#I am just sharing the knowledge I have been given

[sleepyc63]

I actually realized this a few months ago, when trying to find canon evidence i found nothing that directly supports them being siblings in vanilla. I still think it's meant to be implied, however.

From exclusively vanilla, here's everything i found that points to them being siblings (or, having a familial relationship). Sorry, i can only use the wiki, so i'll link my sources instead of adding screenshots.

It's about the local aquifer - it must be quite old, from when Five Pebbles was in the planning phase...Building Pebbles so close to me was believed to be a risky choice, but the groundwater was finally deemed as sufficient. It was not a good decision, in hindsight.

(Bright Purple Pearl, Shoreline)

This supports the retcon from Downpour that Moon and Pebbles have the same parents (aka: built by the same colony of Ancients/Benefactors). This also confirms that they share groundwater, which may be a metaphor for sharing blood. (This was inspired by someone else, unfortunately I don't know where so please tell me if you know so I can tag them!)

BSM: Two cycles ago, my neighbor Five Pebbles drastically increased his water consumption to four times the normal amount. He has been unresponsive for a period of time longer than that. The two of us share groundwater, and I have been without water for almost a cycle.

(Variant 5, Green or Dark Blue Pearl, Sky Islands)

More confirmation that they share groundwater and are abnormally close to one another. Even if this is common knowledge it still felt right to add.

"The Moral Argument: Five Pebbles is our Creation, and we have Parental Obligations towards him...." And then there are polite farewells. None of us really miss the times when their cities were populated. Imagine having skin parasites that also ask for advice and have opinions...I'm sorry, that was disrespectful. They were our parents after all.

(Light Green Pearl, The Exterior)

This outright states that the Ancients that lived in and built Moon and Pebbles see the iterators they created as their children. They were likely built by the same Ancient group, if not that group's descendants. This would make them sibling beyond a metaphorical/social sense.

There's also the fact that Moon calls herself/is called "Big Sister Moon" in chatrooms. Even if there's no confirmation as to why she's called that, it's safe to assume it's because she's senior of her group. Not necessarily just to Pebbles, even if I choose to interpret it that way. Either way she's implied to be Pebbles' big sister figure, if not related by blood.

I also feel that its important to mention that there's no confirmation that Iterators are above "human" feelings and relationships. They are shown to have friends, dislike others, feel pain, etc. They aren't necessarily robots either, which debunks the whole "robots can't have real siblings" argument I've seen used. Moon states that they are purposed organisms*, while directly comparing herself to the slugcats** (which, are known to have families/siblings, even in the earliest renditions of the game)

* Yes, I am aware Iterators have mechanical parts, but so do MANY other creatures in Rain World. This is why I don't consider them fully robots, if robots at all.

** Moon talks about a "small slug made to clean the inside of pipes" then goes on to say that the slugcat may be descended from a purposed organism. While not confirmed to be descended from the pipe cleaner slug, it is very strongly implied. (Again, likely common knowledge. But I have seen people debate this so it felt right to add.)

The creation of downpour isn't something i’m knowledgeable about, seeing as I wasn't around for that, however I doubt Joar and James werent given any say in DP's dialogue and story. Which is why I don't think that Moon and Pebbles being siblings is entirely a retcon; if theres so much evidence in vanilla, and the creators of the original game approved official content that called them siblings, why is it such a stretch to assume they're siblings in the source material?

(Screenshots from @/voldkat and @/faeinabottle)

Especially since this is what is given in downpour, Spearmaster and Rivulet campaigns respectively. (I tried to refrain from adding DP stuff because thats not what this post was asking, but this feels too relevant not to)

This is just my interpretation, what i’m saying obviously isn't fact as Rain World is known for having vague lore. Feel free to correct me if anything I said has been debunked in any QnAs or anything out of game, as I don't pay attention to those as much as I do the game itself.

Okay so apparently the entire fandom may or may not have collectively hallucinated moon and pebbles being siblings or having an actual sibling-like relationship and referring to/seeing each other as such ??? Because so far I have found nothing in any of the vanilla pearl dialogues or even moon and pebbles' own dialogues (they only refer to each other by name or as "friend") that clearly points towards that The "Big Sis Moon" title is her username in the local group, but not specifically in relation to pebbles- could just be that she sees herself as the "big sibling" / "parent" friend of the group ? And she does say "our parents" but she might be saying the "our" in general (our parents being the parents of all iterators and not just the parents of specifically her and pebbles) ? If anyone can find vanilla lore bits that point at them being stated as siblings do show- because im legit interested in knowing if it's actually there and I missed it or if we really just all sorta assumed this bit of headcanon is fully canon ?

[therealnoot]

Potato?

Oh Potatoes! I love Potatoes for many reasons. They’re great and healthy for you. They’re rich in Vitamin C and antioxidants.

When Scurvy was a really big issue potatoes were literally life savers at the time as well! They have done wondrous things for peoples health and saved many many lives. They also contain potassium and contain a specific electrolyte that helps your heart muscles and nervous system function!. They have fiber rich skin and are very low in calories as well!

But there’s also the downside on potatoes. There’s some research suggesting that eating too much potatoes raises the risk of diabetes and hypertension which has over time been raised as well from being genetically modified and used in mostly used to make greasy foods like fries. Please take this with a grain of salt. These are of course studies and research and it never hurts to be a bit skeptical even with science!

Did you know that some food guides have started to exclude potatoes from the vegetable group due to how often it’s associated with high-fat diets?(Fast food/Junk food)

Potatoes are generally fantastic and easy to use for just about everything. The saying or insult of “ couch potato “ is pretty silly imo. When people tell you that you don’t want to be a potato or anything along that line they are completely ignoring the fact at how versatile a potato actually is. They are used to make all kinds of foods whether as sides, compliments to the main dish (or the main dish themselves) or eaten as a snack. From baked potatoes to chips to even Vodka! They are able to be used in so many ways and I think people really miss the bus here. I think being called a potato should be a good thing in positive context. Being versatile and able to do or make so many things by being yourself is amazing honestly.

Here’s a small list of things potatoes are used to make or made into

Hash browns, chips, fries, tater tots, potato salad, potato bread, potato pie, potato soup, potato noodles, hasselbacked, boiled, broiled, mashed, smashed, baked, braised, roasted, fried, and smoked

And here’s a small list of different kinds of potatoes

Russet, Jewel Yam, Japanese sweet, Hannah sweet, Austrian crescent, Blue, Red norland, Russian banana, La ratte, purple majesty, French fingerling, Red gold, Red bliss, Yukon gold, Red thumb, Creamers, orange sweets, and yams.

It should be important to note that I am taking classes for Culinary and food. I am learning a lot about food and enjoy food! I suppose this is incredibly lucky timing because I am just finishing up learning about fruits and vegetables. A lot of this also comes from research and I am by no means a professional. Please take all that I say with a grain of salt. I also encourage anyone who reads this to PLEASE do their own research as well!!

[youryanderedaddy]

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, captivity, fantasy lore, abuse, murder mention, suggestive (?)

"You seem to be upset."

He's leaning against the window not too far away from you. Not too close as well - just far enough for you to feel at ease.

"Aren't you a mind - reader." You respond under your breath, trying to focus on the book you're currently reading - but the letters are escaping you, and you find yourself re-reading the same paragraph for the third time. He sighs, much like a disappointed father, before stepping towards you. And if you flinch just slightly, he doesn't pretend to notice or care.

"What is wrong, my flower?" The man gestures theatrically, soft velvet voice unbecoming of the monster he is flowing easily into the open air. You don't know what to say, really. It's been two years - or so you think, there is no way to keep track of time in this kingdom, not that time goes the same way in the elfen world as it does in the human, yet the part of you still capable of logical thought seems to think so. Two years, and there is very little you haven't already said. Very little left to be said, so your conversations are mostly rehearsed repetitions of what you already know. What you already fear - that you're going to die here. Or even worse. That you've become incapable of aging, so very consumed by this foreign land you detest that you've given up death for a life of boring, purposeless immortality.

"Don't I shower you with lavish gifts?" The noble moves closer, stalking towards you - observing you as if you're a butterfly pinned to a wooden frame under a microscope. "Don't I buy you the shiniest jewels? Not even the queen herself owns such sparkling emeralds." He scoffs, painfully used to your lack of response. You clear your throat, turning a new page - having little to recall about the last. It's completely meaningless just like all the other pages in all the other books you read. How funny, you think. In that distant, dreamy past of yours you were too busy to read - busy with work, busy with family, busy with friends. Busy with life. Now nothing gets in the way of your reading, you have all the time in the world - but there's no one to share the knowledge with. No one to spoil the ending. No time limits. No goal to it all, no final destination. So you read, and you soak the pages with salty tears not remembering a word.

"I am grateful for all the treasures you give me, my Lord." You answer nonchalantly, keeping your pointer at the end of the paper in a desperate attempt to find the sentence exactly where you left it off. You can feel him move closer to you - and the only indication of your growing fear are the shivers that travel down your spine with the beat of your violently full, thumping heart.

"Don't I provide you with all the entertainment your little human heart could possibly bear?" The duke clicks his long sharp nails together once against the other - an ugly metallic sound echoes deep into the ceiling reminiscent of a dying forest clow. "There has never been a lack of wine or music or dance in my court. I've gifted you more golden dresses than you can wear in this life. I've written you more poems than you can read." He keeps going, describing every little thing he's done for you, despite the fact that you've never asked for any of it.

"I admire your taste for indulgence, my Lord." You repeat almost automatically, the praises sitting on your tongue just waiting to be spilt from parted honey lips. Your eyes are glued to the book, but you've given up on reading long ago. Now you're simply trying not to cry - focusing your eyes at one word at a time and blinking repeatedly, manically, feeling as if the world with end the moment you let him see your weakness. You can't believe you still have so much pain in you - enough to feel loss and anger and, what's even worse, hope. Hope that one day you'll be free again.

"And tell me, flower—" His fist wraps around your low ponytail, forcing you to look up at him and meet his eyes for the first time tonight. What's staring back at you might as well be the bottom of the ocean itself, misty and dark, cold and unknown. Human eyes convey so much affection - so much care that you can never mistake it for anything else. With elves it's different - you can spend centuries looking for a hint of kindness, and you'll only get lost in those beatiful bottomless pits. Shiny and sparkling and completely empty. "Don't I give you love? Don't I embrace you tightly every night?" His voice lowers dangerously, barely above a whisper.

"I don't understand what more you could possibly want. Should I prove myself to you? Should I slay a dragon for you? Perhaps I could tie the heads of your enemies with a pretty bow and give them to you as a wedding gift, hmm?" He's babbling incoherently, nails digging into your scalp with unyealding grip. "Would that finally, finally make you happy, beloved?"

"No, no, please let go." You cry out in agony, wriggling out of his hold - but he's too strong, too massive to move. "I'm happy, I'm—" You sob pitifully, weakly pushing at his chest. "I'm happy with you. Please, you make me so happy, just please let go. And please don't hurt anyone."

He slowly pulls away, chest heaving in and out wildly. The scariest part is always his face. It remains unbothered - cold and defined like a statue of a god, his true feelings hidden by a mask of barely contained rage.

"You're happy with me?" He raises an eyebrow, foot stomping on the ground impatiently. You nod hesitantly, too shaken up to comprehend what you're even agreeing to. "Then prove it. Show me just how happy I make you." He grabs your wrist, pulling you face-first into his hard chest. "Do it, and I might reconsider my other more... inhumane methods of courtship." His lips twist into a cruel smirk. "And may the Gods help you."

As you sink to your knees you try to think of what book to read next - but no title comes to mind.

[koralcove]

APT.

synopsis: what the current lads men's reaction would be when they find out you've been obsessed and bopping to this song (and how they would handle lss when it hits them).

a/n: this song has been bouncing in my mind as i was taking a shower, and then bam! brainrot was born.

xavier

he was headed to your place, coming back from the bakery as his nose directed him to a delicious scent and decided to purchase a seasonal pastry. his first thought when he purchased the tasty treat was to share it with you.

he's standing in front of your door. a few minutes have already passed, and you still haven't come to answer. on his last knock, he decides that he'll just invite himself in. opening the door, he's greeted by the sound of a beat coming from your kitchen.

as he nears your kitchen, the song comes in full blast from your speaker, the catchy rhythm reverberating around the room and into your bones, evident from the jolly wiggle of your shoulders and hips as your body moves to the beat.

you're currently washing your dishes right now, and you seem to be a bit sidetracked and spellbound by the music, occasionally stopping to soap a dish but mainly getting carried away by music as your body bops to it.

the song is apparently on loop, probably an intentional decision given from the never-ending delight of your body and expression as it keeps playing in the background, with you still unaware of his presence.

halfway through the third loop of the song, you do a little turn and scream as you finally notice xavier's presence by the threshold, soapy hand clutching on the spoon in your hand. judging from the subtle smugness and amusement in his eyes, he's been here for a while, spying quietly on your little display.

"xavier! what the fu... how long have you been there?!"

"long enough to find out that you put the song on loop. this has been the third time it's played."

your ears burn at the horrifying knowledge that he's seen enough of the little 'concert' you had.

you shoo him away from the kitchen, asking why he's there in the first place. he tells you of his little detour before going home and has picked up a pastry to share with you. you tell him to wait by the living room as you finish up the dishes, though you take your time in the kitchen to cool down, speaker now turned off and ears still burning in mortification.

once you're done, you avoid meeting his gaze as you sit down, taking the pastry he offered you. you sit stiffly, body language evidently awkward, and it doesn't help that xavier's eyes bore into you, pressuring your form.

"what?" you mumble, still not meeting his eyes.

"nothing. just visualising your dancing again."

you stop chewing, mouth agape as your eyes snap to his. you groan, lightly kicking his leg. "you weren't even suppose to see that! and isn't it a violation for someone to just walk into someone else's home while they're vulnerable? and talk about you spying too..."

"well, someone couldn't hear me knocking because their music was on blast and they were busy dancing, so i decided to let myself in." amusement dances on his gaze as he sees your face cringe.

from that day on, you made sure to always be alert with the door, especially when it came to xavier. you're suddenly doubting the decision of letting himself feel welcomed into your place...

he didn't let that slide for a few days, and though his teasings were subtle, it always manages to hit the nail in the coffin with his implications.

"your swordsmanship is getting better, although i'd say i'd prefer to see you doing your little dances right now instead."

"you want to do the dishes? am i going to see another concert from you?"

"i'll help you with that. you wouldn't want to get sidetracked with how lively the music is."

he finds himself humming the tune sometimes, but it was never within your vicinity. he was holding consideration for you, because although the blush creeping up on you and the scrunch of your face from the memory was adorable, he wouldn't want you to feel as if he was mocking you and making you uncomfortable around him.

one thing he'd never let you know, though, was the video of you that he secretly recorded. it never fails to bring a smile on his face and light his heart up with the way you were so lost into the music, your expression one of concentrated joy as you feel through the song, along with your adorable dancing too.

---

zayne

on a particular day, he had noticed you humming the same tune and repeating the same lyrics.

at first, he thought it was some form of incantation and wondered if you'd had any encounters with a wanderer that had anything to affect your functioning.

"apt, apt, apt, apt..."

zayne had to give you a quick check up to see if anything else has affected you. his suspicions were abated when he heard the following tune of your chanting. turns out, it was only a case of last song syndrome.

he found your little hummings endearing, especially when it's paired with the slight bop of your head, probably recreating the beat in your mind.

he doesn't mind it much, but a few days later as he's shopping, he hears a familiar chant and melody playing in the background. it turns out, it's a popular song, and as he listens to it intently, he can understand how the catchy rhythm seems to worm its way into your head.

at this point, with his knowledge of the song and your repeated hums and soft singing of the chorus, zayne has become somehow familiar with it. the music has eventually wormed its way into his head as well, but it was mostly because of how it reminded him of your cheerful tune.

unknowingly to him, he's been quietly humming the melody. greyson has noticed this when he was about to deliver a report to zayne, catching up with him until he hears a soft vibrating sound coming from the surgeon.

he's surprised to hear the familiar, catchy tune coming from their ever stoic doctor, but when you arrive at the hospital and greet greyson, asking about the doctor and waving at him with a skip in your step and the lyrics flying softly out of you as you leave, he puts two in two together.

you also eventually catch zayne humming the tune while you're both preparing dinner at his place, ears quirking as you hear the familiar melody in the form of his light, baritone cadence through the sound of him chopping.

"i never knew you liked that song too, doctor zayne. i didn't think it would be your style."

the hand on the knife stills at your comment, making zayne suddenly aware of his action. he blinks slowly, before proceeding to chop again. "i suppose it's grown on me. admittedly, the song is quite catchy itself, but i was more influenced by someone's constant singing of it."

a bashful smile reaches your face. "ah, my bad. it got stuck in my head for the whole day, and that was all i could hear in my mind."

"your condition sounds serious. i'm afraid it's contagious. the only cure for this now would be for you to sing it to me until my brain gets tired of it."

---

rafayel

your hand shoots to grab the can of paint that you almost tripped over, sighing in relief from the lack of spill on the floor. you're wondering where in heaven's name rafayel is already.

he's invited you over spontaneously with the alibi of suddenly having the urge to have a painting session together. you figured it would be fun, considering you had nothing to do at the moment.

he also mentioned that he was out to grab a few supplies and that you should help yourself in his studio, but it's already been around forty minutes, and he still hasn't appeared yet. you're getting bored from just sitting out and waiting for him, so you decide to start on something.

once you've prepped everything you needed, you scroll through your phone and look through your playlist to find an appropriate song to get into the mood before starting. a cheery tune comes in and you nod in approval, grabbing the brush and just going off with whatever you feel.

minutes pass by, and you've made some progress with your work. the upbeat songs on your playlist drive the mood of your art as well as yourself, but when it reaches to that particular song, you're suddenly all over the place, the paintbrush now a makeshift microphone in your hand.

"don't you want me like i want you, baby? don't you need me like i need you now?~"

"oh, i definitely need a camera for this."

you trip over the same paint again, its contents spilling out. a slew of curses leave your mouth, grabbing the can before the whole liquid could escape. you look up to see rafayel, with a grin plastered on his face.

"i... you... how..." you sputter over your words, too stunned to even utter a full sentence to him. how long has he been standing there? and how much did he see?

"i came back ten minutes ago and heard the loud music from upstairs. sooo, i saw your performance for about... seven minutes, i'd say."

he walks over to you, taking the paintbrush from your hand and replacing it with a paper bag you haven't noticed on him.

"here, i bought some food for you on the way. i figured you might be hungry from all the wait. it was really busy outside. but don't worry, i always compensate my bodyguard. especially after they'd just had that dance number."

you groan, putting a hand on your face but forgetting about the paint on them, so now you're covered with... a vermillion red, as it says on the can from earlier. the colour is probably matching with your face from how hot it feels.

"hah, looks like you've been caught red-handed–"

"ugh, don't."

after that embarrassing fiasco and things have calmed down, you and rafayel work on your paintings. he eventually tries to warm you up with playing your songs again, persistently telling you to continue playing them to give the background a more lively vibe. you agreed when you made him promise not to make fun of you from earlier.

when the song plays again, you fumble for you phone to change it to the next queue, but rafayel stops you with a snap of his paintbrush on you knuckles, making you glare at him, and he in turn gives a pointed look at you, making you leave the song on play. you can't stop the small taps and head bops from the catchy beat.

much to rafayel's chagrin, that song has been stuck in his head for the following days. he can't deny how catchy it is, and there's a certain melody that's easily recognisable and playful to it. eventually, he's singing it in his studio now, and blasting it away into the coastal air. yet, no matter how many times he's played it, the tune still rings in his head.

unfortunately for him, it's blocking his creativity, and he can't think of anything but the song. he blames it on you for exposing it to him... until a lightbulb in his brain lights up. it's you! the moment you blared up that music and danced around his studio with your paintbrush mic in hand as if it was your personal stage, the memory of that song and moment locked it in his brain.

his hands eventually get to work, and canvases are filled of you in that moment – the riveting expression on your face as you belt out to the song, the paints scattered on your hands and arms, some unknowingly on your hair, the way your body is thrown back in carefree ecstasy as the music courses through you... he makes that memory come alive again.

---

sylus

he's noticed that luke has been playing this one song in constant repeat on his phone, to the point that the catchy chorus of the song is practically shoved into the forefront of his brain, playing it every now and then.

it got worse when kieran got into it as well, much to luke's delight.

"i thought you'd hate this song and say it's stupid."

"what? no! it's so good that i can't even stop playing it."

"me too!"

now the manor echoes with that song. surprisingly, sylus doesn't mind it. it is quite catchy, annoyingly so that he willingly listens to it on his own as well (but he doesn't let the twins know that).

of course, you also loved that song, and as soon as luke found out, he pulled you along with kieran for a sing-along loop until you all got sick of the lyrics and each other's voices.

unbeknownst to all of you, mephisto is recording everything, and sylus smirks in delight when he sees the three of you belt out to the song non-stop, capturing the way you passionately sing out to it and let your body get lost into the rhythm.

also unbeknownst to the onychinus leader is that luke and kieran had managed to get an audio recording of sylus humming and singing to the song with his infamous tone deafness.

"kissy face, kissy face, sent to your phone... i'm trying to kiss your lips for real–" you and the twins burst out laughing at the audio, clutching on your stomach at how out of sync he is. kieran plays the audio in repeat again, and it never fails to make you all burst into tears of laughter.

"please... i can't breathe..." you wheeze out, grabbing onto luke's arm.

"what seems to be all the commotion around here?" the low baritone voice makes you all freeze, luke and kieran especially. kieran fumbles with the phone, turning it off before addressing to sylus.

"b-boss! w-we were just..."

"they... they..." you fight your words in between giggles, clearing your throat and trying to compose yourself, but ultimately ended up failing as you burst into laughter again.

sylus waits out your fits of chuckles, raising a brow expectantly at you. "what's so funny that's gotten you this breathless, sweetie?"

"hah... it's just... luke and kieran showed me something really funny, is all," you say with a dismissive wave, a grin still etched on your face, eyes sparkling with delight.

"really? and what is this 'funny thing' that they showed you?"

the twins sweat, already trying to fumble with an excuse until you chime in. "nothing, it's nothing. you wouldn't get it, sorry."

before he can make a remark, you stand up to take his hand, leading him away from the twins before he could question them further.

"c'mon, you said we'd go out tonight! what place did you want us to go to?"

an amused chuckle leaves sylus. "you'll see."

turns out, he brought you out for karaoke, which was probably the worst and best thing tonight.

you scream into the microphone with as much feeling and power as you can until your voice is so hoarse that it couldn't even detect your voice anymore.

and sylus... well, he was singing with as much tune as he can, which is... really out of this world, but you still cheer on him, recording him with your phone as he attempts to follow the melody of the song.

after that, you think you need to get your hearing checked.

and as promised, kieran sent you the audio of sylus' singing. now you both have an audio and video to file in your 'crow screeches' album.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

There's not much Barty Crouch Jr content out there. If you don't mind writing about him, can I make a request? After escaping Azkaban, he serves his Lord to the best of his ability, but there is someone from his past that he still can't get out of his mind. A Slytherin and from a family of followers of the Dark Lord. They had a relationship during their youth. After many years, he finds her again. He always had a soft spot for her. But the reader (like Snape, a sort of spy) is secretly thinking against the Dark Lord and stays away from these things as much as possible, but she is definitely in danger. Things are complicated, but the strong attraction and longing between them cannot be ignored...

The Boy I Knew

Barty Crouch Jr. x Black!Fem!Reader

Cw; Y/N, obsessions, one sided love(Barty pining), Barty being unhinged. Reader is morally grey, Remus Lupin onesided love (Rem pining), sexual themes and scenes, mentions of murder}} Please tell me if I missed anything!

AN- this fanfic is now well over what it should have been. I am posting a fraction of the proofread bits as of now, as I realize this is probably not at all what you wanted and if so I am SO sorry. If you want more I have a pouch that just needs to be beta read

Wc-5670

Taglist: @defnotfrey @au-ghosttype

{. 1972 - Barty’s Year 1 .}

Bartemius Crouch Junior couldn't have been older than eleven when he first met {Y/N} Walburga Black.  A cool upperclassman, if only by a year. 

Bartemius, at that ripe age, knew only a handful of things, and two of those was how badly he wanted to be seen and known. He wanted to be seen for who he was, and known for what he would do. That's likely what drew him to you. 

At only twelve, you and your brother had made a name for yourselves, in much different ways. Your brother was popular, for his quick tongue and clever quips, his innate ability to get under anyone's skin and stay there. Those traits could be forgiven, and they always were, for his big heart and intense sense of moral. 

You, however, were known for harboring a few very non Black traits, like your intense empathy and your crazed thirst for knowledge. Even as a Slytherin, your loyalty and curiosity rivaled the students around you tenfold. Your bravery knew no bounds, even with all the wrongs you had been done, you were forgiving and understanding. You were seen by everyone, you were known for everything.

As he got older, he wondered where that forgiveness went. You grew cold.

When he was innocent, when he had done no wrongs, you cradled him in your hands like he was a gift. You looked at him with eyes you shared with everyone, so much care and patience, so much understanding and kindness. So if those eyes were shared with the masses, he struggled, but was determined, to keep them focused on himself at any chance given.

It was obvious to anyone who saw the two interact. Barty wanted to be witnessed by you. The halls filled with the judgeful and teasing murmurs when he found you in the halls.

“There goes {Y/N}’s prodigy.”

“Barty is off to find his guru.”

“That boy will never learn.”

“How annoying.”

Barty had never been ashamed of his declarations for praise. He knew most of the voices were bitter with jealousy. He would be jealous too. You were both so young, and yet even some older students looked to you like you were twice your age, yet every Friday when the tests were returned, you sat in the courtyard and waited for him. Your personal underclassman.

You would meet in the yard and he would brandish his flawless marks, you would praise his abilities in absolute pride. He had never had someone prideful of him before. Everyone knew him to be a mother’s boy, but he would challenge any of those claims. He was a {Y/N}’s boy, he'd tell them, no shame as students snickered and made their fun of him. He was never afraid of how much he liked you. How much he admired and respected you.

He would turn from the RavenClaw table and look to you after his announcements everytime, you would be eating with Lily Evans and the other girls of her group, but your eyes would be on him. You would give him a soft smile that drove him mad. He would return it with his own, the smile he would save for you. Just you.

When he was only eleven and you were twelve, everything was perfect for him. You focused your attention on studies, your friends, and of course, Barty. That's how it stayed for years.

He would reminisce in his cell, running his dulled nail along the jagged stone walls, carving intents of every minute that passed. Remembering all of the things he regretted most in his life. Losing your trust was where his spiral began. He was a foolish kid.

{. 1974 Barty’s Year 3 .}

“It's getting embarrassing.”

Barty was eating lunch with one of the many friends he had made during his years at Hogwarts, Evan Rosier. He was once again bringing the conversation back to you, as he had been for the past few days.

“You trail after her like a loyal dog. Has she even given you a hint that she may return your feelings?” 

“What feelings?”

Evan and you did not get along. You never had. When he first found himself growing closer to him, you voiced your distaste for Evan the very next day. Barty always trusted your judgment, he obeyed you without much of a fight in most cases. This was not one of those cases.

He figured you to be biased, your brother thought him to be a Death Eater and you despised them. Something he could never understand, you were a pureblood, a Black, you were a powerful witch, and you would never have to worry about falling for a half blood or muggleborn, or Merlin forbid, a muggle. You were smarter than that. He always figured. You wouldn't taint your legacy.

Not like your useless brother, who he could see even now, describing his entanglements with witches and wizards of any kind, to the other Marauders.

As the years went on, you and Barty’s meetings became scarcer and scarcer, they went from Fridays to every second Friday, finally, you now only met every last Friday of the month. Still, Barty clung to you with a desperation he never would give anyone else.

Recently, you had gotten into a fight. One where you expressed your worry for what could possibly happen to him if he got involved with the wrong crowd. Barty, admittedly, didn't respond in kind. He was furious with you. You questioned his company but pushed away from him, you questioned his morals and his standing on the war. He told you there was no war to him, there was no fight.

At the end of the day, he would be standing by you.

The answer seemed to distress you further. It turned into a match of shouts and desperate pleas of compliance. It caused a scene, people watched as you defended your standing on your side of the war, this fight you were having with yourself he assumed. There was no war. This was a power struggle.

Evan’s scoff snapped him out of his thoughts and he looked up from his plate to his eyes. 

“Barty, half the school knows you've been in love with her since first year.” He hissed and Barty frowned. Would he call it love? He didn't think about it long before he had his answer. Love wasn't something he looked for, but he found it constantly. From the love he shared with Pandora, to the love he shared with Regulus, even the love he was nurturing with the brutish Evan.

No love in his body burned hotter then his love for you. 

He never thought about it because he never had to. Why would he? He knew you loved him too. He knew what you two shared was never anything that could be challenged. He was your prodigy. He was your prodigy. He didn't care for much, as long as he was yours. 

Evan snapped his fingers in his face and drew his attention back to him. He gave a slick smirk and wet his lips. “Come on, Barty, she's just a girl. You're wasting talent. Talent that could be used for someone who actually appreciates you.”

“She does appreciate me.” Barty challenged immediately, before Evan smirked and gestured to the Gryffindor table. “Does she?”

Barty turned just in time to see you, he never had to stare at a crowd too long to find you. 

You were sitting with your brother and his friends, side by side with Remus, sitting far too close for comfort. He was whispering something in your ear, making you giggle. Turning to look at him with the truest smile he's ever seen you make. Flashing your beautifully uneven teeth, your cheeks dimpling and eyes seeming to sparkle. Your eyes met Lupin’s and he took in your expression like he could die in that moment. 

Barty had never seen you smile like that before. He had never seen you look that way before. You had never looked at him like that before.

He hadn't even noticed as he began to bend the fork in his hand, fist tightening as he watched as Remus lean in and stole a kiss against your cheek. You gave a bigger laugh at this. Moving in to kiss his lips carefully. 

The wonderful moment you were having was interrupted when a loud snap sounded threw the cafeteria. Your eyes snapped over to the RavenClaw table, as did a lot of your peers. Barty had snapped a fork in half with his thumb alone. Before a professor could scold him, he got up from his seat and stomped out of the grand hall, and your eyes followed them.

You muttered a quick apology to Remus and he nodded in understanding as you scrambled to your feet to follow after him. 

He wished he could take every word he called you in that hall back now. He wished he had been smart enough to know that loving you with you in his life would of been far less torture then loving a girl who hated your guts. 

“You blood trader!”

“This! This is what I meant, Bartemius! My Barty would never-”

“You don't have a clue about me, you insolent heartbreaker! What of us, Black?”

“Us? What Us, Barty?”

That night he realized that no matter how genuine his love was for you, how deeply it ran, those times spent alone meant far more to him then it ever meant to you. You did stuff like that for everyone. 

He wasn't entitled to your love. Running his nail down until it was blunted against the wall. Azkaban could no longer do more harm then it already had.

{. 1974 Barty’s Year 4 .}

An entire school year. You and Barty didn't speak for an entire school year.

He kept his tabs on you, of course, because no matter what you said to him that day, you were still his person. Knowing how ignorant and how dangerously minded you could be, he took it upon himself to look over you. You may have been older, you may have sworn him, at one time, your loyalty and protection. But now, he had power of his own. He would repay you. He would repay and reeducate you, given the chance. With all the training him, Evan, Muliciber, Avery, even Snape had done? By Merlin’s beard he could do anything.

He had the mind to back that up, but he kept his power under wraps. You were always frightened by what you didn't understand, the last thing he wanted was for you to fear him. He wanted everyone to know him as fear, not you.

Never you.

When the school year started Barty noticed the shift instantly. He knew you like the back of his hand, far more than he let on most days, but it didn't take a genius to see that {Y/N} Black sitting with Regulus Black at the Slytherin table was odd. 

He soon learned of what happened between Sirius and his family, a right disgrace. Then to learn Sirius scorned you from his life for choosing to stay with Regulus, that was probably what started Barty’s absolute disdain for your brother. You had gone through training per Regulus. Saying before Sirius left he let it slip about you and Remus, trying to entice you to leave with him. You refused and your mother lost it. Walburga was a stain on this earth for what she had done. Even then…

It was all for the better, as he saw it. You don't need the impressions of Sirius Black, Lily Evans, Mary Macdonald, Remus Lupin, or any others that pour their venom into a perfect witch as yourself. He would make sure it stayed that way, even if it hurt you. However, he couldn't lie.

You always looked your best when you knew your worth. 

It wasn't just your routine that changed, you became cold to your old friends, dropping the Muggle borns and staying weary of the half bloods. You started to associate mainly with more influential Purebloods.

That meant him. 

He knew his father was good for something.

“Crouch? Would you like to accompany me to the library?” Your voice sang out to him, despite your listless monotone and drifting eyes. It was the first sentence you muttered to him in 13 months. Your voice was more reserved, your back straightened and your lips pouted. You didn't look like that 12 year old he knew, you were 16 now. Even in his depravity, he took notice of every lovely advancement you had taken in care of your appearance. Your mother instructed you with glamours and proper wear, even now wearing a black feathered choker and brandished a black quill. A family heirloom, Regulus would tell him.

Now, he hated your mother, there was no question about that. What she had done to Regulus was unforgivable, what she had done to you was cause for retaliation in his eyes. But Merlin, did she put you back on the path of greatness.

“Crouch? {Y/N}, my love, it will always be Barty to you.” He lit up like a child, voice sugary sweet. It was your turn to take notice of his change. He was still the same boy you met in first year. Endlessly obsessive, devoted, and excelling at all the things you liked about him. Unfortunately, also the things you hated. 

But, he was still your Barty in your heart. The boy you loved, the boy you cherished, the boy who charmed your soul in ways you didn't know possible. If you had to pick anyone to fill the hollowed out ache in your chest, you chose dangerously, Barty Crouch Jr would be your reprieve.

He was just older now. He was becoming a man.

Everyone knows what they say, about a boy and a girl, coming into their own together. Barty figured this was your love story, you weren't one to argue any longer.

He didn't care that you only seemed to speak to him out of necessity. When he heard from Regulus that your mother was making you pick your friends based on their social standing, any males to soon be a suitor, he was ecstatic.

He was remarkable. He was seen. He was valuable enough to you to not be a mere pawn but maybe even a queen on your chest set. To be used by you? It was worth every moment of the ache. All of this because his father just so happened to keep his filthy hands to the purest bloodlines.

That was his value to you. His blood, his sweat, his labor, and his mind. They were yours, no questions asked. He clung to your heel with new found determination. He would keep you on the right track, the promised one. The one that would ensure your children had the same opportunities. 

He knew he wanted this the moment he walked in on you and Severus arguing in the courtyard.

“You dare call her a Mudblood, you incessant pompous Half Breed?!” Your voice echoed through the halls. People watched in horror, some in absolute shock, the sweet kind girl they had grown attached to was a right monster now. Barty, however, was loving it. You were a proper pureblood.

“{Y/N}-” Severus spoke carefully, something about his tone was far too familiar for Barty’s liking, him addressing you by first name made his jaw tighten. He didn't have to say a word. You rectified it.

“Do not address me as anything other than Black, you dirty mutt!” You screeched. Severus looked stunned, the usually stoic boy looked broken. Barty watched as your eyes trailed over a shocked and watery eyed Lily Evans, he almost didn't catch you muttering, “You lost that privilege.”

He, of course, came to your rescue, as he always promised. Hand around your back and escorted you away from the fight. As you both walked down the corridor your path was blocked. 

Barty almost laughed, Remus Lupin. He was standing with Sirius Black, both staring threatening daggers at Barty. When you both kept walking, Barty shoved a path between the two boys, you hand a fistful of his cloak so as to not be left behind.

He didn't like how Remus’s eyes softened at the sight of you. He didn't like how Sirius reached for you. He walked faster, putting your sniffling form in front of himself.

After that, he knew he had you. 

You were becoming who you were meant to be.

~~~

He took his mark that summer, standing alongside your brother Regulus Black, Lucius Malfoy, Beatrix Black and Evan Rosier. They were at your cousin’s manor, in the ballroom standing side by side. He was as straight as a board, brimming with pride, smirking to himself and brandishing his left arm.

He could feel your eyes on him, from where you stood, next to Narcissa, your aunt and your mother. Waiting for him. 

Evan was first, standing beside Barty and holding out his wrist. When the wand hovered over his wrist and the Death Eater began to mutter the incantation, Evan let out a blood curdling sound. Pure brutish pain shot through him, leading him to fall back. Quickly held up by two other death eaters behind him.

When the wand brushed Barty’s wrist next, he hardly flinched. Tilting his head back as sweat gathered around his temple and neck. He bit his lip and let himself feel every sharp intrusion the spell took, letting himself succumb to the blissful pain.

When he returned to you, not standing to wait for dismissal like the rest of them, he wrapped his arm around your waist and yanked you in. He stole your lips for his own, making you give a slight gasp. You don't fight it, so he pushed further, letting himself taste your bottom lip and pulling it punishingly between his teeth. Through his high he was able to recognize and memorize the feel of your lips and the taste, in his mind, it was the closest to the gods he'd ever get. What was true heaven, however, was when you took his cheeks in your hands and kissed him back.

“Enough.” He heard your mother hiss from beside you. She shooed Barty away like he was some stray dog. He backed down from where you stood, licking his lips and admiring just how shaken and red you looked. Your mother, the hag, pushed you behind herself and hid you away from his eyes.

When you looked away and covered your mouth, he almost didn't notice how you also licked your lips clean. That drove him mad.

He had come to the conclusion early on, you were a temptress. A vixen. A damned Siren as far as he knew. 

Memories of that night, your first kiss, the moment he could see you falling for him. A proper man, worthy of the worship he planned to give you. Worthy of serving a goddess like you. It kept him up most nights, it was a high even the dementor's couldn't take away, but they did manage to warp his obsession from what he believed to have been holy, to the truth.

He was brought on this earth for you. Without you, he was nothing. He was rotting.

{. 1976 Barty’s Year 6 .}

The next year he took your hand and promised you the world. To his delight, you responded in kind. You began dating his sixth year and it was absolute bliss. 

It didn't last long, that bliss. It became a thrill.

Despite his power and loyalty to the dark lord, your mother favored another's for your hand. Particularly, Avery. His father came to your mother with the proposal, your mother liked his offer of the estate and your own power over the house.

You, however, much to Barty’s delight, were way too far gone. In your now secret meetings, where you would take you strolls along the city street, to the shop or to the boutique. You made a show of it; but you only truly left for Crouch Manor.

Where Mr. and Mrs. Crouch turned their other cheek as you snuck your way to Barty’s chambers. Behind those locked doors your love was dangerous. His whispers and promises of treachery against your family name were met with nothing less than desperate devotion and promises in kind. As your palms glided over his bare chest and his large hands found their way under your skirt.

His favorite memories were all locked away in that room. The room he made you his own, where his hands grew familiar with your skin in ways no one else ever could, where he found an affinity for you breathless, and where he heard you let out sounds no self respecting Black heiress should ever let out. 

He claimed what was his birthright, between your legs. Bruised your lips numb and left marks you had to charm away when you made it back home. Just in time for supper.

With the feeling of him still fresh on your body. The pureblood heir your parents thought so lowly of. The heir they didn't see fit to sit at that very table, was still there. His lips were on the rim of the cup you sipped from, his hands were on the arm rests you relaxed against, and his teeth and claws were buried into their perfect daughter.

{. 1978 .}

By the time you both graduated, you took your place at the table. Having fought to hold off your engagement to Avery, Barty took it into his own hands to get between the two of you. Every time you glance in the boy's direction, he shrivels in on himself.

“Barty?” You whispered between his greedy kisses, in the halls of the Malfoy manor.  The only times his hands could find your hips and his lips could find yours outside of his own room now. He was starting to see less and less of you. The war was in full swing and with his desperation for you was all that was driving him most days. 

Thinking now, he wondered what drove you. Even now, having spent a year in Azkaban, you were still the light he flew to, no matter how much it hurt him. He could have sworn, at one time, it was him.

“Darling.” He whispered low against your lips. You tangled your fingers into his hair, before pulling him down. He rested his chin against the curve of your chest and looked up into your eyes.

You bit your lip, running your thumb along his own reddening ones. “Do you love me, Barty?” You cooed.

“I do.” He affirmed, licking the skin you touched along his Cupid's bow, “I do, more than anything.” His voice was raw and rough, he pulled at your hold, trying desperately to kiss you again.

“Do something for me, Barty.” 

“Anything, Darling. Anything.” He muttered, eyes still on your lips.

“Be within my reach. Always.” You whispered before releasing him. He took your lips once more, pushing you back against the wall like the very prospect of not touching you in some way was physically painful. His hand traveled up from your hand to rub over the mark you took just days earlier.

Every moment like that seemed fleeting. 

The very next year, Regulus Black passed. He had gone MIA and your mother, despite her loyalty to Voldemort, commanded you home. It got worse when they officially announced his death.

You stayed locked in those walls, by order of your mother. He missed you dearly. Barty never wanted to be your hero, some great commander, he couldn't care less now about who else even knew his name anymore. He was older now, and he just wanted to be yours. 

So, it pushed Barty to work even harder. Anything to appease The Dark Lord, get this war over with, so he could return to the only true person worthy of his reverence. 

Without you, his life went by in simple clips of reality. When Voldemort fell, he was imprisoned in this hellhole, and even now, he found himself unable to let anything else consume his mind.

The dripping of water from the rusting metal doors drove him mad. No other sounds but the miserable screams of inmates and slamming of bodies against pavement. It was a torturous and hopeless place, some people preferred punishment by their own hands. There was suddenly a loud clanging of keys that cut his thoughts.

He looked up from the corner of his cell, putting his thumb in his mouth and sucking on the bleeding torn skin. The marks he had made on the cell walls marked his 354th day in this nightmare. His eyes locked with his father and his mother, furrowing his brow as he stood.

His mother two out two veils of a slug colored potion, his father had another potion in his hand.

Barty didn't stay in that cell to see his 355th.

~~~

{. 1994 POV Shift .}

“It's a bit cold, don't you think?”

Remus Lupin's voice cut through the fog of your mind like a knife through butter. He was right, of course. Even as the year grew warmer with the summer months growing closer, the astronomy tower always gave a pleasant and persistent chill. 

You were used to it, by now. Being the Astronomy Professor for almost twelve years. About the same amount of years you managed to avoid coming into contact with Remus himself. 

You had to give him credit, Remus Lupin, he was persistent. Doing everything in his power to get you alone. As if one conversation would melt away years of what you had done, the people you deceived, the lives you took, the lies you told… all in the name of a crazed boy long lost to the history of the wizarding world. For the family who was as faded as the family tree you used to tend to with your brothers, painting names and burning faces. 

As if speaking to you would somehow bridge a gap. A gap in his heart that still ached for you. It was never something he was able to understand, your persistent and endless love for Crouch had come out of nowhere for him. He couldn't look Sirius in the eye for a long time, learning he had outed your budding relationship. 

He took every chance he could, to reach out, to speak to you, it was met with closed doors and a reminder of remaining professional. 

“It is. Heading out, Lupin?” You muttered to him. You couldn't lie and say having him here didn't make you feel, in some ways, nostalgic. To the loving, caring, respectful girl you once knew. One with so much patience and kindness you shared it with all kinds of souls. Souls you've watched drop like flies under the man you swore your life to.

“I am.” Remus muttered but didn't turn to leave. You shifted on your heel to look back at him from the entrance of the tower. He had his hand resting on the railing, his palm thudding against the railing as he tried to gather the courage to continue.

“I heard you gave Snape quite the earful.” He hummed, walking deeper into your classroom. You thinned your lips and shook your head, turning away from him. He gave a weak scoff. 

“Could you at least look at me?” He pushed, his voice wavering. You closed your eyes and gave a deep sigh. Your hands moved to grab the railing.

“What is it, Lupin?” 

“It's not too late.” He whispered and you closed your eyes. His words were exact, aimed to cut deep and retrieve from you the heart he knew was there; it just had grown cold. “You could come back. With me, tonight, we can meet with Padfoot and-”

“And what, Lupin?” You spoke calmly as you turned to face him. He went rigid at your stare. “Live this wonderful life you have weaved out for us? Pretend that everything is okay and the last few years never happened?” You pushed and he closed his eyes. 

Anger bubbled in his throat with something familiar, jealousy and bitter melancholy. If he could hear you any clearer you would be cotton in his ears. Your words were empty because he knew you could. Put Hogwarts behind you and come back to him, come with him and Sirius like you should have done back when you wore uniform and not cloaks like proper professors. Nothing was proper about you two aching hearts anyway. 

Yet history repeated itself.

It always would.

“You know he's gone.” Remus started slowly and your breath caught in your throat. You felt your eyes grow glossy with grief and you placed your left hand over your heart. 

“I never thought I would be someone's second choice. To Bartemius Crouch Jr.” He continued. “I see I never measured up, did I?” 

“... I am sorry, Remus.” You whispered, your voice, for the first time in years, was vulnerable. It was careful.

Because of course you loved Remus. You loved him dearly, but no man would own you like Barty had. You were terrified to let yourself be loved with anything less than what he had shown you. Steadfast and faithful love. No one could challenge the status of Barty in your life.

Even in death his ghost reminds you of your place. Next to him. 

Once this was over, once Dumbledore had seen and used his worth in you, when you were no longer under his wing like a servant, you would go back to 12 Grimmauld Place. You would retire. And you would wait for Barty to take you back home. Let it be a year, let it be ten, you would return to him as promised.

“... What have you become?” He whispered to you, and your eyes finally raised to meet him. You caught your tears and quickly cleaned your face. Shaking your head you put back on your practiced and perfect pout.

“.. A Black.”

Your exchange ended there. 

Remus returned to your brother, you presumed. You forged ignorance when you were questioned by the Ministry of your brother’s whereabouts. It didn't take much for them to let you be, especially with Mr. Crouch Senior’s particular protectiveness of you. Probably a gift from Mrs. Crouch, oh, how you missed her.

When Barty was taken and your mother was far too weak to control you, you visited the Crouchs’ daily. You helped Winky with taking care of his parents, particularly his sick and fragile mother. You grew a weak repore with his father, though you despised him. 

As a proper pureblood you just silently reaped the benefits of what the world had gifted you.

Including your wealth. With the house of Black fallen you were left to be the soul heir. Though, the moment you heard of Sirius Black’s escape, you reopened your joint account. Soon, you heard someone was able to access it. It was true; your brother was alive and well.

That was the only olive branch you extended to him. 

Once the school year was officially over you returned home. To your modest house down in an old town just a broom ride away from Hogwarts. Feldcroft.

You returned home, it was uneventful. Until you opened your door. 

You were greeted by Winky, the Crouch’s house elf. That wouldn't be unusual, Barty had preached to her about how you were both intended. How she should attend to you, how she attended to him. So she would appear at your house from time to time, with gifts and food she had prepared for Crouch Senior that she made just too much of.

“Winky?” You called out to the figure in your hall. The sheepish girl turned to face you with a careful smile.

“Madam Black has returned! How happy Winky is to see you, mistress.” She declared and hurried up to you. Her path was cut short as Creature stepped in front of her, snapping away your bags. He seemed in a foul mood. Fowler then usual.

“Your mother would not approve of your company, Ms. Blaaaack.” He warned and you furrowed your brow. “Nor would she approve of this home-”

“Kreature.” You demanded and he huffed. Winky was always coming in and out, Creature never voiced displeasure with her company and your mother, well, she could care less. “What company?”

“The noisy Crouch, Ma'am.”

Your heart dropped. He apparated away, assumingly to unpack your bags. Your eyes widened as Winky appeared in front of your full view. Showing off the black quill you had most definitely left at home. Your mothers old quill. You took it carefully from the house elf.

“Winky..” You spoke carefully and slowly. Holding up the quill between your fingers. “Who gave this to you?”

“I think you know, Darling.” 

Before Winky could answer, a voice lost to time spoke first. You knew it before you even turned around. 

Still, you jerked your entire body to face him. Your eyes locked, full of longing and hope.

 And there he was. Your Barty.

He was holding a newspaper, licking his bottom lip but his eyes were on you. His eyes were just how you always remembered them. So full of danger and appreciation for your simple presence. He stepped towards you and you took a step back. He tsked at that, reaching out to grab your waist. “Darling..” He whispered.

You were still in shock. Staring up at his brown eyes and waiting. For anything. “Barty?” You whispered.

When he kissed you, alarm bells went off in your head. You didn't listen to any of them, grabbing him just as greedily as he held you. Both of your eyes closed and you held each other like you might perspire. 

He was home.

He truly was.

[cower-before-power]

Holy, Holy, Lover Divine

Pairing: Gale x Fem Reader

Summary: You've never felt worthy of praise, until it's Gale kneeling at your feet.

Warnings: Implied sexual content, religious imagery, Gale may get a bit blasphemous ha

Word Count: approx 1300

A/N: Just another little Gale ficlet because I love him so much and this idea has been in my head for ages. Thanks for reading!

In this moment, you feel divine.

The term has followed you around, exaltations such as “saviour”, or “goddess” leaving the lips of those you’d saved. But it had never felt right, never felt like such praise should be heaped upon a mere mortal. Right place, right time, is what you always assumed should be your words. A simple soul who simply had the means to do what needed to be done. Hardly god-like, hardly worthy of the celestial.

But here, in the privacy of your bedchamber, under the gaze of your beloved, you finally understand that you are holy.

“You are beautiful,” Gale breathes, dark eyes roving over your face, your body, “I swear, there is no more magnificent creature on this plane or any other.” You feel your skin heat beneath your new nightgown, a flimsy scrap of gossamer lace you’d chosen with him in mind. It seems to be well appreciated.

“Don’t let the gods hear such blasphemy,” you murmur, wanting to both further expose yourself to him as well as shyly hide away, “a few of them might disagree.”

Gale shrugs, and you watch the motion of his broad shoulders greedily. “Let them hear me. I no longer care what she….what any of them think of me, of who and what I devote myself to. That right was lost long ago.”

Your eyebrows raise, but you are not surprised. Magic may still be bound to a goddess, but your lover has long stopped bending a knee. Prayers are offered not out of love, but duty, necessity. He gives thanks for the Weave, for spells and knowledge. But he hungers for her treasures no more.

She has long lost his piety, and you do not complain.

“Oh?”, you say coyly, shifting so your gown slides further up your thighs. You do not miss Gale’s eyes following the movement intently, and your skin burns with want. “And what are you devoted to now, Gale of Waterdeep? Where does your worship lie?”

Gale strides towards you, slow and measured, like a cat waiting to pounce. You know what he will say, but you want to hear it all the same. You want to bathe in it, this new feeling of righteousness, of being the idol of such great love and passion. This man makes you feel as if you have wings on your back and a halo over your head.

You vow you will not squander it.

“I am in service of a new goddess now,” he says, and mirth twinkles in his lust-glazed eyes. Your lips quirk upward-your wizard of words is about display his prowess.

“This,” he gestures to the room you share, to the bed you’ve come together in more times than you can count, “this is my temple. The sacred place I give my humble sacrifices, make my loving prayers, pledge my undying service.”

He’s close enough to touch now, bare chest within reach of your gluttonous fingers. Before you can grasp what you crave, his catches your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to press small kisses to your fingertips.

“These are my offerings,” he guides your hand to touch his temple, down to his chest, and further, further, until your finger brush over his desire. You whimper eagerly. “My mind, my heart and my body, all given freely and eagerly to please the one who has saved me time and time again from my own folly.”

He drops your hand and nudges your legs apart, sinking to his knees as he slots himself between them. You think you might combust with how hot the flame of passion is burning within you. Gale never fails to set you on fire from the inside out, but it seems tonight he aims to upstage himself.

“This is my altar,” his voice grows more sinful, his eyes even darker, “the place I will kneel in reverence eternal. Day after day, night after night, I will worship here, a thrall in my Lady’s service. For as long as she will have me.”

He leans forward, lips pressing against your inner thigh. You mewl softly, threading your fingers through his silky hair. Encouraged by your ragged breaths, he roams the giving flesh freely, littering your thighs with warm, bruising kisses.

“These are my hymns, my canticles of homage. I will bestow them upon every inch of this heavenly flesh. As many and as often as my Lady allows."

A gentle, teasing kiss is placed over your smallcothes. You gasp and tug him closer, a spark of white hot pleasure shooting up your spine.

“Gale,” you beg, thinking you may just go mad from his teasing, his honeyed words. “Gale, please-“

But instead of continuing, Gale pulls back and surges upwards, capturing your mouth in a heady kiss. You delightedly take what you are given, groaning as his taste explodes on your tongue. You will never get enough of kissing him, you decide. Gale always kisses you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you. Like he's trying to merge not only your bodies, but your very souls as well.

It never fails to set you on fire.

“This is my baptism,” he pants as he breaks your kiss, fingers flexing on your thighs, barely concealed restraint pulled taught like a bowstring. “I am cleansed of my sins, my foolish ideals, my bitter and lonely existence. To feel my Lady's love and desire in every kiss, every touch, every time I am inside of her- it is to be born anew."

Gale does not stay parted from you for long; his lips soon find their way to your neck, his fingers brushing your sensitive skin reverently.

And you are drowning. You whine and whimper and mumble intelligible pleas as your lover ravishes you with lovebites and praises. You fingers tangle in his hair and you pull-the groan that rumbles from his throat nearly makes your eyes kiss the back of your skull.

“Let me worship you,” Gale moans into your skin, pushing the straps of your nightgown down your shoulders. His mouth ghosts over the tops of your breasts. Gooseflesh rises in it wake. "Let me show you my supplication."

"As if you aren't already," you giggle breathlessly, falling back on the bed as Gale crawls over you. You welcome the heat of his body as it hovers above yours, close but not nearly close enough.

"Oh, you know I can do so much more," he grins wolfishly, eager hands helping you to slip off your nightgown. When you are spread nude before him, he slides out of his own trousers, laughing as your eager hands grope at every inch of bare skin they can reach.

"Shall I love you now, my Lady?" he asks, settling between your legs. A gentle hand cups your cheek, and you melt into the tender touch. "It is all I desire."

You brush a stray lock of hair away from his beautiful brown eyes. Happiness bleeds through the air around you, encasing the two of you in a world all your own. A sanctum most sacred and blessed.

"Love me then,” you sigh dreamily, “love me, and know how much I love you in return, you darling, wonderful, worthy man.”

And oh, how you are adored! How your lover makes your body and soul sing, more radiant and joyous than a choir of angels. How he plays your desire over and over, bliss unending, until you are left boneless and spent, a puddle of happiness in his arms.

And as you lay cradled carefully against Gale, enveloped in his ardor, you feel as if you are weightless. There is no more stain upon your soul, no mortal tarnish on your skin. No fear, no insecurity, no wondering. You are eternal. You are blessed.

You are divine.

[regainingparadise]

Relistening to TMA Season 5, I am again struck by how goddam badly Martin and Jon need couples counseling.

I love them both. I ship them very much. But oh lord they have issues

Like, these are two individuals who, under the very best of circumstances, would really need therapy both individually and together. They are both people with plentiful quantities of relational trauma from childhood that neither of them have worked through even the slightest bit.

And then you throw them into the apocalypse. And you add a metric fuck ton of guilt, helplessness, and the dynamics of being "The Antichrist and +1"?

On a surface level--Jon is in a perpetual state of information overload. Martin is in a perpetual state of "can you please just explain the basics of what's' going on in a given situation and not just say "it's complicated" or launch into a gruesome monologue"

But on a deeper level, their childhood relational traumas have left them each with opposing avoidant tendencies: Jon is unwilling to broach a difficult conversation, which leads him to hide information until he's confronted. Martin, on the other hand, has a finely honed ability to ignore information that he doesn't like until he no longer can hide from it.

Biggest example of their avoidance tendencies: Martin's Domain

Way early on, when we barely understand any of how the hellscape works, Jon mentions it, Martin shuts it down hard and deflects quickly with a bid for affection from Jon

Martin is in deliberate denial, but Jon admittedly wasn't particularly clear to start with.

"We all have a domain."

Jon means it, presumably, as "Me, You, and other 'Avatars.'" Jon is used to being grouped with those empowered by the Entities. Martin isn't. (see also: MAG185: Martin" Is that how these creatures see us now? As one of them?") But that's not what Jon says. And this is MAG167--they've only been through four domains, at least that we've seen. Jon is speaking from a place of knowledge, and assuming his listener has that same knowledge.

And when this issue comes up much later in MAG183, Martin has spent 17 episodes ignoring or forgetting that he has a domain, not letting that information in so that he has never processed it. (See also: Mag170: "Sometimes I wonder if I forget things on purpose. Easier not to think about them, I guess. Easier to just let them… slip away. They can’t hurt you if you don’t think about them.").

Martin confronts Jon on his avoidance (because while Martin may be good at ignoring things he doesn't like, he's far better at bringing up challenging topics), Jon is able to manage some A+ communication on his feelings and the genuine challenging of figuring out how to share upsetting information when he has All The Information, Martin accepts that. I just desperately want a therapist to be there and make them continue this conversation and practice ongoing good communication skills!

Though they resolve this, even though Jon has an explanation that makes sense...he was really leaving this conversation to the last minute. Would he have "[brought] it up at the crossroads" as he claims to Helen? Or would he have avoided it entirely, as she accuses, or waited till they were at the threshold, as he does with The Desolation and the Hunt, leaving Martin to confront terrifying situations without forewarning or planning or explanation.

Again, Jon kind of tried to bring up some of the potential issues with Basira and Daisy before entering the Hunt domain, but kept it Vague and Ominous ("Things aren't...good"). Martin took that vagueness as an opening to avoid engaging with potential bad news. The teensiest bit of therapy for either of them about their communication issues could have let Jon add "I know you're exited but FYI here are some specifics that you should know" and/or Martin go "I'm excited to see them but given that nothing is good right now, can you be more specific?"

Instead, Jon approaches difficult conversations by being Vague and Ominous, Martin gets snarky or passive-aggressive at the vagueness, upset or aggressively avoidant at the Ominousness, Jon closes back up like a turtle into his shell, and the conversation only comes back up when the situation has drastically escalated, leaving them both more upset.

Jon wants Martin to trust him, because explaining what he knows implicitly is an ordeal for him, and because his upbringing by his grandmother has suggested that communicating is generally unwanted and burdensome (See: MAG081 A Guest for Mr. Spider).

Martin wants to know what is going on, because he's in an awful hellscape of shifting rules about what can and cannot hurt them, completely dependent on a brand-new romantic partner for his survival and purpose, and also because his upbringing and coping mechanisms as a caretaker rely on him knowing enough to help, and his time as an archival assistant has given him some not-inconsiderable trauma about being left in the dark (See: MAG118 The Masquerade) (There's also another post in my head about how MAG118 primed Martin for both the Lonely and his development as a more confrontational character in S5)

All that to say.

Martin needs therapy to deal with the way he chooses not to absorb information he doesn't like. Jon needs therapy to understand that sometimes it's ok to bring up important topics even if the other person will be upset. They both need therapy to cope with all the guilt and helplessness around the apocalypse so they stop taking it out on each other. They need therapy together to learn how to work through their conflicting coping mechanisms.

[eraenaa]

The Prince and the Poet

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them. 

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Aemond Writes a Poem, Childhood Friends, Hidden Attraction, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,900

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, The Den of Dragons and Lions

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as he watched you completely enthralled by the sonneteer who performed before you. It had been un-endless hours he had to suffer as the court was subjected to watching poets read their works for the day’s entertainment. It was all too boring, all too frivolous, it was an utter waste of time. Aemond could not understand why you would willingly subject yourself to these men's trite and untrue words— whose delusions and desires were projected in their works. Aemond strongly believed that those who write poems and epics are weaklings and cowards. They do not have the courage to go on great adventures and woo their loves, so they can only imagine and write them down on parchment. And you were the sweet, naive fool who brought into their words—declaring their works beautiful and unparalleled. Blinded by flowery verses and empty promises. 

You sigh longingly in your seat as the sonneteer before you recited your favorite sonnet of them all. Your lips silently move unconsciously as you recite your most favored work with him. Aemond, who sat by your side, sneered at the sigh that left your pillowy lips and the enchanted look in your eyes. His gaze traveled the court; every young maiden swooned by the words and looks of the sonnet who stood in the middle, reciting the work that you clung on to. When his torment finally ended, Aemond rolled his eye once more as you quickly stood and clapped your hands, an ovation for the young man who had finished his performance. Aemond did no such thing, only staring down the sonneteer who bowed and savored the praises given. 

“I hope he shall return soon— and with new material!” You exclaimed to Helaena as you two walked the halls, arms linked together, Aemond trailing behind you. It was an old scene, your actions instilled since childhood. You practically grew up in the Red Keep with the princes and princess, a lion fostered by dragons. 

You hear Aemond’s third scoff of the afternoon, making you glance behind only to see the consistent look of annoyance on his face. “I would take it you did not enjoy?” You say and face onward, feeling Aemond fasten his steps and now walking beside you and Helaena. “It is an utter waste of time; why must we spend hours on this frivolity when pressing matters could be attended to?” You roll your eyes at the Prince’s complaint. 

“Aemond, your attendance was not required. If you believe poetry is a waste of time, I do not understand why you came there.” You say simply, pausing in your tracks. Helaena, a silent audience as you and Aemond began your ceaseless squabbles once more. Aemond was silent for a moment; the truth of his actions may not be revealed. “We did not force you to sit there and listen to Sir Liam— if anything, I’d prefer if you did not come; your glares and scoffs were seen and heard, and are very much unappreciated,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he had no response that he’d like to share. His eye traveled to his sister, who had a knowing smirk on her lips whilst you waited for his response that would not come.“I’ll see you both at supper,” Aemond grumbled as his eye landed on you, who bit back her smirk, the prince stomping away as you finally let your smile slip your lips. 

“Must you really tease him? You perfectly know why he sat through the readings,” Helaena said as you and she sat in the gardens for tea. You picking at the candied lemons that you and Aemond would usually fight over. You smile as you lick your finger clean of the sugary syrup. “Yes, I know why he suffered through the readings. However, he is not aware that I am knowledgeable of his intent,” Helaena sighed, “How long will you make him suffer?” The princess asked, already impatient for the day her closest friend and brother would finally admit their attractions. 

“Suffer?” You ask in shock, “I do no such thing! He inflicts his suffering himself—“ Helaena shook her head and laughed. “You’ve known of Aemond’s attraction to you for years! Yet you still act so clueless with him!” She reasoned. “I am a lady! I am expected to act chase and reserve. I cannot just go up to Aemond and confront him with his secret attraction!” You exclaimed with a fake and exaggerated look of scandal on your face, making Helaena laugh. 

“If you are waiting for my brother to acknowledge and confess his attraction towards you, then you must wait— it might take him a lifetime.” Helaena mused, a hint of frustration and pity in her voice, for Aemond had wanted you since childhood; he was just afraid to let it be known. “Then I pity him… he could have had the golden beauty of the realm, but he chose to stay silent.” You say confidently— proud with the title bestowed upon you by lords and ladies, small and noble folk men who agreed that your beauty was as valuable and desirable as the gold your family was known for. Helaena hummed quietly and quickly prayed to the gods that her brother would soon admit his attraction, for Helaena knew that your pride would not subject you to confess your feelings first. 

“Just because you do not understand or care for poetry does not mean they are a waste!” You exclaimed as Aemond picked another fight with you. You were peacefully seated in Helaena’s chambers, stroking your cat's fur mindlessly as Aemond’s own pet lay beside you. You were in no mood to fight with him and battle his views of poetry. “They are! They’re pointless. If you must say something, then say it— why must they dance around the matter? Why must they go on and on about something that could be said in one sentence? Cowards, the likes of them are!” You let out an exasperated sigh, making Aemond smirk at your annoyance. 

He finds you quite endearing at the state, which is why he often takes time out of his day just to annoy you. Relishing at the roll of your enchanting eyes, the sighs that leave your plump, pink lips, and the furrow between your perfectly arched brows. If he were lucky and had annoyed you to quite an extent, you’d stomp your foot like a spoiled child. Or simply wave him off with your pampered hand because you no longer had a word of defense. 

“Because they are poets! They do not wish to come to the answer and their intentions all at once— they create beauty with their words. They are capable of making subjects so dire be of great interest that they, in turn, create spectacles upon it!” You defended but Aemond only rolled his eye and shook his head, the former action he had gotten from you. Ever since you two were young, you would always roll your eyes when you found something disagreeable; Aemond would mock you for it— would mimic your actions in hopes of getting more from you. However, in time, he managed to adopt the same mannerisms. 

“Archmaester Sisco believed that poetry is of great danger,” he said, taking a goblet to his lips. Your eyes followed the way the ball on his throat booed as you waited for him to continue his thought.  “He says they mislead and are obscure and false— that poets are seducers of the mind,” He finished, noting the way your eyes were on his throat. Guessing you’d want to strangle him out of annoyance, Aemond was amused with the thought of you thinking about strangling him. 

“The Archmaester’s proclamation and thinking is old— irrelevant in our times. Even his student, Archmaester Aristedes, disagrees with his views on poetry. He reasons that it is not harmful— it is a form of expression! Cathartic to those who read and write it!”Aemond let another scoff of derision slip his lips, pushing your annoyance into frustrated anger. 

“You would not understand the beauty of poetry because you keep everything you feel inside you! You do not know what great relief it is to say or even write what you desire and hope for!” You exclaimed, and Aemond tensed in his seat. Silence surrounded the room as Aemond could not work out a response. You saw him fisting the arm of his chair, the knuckles of slender fingers turning pink from his tight grip. 

You sighed heavily, “What I meant is… I understand that you do not like poetry and find it pointless and a waste— but I don’t. I am not forcing poetry onto you, nor am I trying to change your views upon it. I enjoy and adore poetry— I just wish you would stop discouraging me from enjoying it. 

“Why do you enjoy it?” Aemond asked after a short while. You try to hide your surprise at his question. “Because… I find it romantic. For someone to take time to depict you with such beautiful imagery and flattering words, to love and admire you enough to dedicate a work of literature to your name… for me, it is the best way to express to someone how much you truly love them.” You could not look at Aemond as you said the words. In truth, a part of you felt silly because your love for poetry was only solidified because you loved a boy who you knew would not subject himself to create such works. When you read your favorite epics and songs, you would humor yourself and imagine it was Aemond who wrote it for you, knowing he would never do such a thing. 

Days passed since your and Aemond’s interaction and you noticed that you had scarcely seen his presence. You would pass by him whilst in training and join him and his kin for supper— but other than that, you could not feel a trace of his presence. He would usually join you and Helaena for tea or would suddenly appear by your side as you walked along the keep. He didn’t even pick fights or tease you anymore. Him growing more silent and reserved. Now you regret speaking— wishing you had just held your tongue and let him continue to disparage the sacred thoughts of poems and songs. 

It was high night, and you sat silently in your chambers, staring at the fire, trying to find ways to approach Aemond. Already missing his teasing presence— the only presence you would muster the patience to endure. 

You furrowed your brows as you heard shuffling at your door. Your eyes catch the shadow of a figure outside. You cautiously and quietly stood, going to your door only to see a piece of parchment being slipped at the slit of the wooden door. Your confession only grew. You quickly took the parchment and opened the door, revealing its sender. Three eyes went wide as you were met with Aemond, who blended in the dark. However, his silver hair shined in the light of the moon. “What are you doing?” You ask and turn to the parchment he had slipped. 

“Nothing— I… this—“ Aemond fumbled for words; you had never seen him in such a state. He was usually composed and stoic. You thought seeing him bashful and embarrassed was a nice gift from the gods. “What is this?” You ask and unfold the parchment. “No! Don’t—“ Aemond bit his tongue as it was too late to hinder you. Your eyes already consuming what was written. 

I’ve known you for half of my life yet; you consume the whole of it I’ve had you near and close to me yet, I only gaze from afar

I do not know how to proclaim I’m not certain how to say it without blame, but you, my beauty, are the cause of my desire and, most of the time, my ire

I know I pick countless squabbles, but I do it because I love to hear you babble about things I have no care for but you just simply adore

We disagree for many reasons, but I’d rather fight you through the seasons You, my beauty, so lovely and carefree my heart could not help but love you, most ardently 

Aemond watched you bite your lip as a wide smile started to spread. Aemond felt heat all over his body— anticipation did not sit well with him. He was ready to meet your laughs at his attempt to make you a poem. Ready to face rejection, but instead of the pessimistic thoughts in his mind, he was met with your sweet, pillowy lips. You were so excited and thrilled that you could not help but kiss him. Show him how you adored him as well. 

What was supposed to be a short and chaste kiss turned deep with passion. Lips dancing and refusing to part. You and Aemond stumbled to your bed, uncaring and ignorant of the teachings of the gods, for you and him had long surpassed your desires, and they could no longer be denied. They were ready to claim without thought of consequences because both of you knew that you’d happily take all punishment that would be presented if it meant neither of you had to stop your actions. 

“Gods, I want you,” You uttered as his lips traveled to kiss your soft cheeks, then trailed downward to the side of your neck. His hands were on your waist and threading dangerously close to your bosom. “Say it again,” Aemond almost begged. Savoring your scent, delighting at the way you feel against him. “I want you, Aemond. I’ve wanted you for years— you, only you.” You sighed as he left marks on your necks, earning quiet moans from you at the new sensation.  

Aemond let a low moan rumble as his cock painfully strained against his trousers, throbbing at your admittance of want for him. It was all he wanted. He thought his deepest desire in life was to have a dragon, but that was wrong. He desired you more than claiming a dragon— his deepest desire was to claim a lioness.

Aemond tangled his hair in your hair, finally letting his other hand move from your waist and cup your breast. Your hand, in turn, went to palm him through his trousers, watching as his jaw clenched and the ball of throat bobbed once more. “We… we must not lay until we are married,” Aemond said, voice pained and filled with impatience. Yet, he still did not move atop you; he kept his hold, but you relinquished yours. “We don’t have to,” You said, trying to push away your need for him to touch you. Aemond sighed and hurried his face in your neck, his lips and breath tickling your skin. “Then how…” Aemond trailed, and a thought passed your mind. “We must not touch each other….yet. However, I do not recall teaching forbidding us to touch ourselves,” You whisper, Aemond’s lilac eye flying to you, dark and filled with lust, mirroring yours. 

Aemond moved to remove his weight from you. You keep your eyes locked as you back away to the back of your bed, resting yourself on the pillows as Aemond kneels by the edge of your feathered bed, watching each move you make with his glazed, lone eye. 

You bit your lip harshly as your hand threaded a path that it threaded plenty of times, the thought you had as you did the actions now watching you. You slipped your hands, and you resisted moaning as your fingers brushed over the pearl of your cunt. Aemond admired the way your breasts peaked and traced through your silk nightgown. The way your eyes were hooded and how your plump lips finally parted and moaned his name. 

Aemond could no longer resist. Slipping his hand into his trousers just like he did every night, the image of you no longer in his mind but now sitting before him, calling out his name.“A-Aemond,” You stuttered as you felt the familiar cold within you. How desperately you wanted it to be, him to make you feel such a way. Aemond groaned and tilted his head to the heavens as he felt his cock twitch; he was quick to reach his peak; just the way you called for his name was enough for him to spill so quickly. 

Aemond closed the space between the two of you, each of your hands still pleasuring yourselves while lips met and wanted to be together when both of you reached your peaks. “You will be mine soon, my heart… mine to pleasure and please, all mine,” Aemond swore against your lips. You nod your head as you fasten your pace. “I’ve always been yours, Aemond.” You said truthfully, the final push for Aemond to come undone; you quickly followed as his moans spurred your peak. Aemond kissed your lips once more and boldly prayed for patience, patience, and restraint to not take you that night.

It was not enough for Aemond; pleasuring himself as he watched you pleasure yourself was not enough, but it had to be for now. Because when morning comes, he’ll demand that you shall be his, just as it ought to be.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

[misswynters]

Chance Meeting in Oldtown

Daeron Targaryen x reader

[WARNING: none

[word count: 561

[a/n: harry gilby fan casted as daeron since we have no daeron currently (pretend in the gif he has white hair)

[note | pls don’t just like, reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned

The bustling streets of oldtown were alive with the sounds and smells of the market. As the daughter of House Baratheon, you had visited many cities, but Oldtown's unique charm always drew you in. Today, you wandered through the maze of stalls, your curiosity piqued by the variety of goods and the stories behind them.

As you admired a delicate piece of jewelry at one of the stalls, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with a young man of striking Targaryen features: silver hair, violet eyes, and an air of quiet confidence. He smiled, a warm and genuine expression that immediately put you at ease.

"Admiring the crafts of Oldtown?" he asked, his voice smooth and melodic.

You returned his smile, nodding. "Yes, they're quite beautiful. The artisans here are very talented."

He extended a hand in greeting. "I am Daeron Targaryen. It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

You took his hand, a bit surprised by the informal introduction. "I am ____ Baratheon. The pleasure is mine, Prince Daeron.”

Daeron's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "What brings a Baratheon to Oldtown? Seeking knowledge at the Citadel, or perhaps just enjoying the sights?"

"A bit of both, actually," you replied. "I find the history and culture here fascinating. And what about you, My prince? What brings you to the market today?"

He laughed softly, a sound that was both charming and disarming. "Sometimes, it's nice to escape the confines of the keep and see the world through the eyes of its people. Plus, I have a fondness for exploring new places."

You found yourself drawn into conversation with him, his easygoing nature and genuine interest making the time pass quickly. As you walked together through the market, you shared stories of your respective houses, your hopes for the future, and your thoughts on the state of the realm.

At one point, Daeron paused at a stall selling rare books. He picked up a worn, leather-bound volume and handed it to you. "Here, a gift. This book contains some of the oldest legends of Westeros. I think you might enjoy it."

You accepted the book, touched by the gesture. "Thank you, Daeron. I will treasure it."

As the afternoon sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the city, Daeron turned to you with a thoughtful expression. "It has been a pleasure spending the day with you, ____ . I hope we can meet again."

You smiled, feeling a connection with the Targaryen prince that you hadn't expected. "I would like that very much, Daeron."

He took your hand once more, this time pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "Until we meet again, my lady."

As Daeron walked away, you couldn't help but watch him go, a sense of anticipation and curiosity filling your heart. The chance meeting in Oldtown had been brief, but it left you with the feeling that it was only the beginning of something significant.

࣪⠀⊹  ˑ  ִ  ֗  

Back in your chambers that evening, you opened the book Daeron had given you. As you turned the pages, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for you and the enigmatic prince you had met in the heart of Oldtown.

© misswynters ‘24 - don’t modify or steal my writings

[insidemyrottenbrain]

Henry gets jealous because you spend time with Richard

The risk of jealousy - TSH

Henry Marchbanks Winter x GN!Reader

Dearest anonymous, I hope you can forgive him and his denial of jealousy.

The sharp claw of jealousy finally scratches the untouchable Henry.

I’ve always been incredibly particular about whom I associate with. The people around me need to be worthy. Now, I am well aware that my choice of words may make me sound arrogant, so allow me to explain: I want them to have shared interests, to be able to hold late-night debates on esoteric topics, while giving me a sense of belonging and consequently not tiring me out socially. I do not ask for much, really. Alas, one cannot always get what one desires.

The little group of which I’m currently a part of is… pleasant. The twins regularly host dinners which are, of course, the birthplace of many fights and arguments regarding the most trivial subjects that usually end up with Henry winning. Francis unhesitatingly puts his aunt’s house at our disposal whenever desiderium naturae strikes us and amusingly complains about some disease or other the whole way there. I even consider some of Bunny’s jokes witty on the rare occasions when he stops being insufferable. Unfortunately, they all give me a shallow sense of belonging that only manages to make itself felt in transit moments. However, Henry is different. With him, I feel content reading in silence after a long day, waking up in the same bed, legs intertwined under the soft cotton sheets he insists on buying with Apolon tugging at our lazy eyelids or simply challenging one another’s knowledge on whatever topic interests us at a given moment. A continuous childlike rendez-vous.

I do not know why I have been so platonically attracted to Richard of late. When he first joined our Greek class, he did not strike me as someone who would manage to integrate his lowly self into our complexly layered group, or even more, someone who would enjoy my presence. He was and still is flawed and ordinary. However, this normality flowing through every habit, every movement, or expression is a strange refresh in an intangible web of meticulously tangled appearances and facades. Richard is not some ancient scholar buried in paradoxical ideals, Gods-praising rituals, and glorious beliefs, but a modern human. He is aware of the current world, unisolated, present, an active participant. Not only does he attend parties but he also drinks, kisses, and loves strangers. Though an exaggeration to the unknowing eye, he seems to me quite the Epicurean in a cult of Stoics (excluding Bunny).

Despite my writings above which one might foolishly mistake as praise on my part, I must now dive into Richard’s own tendency to fictitiousness. He throws, here and there, long, lavish fabrications (with the aid of which he becomes unconsciously arrogant) and slight inexactitudes he considers too small to pass unnoticed by the attentive ear. And according to my fate and against my trusted intuition, I found myself unable to stop listening whenever he started talking about his (fake) childhood in California filled with swimming pools and orange groves and dissolute, charming show-biz parents, teenage years with a new girlfriend every night, the newest dramas (if they truly do exist and are not yet other fictions) circling Hampden.

There is a quirk. I notice it now, when we’re all standing in the day room of Francis’, or rather his aunt’s, manor. Charles is playing the piano filling the room with gifts for ears, showing off as he always does, while Bunny comments on one rhythm or another, challenging him, fueling him further. Everything is normal, except for one detail that does not escape me. Henry grows more agitated with every single one of Richard’s grant histoires. Albeit, the so-called agitations are rather minuscule, but I pride myself in being able to distinguish them. A small frown, creasing his pale forehead just the right amount for it to disappear just as quickly and nonchalantly as it came, a constant rub of his hand against his limped leg, and a novel proneness to small physical gestures: touching knees, pressing shoulders, his hand on the small of my back or idly playing with my fingers. I settle on questioning him later since I know he will not show any truths of his mind in such large company. 

We share a room, since we stopped bothering to hide our relationship long ago from the others. Henry’s already in bed, his nose buried in a book, dressed in his pyjamas, his initials embroidered upon the left side of his chest; H.M.W. If I had been told years ago that I was to be sharing a bed or be in a relationship with the person I suffered the least, the one that I had to compete with in Julian’s classes, the one that knew how to push my buttons I would have died of agony. But now I’m content. I know of the infatuation rendering me blind. My life has become a continuous torture, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to live without him. Just like Zeus who vows to fulfil his promise with a single sacred nod of his head, so am I unable to change the basis of my passion. He is in all my plans. In all the joys the future holds. In the dead of night, in Julian’s lessons, in the summer by the lake, instead of my mind’s eye being fully focused on one specific task, it always switches without fail to him.

I lower myself onto the bed next to him. “You seemed troubled earlier, in the day room.” I ask casually an indirect question.

“You’ve been spending an awful time with Richard.” He responds swiftly, tonelessly, simply pointing out a fact. 

I consider my answer for a moment. “I suppose so.” I hum, just as my head hits the pillow. “Don’t you find him intriguing? He watches the news on television.”

“Intriguing?” He blurts out, closing his book and putting it on the bedside table. Clearly, I have his attention. He turns on his side to fully face me, his hair falling over his forehead and slightly over his glasses. “His intriguing part eludes me. You are wasting your time with him, listening to his rambles.” He says clearly irritated, not bothering to keep up his stoic facade. “I assure you, you would be much better spending your time wisely.”

I frown. This is unusual of him. “He is in our class, is he not? I cannot avoid him.”

“Of course not, that’s not what I am suggesting.” His eyebrows remain furrowed. “What I do mean is that he does not bring you any benefit.” He continues in a monotone. “Why must you listen to him with the same attention and interest as you listen to me?”

Ah, I see. Henry is jealous.

“Is this jealousy?” I ask attempting desperately to restrain the slight smile forming on my face. 

“You are mistaken.” He ‘corrects’ me sharply, raising his eyebrows.  “I am merely stating that I see no point in your interactions with Richard when you could gain much more from being in my presence.”

I raise a sceptical eyebrow. He acts as if I wouldn’t mourn his death in the same way Achilles mourned Patroclus’, with rage and violence.

Words are imperfect communication devices, so I pull him down by the back of his neck and press my lips against his in a pleasant normality. I feel him slightly relax against me, his hand resting on my neck.

“Henry,” I mumble as we part, forcefully stretching our souls apart. I remove his glasses and place them down next to us and his forehead naturally falls against mine “you know better than to have such doubts.”

“I do.” He mumbles back, not bothering to deny his feelings anymore. “However, it proves to be quite difficult to not have them when-” He stops considering his words. “When you plague me so. There is no day or night in which your existence takes mercy on me and does not destroy the little rationality I have left.” He lowers himself down on the bed next to me. “You inexplicably and absurdly manage to be and eradicate my sanity.” He sighs. “And it certainly does not help when you look at Richard with the same eyes you look at me.” Henry mutters.

My hand finds his and I chuckle. “I’d argue I look at him with entirely different eyes.” At my comment, Henry raises an amused eyebrow. “Perhaps you’ll stop seeing shadows where there are none.”

That is all he needs to defeat his insomnia in my arms once again and to fall prey to sleep’s vicious grasp his body indistinguishable from mine under the sheets, sharing one breath.

[branwinged]

jonelias is incredibly thematically compelling to me because of their character trajectories. like it starts out as twisted nbc hannibal season 1 psychological horror "you wouldn't put a guy in situations" wherein elias runs his lab rat i mean jon through the archivist trauma punch card machine ("wind him up and watch him go") and every day is tortured gothic horror protagonist day for him but he doesn't quite get it yet. and then season 3 happens and jon's a little further in the beholding's grasp and he's experiencing physiological changes which only elias understands and now we're in vampirism metaphor territory, he turned you into a monster but he's the only one who will offer you the absolution you seek! ("elias, am i still human?") murderer mentor maker!!! and you hate him you HATE him but *will graham voice* where else would i go?

and then season 4 happens and audio recording by jonathan sims, the Archivist. point of no return. he's extracting statements. he's feeding. he's unwittingly channelling elias ("you just need... a break.") he's scaring everyone at the institute, but doesn't it feel a tiny bit good after having been powerless and at the mercy of all these other avatars for so long? and even then the only person in the whole world he can turn to for advise is elias because they're alike. they're mirrors. they were similar even before the beholding had its hold on jon, because to be avatars of the eye is to hold a shared, unabating curiosity for knowledge and both of them sought it out to protect themselves from the fears. why else would jon end up at the magnus institute if not for a guest for mr spider.

then there's the panopticon reveal and turns out jon was trapped in a bluebeard narrative all along! but bluebeard's just won. jon took the key and opened the door and found his secret but he's not simply another victim, being bluebeard's final wife means narratively distinguishing yourself from the ones that came before and he does. he's the special one, he's the archive. and jonah/elias says he did everything to free himself from pain and death forever, to free them both from it all forever. and he says "don't worry, jon. you'll get used to it here. in the world that we have made."

and then. power dynamic reversal‼️now season 5 fumbled this badly but listen. the monster you created is coming down to hunt you for sport. the thing you created to escape annihilation is also the very thing that can end you at any given moment. "behold a god more powerful than i who comes to rule over me." and then it's "suffer for me, as i suffered for you." and eventually they play out some equivalent of tackling each other off a cliff hannigram style. or dead ringers 1988. because they're doubles they're mirrors they're shadow selves they're the watcher and the archivist. conjoined. and one cannot exist without the other :)

[10yrratiolover]

giving my thoughts and ideas on Ratio's character stories

I wouldn't call this much of an analysis but we'll see how it goes

Starting out with his first character story, most of it is Professor Rond's recommendation letter.

I'd like to start by sharing my thoughts about Ratio and Rond first before actually getting into dissecting the letter itself.

So, firstly, I'd like to mention that (to my knowledge) we have never heard of or from Ratio's parents. I find that ironic considering what a big shot he is, I doubt that his parents would ever willingly shut up about their son.

Reading that Rond had a 'significant influence on Ratio's upbringing' particularly stands out to me because, at least at the time of the original letter being written, Ratio was in secondary school (Grade 9-12, though some of the wording in the letter lead me to believe he was likely on the lower end of that range).

Now, a high school teacher having a 'significant influence' on someone's upbringing isn't necessarily uncommon, nor are old teachers proud of their past students becoming extremely successful. However these points, alongside the fact that Ratio's parents are nowhere to be seen in canon, lead me to believe that there was some sort of familial relationship between them, especially seeing Rond's reaction to being asked about Ratio as well as how he had kept the original letter.

Moving on to the actual letter.

Grade skipping is a pretty common practice where I'm from, as it allows learning at the appropriate/needed level (ignoring the fact that the school system is in shambles).

However, the way this is phrased is as if Rond were trying to convince him to be able to skip grades. If he were in grade 11 or 12 I feel like it would not have been phrased this way, which is what leads me to believe he was likely younger, possibly fresh out of middle school.

The highlight on creativity is just because it makes me smile honestly, also it ties into one of my earlier posts about how I think Ratio would adore the subject of art.

I would like to return to my point of Rond being a potential parental figure to Ratio, seeing as he seems to know his daily routine well enough to confidently write about it in his letter of recommendation.

On to his second character story, which is mostly online posts in a thread-like format.

It wasn't until his eighth doctoral degree that he was awarded with First Class Honors, also since he is the first person to receive such in two amber eras it means he was likely the only one on stage at that time.

It also states that at the time he was already a prominent figure in society, which doesn't surprise me given the accomplishments listed by Rond in the letter despite him being in high school at the time it was written. However, he would most likely be an adult by the time he finished his eighth doctorate.

No real comment on this I found it funny that they put etc instead of continuing to list fields.

I also just find these funny and wanted to share them, but the disagreement on the last comment shows how much people admire him. I feel like that's a topic that's rather watered down in the fandom, but people genuinely admire Ratio a lot and there's plenty of reason for them to.

full-time university teachers tend to teach about 5 courses per academic year, meaning Ratio has been teaching for about 10 years.

Moving onto the third story, which is a statement from a former assistant of his about his desire to join the genius society.

I find this to be an interesting point, it seems like joining the Genius Society would be an obvious next step for a man with so many accomplishments but it's stated not once, but twice that he has never spoken about the subject (to the public at least).

I am a believer in the theory that Ratio hasn't been allowed into the Genius Society due to his humanity/compassion and his desire to spread knowledge to everyone, and I feel like this specification that he's never spoken about the topic could add to this theory.

This paragraph never fails to break my heart, but I do want to talk about the mention of an anti-planetary weapon. I feel like this Anti-planetary weapon that he spent years perfecting was a final attempt at proving to Nous that he wasn't too compassionate or too humane to receive their gaze. I remember reading about this idea more in detail elsewhere and if I can find the analyzation then I'll link it here.

Also, I feel like deep down he always knew that he wouldn't be accepted into the Genius Society, but this day, as Margaret states, was the day he finally realized it, or, fully swallowed that pill.

I find these comments to be interesting as well since they specify the narrow-mindedness of the society however, there is this comment from the Data Bank;

This comment I admittedly stumbled across when looking for something else, but I feel like it perfectly encapsulates Ratio's entire dilemma with the Genius Society, maybe not to Ratio himself but it certainly applies to everyone who comments on his achievements being worthy of Nous' approval.

I am also quite curious about who exactly wrote the 'Decoding Dr. Ratio' that we have read from in all of his character stories. They seem to have a lot of connections for someone who would typically be seen as just another paparazzi or media interviewer, I'm surprised the people listed in his stories would agree to an interview.

Onto his final story, which is about his personality and methods of sharing knowledge.

I mentioned this comment in my character notes post but I find it extremely charming that Ratio remains the same and refuses to change himself or his personality to satisfy those around him.

It is also commented in his second character story by a previous professor of his that his honesty and straightforwardness were a 'Breath of fresh air' at the University.

I love the implication that either; nobody in the entire room had any questions (unlikely), or that they were simply too scared to ask them.

I also find the comment that 'Whenever someone agrees with me, I feel like I must be wrong.' Perhaps he's gotten used to being the only one thinking the way he is or the possibility that people only agree with him so they sound intelligent themselves and weren't truly listening or understanding.

I find these comments interesting as well, a majority of the fandom mischaracterizes Ratio as mean or rude although he literally explains his viewpoints where anyone can access it (which does honestly prove his point about how knowledge is not for everyone.)

[otomiyaa]

Funny

Venom x Eddie

[Fic Reupload] - Venom fic reupload to celebrate the 3rd movie which I'll see tomorrow. This fic is originally from 2018.

Summary: Venom and Eddie discover that Venom feels good whenever Eddie is being tickled. Life was definitely easier before they shared this knowledge. (Also on AO3)

Word Count: 1.9K

“Thanks for today,” Eddie said to Anne who had given him a ride home after a friendly drink at the bar. 

“Pleasure’s mine. I’m glad you’re doing better again. But one more thing I’ve been wanting to ask,” Anne said, leaning her hand on the wheel as she turned towards him, and she looked him up and down as if she was checking him out.

“She’s going to ask us out, Eddie. It’s going to happen.” Eddie had trouble keeping a pokerface as he tried to ignore Venom’s voice. 

“...Are you even eating at all? I am concerned,” Anne finished.

“Too bad. But yeh, we are eating. Right Eddie? We are eating a lot of ー”

“Look at you! So thin!” Anne cried out in surprise, and Eddie jumped when she suddenly grabbed his side.

“Here! Are these your ribs?” She asked after clawing up his side and now she dug in to feel his ribs as a confirmation of his skinny body. 

“Whoho! Anne, you know I’m ー”

“What, still ticklish? Come on,” the sneaky blonde sighed, and she leaned towards him and tickled him teasingly with both hands.

“No! Sto-stohop! Hey!” Eddie laughed.

“What is going on.” A certain monster in his head sounded confused, but Eddie was now busy prying his ex’s fingers off his body, and he wheezed when she finally backed off.

“Feed yourself, Eddie. See you soon.” Eddie nodded, muttered a “you too”, and quickly stepped out of the car, still a little bit flustered. Not because of Anne tickling him, heck, that was just good old times. Just because it happened now that Venom was here, and eh, well yeah.

“What was that? You were acting strange.” There it was already, and Eddie sighed and rolled his eyes as he entered his apartment. 

“Ticklish, T-I-C-K-L-I-S-H, ticklish, a human can feel funny if touched in a certain way. There. Done. Got it?” 

He would’ve rather skipped the explanation, but there was some other time when Venom was curious about something (something sexual about the human body) and he had bugged Eddie in the worst ways a symbiote can bug a person to finally spill the beans, which he was holding back oh so badly. 

Eddie still got shivers from the memory of doing the sex-talk to the monster inside him. For Venom forcing him to demonstrate and- never mind. He had never experienced something so awkward. At least since that time, anything sexual was completely normal in his life again- since Venom showed up. 

But tickling... He hoped he’d never have to get used to that. 

“Ticklish,” Venom repeated, sounding weird and maybe a tiiiny bit cute in that monstrous voice. 

“Not painful?” he added.

“No, not painful. Just weird. Funny. Yeah funny, it’s like a funny feeling that forces a human to, well yeah, laugh. Don’t you ever feel funny, V?” Eddie asked.

“I felt funny.” Eddie frowned, leaning against his fridge from which he just took a beer and some snacks.

“When?” he asked.

“Just now.” Eddie kept his frown.

“You mean.. When Anne tickled me? You were affected?” he asked. Venom then decided to come out, and Eddie watched him tower over him before he finally lowered himself at eye height.

“Rather than funny... It felt nice. I want to feel it again.” Eddie smirked and shook his head at him, and he put his beer and snacks aside.

“What, you want me to tickle you?” Eddie wiggled his finger at Venom and raised his eyebrows when said monster did not back down. Apparently the feeling was nice enough for Venom to act like a dog awaiting petting. 

“Go ahead. But I don’t think it works that way.”

Eddie was confused, but he still did it. As weird as it felt, he scratched Venom’s skin experimentally. Venom watched him with those bright eyes, flashing his sharp teeth in some sort of smug smile but not because of the tickling.

“Feeling anything yet?” Eddie asked. Venom shook his head. Too bad. 

“No. See, I told you it wouldn’t work. I think I feel nice when you feel... ticklish.” Eddie laughed at that and shook his head.

“Ohoho well in that case, too bad for you V. Not happening.” He turned back to grab his beer, but Venom circled around him, blocking his way. A certain fanged grin told him this is happening, and Eddie could barely try to escape before Venom snaked an inky tentacle around his middle, keeping him in place.

“Now let’s see. How did this ticklish thing workー”

“Tickling. And let go, V, this isn’tー ahah- hey! Nooo!” Eddie cried as Venom began to drag his claws down his sides, careful enough not to hurt him. Eddie tensed up and squeezed his eyes shut. He heard Venom’s low chuckling, sending chills down his spine.

“You look funny.” 

“Feel funny too, listen, if you don’t let me go now, I won’t buy you any chocolate andー EHEeeh w-wait! No!” Eddie squirmed and began to panic as Venom slowly began to discover how tickling exactly worked, and he cursed himself, Anne, Venom and the entire world for this embarrassing situation.

“Making threats huh. Is this all... that bad?” Venom’s clawy fingers began to wiggle. Prodding into Eddie’s shirt-covered torso, curiously seeking reactions, and Eddie twitched and squirmed in his grip.

“GAHa! Nonono V, I’m warning y-haha!” Venom grinned in satisfaction.

“There it is, the tingly feeling. This feels nice.” Eddie kept his eyes squeezed shut again and he kicked and struggled against the invading tickles. His arms continued to flail and swing in order to defend himself, but did nothing but make Venom more teasy and playful.

This was out of this world. Venom was feeling good from him being tickled. This was just all sorts of wrong, and he felt how his struggling and kicking tired him out as more laughter kept flowing out of him.

“You are moving so much. Let me help you.” Eddie’s eyes shot open and widened when a second tentacle joined the game, wrapping around his wrists and stretching him out for the tickle-hungry monster right in front of him.

“NO! D-dohohon’t you dare- ahhaha! Not helping!” There was no weirder display than this twisted situation in his kitchen. Venom was going all out, finding more and more ways to make him howl with laughter, to make it feel as if his body was bursting from all these sensations.

Venom’s claws pushed up his shirt and drove Eddie mad by how they traced lightly over his bare skin.

“NHAHA- Venohohom! Please no, aaahaha!” Venom made a hilarious purring sound, but did not stop the tickling.

“Sorry Eddie. I am intrigued. By this feeling. And by your.. singing and dancing.” Eddie shook his head, tears dripping on his cheeks, and he tried to gather his breath.

“NAhahat-dancii- aahaha wait no not thehehere! Veehehe!” He started to thrash around especially when Venom got to his armpits, and he felt him scribble the skin light enough not to leave scratches, but bad enough to tickle the living daylights out of him.

He was shaking his head so frantically that the tickle monster with him in its clutches suddenly slithered out his tongue, wrapping it around his neck tightly enough to keep his head in place. The tip of his tongue flicked against his neck, adding more ticklish sensations to the overwhelming experience.

“You’re kihihiilling meeehehe! Stahahap!” Venom cocked his head but didn’t stop.

“We are both feeling good though.” That damn monster should learn to speak for himself. Eddie kicked his legs, but Venom’s tentacle holding onto his middle slid down to hold onto his legs, so now he was really stretched before him like some piece of meat ready to be eaten.

“Nohohot meee! S-stop thihis instaaaant!” Eddie’s shame for his laughter was long gone by now. All he could worry about was the next level of shame: if Venom would tickle him to the point of wetting his pants, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself and this damn monster.

“I’ll f-fuhuhuckin pee!” Venom glanced down at his crotch and back up.

“That can happen?” Eddie hated him for sounding like a child who was excited to find out if he really could. 

“I s-swear, you don’t wanna find out,” Eddie wheezed. Venom had stopped the tickling by now, so this was his chance to negotiate. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie sighed. He couldn’t believe this beast.

“No! I told you to stop many times! I am not okay. Let go of me,” he demanded. Venom stared at him for a long time and then finally released him. Eddie slumped onto the floor and he felt Venom re-enter him. It was over. 

“You were feeling funny. And I was feeling good. I don’t see a problem.” Eddie rolled his eyes and laughed in disbelief.

“Feeling funny must’ve been my worst description of tickling. It’s like torture.”

“But you were laughing. You seemed happy, even though you were begging like a baby.”  

“Yes, I was laughing. It’s a reflex. But just because it makes you feel good, you can’t just go and restrain me and...” 

“Tickle you.” At least he had learned how to use the verb.

“Yes. You can’t do that, it’ll kill me. I am too ticklish. I am making this a new rule. No tickling,” he said. Venom was quiet for a moment.

“But it feels even better than when we jerk oー”

“Venom. You can’t tickle me anymore. It’s bad for me, my body, my dignity.” 

“Which dignity?” That little...

“If you won’t let me tickle you at all, I’m afraid we might go on a nightly tour tonight. Those horses last time were delicious.” Eddie closed his eyes dramatically. This negotiation was going the wrong way. 

He had made his point clear to Venom how he hated waking up in his bed, bare feet cold, bruised and dirty, and his shirt and bed sheets soaked with blood. Blood that seemingly came from poor defenseless horses that Venom had decided to snack on that night while he was in a deep sleep.

“...Once a week. And no longer than you did just now,” Eddie finally said, knowing that Venom had even worse things to blackmail him with, so he’d better get this over with soon.

“I was thinking once a day. Eating is also a daily necessity.”

“V, you tickle me for your own pleasure. That’s entirely different. Fine then, two days a week. And only in my apartment, don’t you dare pull that trick outside.”

“Five days? You do think of your own pleasure every night, Eddie. Why are youー”

“Three days, that’s my final offer,” Eddie interrupted Venom impatiently. 

“Deal.” Eddie couldn’t believe it. And so it was a fact that they made a deal that Venom would get the right to tickle him every other day, inside his apartment, and Eddie had pushed onto using ‘parasyte’ as his safeword, and Venom had added the condition that Eddie “shouldn’t be a pussy and exaggerate,” for he survived the tickling just now as well, and his body seemed juuust fine.

And so, as life with Venom grew a little easier every day, it also got harder every day, and Eddie had no idea how he was going to deal with getting tickled to death everytime for Venom’s own pleasure, but oh well, there were worse things. Just like he had to learn to live with a symbiote inside him, he’d also have to learn to live with this. How funny. 

[osmanthus-wine-addiction]

02 Jealousy

Zhongli x Reader / SFW but suggestive at the end / Mentions of Childe / Set at the beginning of the Liyue archon quest / Reader is unaware that Zhongli is the Geo Archon

"My dear, is something on your mind?"

Perceptive as he was, Zhongli couldn't figure out what it was that was upsetting you. That pout on your lips had been plastered there for a while now and as many times as he had questioned you if anything was bothering you, you simply brushed it off.

"I'm fine." You were, or so you thought you should be.

Zhongli was a bit of an attention magnet, which was not surprising with the meticulous way he dressed, his exceptional knowledge, and the way he carried himself. He delighted in it, smiling and going about his day as if he were simply soaking in sunlight. You often found the consultant lost in long-winded conversations with random people on the streets. While you found the person's advances a bit pushy, Zhongli didn't seem to think much of it.

Suspicions prickled underneath your skin when Zhongli mentioned that the individual had paid him yet another visit at the funeral parlor, this time insisting on taking him out to dinner. Zhongli was certainly not giving the eyesore any reason to stop encroaching by entertaining their whims. There was definitely something going on between them, outside of whatever business dealings the funeral parlor had with the Fatui. The more you thought about it, the surer you became.

Zhongli could tell something was amiss with you. Perhaps you were worried for him, maybe even a little bit possessive of him. It was a silly sentiment to have when he was so devoted to you.

"Darling, please tell me what is bothering you. It worries me that it may be my doing." He asks yet again one afternoon.

The way he tenderly gazes at you should assure you enough that there was no space in his heart for another person. Every time he calls you his dear, his sweetheart, or darling, you can hear the sincerity spilling over in his voice. It'd be cruel of you to keep him guessing, wouldn't it?

"You know that pair of chopsticks you got Childe when he arrived in Liyue? The dragon and phoenix one..." You brought up something that seemed irrelevant save for the person mentioned.

"Oh, yes. I remember them well. Their craftsmanship was quite exceptional." His eyes lit up the way they always did when he speaks about a particularly striking find he happens upon during his strolls through the city. "I gifted them to him as a gesture of welcome since he was learning to use them."

"I think he misunderstood your intentions."

Being the most learned person in Liyue regarding its traditions and customs, Zhongli didn't need to be reminded exactly what kind of intentions you were alluding to. The consultant's brows immediately furrowed in contemplation.

"While I do see how such a gift could be interpreted in other ways, I am certain that they don't apply to our particular circumstances."

"You gave him something that lovers give each other to pledge their love! Aren't you going to explain yourself?" You pouted, crossing your arms.

The consultant gave you an aggrieved yet amused look. "Traditionally, the dragon and phoenix symbolizes harmony and prosperity, something both Liyue and Snezhnaya hopes to achieve through steady trade. While it's most commonly given between couples, it may also be given to a friend or business partner to convey longevity."

Zhongli's reasoning was sound, however you refused to be convinced. You shook your head in frustration. "Don't you see? He's coming onto you too strongly for someone who just wants a diplomatic relationship!"

You couldn't just outright tell him to keep his distance from the Fatui harbinger since they were business acquaintances. Liyue harbor has its fair share of flirtatious people, the shopkeeper at Scent of Spring for one, but there was just something about the redhead in particular that unsettled you. The way Zhongli unabashedly spends his money also left much for you to think about. It wasn't all that different from the way Director Hu allowed him to leave tabs under the funeral parlor's name, but he wasn't as close to the Fatui harbinger as he was with Hutao. There was just something off about the dynamic between Childe and Zhongli. It didn't sit well with you at all.

"Either he has a thing for you or he's up to something. I'm sure of it."

The consultant stifled a chuckle. He was beginning to piece together the reason for your strange behavior lately. "Dear, I assure you that he is not interested in me in that way. Even if he were, I only have eyes for you."

"So you're just going to let him keep chasing you?" You frowned. "You know, I can spoil you too."

"Hm.... Where is this competitiveness of yours coming from?" Zhongli mused.

"Isn't that why you're giving him so much of your time? Because he's opening his wallet for you?" You pointed out. That redhead was hogging too much of your lover's time. You wanted it back.

"The Fatui have agreed to pay for Rex Lapis's Rite of Parting. I've been given a considerable sum to purchase all the necessities for the rites and to cover any expenses arising from the preparations, with the remaining funds to keep. So yes, if you must put it that way, he is indeed giving me his wallet to spend as I please."

"I might not be the Northland Bank, but I can buy you nice things too."

"I'm sure you can, my sweet." Zhongli stroked your cheek, distracting you momentarily. "I may only be a mere funeral consultant, but I too find it rewarding to spoil the one I treasure in pleasantries. If the Northland Bank wishes to further subsidize my spending, I shall not decline if it will allow me to do so."

"I don't know if I like the idea of my lover having a sugar daddy." You tried to keep a straight face as you said this.

"A sugar... daddy?" Zhongli's brow went up again. He understood the two words but put together, they obviously meant something he was not yet exposed to.

"A sponsor, but you have to entertain them romantically."

"I have no intentions of entertaining anyone but you in that sense." Zhongli chuckled as leaned in close, breath tickling your skin.

You begrudgingly accepted his kiss and his carefully placed touches.

"I want a pair too." You panted when his lips finally parted from yours.

"Very well. I will pay the shop a visit tomorrow morning to ensure a new pair of chopsticks will be made ready in time for your birthday. I will make a reservation at the Liuli Pavillion as well. If there is anything else I need to do to put your frustrations behind you, pray tell. I cannot stand that constant pout on your face." Zhongli grumbled, but it only made you giggle uncontrollably with the way he was nuzzling your neck while he spoke.

"Spoil me good tonight and maybe I'll consider letting you off the hook." You challenged.

"You test me."

Zhongli hummed in satisfaction, wasting no time in scooping you up in his arms and whisking you away to your bedroom amidst your feigned protests. If anything good came out of your pouting, it was his willingness to please. The consultant was on his knees, doing everything in his power to get back in your good graces.

[luvinescent]

Mismatched Hearts

Pairing: Robb Stark x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N and Robb have been friends since childhood; the two harboring feelings for one another without the others’ knowledge. When Robb’s mother makes the choice to meddle in his love life by constructing an engagement between the two—Robb is left with guilt at the belief that he has trapped her in an unwanted marriage with him because of his status. Neither one choosing to confess their feelings or address the situation; they do more harm than good towards their friendship and future marriage.

Warnings: angst angst but fluff but angst but fluff yk

Word count: 5996

Part 2/2

Previous

The scent of roasted baby pig filled the dining room, along with the various dishes that had been laid out by the servants. Presently, a family dinner was being held between the Starks and the Y/Ns. Eddard had sought out Y/Ns father; inviting the family to their household to bond with one another. The table setting was situated with Eddard at the head of the table, his wife beside him, Robb beside her, and the rest of the Stark children (minus Jon, per Catelyn’s request). Y/N’s father sat on the other side of Eddard, her mother next to him, herself beside them, and her younger sibling sitting at the end. From her position, she sat right across from Robb. While jokes and talk was being shared between the parents, and laughter between the younger siblings; Y/N and Robb hadn’t even shared a glance at each other. Sansa was the first to crack Y/N to speak, asking her on what color she had decided for her dress.

“Oh, I haven’t even thought about that kind of stuff yet…” Y/N extended, “I guess white for traditions…maybe gold”, she answered, smiling at the young girl. Digging into her meal, Sansa scrunched up her face in enthusiasm, “I’m so excited! Soon we’ll be sisters!” Robb had let his eyes linger up from his dish and land upon Y/n as she laughed, watching Sansa and Arya now argue about “You already have a sister!” and “Well, not a good one!”. He took in her beauty, memorized by the sound of her laughter and the way she held a kind of glow in her eyes. Sensing someone was watching her, Y/N turned her head; her laughter stopped abruptly as she made eye contact with him. The two shared a long glance until it felt all too much, and they both looked back down at their plates. Both blushing immensely.

Y/N’s father patted his belly, letting out a grunt of satisfaction, “That meal was heavenly, Ed. I cannot begin to thank you for inviting my family and I into your home”, he said with her mother nodding along. Catelyn waved her hand in the air, replying in her husband’s place, “Nonsense. We are to be family soon, so a dinner is expected. I hope you saved room for dessert.” At the mention, servants began to enter the room with plates containing slices of lemon cake. Once given to each person at the table, everyone began to dig in; except for two people. Y/N stared at her slice while Robb observed her. Noticing her untouched piece, Eddard questioned the girl, “Lady Y/N, you have no appetite left in you? Or are you participating in the practice that ladies do of cutting sweets off to lose weight for your wedding?”. Y/N cringed at the comment in displeasure, but hid it behind a smile, “No, my lord. I am just not fond of sweets- “

“She hates lemon cake”, Robb announced to the table. Picking up her plate, and his, he called a servant over, “Take this back to the kitchen. Bring the lady a slice of strawberry cake instead”. The servant nodded and scurried away. Sitting back down in his seat, Robb chose to ignore all the stares that were put on him and focused his attention on only one person: Y/N. She nodded at Robb and spoke a very gently, “Thank you”. Their mothers gave each other a knowing glance as they watched their children interact. Robb cleared his throat and returned her nod, “It is alright. It would not be fair for everyone to be enjoying dessert and for you not”. The servant returned into the room, handing Robb his plate and Y/N hers. Before she could grab it, Robb took the plate from her and replaced it with his; their fingers gently brushing one another’s. “Here,” he pulled back his hand quickly as he set the plate down, “this one is a larger slice”. She thanked him once again as he continued his talk, “I know how much you enjoy your sweets”.

There was a hint of mischief in his voice that only she could hear. Y/N understood his little inside joke; referring to all those times when they would steal the baked goods from the kitchen. At their small age, it was an intense mission of trying not to get caught that involved a lot of running and tripping on their feet. In the end, they would still get caught as all Lady Catelyn had to do was follow the trail of dropped biscuits. Y/N smiled fondly at the memory and let out a small giggle; which she felt embarrassed for as now all the attention was turned on her. “Sorry,” she apologized as she must’ve looked crazy for laughing out of nowhere, “Yes. I do enjoy my sweets very much”. Robb grinned, feeling happy that she was able to notice his jest.

Smiling while staring at the two, Y/N’s father interrupted their moment, “I must thank you son. You two are not married yet and you are already acting like an attentive husband. I can rest easy knowing my daughter shall be in good hands”. Robb smiled and nodded at his words but hidden behind him were his anxious thoughts that were returning once again.

Good hands? he thought, you mean the hands that have confined her.

Eddard raised his glass of wine, with everyone else following through, “To a happy marriage and alliance”. Some moments later, after everyone had finished their dessert and wine, people began to stand and leave. Robb made quick work of heading straight towards the door but was interrupted by Y/N wrapping her hand around his forearm.

“Robb, can we please talk- “

“I’m sorry my lady but I must go”. And with that, once again, Robb left—leaving her standing there by herself.

Since their last encounter in the dining hall, several days had transpired and not a word had been spoken between Robb and Y/N. At first, Y/N sought out Robb several times, but the male had refused her advances or hidden from her. After that, Y/N was fed up and gave him similar treatment; ignoring his presence when she passed him down the halls on her way to see his sisters and not greeting him when she saw him with Jon.

“Jon. Lovely day we’re having today.” She smiled warmly at the boy, disregarding the other who stood tall right next to him. “It is quite a lovely day, my lady”, Jon spoke, “Where are you heading off to?”. Nodding, she turned her head in the direction of the great keep, “Lady Stark has been giving me lessons on- “, ever so quickly, her eyes had darted over to Robb before returning back to his brother, “-being Lady of Winterfell. I, uh, I should get going. I’ll see you later”. And with that, she picked up the skirts of her dress and left their company. She was a few steps away when the Greyjoy boy came into view, “Theon. Hope you have a good day” and she was gone. Theon was given little time to process the greeting, returning a stuttering “Y-You t-too, my l-lady!”. Walking up to the two brothers, his eyes were bulging in disbelief, “I must have hit my head or something! That’s the first time I ever heard her call me by my first name. A lovely sound it was for my name to come out her mo- “

“Do not go all lovesick. Her hand is spoken for” Robb said annoyed with a hint of anger in his voice. Jon was also quick to notice the jealous tone that was hidden in there. He cleared his throat, staring around the castle yard, “Her hand is spoken for, you say? Yet you two have not spoken a word to one another in days”. Robb’s head turned quick and a glare was delivered to Jon that made even him slightly quiver, “Mind your business, Snow”. A stare down between the two was in motion, several seconds of pure silence gone by. Theon, still not good at reading the room, threw in his two cents and slightly laughed “You two still aren’t talking? Sounds like her hand is up for grabs to me. Maybe I should go find the lady right now and convince- “. Theon had no time to finish his banter as he found himself on the ground, in mud, having been pushed by Robb. And hard.

“Ow! You prick! I was only joking!” he exclaimed.

“Joke or not, remove such thoughts from that head of yours. As if I would ever let Y/N go with the likes of you”, Robb glared down at him fiercely.

Jon pushed his brother aside to help the Greyjoy boy to his feet, both frowning at the Stark heir. Theon grumbled in irritation, “Yeah, yeah, fine. Now look at me—I got mud all over me!”. Jon rolled his eyes, taking out the piece of cloth he has kept on him for the past weeks now, “Stop wining like a baby and use this”. Before Theon could take the item, it was confiscated by Robb. “Oh, what?! Am I not allowed to get this shit off me?!”, Theon expressed.

Staring down at the handkerchief, Robb recognized the coloring as well as the sewing of a badly stitched direwolf. “Where did you get this?” he questioned, fixating his eyes on Jon.

Jon sighed at the sight of Robb, “She gave it to me. Said to burn it but I didn’t have the heart to do it”. Robb stared down at what originally had belonged to him but had given up because of his insecurities. Ever so carefully, he caressed the fabric, turning it around and now noticing the small stitched initials in the corner. The first initial was sewed perfectly, while the second looked as though a mistake was made or a new thought had been formed. Robb knew right away that Y/N had originally sought to sew her last name initial, but changed her mind and replaced it with an S instead.

First/Initial S.

Y/N Stark.

Not being able to handle his feelings, Robb left in a hurry, taking the handkerchief with him. Jon watched as Robb left; it felt like he was seeing more of Robb’s back than he was of him entirely these days. To Jon, maybe this could finally be what can reconnect Y/N and Robb again. His thoughts were interrupted, eyes rolling as Theon yelled beside him “Hey, where you going?! While you’re at it, bring me back something to clean myself with, you cunt!”

Finding her was never hard for Robb. Once he spotted her, walking alone down the halls, he quickly jogged up to her. “My lady,” he called out but she chose to ignore him and his repeated addresses. “My lady,” he tried once more as he finally caught up to her, standing right behind her, “Y/N”. With that, she turned ever slowly to face the oldest Stark child, hand clasped in front of her, “Yes, my lord?”. He chewed on his bottom lip and vexedly looked around, “You know I am not a Lord until my father passes down his title. Call me by my first name”. Laughing bitterly, she placed her hands upon her hips, “I can do many things —call you many things. But I just won’t do that”. He stared deeply into her eyes before pulling out his handkerchief, “Was this one of the many things you can do?”. She gaped at his palm, looking back at him in furry, “Where did you get that? How did you get that?”.

He answered her question straightforwardly, “Jon had it—said you gave it to him” he raised the cloth to show her initials, “Never mind that. Explain why you put this here”.

Angrily, she took the handkerchief out of his grasp and held it tightly against her chest, “I gave it to Jon because you said, and I quote, “I never asked you to do this and I don’t need this”, she said doing her best to deepen her voice to impersonate Robb. Before Robb could cut in, she continued “And I put that there because I wanted to give you that gift not as a friend, but as your wife. When we were to be married, I thought the best first gift I could possibly give you was my time and effort. As if any of that matters now”.

Robb locked eyes with her as he fully took in her revelations. A part of him felt jubilation that she never felt obligated to make him his gift but instead did it out of her own accord. The other part pf him felt deep anger towards himself for how he acted towards her. Taking a step closer, Robb conveyed, “What do you mean it doesn’t matter- “. Robb stopped talking abruptly as he fully took in her previous speech.

“What do you mean by when we were to be married?”.

Swallowing harshly, Y/N sheepishly looked away; not having the strength in her to look him in the eyes. “You were bound to find out by the end of the day,” she cleared her throat once more, “I spoke with my parents yesterday and I came here to speak with yours today. They agreed with my outlook on the matter and our engagement has been suspended”. Robb felt all the oxygen in him get knocked out by the words she spoke. He tried to keep his composure, but his labored breathing was something he could not control. Anguished, he mumbled “You had no right. What about my say on the matter?”

His question made Y/N turn her head rapidly and gawk at him in shock. That shock then turned to anger with her own heartbreak mixed in. Jabbing a finger in his chest, she gritted her teeth and hissed, “You’re say on the matter?!” she sucked in a breath, “I did this for you. You! All you! A little thank you would be appreciated”. Grasping her hand in his, he held it tightly as he held her fury faze, “For me?! I never asked you to do this!”

Scoffing, she pulled her hand back and slightly pushed him, “Well, it sure felt like I had too! You hardly look at me anymore, hardly speak to me or spend time with me- “, her voice cracked immensely as Robb took notice of the tears forming in her eyes, “Was the thought of marrying me that torturous?”. Robb gaped at her in confusion and in sorrow, taking a step close to her and placing a hand upon her face, “What are you talking about? Spending my life with you could never be agonizing”. Shaking her head, she pushed him once again, “You don’t have to play me for a joke Robb. I know, okay. I know you don’t want to marry me, and I understand. I’m sorry that you were put into such a situation and as your friend, I could not bear to watch you suffer so I fixed the problem. What’s done is done”.

Robb started to shake his head, raising his hands up to calm the girl, “Y/N. Please. I think we need to talk clearly. You must know that I- “

“I’m being sent to the Riverlands”.

Silence had enveloped the two; the drop of a pin could be heard. Robbs’ labored breathing had returned and more intense now. “…What?” he questioned.

Y/N stood her ground, tears still staining her face, but no emotion now present upon it. She looked lifeless as she spoke her next words. “Since my engagement to you has ended, my parents have returned to their original plans when it came to my future husband. I am to wed one of Lord Frey’s sons”. Robb lost his senses and engulfed the girl in a tight hug, “No. No, you cannot” he begged, “I’ll talk with your parents. I-I’ll make things right”. This time, Y/N didn’t push him away immediately. She basked in his warmth and security. Slowly, she placed her hands upon his chest and made some distance between the two. Emotionless, she uttered, “I have to go”, now heading towards the end of the hallway. Grabbing ahold of her forearm, Robb begged once again, “Please, Y/N! We need to talk- “

Turning around, the crushed look she held upon her face was enough to silence Robb. Raising her shaking hands, she cried out, “Please Robb, please. Do not make this hard for me. If you have any respect for me as your friend, as a human, you will let me leave. I cannot do this right now. Please”. Hearing the desperation in her voice, Robb took a step back. Y/N gave him one last glance before taking her leave. Robb watched in silence as her figure got smaller and disappeared. It was then he noticed that he had been crying the whole time as well.

A week and a half had passed since the announcement made by House Stark and House Y/N of the annulment of their household union. Robb and Y/N were both depressed and a mess. Y/N would isolate herself in her room and would only come out when she needed to eat or bathe. She occasionally would still have to go to her septa lessons within the castle but would keep out of sight of her (ex) best friend. Robb, on the other hand, had increased his time practicing his swordsmanship and shooting. His family grew worried that he might over exhaust himself but did not know what other ways to help him. His temper and outbreaks of anger had increased vastly. So, to them; this was a great way for him to let out his frustrations and not upon them. Today, his rage was high as he had overheard his parents speak about Household Y/N beginning preparations to send Y/N away by the end of the week.

Y/N was equally displeased and terrified. She had tried her best to convince her parents not to go through with their plans (she even suggested devoting her life to the faith), but their minds were set. Rushing down the halls of Winterfell castle, she squeaked and hid behind a corner at the sound of someone’s voice. Peaking out her head, she let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Arrya Stark. Walking up the girl, she smiled and greeted her, which was returned back.

“I haven’t seen much of you lately. I’ve missed you”, Arrya spoke frowning.

Y/N winced but smiled weakly at the girl. Aside from Robb, Arrya was one of the Stark children she would spend a great deal of time with. Whether it was playing or practicing their archery together (Arrya giving her lessons instead of vice versa), they were friends as well. Patting Arrya’s head, Y/N shook her own, “I am truly sorry. I have just been…dealing with certain things. You are far too young to understand”. Arrya gave her a look of awareness, “I know about everything. Robb and you are no longer getting married, and you are going away. I think I can understand how difficult that ought to be”. Y/N gulped as the young girl continued “Robb is in shambles you know. Been a real ass to everyone lately”.

Lightly laughing, Y/N forced a smile upon her face at the mention of the man she holds deep affection for. “I’m sure he will be alright. Our friendship was something we both held dear, so it is very sad to see how much it has and will change”. Arrya shook her head vigorously, raising her eyebrows high.

“No. It’s because he loves you”.

Y/N stopped petting the girl and gave her a confused look. She then suddenly let out a loud chuckle. “I’m sure he cherishes me very much as a friend”.

Arrya continued shaking her head, trying to get the older girl to understand. “No! He does love you. Like loves LOVES you!”

Arrya wanted to bang her head against the wall at how dense Y/N was continuing to be. “This is what I mean by you being too young to understand. There is a difference between having love for a friend and having love for a lover. Robb only loves me as a friend”, Y/N returned to petting the girl.

Arrya moved away from her hand and let out a groan. “But I truly mean it. He is going crazy- “

“Would you like to go shooting with me?” Y/N interrupted the girl; choosing to ignore Arya’s previous comments of false impression. Arya was quick to change her expression of annoyance to excitement. Her mind threw out all thoughts about her older brother’s and friend’s problems and was replaced by the thoughts of one of her favorite activities. Readying herself to say yes, her smile dropped in remembrance. “I can’t,” she scowled, “I was on my way to see my mother. She’s making me take extra lessons to better my needle work”.

Y/N tsked her tongue at the statement. “That’s too bad. I really needed something to calm my thoughts”, staring down at the ground she raised her head up, “I guess I’ll just go alone”.

Arya’s eyes bulged out as she saw Y/N turn her back and walk away, “You can’t go alone. It’s dangerous!”. Y/N turned her head and waved her hand, “Don’t worry; I’ll be fine. It can’t be any more dangerous than me having to wed a Frey” she made a joke at her own troubles. “I’ll see you another day. Bye!”

Arrya waved her hand and returned her goodbye, along with a “Be safe!”. Once Y/N was out of sight, she sobbed in defeat and headed down the hall to her classes.

At the same moment, Robb stood in the castle yard working on his own shooting. He had been doing so for hours and his aim had gone from perfect to flawed as time passed by; his thoughts continuing to run wild. At this point, he wasn’t even trying as he let go his of bow and barely made the mark.

“You missed”. Turning towards his side, Jon and Theon stood there—having been watching the Stark heir for almost an hour. This was per the request of Eddard Stark who wanted to make sure his son didn’t go mad and accidentally harm himself. He chose to ignore them and picked up another arrow; preparing his stance, he let the bow go and watched as it missed the target. “Missed again”, both boys said in unison. Robb shrugged his shoulders and went to retrieve the arrows he had thrown, “Don’t care”.

Theon watched Robb return to his stance, deciding to speak his mind. “Have you spoken to the girl?”. Jon did not even bother to hush the Greyjoy boy as even he was readying himself to ask the same question. Robb chewed his inner cheek, trying his best to control his temper, “No, I have not. I haven’t seen her around the castle, and it will be inappropriate of me to go to her home”. Theon let out a low whistle and crossed his arms, “That’s shitty”. Robb inhaled deeply as the sound of the Greyjoy boy was getting on his nerves. Before he could speak, Robb was interrupted by a young female voice.

“She was here earlier”. The trio turned and saw the youngest Stark girl come out from the shadows. Jon laughed and pointed at the girl, “Aren’t you supposed to be taking your extra lessons?”. Arrya’s face flushed as she defended herself quickly, “I was let out early”. A clear lie coming out of her mouth. “Anyway, not that matters. Y/N was here earlier—I know that she’s been coming here a few days for her septa lessons”.

Theon let out a loud cackle as he turned to Robb, “Haven’t seen her around the castle? The girl is clearly ignoring you”. Jon slightly smacked the boy upside his head to which Robb nodded at him in thanks. He returned to shooting his arrows, listening in on the other three’s conversation but not joining. Part of him wanted to quickly distract himself from thinking about Y/N and how she was purposely trying to be out of his sight. In a sense, it was the price he had to pay for doing the same to her originally. Jon ruffled up his half-sister’s hair and questioned, “And did you speak to her?”. Arrya nodded, “Yeah. Said she missed me; I told her I missed her. Blah Blah Blah. Then she left to go practice her shooting”, she scanned over the boys and eagerly spoke, “Can I please practice with you guys?”.

Robb had stood still for a second, taking in her words before sharply turning his entire body. “What do you mean she left to practice? Alone? And in the woods?”.

Both Jon and Theon tensed up and frowned as they took in the younger Starks words, realizing the implications of what she said. Arrya nodded once again, setting her sites on Robbs bow, “Yeah, alone. And I assumed so if she’s not out here with you guys”, she scanned her surroundings, “Don’t worry. She said she’d be safe. Can I practice now?”.

Robb moved quickly, grabbing his sword, and brining his bow along with him. Placing his hand upon his half-brothers’ shoulder, he spoke sternly and swiftly to him and the Greyjoy boy, “Grab a weapon and grab your horses. Split up into the woods— whoever finds her first, make sure she’s not injured and bring her back safely. Do you understand?”. Both Jon and Theon nodded, taking in their orders and seeing how Robb displayed himself as man and a future Lord. He gave them a nod and wasted no time in hurrying to his horse.

In the midst of the woods, a gentle chill lingers in the air, a refreshing coolness that swirls among the trees. A carpet of fallen leaves crunches under the feet of Y/N as she strolls along. Her face had turned into a slight flush from the cold air and her own physical movements. She had been able to shoot a couple of arrows within the half-hour she had been there. She had no targets in mind; deciding to leave the critters of the forest at peace and chose to just aim randomly at certain tree’s. She stopped suddenly at the sound of movement coming from her side; the large bushes moving. Scrunching her face, she set her bow down and stayed low, still distancing herself slightly. Ever slowly, she extended her hand out and called out to what she assumed was a wild rabbit, “Pss pss pss. Come here little guy”. More movement continued to happen until it stopped and out from the shrub came a wild boar. Y/N’s smile dropped instantly, and her fight or flight senses kicked in; standing up from the ground immediately. The sudden movement made by her had alerted the boar; its eyes landing upon her.

Without warning, the creature charged.

With a surge of fear-fueled quickness, she dove to the side, narrowly evading the boar's razor-sharp tusks. Her bow still in her hand, Y/N was quick to shoot at the beast. From her angle on the ground, the boar was only grazed slightly on its back. Her eyes never leaving the beast as it whirled around, desperation was fueling her actions as she struggled to recover from her fall. Once again, she narrowly avoided the onslaught of the boar, lunging herself on the other side of the forest ground. One more time, she raised her bow and released; this time, the arrow impaling its backside. Y/N thought she was safe at last as the boar let out a pained squeal—but the animal was strong willed as it did not fall to the ground. Y/N actions only fueled the boar’s anger. Being caught off guard, she did not have the time to stand up again. The boar raced at her, and Y/N felt her heart drop; letting out a petrified scream as she was about to meet her fate.

That never came. To her own shock, another arrow came out of nowhere and pierced the animal. The impact diverted the boar’s trajectory, causing it steer away toward the left of Y/N; falling to the ground and succumbing to it’s injuries.

Y/N’s body trembled with the aftermath of the encounter, chest heaving with exertion and relief. Looking up, she saw her savior was Robb.

Robb, himself, was breathing heavily. He had almost witnessed the death of the woman he loves but came in time to save her. The two stared at each other for a few seconds before Robb got off his horse and ran to her. Engulfing her in a hug, still on the ground, he hushed the girl and caressed her hair as he let her sob into his chest. “Shh. You’re alright. You’re safe— I’ve got you”, he placed a kiss upon her temple. A minute or two passed before Y/N had started to settle down. Robb, taking notice, placed both hands upon her face, his eyes slightly watery, “What were you thinking?! You can’t come this deep into the forest—especially with such little defense. You could’ve gotten hurt!”. Y/N shook her head, not being allowed to speak as Robb continued, “If I was just a little bit late, I could’ve found you dead! Do you not see how much that would’ve scarred me for life?!” He finally let his tears drop.

Sobbing heavily, she apologized to her friend. “I’m sorry! I know. I know I shouldn’t have come out here alone, but I needed some time to myself. I have so much going on- “she gasped deeply “I do not want to leave for the Riverlands”. Robb looked over the girl, looking at all the bruises she had gained. “We need to get you to a maester. Come on, your parents must be worried sick about you”. He raised her up to her feet and was walking towards his horse, but Y/N did not budge from her position. Turning to face her, Robb sent her a puzzled look.

“Robb. I do not want to marry the Frey boy”.

Robb bit his lip, trying his best to suppress his own emotions and focus on his friend’s health first. “Y/N, we need to get you checked- “

“Why exactly was I a bad candidate for your future wife?”

Robb felt all the air leave him as he starred at her emotionless face. “What?” he questioned.

Y/N shook her head, continuing her maundering. “I have known you my entire life. I know your likes and dislikes. I’ve been there for your ups and downs. I share so many precious memories with you. I wish to know why you would want to settle your life with a random stranger instead of me” she said not caring how desperate and draft she sounded. “…Am I not pretty enough? Am I a terrible person to you? There were a couple times I thought you felt something for me-“

Robb interrupted her, taking a step to stand in front of her. “Hold on. I do not think such things about!”, he held her gaze, “You are the most beautiful woman I know. The word terrible can never been used in the same sentence as you”. Nodding his head, he finally confessed, “Yes. There were times I did feel something for you. I still do. That is why it would not be fair for me to marry you”.  Y/N scoffed as she took in his words, ever so confused, “What does that even mean?!”.

Robb took a step back, creating a bit of distance between the two. “I could not marry you knowing that it was against your will. My household name trapping you into saying yes. Just as you are now being forced to marry the Frey boy, you were being forced to marry me”. Y/N stared at him like he had grown a second head. She took a step forward, closing their gap once again. “Trapping? Forced?! I agreed to the union on my own accord and very happily I must say!”, she pointed a finger at him “All I ever wanted was to be with you”. Robb gaped at her; his eyes wide in disbelief. “You wanted to be with me...You wanted to marry me?”.

Nodding her head, she spoke sternly. “Yes”. Y/N’s facial expressions softed a bit, gulping air and preparing herself to speak. “…Did you not want to be with me?”.

Robb took her face into his hands, their foreheads connecting. “Yes! You’re all I have ever wanted. I have been in love with you almost my whole life”. Y/N could feel her own tears and see his as well. She smiled at Robb and spoke gently, “So have I”. The two stared at each other in awe before Y/N raised her fist and striked Robb’s chest. “Stupid! Stupid! You’re so stupid!”, she said knowing she was just as dense. “Dumb, stupid, foolish- “

Robb caught her wrist in his hands. The forest was alive, full of birds chirping and the wind rustling through the trees. But, to them, not a sound could be heard as they looked into each other eyes. Robb was the first to lean in, taking her lips in his. The kiss was slow and slightly inexperience at first. That was before Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck and the two further deepened the kiss. It became very intimate and carnal instantly; deep love still hidden behind it. Y/N was the first to pull away, needing to catch her breath. Robb heaved heavily, his lips now a slight red and swollen. The two grinned at one another— Robb hand placed on her hip and the other on her cheek. “I love you”, he spoke honestly.

Y/N held back a chuckle, biting her lip as she stared lovestruck. “Now I really don’t want to marry the Frey son”.

Robb’s expression dropped, turning into a serious one as he stroked her cheek. “I’ll make things right. I will talk to the Freys, my parents— I will talk to yours. One on one. This time, I will ask for your hand without the meddling of my family”. Robb gulped, asking anxious, “…that is if you will have me”. Y/N nodded eagerly, smiling up at him, “If you’ll have me, then yes”.

“Always”.

With that, Y/N leaned in and closed the gap between their lips once more. They felt a warm, velvety feeling that flowed from their lips and sent waves of emotions coursing through their bodies. The kiss depended, a silent invitation for a more fervent connection. Robb had to decline that invitation. Pulling away, he was hit with the memory of what had just occurred a few moments ago. Looking down at Y/N, he took in all her bruises, scrapes, and dirt that covered her body.

“We still need to get you to a maester. Come on.”

Y/N groaned as Robb dragged her by the hand towards his horse, “I feel fine”. Shaking his head, Robb let out a chuckle, “We’re still in dangerous territory. Besides, that’s just all the adrenaline talking— it is bound to run out”.

Y/N gave him a mischievous smile, placing her hands on his chest and speaking quietly, “We can stay here. I can think of a few ways to keep my adrenaline pumping”. She leaned up to kiss him but was met with a flick on her forehead. “Ow”.

“Maybe another time”, he laughed, “Lets get going”. Placing her and himself upon his horse, he headed towards his home. Y/N turned her head, smiling up at him, “You looooooove me. That’s so gross”.

“Stop”.

Now aside from the birds chirping and the wind rustling through the trees, their laughter could be heard throughout the forest.

[sgiandubh]

The Only Exception

I am back home, with a very dark, strong coffee under my nose.

None of your reactions disappointed. Some were enthusiastic. Others, less so: egos clashed, agendas were unsettled. This is not my problem and I am not going to comment further. Those persons are free to think whatever they want, of course. The Anon I was not sent apparently made the rounds in the shipper community: others got it and have their own take on what they saw - again, that is their point of view, not mine. I was simply sent a link to a YouTube clip and told to look for a possible hug at around the 01:00 mark. Suffice to say I had no particular expectations: in fact, I found that DM on my #silly way to the bathroom, at about 03:30 AM, local time. And then tried to make sense of it. That took me four hours.

This is the link I have been sent :https://youtu.be/h6lcHzBCFkM?feature=shared. And this is the clip. It is aerial footage (drone? I am not a specialist), taken live from the Paramore segment of Taylor Swift's Edinburgh concert:

First of all, I would like to walk you through my own steps, trying to make sense of it. Before anything else, I downloaded it from YouTube, using a basic free downloader, in 1080 p resolution, mp4 format, Full HD:

Then, as I told you, I simply used the VLC media player (https://www.videolan.org/) and its very easy, intuitive options:

Red arrow is the 'take a snapshot' button. Blue arrow is the 'frame by frame' button. I have patiently clicked frame by frame, and took tens of snapshots. Seeing all these in order gives you a very clear idea of what happened and one more time: I know what I saw. And then I opened the snapshots, zoomed on the tent where the cast was and snipped the S&C relevant portion of the image.

I have not brightened the images. I have not sharpened any contrasts. I did not want to adulterate anything. Zoom was an issue, because what you gain in focus, you sometimes lose in clarity. I have no idea of compression, resolution and such things.

Certainly not the best method and perhaps crude tools. I am NOT an expert videographer. I have NO formal training in that field. I just wanted to be of service. If you think you know better and can do better, by all means: be my guest. But do better and show arguments. Also, try to be civilized and do not insult me or come in DMs to tell me that somebody else saw something else, parroting that person's POV: I simply do not care. This is what I did, in all good faith and I take full responsibility for it.

The Screeching Banshees have asked for specific footage, thinking (like some Shippers) that I only had pics. That is not true, as I just explained. It is their constitutional right. All I could do was to crop the part where the band is looking at the tent zone:

You are free to do whatever you want with it. As far as I am concerned, I have seen a loving couple who could not help themselves. I have seen joy. I have seen an open secret and the John Bell/Joey pretorian guard protecting that open secret.

I have given you all the information I could, to the best of my abilities. Again: do better, be better than me. If you have better knowledge and/or better tools, USE THEM. If that could help ALL OF US, Shippers, have more clarity and less doubts, so be it. I have no ego when I am very serious about something and I take NO credit (and use NO watermarks) for anything, only my responsibility.

I am not fishing for any compliments and I expect more insults and more doubts to seep in, for various reasons. I thank all of you who reacted positively from the bottom of my heart. But I will stand by what I have seen with my own eyes and for me, it is enough. This, nobody could take from me.