider. “I will not allow you to use yourself as bait.”

What is the difference? He would be happy for her to meet him in open battle, but not to seek him out as she had done with Daeron? 

She knows better than to test the patience of Daemon Targaryen, but her own has been wearing thin for far too long.

“And how else do you intend to find him?” she asks. “You have searched for Aemond for moons and to no avail. Do you expect him to come to us willingly?”

“He is proud enough to do so,” Daemon mutters.

“Then where is he? Why has he not sought you out?”

“Enough.” He does not need to shout. His anger is apparent enough for her to bow her head and listen in to the rest of the gathering in silence.

There is nothing for her in Harrenhal but death. 

She takes an abandoned servant’s quarters as a bedchamber, by the kitchens in Widow’s Tower, until Daemon tells her of the horror found in the crypt underneath.

Their bodies were left in the cellar, slaughtered within a cell, some simply run through, others slashed to shreds. There was no sense to it, no reason for Aemond to kill his prisoners or bring such a bloody end to House Strong– well, almost.

She wonders why he did it and how he can live with himself in the aftermath. He had not even spared the children. She pictures them cowering, helpless to watch as their family were picked off, one by one, before Aemond at last set his one, violet eye to them.

But Aemond kills because he is cruel, and soon that cruelty will be ended.

She cannot stay in the tower knowing what lies underneath. So she takes her sword and climbs the staircases, past empty chambers and passageways. She doesn’t know what she is expecting. Whatever was left of Ser Harwin or his belongings would have been removed years ago, and while Harrenhal may belong to his family, he always said he never felt at home here. She sees why for herself.

Her legs burn as she climbs higher, where the tower becomes decrepit. The stairways are treacherous now, she wonders if they might crumble under her boots and yet she carries on, passing rubble never cleared and gaps in the tower where the walls were lost to the Black Dread’s fire.

She comes to a bridge, high above the courtyard leading into the castle’s tallest tower, the Kingspyre. There are at least some signs of life in this part of the castle, servants, lit torches and hearths. 

She passes a chamber with a great oak door, adorned with carvings of sea creatures with grotesque faces, waves and ships, the three rivers of the Trident and, when she looks closely, pairs of eyes hidden amongst the images.

She expects it to be locked, but tries the handle, only for it to open, seamlessly and silently. 

It is a grand chamber, to be sure, perhaps intended for the Lord of the castle. There are no belongings in the room, no sign of ownership, and yet it is well kept. The sheets are clean, the logs of the hearth set and ready to be set alight It smells stale and stagnant, but not like the lingering smell of smoke found in the rest of Harrenhal. 

She hesitates, then smooths her palm over the bedsheets to find they are cold. This chamber must have been in use recently, but not recently enough to warrant immediate attention.

She wanders to the window, overlooking the courtyard, the gatehouse and the God’s Eye beyond the walls. The figures in the courtyard are distant but still distinct. Daemon’s silver hair is obvious as he stands with a woman. At first she mistakes her for Lady Alysanne; she is seemingly tall and slender with dark hair, but something about her posture is different, the way she tilts her head as she leans closer to Daemon.

The wind wails beyond the walls of the tower and for a moment it sounds soft, like a breath.

The woman turns her gaze up, to the very window Luke stands behind. She can make out the colour of her eyes– green, brighter and paler than Lady Alysanne’s. They must be truly striking at a ground level, because from here they are piercing. 

A sick feeling floods Luke’s stomach. She should not be here, not in this room, perhaps not even at Harrenhal, but she cannot find the courage to leave.

When she makes her way down the stairs of the tower and into the courtyard, Daemon and the woman are gone. Instead she finds the castle’s Godwood, following the small stream that runs through it, to the heart tree. 

The faces in the bark are nothing like those in King’s Landing. These faces are full of anguish, twisted, mouths open as if they are screaming, in pain or fury.

A chill slips down her spine and she knows she is being watched– not by the eyes in the tree. A footstep treads softly in the grass behind her. She turns her head over her shoulder, just enough for them to know she has heard them.

The footsteps are less careful now, unabashed in their approach. 

She sees a flash of dark hair, at first believing it to be Lady Alysanne, only to find herself disappointed, and then a little on edge.

It is the woman from the courtyard, the woman with unnaturally bright eyes.

“Do you often find yourself seeking the comfort of a weirwood, Princess?” she asks. Her voice is surprisingly low, rich and seductive. 

She never used to, but she seems to have noticed them more since they took King’s Landing. She passes the weirwood in the gardens of the keep, sees the image of one above her bed, finds her mind wandering to memories of afternoons she spent under the shelter of red leaves and her uncle’s arm as he read from a history book.

“What business of it is yours?” Luke says sharply.

The woman hums a low laugh and lets it fade to silence. 

Night is beginning to creep in. Beyond the walls of the castle, the sight of the sunset over the lake will be beautiful, a red sky over the water. She hears the waves and the wind as if she is standing on the shore.

“It is a terrible thing to lose one’s family,” the woman says, bringing her hands before her. Her dress is made of simple black fabric, with no patterns or distinctive embroidery, but the sleeves are long, draped over her hands and lined with green satin. 

Luke catches a piece of flesh between her teeth. “You have lost family in this war too?” she says, uncaring at her shortness.

The woman tilts her head. Luke watches her as she takes a step towards the tree, placing her palm against the white bark, beside one of the faces. “The family I have lost was never mine to begin with. In truth, I do not feel it,” she says.

A hollow feeling lodges itself in Luke’s chest and twists like a knife in an already fatal wound. She wishes she could say the same.

The woman drops her hand from the tree, and turns to her. “Do you feel your losses, Lucerra?”

The absence of her brothers becomes a little more subdued each day, but she still carries them with her, the memories, the pain of knowing that their deaths were anything but peaceful, and the burden Jace has left her with.

She was so fearless as a child, she realises. She was secure, the daughter of a Princess, the granddaughter of the King, with Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Jace to guide her, protect her. But all of that is gone now, the life she used to enjoy, and she fears the things she used to love.

Tears prickle in her eyes, heavy and close to falling.

How much can the woman read from a single look from her eyes?

She steps forward to take Luke’s hands in hers. Her skin is rough and dry. She opens Luke’s palms, running a slender finger along the lines in her skin. “A powerful combination of blood flows through your veins,” she utters. “The blood of the dragon, and of the First Men.”

Daemon has taken heads for such an insinuation.

Luke raises her brow. “Do you question my legitimacy?” 

The woman scoffs. “ Laws are made by men, but we are made of flesh and blood alone. Legitimacy has no meaning in the natural order.”

“And yet without it, my position will never be secure,” Luke says.

The woman stares at her, amused or mocking, it is difficult to tell.

“It was not by right of birth that Aegon the Conqueror claimed rule of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She thinks of all the history lessons she used to sit through, never taking in a word. All the hours she would make Aemond read to her– did he hate her back then? Would he have refused her if he felt he had the choice? “No. But he won it, and had the strength to hold it.”

The woman hums. She runs her hand further up, to the thin, blue veins running along Luke’s wrist. She presses her thumb against her skin, letting the colour fade and run again.

Her harsh green eyes come to Luke’s. “Blood is unambiguous,” she whispers.

Why must it all come back to blood?

The woman seems to note some kind of change in Luke’s face, squinting her eyes and furrowing her brow just a little. What does she think she might find in the frightened and furious mind of hers?

“Helaena said something to me,” Luke utters before she can stop herself.

“She spoke of blood,” the woman says, assuredly.

There is a trail of blood. It flows to you. It ends with you.

Luke breathes slowly. She has tried to decipher Helaena’s words for weeks, moons even.

Her aunt used to mutter strange musings often, always to Aegon’s insistence that she was stupid and freakish. Jace’s stance was that he would not burden himself with things that did not make sense to him, and so she did the same.

Blood– blood she shares with her mother and the line of Kings that have come before them. Blood she shares with her brothers, with her father. Blood she shares with Helaena and her uncles. Blood spilled, lives ended or left in ruins. This war has seen too much of it already.

“What did she tell you, Princess?”

She whispers the words that have haunted her since she heard them, but where Helaena’s voice was gentle and wistful, she feels a tremble in her own throat. “There is a trail of blood. It flows to you. It ends with you.”

The woman frowns, keeping her gaze on Luke’s eyes as though the answer lies within her very soul. The longer she looks, the duller her eyes seem to become.

“What do you believe this means?” the woman asks.

Daemon says killing Aemond will end the war, or at least determine the outcome. Corlys says it will weaken their enemies, but give them cause to regather their strength. Her mother would say it is justice. 

Kill Aemond and the threat of Vhagar will be removed. What remains of the Riverlands will be spared, Daeron and Tessarion will stand alone. Then they need only wait for Cregan Stark to march south to secure their victory. 

It should all be so simple.

So why does she feel the wind running through her? Why does she feel so restless and furious that her body trembles and her nails press into her palms? Why does she hear the crashing of waves morphing into distance screams? Why does she feel so wrong?

The woman’s voice is perhaps the one thing that sounds true, clear and low. “Mercy is a weakness.”

She knows she has no reason to trust this woman, but the rage inside her tells her she is right. She may never know the number of men she has killed from atop her dragon, so what is one more? One more life lost, a fair exchange for what he has taken from her.

But it will be different to know the name of the man whose life she will claim, to know his face and his voice. To share his memories and his blood.

Mercy is a weakness– it sounds like something Daemon might say.

“What are you doing here?” The command in his voice as he approaches startles them both. Luke tears her eyes away from the woman, to the head of silver hair gleaming in twilight.

She begins to panic. Was she supposed to stay in the castle? The hour is getting late, perhaps he was concerned… but he doesn’t so much as look at Luke. His gaze is clearly on the woman.

“I was beginning to worry you might be dead,” he says.

The woman’s lips curl into a half smile. “I was spared by his Grace, the Prince Regent.”

Daemon scoffs, utterly unamused. Only then does he turn to Luke. “What poison are you inflicting on the poor girl?”

“Poison?” she echoes with a sly expression.

“That is your way, is it not, witch?”

This does not seem to phase the woman.

Daemon hums a short laugh, but his expression remains dark. “You were supposed to deliver my nephew to me…”

She hates this, not knowing the whole truth of what is happening around her, the secret devices and plots. The familiarity between Daemon and the woman is beginning to infuriate her, until her chest feels heavy with the weight of the breaths she takes to calm herself.

“...But by the sounds of it, it seems all you’ve succeeded in doing is keeping his cock wet.”

Suddenly her chest and stomach twist into a tight knot.

It is not an image she wants in her head, but it appears nonetheless. The woman standing before her is a beautiful one, and Aemond is a Prince, a warrior, hot-blooded and demanding when he wants to be.

Her imagination is vivid and visceral. She has felt his lips against hers, his breath on her skin, his hand tracing down the front of her gown and slipping beneath her skirts. She had almost expected him to take her fully that night, in the hidden corner of the Red Keep while their families failed to make amends. She often wonders if she should have let him.

Does he ever think about that night? What he did to her— what they did together, or was it all forgotten the moment he saw the pair of eyes bearing into her soul this very moment?

“He will come,” the woman says.

Daemon chuckles to himself. “For his paramour?”

Her piercing gaze falls once more to Luke. Her eyes are dark now and almost bloodthirsty. “He will come for what he believes he is owed.”

And so they wait. 

Thirteen days pass. Daemon marks each one with a slash of Dark Sister in the trunk of the heart tree in the Godswood. Each strike bleeds red sap.

She tries to make use of each day, but there are only so many arrows she can shoot into targets and tree trunks, only so many times she can sharpen her sword before she will damage the blade.

All the while there is no word of Aemond and no sightings of Vhagar. Whenever she gathers in the great hall with Daemon, Sabitha Frey and the Blackwoods, she scours the map as if she will somehow know where to find him.

Daemon refuses to let her ride Grey Ghost, not even to circle the lake. He says the risk is too great, but since when did he ever burden himself with risks? 

This castle was built on blood and is haunted by the Stranger. In another life Harrenhal might have been her home, but she fears she may not be able to stay here much longer. Her sanity cannot bear it.

She tries to find a new chamber to sleep in each night, but rest never comes easily. When she wakes she recalls dreams of the lake. In these dreams, she does not walk along the shore or try to find her way back to the castle. She lies against the pebbled beach, her head cradled in scaly limbs, a longing for blood in her belly and an ominous feeling that keeps her grounded.

Search for him and he will find you.

Luke rises with the sun. From the battlements, she can see Daemon in the godswood, carving his fourteenth strike into the weirwood tree. To the lakeshore she makes out the shape of her slumbering dragon. Grey Ghost blends in almost perfectly with the morning mist, until she spots one of his yellow eyes, wide and bright enough to spot from the castle.

She retreats to her little bedchamber in the Tower of Dread, tucks herself under the bedsheet, rough and scratchy with age, and shuts her eyes.

She stares back at the castle, and knows she will be safe within its walls— for now at least.

Her body is not her own, but she settles in it. This is not a brief moment of madness as with Tessarion. This feels like an extension of her dreams, something natural and familiar. Her movements are deliberate as she rises and spreads her wings.

She leaves Harrenhal behind, darting up towards the sky with all the speed she can gather, until the lake and the lands around Harrenhal are set out before her.

Aemond has not followed a particular path, so it stands to reason his hiding place may not be where she expects it to be. He could be in the mountains southwest of Pinkmaiden, or he could be somewhere else entirely. 

If he has not been seen since then, perhaps he is somewhere more isolated.

By the time the sun has reached its peak in the sky, she has flown over most of the western Riverlands, over Raventree Hall, Acorn Hall, Pinkmaiden and Stone Mill. She can see she is approaching Riverrun, the seat of the Tullys. They do not fly any banners, and yet their men are gathered and preparing for war. 

Where to then? Along the Red Fork to the Trident, to the mountains that border The Vale? Or over Whispering Wood, where the mountains meet the sea along Ironman’s Bay?

Intinstic drives her north with a swift beating of her wings. 

A swirl of storm clouds looms over the Iron Islands, but the rain has yet to reach the mainland. A fearsome wind threatens to blow her off course and below her the waves beat against the base of the cliffs, crashing and roaring against the rock with flurries of white foam. Grey Ghost does not fear the sea and for now, neither does she.

She flies high, sweeping her eyes along the slivers of shoreline that have not been claimed by the tide, searching for any sign of another dragon, a nest, a charred carcass of an animal. That’s when she hears a growl, like a rumble of thunder, echoing through the air as if the very sky seeks to unleash its fury. 

Vhagar rises from her hiding place, half-buried in damp sand and the rest of her hide blending in with the rock. She feels the heat coursing through her blood when the dragons meet each other’s eyes, the fire rising in her gut, the urge to sink her teeth and talons into flesh.

But she looks up to the clifface, to the figure standing on an overhang. His sapphire eye gleams through the dull daylight, the ends of his silver hair drift with the wind and the beating of her wings.

Aemond.

He knows what Grey Ghost’s presence means, she can see it in his face, the awe and the anger. She would be a fool to think he would feel anything else.

He will come for what he believes he is owed.

And what of the debt he owes her now?

When does it end?

When she opens her eyes her skin is drenched in sweat. She tosses the sheet off her body and hurries to dress herself in her riding leathers. Grey Ghost will fly swifter than Vhagar, but she needs every second she can claim. With her boots pulled over her feet and her sword on her hip, she yanks the door open, sprinting through the halls and the courtyard. She doesn’t stop when some of the soldiers stare at her in confusion, or when Lady Alysanne tries to stop her and ask what’s wrong. She couldn’t answer them if she tried.

She feels her heart beating at all her pulse points, the wind slicing over her skin, the howling of the wind coming off the lake. 

Daemon is in the Godswood, under the heart tree, resting his hands on the hilt of Dark Sister. He turns to face her as she approaches. 

She is breathless, but her voice has never sounded clearer. “He’s coming.”

“How?”

How did he know to come? How do you know?

“I saw it,” she says.

Daemon frowns. In fairness, she herself would not trust such a vague answer. 

She follows him back to the courtyard. The castle is in a panic now; the men are restless. Daemon fetches something from the armoury, a bow and a quiver of arrows. They are slim, not enough to pierce the hide of the dragon, but enough to shoot through the flesh of a man.

“Remember everything he has taken from you,” he says before he hands them to her. “Aemond may share your blood, but he is not one of us.”

She nods, and fastens them over her back.

Grey Ghost flies over the castle as the sun begins to set.

Luke and Daemon both know what they must do. She joins her dragon, hiding amongst a line of trees on the eastern shore of the lake, while Daemon waits in the open, and calls for Caraxes. 

From the shadows of the trees, she watches the sky turn from blue, to gold, to red. 

A shape flies before the sun and for a moment the world goes black. 

She has never forgotten the fear she felt when she heard Vhagar’s call at Storm’s End, as she saw her shape through the clouds and stared into her open jaws. That same fear ripples through her body and makes her blood run cold, but she does not shy from it.

A thousand voices cry out in her head. Screams of the men she condemned to burn. Cries of anguish and mourning. Raised voices, calls for justice and retribution.

Mercy is a weakness. She finds herself wishing the world had more mercy.

But one voice appears clearer than the rest.

Blood– her heart in her chest.

Blood– the sky through the branches, illuminating the lake.

Blood. Blood she shares with Kings, Princes and dragons.

She has seen Aemond’s blood before and felt it against her skin. She is sure she will see it and feel it again before the night has reached its end.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @boundlessfantasy @toodlesxcuddles @starwarsslut @skikikikiikhhjuuh @arcielee

[gusty-wind]

Vril type 1 lizards (terrestrial aliens) are parasitic, carnivorous and malevolent. They’re about one to two feet tall. Their head resembles the body of a king crab and their body is covered in red diamond-shaped scales. They dwell underground. They’re dumb (and are able to talk) but smarter when they turn a human into a host (drone). They have a proboscis (called the Quill), which is located on the top of their head. The proboscis (which looks-like a chocolate chip) contains everything that the lizard is (its consciousness). Their lizard body is dead once the proboscis leaves its body. They can only do this once in their lifetime and if they fail (turning a human into a host), they die. The human that is about to be bodysnatched is either unconscious or restrained. The proboscis enters the human’s eye and spirals around the optic nerve. It then proceeds to go to an area of the brain (driven by taste) that tastes like butterscotch to them. Then, they do a feeling of holding your breath and pushing outwards. Finally, it does what's called “Sweating the Quill” (at the tip of the proboscis), which excretes the parasitic cells that take over the human body. This kills the human and replaces their consciousness with the Vril lizard’s consciousness. The Vril lizard becomes that human (after about a month’s recovery time). This transition from Vril lizard to human is what’s called "Droning". Once a Vril lizard becomes a human, they are then known as a Drone, Host of Vril or a Parasited Host. A person that has had this happen to them, may be referred to as someone that had been possessed by a demon. This is what demonic possession is. In addition, some hosts of Vril (drones) call themselves “walk-ins”, in which they describe how an alien consciousness or soul took over their body. The slit-eye videos that you see all over the web are fake. The Illuminati put these out intentionally to mislead everyone into thinking that one can tell who is a “reptilian” (Vril lizard and a host of Vril aka drone) by checking to see, if their eyes turn to slits. This doesn’t occur and they cannot do this. However, the eyes ARE one way to tell… Sometimes, there may be an eye that pops outward (or inward) due to the droning process or it makes the eye stray, so it looks-like the person is cockeyed or walleyed. There is no shape-shifting either. The so-called shape-shifting is the transition from Vril lizard to human. Those that talk about “reptilian shape-shifters” are referring to Vril and people who have been droned. Drones (Parasited Hosts of Vril) mimic human behavior. They are willing slaves with no compassion and only care about droning other people, torture and sex. They’re murderers. They killed the human to "use" their body and live life

[eee-isat-au-blog]

Encore Et Encore: Act 1, Chapter 2: Hour Time Together

Full Game Spoilers for In Stars And Time, Including Twohats! (technically not in this episode but it's in episode one so you should read that first)

It took a while for Siffrin to remember who and where he was, but that was normal for suddenly waking up.

…why did he wake up again?

He had a really weird dream. He was standing there with 2 other figures…

The dream slipped through his mental hands like sand. He closed his eyes again.

♢: "--frin! Siffrin!"

A shadow covered the sunlight that was previously piercing his eyelids.

♢: "… Siffrin…?"

Judging by the voice, that was Mira here to wake him up. Or maybe Isa was doing a really really good impression. He snickered at the thought.

♢: "Siffrin, are you making puns even in your dreams? What am I saying, of course you would be…"

♢: "Anyway, good morning! Or, good afternoon rather… sleep well?"

☆: “mmbl.. grmbl…” was all he could say in response

♢: "… You’re still half asleep, huh..”

With all the strength he could muster, he lightly nodded in response.

♢: "Well, I'll let you rest a little longer, gotta be ready for tomorrow and all! Make sure to come to town soon though!"

He sighed, lightly blowing the hair in his face up, before it fell right back down.

☆: “…” Wake up Siffrin, you have a country to save.

He stood up after a moment and stretched, stretched, stretched, his body was really feeling the whiplash of the sudden wake. After a bit he began wandering to the town of Dormont, where a statue of the Change God stood proud and tall in the center, visible even from this distance.

He watched as two birds sang to each other in the woods, one was light, the other was dark. He envied them a bit, and chuckled. At least they weren't aware of the potential end of the world.

Eventually he met up with Mira.

♢: "Well that didn't take long, haha! How did you sleep by the way? Scale of 1 to 10?”

☆: “Hm… 3, a weird dream, and a certain someone woke me up.” He sticks out his tongue playfully at her.

♢: “Noooo I’m sorry! It’s just we have a lot to do, prepping for the King and-”

☆: “How dare you Mirabelle, punishment for a millenia.” He holds his hand out dramatically, as if cursing her. She puts on a big, obviously fake frown.

♢: “Noooo, not punishment for a millenia!!!”

They both laugh.

♢: “OH!! BY! THE! WAY! I wanted to talk to you about something! Um… I had a nice idea for how we can make the night before the final fight special, how about a nice sleepover? Eat food with friends, tell stories, all that stuff!”

Siffrin took a second to wonder how that was different from what they normally do.

☆: “Uh… How is that different from what we normally do?”

♢: “Oh crab… you’re right.. It was a dumb idea, just forget about it…” She lightly facepalms her face.

Siffrin immediately panicked. He made Mira upset. This is the worst thing probably ever.

☆: “N-no no! It’s a good idea! We should do it! And make the best of all the times we did it ever!”

♢: “You think so?”

☆: “Of course!” He smiled reassuringly.

♢: “Heh, thank you Siffrin.. Oh, if we’re doing it you should probably go tell everyone! I wrote down a crafted note and everything! Isabeau is at the Favor Tree, Madame is at the shops, and Bonnie is at the fields! Tell them to meet at the Clock Tower, okay? You should also check out the Change God Statue for good luck!” She hands him the note.

That’s a lot of things. Siffrin waves as Mira leaves, looking at the note. He decides to head to Odile first, since the shop was just over there.

He opened the door, the shopkeep jolting up slightly, clearly they were dozing off a bit. He walked to the end of the shop and found Odile inspecting various things on the shelf.

♤: “Hmm.. Oh, Siffrin, you look well rested, I take it you slept well?” She looked at the stuff on the shelf as she spoke, before turning to give full attention.

☆: “Well enough at least, Mira woke me up.” He fake-pouted.

♤: “Heh, probably for the best, don’t want you sleeping on the day before the possible end of the world. Anyway, how can I help you?”

☆: “Right, Mira wanted me to tell everyone about a sleepover at the Clock Tower.” Odile lightly scoffs.

♤: “A sleepover? Gems alive, you really are kids.”

☆: “Yea, but it’ll be fun to forget about things for a bit.”

♤: “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there, poor Boniface likely needs it. Maybe we all do. Nevertheless, the Clock Tower has 3 beds, no? I’ll have you know I plan on having a bed to myself.”

☆: “Yeah, Mira and Bonnie will be sharing, probably”

♤: “So who’s sleeping on the floor, you or Isabeau?”

☆: “We’ll probably share as well”

♤: “…Mhm. Anyway, I’ll be there.”

Siffrin waved goodbye and left, checking Odile off the list, albeit mentally, since he had nothing to write with. Next up was Bonnie, so he headed east, saying hi to the townsfolk as he passed, eventually finding Bonnie staring at vegetables.

☆: “Hey, Bonnie!”

♧: “…heyfrin.”

☆: “We’re going to do a sleepover at the Clock Tower tonight.”

♧: “A sleepover? That’s dumb, I’m not a kid, Frin. Was it your idea?” Siffrin sighed lightly.

☆: “Mira’s idea, actually.”

♧: “Oh, then it's a great idea, sucks you stole it from Belle.” The small one snickered and pointed teasingly at him. He sighed again.

The two leaned on the fence, staring out to the vegetable field. Most of it was frozen. The squash was out of seconds, the mushrooms were out of minutes, and the onions were out of hours. Siffrin would keep this thought rolling if he hadn't noticed Bonnie was nervously glancing at him.

♧: “D-Don’t you got somewhere to be, Stupidfrin?”

☆: “Wow, I can’t enjoy a moment staring at veggies?”

Bonnie took a moment, did they hurt Frin’s feelings?

♧: “S-sorry I just- want some time alone!!”

☆: “No it’s fine, Bonnie. I don’t carrot-all” He smirked down at them, as they frowned in return.

♧: “Get out of here!! Stupidfrin!” Siffrin leaves without another quipping word, checking Bonnie off the mental list as well.

One left. Siffrin headed for the Favor Tree to talk to Isabeau. The tree was very big, paired with the Change God statue in the center and the Clock Tower to the east, it made the town of Dormont very symmetrical, even, nice.

They approached the Favor Tree’s designated area, with Isabeau leaning on a nearby, non-favorable tree.

☆: “Isa!!” They grinned.

♡: “Sif!!!” He held out his arms wide as Sif approached.

☆: “Isaaaaaa!!!!”

♡: “Sif!!!!!!”

☆: “ISAAAAAAAA!!!!” They continued playing it up. Isa chuckled.

♡: “Ok that’s enough, we don’t wanna be here all day, do we?”

☆: “Booooo…” They stuck out their tongue playfully.

♡: “So, how’s it going? Here to wish at the Favor Tree? It’s crazy how big the thing is!”

☆: “Hm… Yeah, It’s a…” They got that look on their face, that both them and Isa knew well.

♡: “Mhm??” Isabeau waited in anticipation.

☆: “..A real TREE-at.” Their smirk was so sharp it could kill a sadness.

♡: “HA! HAHAHA! YES!!” He raises a hand to their shoulder as he laughs, but stops just short and brings it to his side as he wipes his damp eyes.

♡: “Ha… that was good.”

☆: “Anyway, Mira wanted me to tell everyone we’re meeting at the Clock Tower for a sleep over tonight.”

♡: “Sleepover? Crab yeah, now I’m excited. Though, the Clock Tower only has 3 beds if I remember correctly… and M’dame will absolutely demand a bed to herself- more power to her- so I suppose we’re sharing again?” He said that less like an actual question, and more like a confirmation, because he was pretty confident in his conclusion, but wanted to make sure with his bunkmate.

☆: “Yea, that sounds about right.”

♡: “Alright! I’ll be there!” He gives a big thumbs up

♡: “I’ll let you do your Favor Tree thing now! I'll be up north if you wanna talk again! Cya, Sif!” They both waved as he walked away.

Siffrin approached the Favor Tree. It was towering, to the point they were a bit nervous to make a wish. Like asking a teacher to use the bathroom back in school. Or at least that's what Mira and Isa said. He never went to school.

Think… What would be a good wish to ask… Talking with their party was nice… Traveling with them was the happiest you remember being, though your memory always was spotty… but if something was better than this, it probably wasn’t good enough to remember. They shake off the conflicting nature of that sentence and think.

Mira.. Isa.. Odile.. Bonnie… He loved them all so much. He knew his wish. He took a leaf and held it to his mouth, whispering to it.

☆: “I wish to stay with those I care about, when all is said and done.”

He folded it up and sent it to ride the wind. The breeze brushing the tree made a strange sound, like a group sighing. Vaugarde is so weird. Welp, should probably make it over to the Clock Tower.

As he made his way over, he noticed the Change God statue again. Stars, he knew he was forgetting something. He needed to make a prayer for good luck. Though, doing that right after making a wish on the Favor Tree felt… greedy. But he said he would, so do it he shall. He approached the statue’s stature.

Mira and Isa told him that Change prayers were manifested by simply believing strongly, for nothing concrete, the Change God is a lazy deity after all. Seemed a bit off. A god taking a backseat to its domain? Though he supposed the inverse was also a problem. Whatever, he wasn't here to critique the culture. He was here to save the world.

He believed strongly…. For understanding.

And with that, he bowed slightly to the statue and made his way to the Clock Tower as the sky darkened from the curse. If they won or lost tomorrow, at least today still happened.

[slocumjoe]

Gage with Sole that gets lost in nuka cola world? Like he doesnt pay attention to them for one second and they already wandered off and has no clue where they at "gage pick me up im scared and there are flying ants"

aka my experience being underleveled and doing the hardest areas of the park first :'D

Gage and Overboss's No Good, Very Bad Vacation In Nuka World

Realistically, Gage should have anticipated it. It's was a theme park, they were designed to be massive labyrinths with money sinks at every corner. The bigger and more confusing it is, the more likely someone will get lost and wander, and hopefully stumble into a shop or something. This is basic Capitalist Design 101.

Another thing he should have expected was that there were damn good reasons the other parks weren't already full of raiders, living the high life. Colter didn't do it because he was lazy; no one else did for fear of death. Gage himself never heard of anyone coming back from the other parks, that means they don't.

So, really, he should have considered it his own damn fault for not thinking about it, the first time he lost track of his shiny new Overboss.

That first time, it happened in that bottling plant. They went into a door, he followed behind, they went into another door, and another, and shit got weird from there when the soda river erupted with crabs.

He killed some crabs. They killed some crabs. He turned to see where they were killing crabs and saw jack shit.

It was then that he realized that the bottling plant was echoey as fuck, and he hadn't been behind them for...a good ten minutes, at least, just following noises that came from God knows where.

Gage didn't know the layout of the place. Neither did they. The fact that the river is just one line doesn't help shit, because there's employee tunnels, manufacturing, the rest of the plant. The plant was fucking big. They could have been anywhere. Whererever they were, there was more fucking crabs. And Gage, being a good underling who had to pull a lot of strings to get to this point in the first place, wasn't very okay with the idea of his boss being crab dinner.

So he hit the legs, backtracking through tunnels, the walkways above the bottling zones/whatever the fuck those were. Kept finding crabs he didn't kill, good start. Kept hearing gunfire, grenades, crab-screaming. Less good. Ended up back on the soda river (what the fuck was wrong with these people). Accidentally triggered every fucking pre-recorded line from the intercom, which drowned out the shit he needed to hear. At this point, Boss has been fighting for their goddamn life for twenty minutes, and the walls had started to melt into one big blob of samey-samey. Not even the sky was this blue.

Eventually, they found him, pursued by six hunters. He killed some crabs. They killed some crabs. He turned around, grabbed them, and was about to threaten to put them on one of them toddler leashes if they wandered off like again. But then a pack of Assaultatrons kicked down a door and they jumped in different direction away from the lasers. Ran down different hallways. Found more crabs. Killed more crabs, pursued by Assaultatrons. He knew Boss ran back into the river, because the all of Announcer Lady's lines were playing over and over each other, like the layers of hell condensing into a pure diamond of auditory psychology warfare.

Gage didn't notice when the chaos stopped, when the robots and crabs started dropping. It just happened and he had to take a breather, find his happy place. When he met back up with the boss, they were covered in stab wounds from stimpaks, used all their ammo and grenades, and thought that a suit of power armor made up for it.

The power armor did do well against the crab kings on the roof. It did not survive the Queen in the pond.

After this, he pulled them aside, told them to slow the fuck down and not charge through places like a drunk bull in a china shop. They said yes, Gage, I will definitely do that, and I will definitely proceed with caution and carry extra supplies on my personal.

They did, for their credit.

The Mr. Frothy's, however, didn't let that stay true for long.

Both of them took one step into Galactic World, and a fucking soda nuke dropped in between them. And again, they scrambled for different cover. Then a Frothy went after Gage, and the soda bomber bot went after the boss, and they had to separate again.

It'll be fine, he thought, I'll just kite around this corner that leads back into the main area, this wall is like three feet wide, this doesn't lead into a different level entirely.

It did.

Gage made it to the middling level of the Galactic Zone, every eyebot swarming like they wanted fresh meat or some shit, and the Overboss was running from the Nukatrons and a Mr. Frothy screaming about strangling them. Couldn't go the way he came, had his own robot fixated on asphyxiation behind him. Kept running. Then the laser turrets kicked on, and this was now an exercise in agility and being God's favorite.

When the robots patrolling the park finally all died, it was midnight, Gage was half-dead, had no ammo, and no indication that the overboss was alive, save Redeye's music playing at full volume somewhere nearby. Back to Nuka-World for supplies, sleep, and a nervous breakdown.

The next day, they took on the Vault attraction.

It seemed like things were looking up. Sure, the boss got lost looking for...what, stickers on the walls? Something with dumb bottle-cap glasses. But the robots were few and far between, the space was small and linear enough Boss couldn't wander off too far, and they made it out having not used all of their ammo. It was a good sign.

They went to the Interstellar Theatre, next.

Boss had the good idea to go in quiet, sneak around. They found an elevator up to the projection room, found a starcore, and figured that the area was clear, or at least mostly safe. They just cut all the power, after all.

The robots are motion activated.

Fighting turrets, protectatrons, Mr. Handy's in the dark was bad enough. But whoever the fuck put a sentrybot in a theatre, Gage hoped they went to hell.

He found the boss trying to drown themselves in a water fountain, when the last bot went down.

Back to Nuka-World for ammo, stimpaks, and another nervous breakdown as a treat

I saw a robot fighting ring, Boss said. The bots would have already killed each other in there, they said.

So they went to the Robco Battleground.

One or two robots, the rest were dormant. Thank. God. Boss found some starcores, some good loot, went into a door in a basement with robots.

The door shut and maglocked behind them. The pre-recorded announcer starting up the match. All those dormant robots in the basement woke up. On one side of that door, the Overboss fought for their goddamn life with a bunch of tincans. On the other, Gage did the same damn thing. When it opened back up, guess what they did? Yep, back to Nuka-World for stimpaks, ammo, and another nervous breakdown. And a shower, because flammable oil is not a good thing to be covered in, when using firearms. Gage heard the boss muttering and giggling about laser turrets to the plush toy sloth they picked up, and wondered if he would have to put them down out of mercy.

And then the fucking...Nuka Galaxy ride.

So dark. So big. So long. It was the longest attraction at that fucking park. Couldn't see your hands in front of you. Gage could have lost his mind in that section with the giant fake rocks. Found a lot of dead people who did, anyway. Once the Frothy's came barreling out from a hallway, yet again, the Boss went one way, he went the other. When they killed the bots, had to marco-polo triangulate their way back to each other. And then the area with the giant UFOs, and no lighting on the scaffolding. Who the fuck made this park? None of this was OSHA compliant, surely. You know what's even less OSHA compliant?

Laser turrets on EVERY FUCKING WALL.

Laser turrets on every UFO, every ceiling, every wall, every stairwell, every giant fake rock, laser turrets everywhere. Why? Why would Nuka Cola Corporation think they needed this many? Were they expecting two dipshit raiders to come strolling on through, and hated them, specifically? They weren't fucking ashing little Timmy for lifting from the gift shop, right?

You know what else sucks? Laser turrets high above you, in a pitch black corridor, where there's a drop just mere feet in front of you.

Boss didn't get lost in here because Gage grabbed them by the scruff of their shirt if they so much as leaned too far away. No, he doesn't care what shiny thing you see, you are staying within arm's length. Fuck treasure, fuck Galactic Zone, and fuck John Nukacola, or whatever his name was.

Gage never again let them get more than five feet away from him, after Galactic Zone was cleared, and the boss never again had to whisper hateful nothings about laser turrets to their sloth toy.