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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 hours ago

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Cannibals [Chapter 7: Lightning and Rust]

A/N: Only 3 chapters left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), babies and parenthood, blood and violence, character deaths, I really cannot summarize this chapter you just gotta experience it, I'll pray for you 🙏

Word count: 6.8k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

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You’re curled up in bed with a velvet pouch of hot stones that have gone cold, bloody rags bunched between your thighs, trying desperately to sleep, and outside a storm is brewing over Blackwater Bay and bringing with it dark skies and strikes of lightning that stalk ever-closer. Through the open window, the air tasting like late-summer rain, you can hear Helaena and the maids corralling the children back into the Red Keep. They are laughing because nobody is dead yet, not even the ailing and absent King Viserys, not even doomed little Luke Strong.

Aemond lets himself into your chambers and stands over your bed, staring down at you with some combination of annoyance and concern. You have failed him. You were not where he wanted you to be. “Why weren’t you at the beach?” Playing with your niece and nephews, collecting your seashells.

“Because women are cursed.”

Aemond smiles, perhaps a bit relieved; he has his answer. “And you more than any of them, because you’re so wicked.”

“Maester Orwyle says I can’t have more milk of the poppy for two hours.”

“Then we must listen to him. It is a powerful remedy, and we cannot endanger you.” He takes off his boots and climbs into bed, lying behind you, one hand following the curve of your waist to settle on your lower belly. “I can relax the muscles. It might ease your suffering.”

Right now? “Oh no, no, you don’t want to do that,” you warn him. “It’s very messy.”

“You think I’m afraid of your blood?” Aemond says, amused. “Everything we’re built of is the same.” He lifts the hem of your silk nightgown and reaches underneath the nest of rags, sliding there in the coppery wetness as you inhale sharply, startled but not unwilling. When Aemond removes his hand, the carnage he is stained with is bright crimson but dotted with clots. Then he licks the blood from his fingers and paints his tongue red. You can’t keep the shock from your face. Aemond grins, wets his hand again, draws a heart on your left cheek just beneath your eye. You laugh and pretend to try to shove him away.

“You’re deranged, you’re a monster—”

“Let me help you,” Aemond whispers, nuzzling blood from his lips into your silver hair. “Let me take your pain away like you quiet mine.”

And you surrender to him like you always do—worn down, overpowered, intoxicated, bewitched, seduced, perhaps all at once—and as Aemond’s hand works and the gory metallic ether of blood fills both of your lungs, the cramps dissolve into nothingness and then build to desire, and you’re opening your thighs for him and the rags are whisked away, unnecessary, forgotten, and now there is blood on the bedsheets and your fingers are twisting into the pillows strewn around you, and it doesn’t feel shameful at all anymore, because what is blood if not made from the same minerals as coins and blades and ocean and ash, and what is lust if not a fire that burns the constraints of the world away?

You kiss him as you come, moaning into his bloodstained mouth, biting his lower lip, and if the careless pressure of your teeth makes him bleed then that’s just more iron and copper and steel to add to the molten sea you are marooned in, more magma, more rust. “Enough,” you gasp when the last of the waves have passed and you are emptied and too sensitive, and Aemond knows to listen. Then you reach for Aemond’s trousers, where you can see he is hard. You are abruptly and ruinously exhausted—you struggle to keep your eyes open—but it feels wrong to not take care of him in return.

It shouldn’t take long, he’s already flushed, he’s already dripping sweat—

“No need,” Aemond says, gently stopping your hands. And as you burrow into the pillows and your eyes dip closed, your skin and hair still splattered with red, he slips away silently so you can sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t want to leave you,” Jace says, knowing that he has to anyway. “Either of you.”

You are nursing the baby in a chair by the fireplace; you needed a change of scenery from the bed. The upholstery is pale blue velvet. The blanket the baby is swathed in is embroidered with pine trees and foxes, and far beyond your skill; Lady Caro made it. She is nearly as gifted with a needle as Helaena. On the walls of the bedchamber you share with your husband are mosaics you’ve pieced together over the past nine months here at the modest castle of Heart’s Home in a cold, remote corner of the Vale. The fractured faces look in on you like curious gazes through clear windows: Aegon, Helaena, Daeron, Jaehaera, Maelor, Mother, Criston. You aren’t any closer to them now, but you feel like you are. The world seems softer, warmer, smaller.

You smile as you ghost a fingerprint over the baby’s faint dark eyebrows. He’s half-asleep as he suckles, hushed and content and entirely helpless. He has Jace’s coloring, but something about the shape of his eyes reminds you of Aegon. “We’ll be here waiting when you get back.”

“I think he looks a lot like Luke,” Jace says, admiring the baby. He’s standing with one arm draped over the back of your chair and the flickering firelight from the hearth on his face, turning his skin from snow to sunstone. “And Joffrey. His face is rounder than mine.”

“Have you been to the Eyrie to see them since the war began?” Joffrey, Rhaena, Rhaenyra’s young white-haired sons Aegon and Viserys.

Jace shakes his head. “I never wanted to be away from you for longer than necessary. I didn’t want to risk being spotted and revealing where they’ve been hidden. And I didn’t know what to say.” About us, about our marriage, about our baby.

“You should visit them, Jace. I would visit Helaena and her children if I could.” You leave out the others intentionally; Helaena is your only sibling that Jace considers blameless. You miss Aegon and Daeron just as much, but in the solitude of your own heart—in the stillness, in the silence—you aren’t sure if you want to see Aemond again. You don’t know if he will be soft with you, or vengeful or cold, or if he has filled the void of your absence with a lover, something that you cannot think about without your stomach lurching and your skull aching, and so you put him out of your mind as much as you can and stay here with the baby instead.

Jace rests a hand on your shoulder reassuringly, then strokes your cheek. He says, meaning the baby: “We’ll have to get him his own egg.”

“I hope he won’t inherit my affliction,” you murmur somberly. “I hope he’ll have a dragon someday.” Without them, we are powerless. Without them, we aren’t real Targaryens.

“Maybe there’s something you need to do first.”

You look up at Jace, not understanding.

“I’ve spent a lot of time considering what inspires a dragon to bond to someone,” he says. And you think, feeling a fleeting stab of betrayal before you stitch the wound closed with invisible thread: Because you’ve been helping the Blacks search for riders. “It seems that each creature has their own preferences. Meleys favored women who were spirited and highly intelligent. Dreamfyre has chosen two riders, both gentle, shy, and fond of animals. Seasmoke bonded to two sons of Corlys Velaryon with similar temperaments, agreeable and charismatic, Quicksilver to a father and son who were both considered weak and died young. Caraxes seems to have an affinity for warriors.” It does not escape you that Jace neglects to mention Vhagar, as if through his silence he can make the beast and her rider vanish. “And Vermithor…” Jace offers you a small, sympathetic smile, remembering that you once wanted him. “The Bronze Fury bonds to riders who are imposing in body and ambitious in spirit. And I suspect he only likes men.”

“So it was always hopeless,” you say gloomily. You recall the miniature Vermithor that Aegon once carved for you out of oak wood. You hope that Aegon is still alive somewhere, scarred but lying in wait, always underestimated, always so much deeper than he seems, an ocean that Mother and Father mistook for a puddle, messy and marginal and inconvenient.

“I believe dragons often gravitate towards riders who are mirrors of themselves. Even Vermax, he is…” Jace considers this. “He’s proud, and he’s clever, but he’s not as formidable as he imagines himself to be.”

“Like you,” you say before you can stop to consider whether Jace will be offended by it, and he gives you an amused smirk. The baby has stopped nursing and fallen asleep; you fix the bodice of your gown and cradle him against you. There are maids to take him when you’re tired, and Jace loves holding him, and Lady Caro steals him away often, but right now you don’t want your freedom. You don’t want your mind to be untethered and to wander to all the places you’re not supposed to be.

Jace continues: “What I mean is, perhaps there is some quality you must cultivate within yourself before the beast you are meant to have judges you worthy.”

“Hardly any unclaimed dragons are left now.” Then you tease: “Do you suggest I become quiet and timid so Grey Ghost will like me?”

Jace laughs. “No, I fear that’s a lost cause, princess. You could never be timid.”

You are intrigued. “Then what am I?”

“I think you’re hungry,” Jace decides. “I think you always want more.”

“I never wanted that many things.” Aemond. My family to be safe. And I wanted Vermithor.

“Every line that is drawn, every place you’re told not to go or act you’re not supposed to do, you insist upon overreaching.”

Is that why Aemond and I were so drawn to each other? you think doubtfully. Because it was forbidden? Because it horrified people who climbed high enough to live alongside Targaryens but could never understand them?

“I think Meleys would have been a good match for you,” Jace says after a while. “If she hadn’t already been claimed by Grandmother.”

“And now the Red Queen is dead.” Like Arrax, and Moondancer, and Seasmoke, and probably Sunfyre too. How many dragons will be left when this is over? How many Targaryens? You clutch the baby closer to you; he stirs in his sleep, tiny fingers grasping at nothing. “What sort of rider does Silverwing favor? What could this illiterate drunk Ulf the White possibly have in common with Good Queen Alysanne?”

Jace snickers. “That’s a good question. I’ve been ruminating on it. My theory is that since Silverwing was never ridden into battle, and has always been relatively docile and accustomed to living peacefully near humans, she was attracted to Ulf’s…how to describe it? His lack of military prowess. Or, alternatively, once Vermithor was claimed Silverwing was very, very lonely.”

You smile, and then it dies. It must be indescribably painful to be separated from one’s mate after a century together. Unsurvivable, even. “Can Silverwing fight, do you think?”

Jace heaves a sigh and shrugs. “I’m not sure if either of them can. Ulf will try, at least. Hopefully it won’t come to that, and Vermithor is enough to protect King’s Landing. Hugh Hammer is an inexperienced rider, but he’s brave and he’s committed. Each time I see him he’s better than he was before.”

Hugh Hammer is a bastard blacksmith, but he has more power in this war than I do. Ulf the White is an idiot and a drunk, but he’s a true Targaryen and I’m not. You rock your sleeping child in your arms, quieting the voices that flutter in your skull like bat wings. You kiss his wisps of dark curls and breathe in his warmth and newness and blood that is interwoven with yours.

“You could learn how to hate your own kind and claim the Cannibal,” Jace jokes.

You chuckle. “I don’t hate anyone.” Not here, not now.

Lady Caro arrives in the doorway carrying a tray of cinnamon tea. “I have come offering a trade,” she says, grinning, and shuffles excitedly across the room. She sets the tray down on the table by your chair and holds out her hands. Reluctantly, you surrender the baby. Lady Caro coos and beams at him as you and Jace sip cinnamon tea, sweet and loosing steam like morning mist into the air. “Surely by now you’ve made the logical decision to name him in my honor.”

“Carolei would be a very strange thing to call a boy,” Jace says.

“Caroson,” she jests.

You add: “Carogon. Carocaerys.”

“Awful!” Jace says, laughing.

“Have you been feeding the baby again?” Lady Caro scolds you. “We have wetnurses for that.”

“They get him all night. I want time with him too.”

“You’re barely even producing any milk. You’d make for a terrible goat.”

“Then I’ll nurse him for as long as I can.”

“You’ll end up with pitiful floppy breasts like mine.”

“Isn’t this what they’re for? Nourishing children, not being gawked at and tugged on by some man?”

Lady Caro turns to Jace, exasperated. “She has some disease. She can’t listen to anyone.”

He smiles. “She’s an untamable beast, I’m afraid. Burns up anyone who makes the attempt.”

Lord Corbray walks in, and nestled in his ancient arthritic hands is a sword in a sheath. There is a large heart-shaped ruby in the hilt. “Prince Jacaerys, I cannot begin to tell you what an honor it has been not only to host you and the princess here in our humble castle, but also to have a future king of the Seven Kingdoms born within our walls.”

Jace stands up straighter, as his mother would want him to. He’ll never look like the heir to the throne, like a Targaryen, but he can act like one. “We continue to be grateful for your hospitality.”

“To commemorate this happy occasion, I wish to gift you a cherished heirloom of my house. This is Lady Forlorn, made of Valyrian steel. She came to House Corbray over a century ago, and now I bequeath her to you. I hope she will aid you in your victory in this unjust war, and that all the realm will soon be at peace and under competent rulership.”

Jace looks at you uneasily; you pretend to be preoccupied drinking your tea. You ignore Lord Corbray’s slight against the Greens. You don’t have much choice, and you’ve had plenty of practice. Jace takes Lady Forlorn from Lord Corbray and unsheathes her, studying his reflection in the cold smoke-colored grey of the blade. His face is grave. Now he feels the weight on his shoulders of being not just a prince, an heir, a soldier, and a husband, but a father as well, something he himself never had in a way that was truthful and pure. You are alarmed to see tears gleaming in his dark eyes.

“Jace?” you say, touching his arm.

He regains his composure. “Thank you, Lord Corbray. I will treasure Lady Forlorn, and I will endeavor to always use her wisely.”

Lord Corbray smiles fondly at the slumbering baby in Lady Caro’s arms. Across the Riverlands, their sole surviving child, Jessamyn, is in hiding with her husband and children. At Lady Caro’s insistence, they fled from the Mallisters’ castle at Seagard in case Aemond and Vhagar descend upon it. He is still burning. A monster? you think. “I assume you’ve named your firstborn?”

You and Jace exchange a glance. You haven’t yet; you are afraid to discuss it with each other. There are so many possibilities—Targaryen or Velaryon or Strong—and none seem to be without some unspoken allegiance or condemnation. There are so few guiltless names left. But you think you know what Jace would choose if he dared to speak it aloud.

“We should name him after Luke,” you say. A boy, an innocent. A victim of a horrific accident that started this war.

Jace is surprised, but there is relief in his face too. “Lucerys?” he says, trying it out. Then he is solemn again. “It feels wrong to use the exact same name. Like I’m trying to replace him.”

“Lucerion,” Lady Caro suggests, still holding the baby. “It sounds like a prince’s name. It sounds like a king’s.”

Jace attaches Lady Forlorn to his belt and then takes the baby, obviously against Lady Caro’s will. “Lucerion,” Jace murmurs, smiling down at his son who is stirring awake and beginning to whimper. “Is that your name? Is that what we’ll call you?”

“Perhaps Luca for short,” you say from your chair, feeling drained and like you need to lie down. You’ll have to change your rags again soon, or you’ll bleed through them.

“Luca, the littlest dragon,” Jace proclaims, touching his fingertip to the baby’s puggish nose. Then he turns to you. “Did you have a nickname as a child? I always did and still do, of course. And Luke…” Jace trails off, thinking of his dead brother, murdered by yours.

You see your red bat traveling around the board; you feel the warmth of blood on your cheek. “They called me Red.”

“Red?” Jace is baffled. “Like the color?”

“There was a game we played when we were young, and my piece…” You close your eyes, not wanting to remember, not wanting to feel the weight of their absence. “It doesn’t matter. It was so long ago.” And you fear that Jace will hear the evasiveness in your voice and ask you more questions; but he is absorbed with the baby, and he has already forgotten.

Two days later Jace and Vermax fly south to King’s Landing, and you and Luca are left in the care of the Corbrays and the maids and the ghosts that haunt the drafty stone corridors of Heart’s Home, soldiers killed in the Riverlands and the Reach, women and children burned and starved, bones devoured by dragons, generations of names forgotten.

Sometimes you giggle with Lady Caro as you drink cinnamon tea in the Great Hall. Sometimes you stand in the castle rookery listening to the ravens caw and stare out into the cold mist of the mountains, wondering what is happening in the world outside. And sometimes you have Luca nestled in your arms and walk with him around your bedchamber, introducing him to the faces of the people you left in your old life, when you were called Red and you believed you could be someone like Visenya. But you never mention Aemond, and not just because there are no mosaics of him on the wall.

You wouldn’t know what to say. You wouldn’t know where to begin.

~~~~~~~~~~

You learn Jace is back when he climbs into bed just as you are drifting off one night, silver moonlight spilling in through the glass of the window, his body folding into you, his arm skating over your waist to find your hand and weave his fingers through yours. Two months have passed since he left, moons that grow full and then vanish, milk that dries up and blood that ceases flowing and rebuilds inside you for the next child, if there will be one, when there will be one. Luca is sleeping in his own room with his maids and wetnurses. Jace’s curls tickle your throat as he nuzzles into you as if he wants to disappear.

He says: “The littlest dragon is much bigger than I remember.”

“How was Helaena?”

“Troubled, as is to be expected, but in good health. Jaehaera and Maelor are well too. King’s Landing is cold some days now. I think they’ll have snow soon. The taxes, the riots, the stockpiling of food as the Reach and the Riverlands burn…it’s a disaster. Mother is desperate. She misses Luke, I think. And Baela, and Daemon. She’s lost so much weight I barely recognized her. But she was very, very happy to hear about Luca. Hopefully she can meet him soon. Although we’ll have to be careful traveling with him while he’s so small, we’ll have to ensure he’s warm enough.”

Winter is coming, you think, remembering Cregan Stark’s army under the protection of Daemon and Caraxes. “Did you see Rhaena and the boys at the Eyrie?”

“I did,” Jace admits, as if it was a fraught experience.

“And what happened?”

“Rhaena called me a traitor.”

“For marrying and fathering a son with me?”

“No, that she understands,” Jace says. “But it is treason to love you.”

You turn around to look at him in the shadows, in the moonlight. “You told her?”

“She could tell. I cannot hide it. I am a glass jar and you and Luca are the butterflies inside.” And Jace kisses you softly, his fingers hooked beneath your chin, his flesh coming alive again after so long away: managing and conciliating, lifting Rhaenyra’s spirits, pawing through the heaps of bastards in King’s Landing for dragonriders, flying on Vermax through storms and snow.

When you kiss Jace back, when your hands go to his chest and his jaw and his face, when you open his tunic so you can feel the heat of his skin underneath, you are aware that parts of you are waking up again as well. There is a dull but definite ache of lust beginning to bloom like a blood drop soaking into white cotton.

“Are you…” Jace begins. “Do you think you’re healed enough, I mean…have you stopped bleeding?”

You hesitate. “I have.” You think of your first time with him and how painful it was, the sensation of burning, of tearing, and you can only assume it will be worse now. “But I’m rather terrified too.”

“No, no, don’t be afraid,” Jace whispers, he pleads, running his fingers through your long unbound hair. “We don’t have to do that. I won’t hurt you. I’ll wait for as long as you want.” His dark eyes travel down the white nightgown that clings to your body, your breasts, your belly, and then lower. “Can I…can I try something?”

“Try what?” you ask, bewildered. Then as Jace begins to push the hem of your nightgown up over your hips to your waist, you grin and kiss him again in the dim celestial light, cool night air rushing up over your bare legs, blood surging through your arteries to where he bends low to taste you once—a long, slow, tentative drag of the tongue—and then moans quietly and pushes your thighs further apart so he can bury himself there and lick, suck, swallow down your clear mineral wetness as it pools for him.

Something isn’t quite right—not enough pressure, not the ideal angle—but it’s exquisite to be reacquainted with this side of yourself, to know you can feel this way again, insatiable and desired. When you reach to touch Jace, there is a moment when you are startled to find dark curly hair in place of silk-smooth silver, and there is a ghost in the room like a voyeur watching, and you think dazedly: If Aemond knew about this, would he kill me?

“There,” you gasp, jolting as your husband stumbles upon the perfect place and rhythm. “Jace, right there…”

He listens, he is groaning with desperation for you, and you roll into a climax that is brief and sharp and a little painful, but good. Instead of being extinguished, you are a kindled flame. You turn over, straddle Jace, and unfasten his trousers. You begin kissing your way down his belly, nipping at him, your palm kneading his hardness, and you know he wants you but for some reason when you go to take him in your mouth, he pushes you away.

“You don’t have to do that,” Jace says, alarmed.

“I know. I want to.”

“No, seriously. Stop.”

You look at him, wounded, rejected. “Jace, I’m not doing this out of obligation. I enjoy it.”

He is staring at the wall. “I just…for you to…I’m sorry, it just feels wrong.”

“I can do things you believe are only for whores and still be your wife.”

“Shh,” he says, and his voice is gentle but his face is pained. You think of something Criston once told you when you were collecting bones from the Godswood of the Red Keep: Red, it hurts your mother when you’re like this. Are you cursed to disappoint people, to repulse them, to be eternally misunderstood? “I have a gift for you.”

“A gift?”

Jace gets out of bed and fetches a small wooden box he must have brought into the room with him when you were still half-asleep. He opens the box, debates whether to reach in, decides against it and passes you the whole box instead. “I asked the castle maester to procure some while I was away…”

You squeal with delight when you see what’s inside: three black and white bats the same breed as Sapphire was, large fanlike ears and wiggling noses and small black eyes that peer curiously up at you. When you offer them your open palms, they immediately scramble into them.

“I hope they’re good ones.” Jace chuckles nervously. “I don’t really know what makes a bat suitable or not.”

“They’re perfect,” you say, smiling. “I’ll build them a roost. I’ll introduce them to Luca.”

Yet you cannot stop yourself from thinking: Aemond wouldn’t have cared if I was still bleeding.

~~~~~~~~~~

You are snuggled up with Luca in your chair by the fire, cool midday light—the color of steel, smoke, rainclouds, ash—streaming in through the windows. The baby’s eyes have turned dark like Jace’s, and his curls grow longer. He is only half-awake and blinking drowsily, his diminutive hands clasping your fingers. He doesn’t cry often, but he doesn’t smile either. Lady Caro believes he already has the temperament of a good king, a calmness, a graveness. She says: How improper would it be for him to be full of complaints or cheerfulness, the way the world is right now? No, he ought to be serious. He ought to be grateful he’s not starving or being roasted alive.

“I have some new friends,” you whisper to the baby like a secret or a myth. “They’re asleep right now. They sleep all day, kind of like you do. But then at night they come alive and they’re free, and they fly around like hawks or dragons.”

You speak for Luca, a soft bird-trill of a voice: “What are their names?”

“Good question,” you say, smiling. “Iris, Shark, and Flood. And you’ll meet them soon.” Your eyes go to the mosaics on the walls. Jace hasn’t asked you to take them down, but he doesn’t acknowledge them either, except for the mosaic you made of him that hangs by the headboard of the bed. He beams at that one and calls it fine work. “You’ll meet the people I grew up with too. Aegon will make you wood carvings. Helaena will sew you blankets. Daeron will take you on adventures. Jaehaera and Maelor will play games with you. And Mother and Criston will love you because you won’t be like me. You’ll be sweet-tempered and honorable, and when you’re old enough you’ll have a dragon to help protect us with.”

There is a knock on the doorframe; one of Luca’s wetnurses has arrived to feed him. You regret that you can’t anymore. Lady Caro was right; you’d be a terrible goat or cow or yak.

“Princess,” the wetnurse says, curtsying before she takes the baby from you. You watch her leave with him for his own bedchamber—Lady Caro has already filled it with toys and children’s books—and as soon as they are out of sight, the darkness of your losses creeps back in like spiders scurrying down the corridors of your veins and arteries, like rust growing over steel. Then you hear the rumbling of voices downstairs in the Great Hall.

You stand and swish in your gown—one of the Vale’s anemic colors, a faint dusky rose—through the hallway and down the spiral staircase of the tower. In the belly of the castle, the commotion is louder, and you sweep into the Great Hall to find men gathered around the table closest to the roaring hearth, Lord Corbray and his knights and the maester, and Lady Caro too looking on anxiously. Jace is holding a piece of parchment in his hands, presumably just delivered by a raven. He shakes his head as he reads it. Outside, snow is falling.

Lady Caro is saying: “Well you’ll have to tell her. Oh, the poor dear, as if everything else isn’t bad enough. And only the gods know where Aemond is, he hasn’t been spotted in the Riverlands for days…” Then she spies you and shoos Lord Corbray and his men from the room. They bow to you as they depart, swift little bobs of the head. They have to; you are now both the wife and mother of future kings.

“Jace?” you say when the Great Hall is empty except for the two of you and Lady Caro.

Jace’s face is stricken. Lady Forlorn hangs from his belt. The letter is still clutched in his left hand; the right grips the hilt of his Valyrian steel sword. “I’m so sorry.”

“What?” you ask, immediately horrified. Aegon dead of his burns, Daeron killed in battle, Mother executed for treason, Aemond…? “What happened?”

“You have to believe that I had no idea about any of this, I never would have given Hugh the order if I’d been there, or let Mother do it—”

“Jace, please tell me.”

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond??

Instead, Jace says absurdly: “It’s Helaena.”

You stare at him. “Helaena isn’t a warrior.”

“No,” he agrees. “But she got to Dreamfyre somehow and tried to escape the city.”

“Alone?”

“Yes.”

That’s impossible. She wouldn’t leave Mother and the children. “No, she couldn’t have, she—”

“She took flight,” Jace insists. “And my mother sent Hugh Hammer after her on Vermithor.”

Vermithor was supposed to be mine, you think numbly. “And Helaena, she…she was…?”

Jace is trying to keep his voice steady; his dark eyes gleam, begging you not to hate him. “Dreamfyre attacked when Vermithor flew close to her. She wasn’t an especially aggressive dragon, but she was large and formidable, and she fought to defend her own life and that of her rider. Vermithor ripped out her throat, though Hugh was burned to death in the saddle. Then Vermithor flew eastward, and no one knows where he is now. Dreamfyre crashed to the earth, and Helaena with her. Their bodies were found on the beach outside the Red Keep.”

She can’t be dead. She never hurt anyone. She just wanted to be with her creatures and her family. She embroidered my blankets with red bats, she put ladybugs into my open palms. “Why would Helaena try to run, why would she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

You think nonsensically, as you have no way of knowing this: Because she was trying to stop something terrible from happening. “I told you to give her more freedom. And that freedom allowed her to sneak away to the Dragonpit.”

Jace reaches for you. “This isn’t your fault—”

“All of it ismy fault!” you shout at him, and Lady Caro shrinks away and covers her mouth with her hands. “If I’d had Vermithor, the Greens would have been unstoppable! And Rhaenyra never would have tried to claim the throne, and Aemond wouldn’t have been sent to Storm’s End, and Luke and Jaehaerys and Baela wouldn’t have died, and Aegon wouldn’t have been burned, and Aemond wouldn’t be destroying the Riverlands, and Helaena would still be alive, but instead I’ve always been useless!”

“You aren’t useless,” Jace pleads.

“Not normal enough to be a good wife or daughter, not extraordinary enough to have a dragon!”

Again, Jace tries to touch you, to soothe you. “Please don’t—”

You fling his hands away. “What was our marriage for if not to stop this from happening?! To end the dying, to protect the people we have left?” You whirl away from him and flee from the Great Hall, the castle, yourself. Behind you, Lady Caro is comforting Jace with soft tenderness you’ve never been capable of.

“Let her go, my prince,” she is counselling. “Give her a moment to grieve…”

You throw open the first door you pass and trudge out into the snow, no fox fur coat, bare feet. The cold stings and then your skin goes numb and it doesn’t bother you anymore. The icy mountain wind tears at your hair, flowing in long waves like the women of the Vale wear it, delicate and feminine, pretty and powerless. Tears cascade down your face; currents of red magma scorch your throat. When you close your eyes, you see the yellow butterfly that was once Helaena’s game piece.

She never hurt anyone. She never did anything wrong.

Now you are under the shadows of the soaring pine trees, their green needles so thick you cannot see the grey of the sky.

She never met Luca.

You gaze up into the branches, covered with tufts of white snow and icicles like fangs, and you have the overwhelming, ravenous feeling that you need to go home. You don’t belong in the Vale. The Vale almost killed you when you were a child, Aemond’s hands shoving you into a rushing stream freckled with ice.

And then all at once—like you’ve been hit, like you’ve been stabbed with a blade—you are flying high above the castle and the wind is raking over your cheeks, but it is not your face but Aemond’s, half-blind and half-scarred, torrential red waves of a sea of blood in his skull.

He’s here, he’s here—

And if he’s able to see through your eyes that you are outside in the forest…

The castle!!!

You bolt through the trees back towards Heart’s Home, your bare feet leaving tracks in the fresh powdery snow that is nearly up to your knees, and you stumble out of the shadows just as Vhagar soars overhead and unleashes her flames on the castle, wood burning, stones collapsing, people inside shrieking as they incinerate. You’re screaming for Aemond to stop, but he does not hear you and he does not see you either, he is high above in a place you’ve never been and never will be, he is flying, and he is hearing only devastation and he is breathing in its dark, intoxicating smoke, and as Vhagar swoops by the stable and it bursts into an inferno—horses galloping loose and engulfed in fire, dead but not knowing it yet—you run into the crumbling castle.

“Jace?!” you shout, but the air is full of smoke and the sounds of wood cracking and stones caving in are deafening. You feel blindly for the spiral staircase that leads up to the tower where your and Luca’s bedchambers are located. From the part of the castle that was once the Great Hall, you can hear Lord Corbray and Lady Caro screaming as their skin blisters and sloughs away and their flesh is cooked and their bones are charred black, and when the flames reach their lungs the screams go quiet. You cannot think about them. You don’t have any time; you must think of Luca and Jace. “Jace!” you bellow through the smoke.

And then there is a weak reply: “Here.”

You follow it into the stairwell. Parts of the wall have been blasted away; you can see the pine forest outside, the cold barren sky, the Mountains of the Moon. Jace is halfway up the steps, slumped against the fractured wall and pinned there by stones that have rained down on his legs. His bones must be broken; his face is bloodless and his curls matted to his forehead by sweat. His right hand fumbles futilely for the hilt of Lady Forlorn. Now, dimly, you can hear Luca crying.

Jace rasps as he stares vacantly up at you: “I tried to get to him. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jace, I can do it.”

“I love you.”

“I’ll be right back.”

You climb over him and chase Luca’s wails up the staircase. Vhagar is back, and the ruins of the castle tremble when she roars, and you feel the heat of her flames radiating up through the floor. You lose your footing and clamber up the last few steps on your hands and knees, then manage to stand again and careen into Luca’s room. Half the roof has collapsed; a wetnurse is sprawled on the floor and half-buried in fallen stones, blood hemorrhaging out of her mouth and ears. You grab the baby out of his cradle and quickly bundle him in his blanket patterned with blue dragonflies. His tiny hands grasp at your face and your hair as you rush back down the spiral staircase to help Jace. Smoke needles your eyes; you and Luca are both coughing as you try to clear your lungs.

You reach Jace and kneel beside him, holding Luca in your left arm and using your right to try to roll the stones off Jace’s legs, but he’s not helping you.

“Jace, please, we have to go now,” you say, but when you look at his face he’s not there. His dark eyes are glassy, his chest doesn’t rise and fall with the tide of air.

He’s gone, you think. Like Father, Luke, Jaehaerys, Baela, Rhaenys, Helaena. And you are struck by an excruciating pang of fondness for Jace more forceful than anything you ever felt for him when he was alive, and you cannot leave him here. He was your husband, he was Luca’s father. And he loved you. He must have. He said it over and over again.

“Jace?” you sob. But outside Vhagar is still flying—the gales churned up by her wings gust into the jagged holes in the castle walls—and she could be coming back, she could be returning to burn you, and Jace is dead but the baby is still alive.

You clutch Luca to you as he cries and you race down the steps, following the smoke-filled, twisted passageway. The heat is suffocating, the sounds of a dying castle engulfing, Heart’s Home turned into a graveyard, into a shattered skeleton, charred and cursed like Harrenhal. You crash through the door at the base of the stairwell and into the ground level of the castle, and you are almost out—

Something ignites, something explodes, and stones from the castle wall you are feeling your way along rip out of their centuries-old mortar and collide with you. Your ribs crack, you are thrown to the floor, but even as you scream and claw your way out of the rubble you don’t let go of the baby. You force yourself upright and stagger with Luca towards a gaping chasm where there was once a wall. There is a tremor like an earthquake. Outside, Vhagar must be landing.

Now you are in the snow again, bare feet and a gown covered with soot and wreckage. The baby isn’t crying anymore. When you glance down at the blanket he is swaddled in, the white space between the blue dots of dragonflies is turning red with blood.

Blood?

You can’t look. You can’t allow yourself to feel it; it will consume you until there is nothing left. The last vestiges of the castle are crumpling. Across the field, Vhagar is devouring Vermax’s small, broken corpse, crushing his bones in her massive, monstrous jaws.

Blood??

Aemond’s footsteps are behind you, crunching in the snow. His cloak cracks in the frigid wind like the sails of a ship. His words are full of dark, euphoric, lethal triumph, a high like nothing he’s ever known, not even when he claimed Vhagar, not even what he imagined he would feel on your wedding day when you’d be bound to each other with fire and blood in the tradition of Old Valyria. “I said I would find you, and I did.”

You hear your own voice as if from a very far distance, lightning strikes miles away but moving closer. “You killed him.”

Aemond is puzzled. You are supposed to be happy. You are saved, you are home. “Killed who?”

“He’s dead, and there will never be another. Not like this one. Jace was his father, but Jace is gone. You killed him too.”

And you turn to face him, and Aemond sees what you are holding in your arms, and only then does he understand.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #jace velaryon x reader #jace x you #jace x reader #jace velaryon #jacaerys x you #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys velaryon

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 days ago

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A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 28 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: None. For real, none. Well, no- that's a lie. The warning is sand.

Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

The soft sand shifted under your feet as you walked, arm looped around Alastor’s, bodies just brushing against one another as you walked. Above head, seagulls called and swooped through the air, living their lives as if there was nothing that could go wrong in the world. Late afternoon sunlight glittered against the waves as they lapped at the shore, reaching out toward you from the endless expanse of water.

You walked barefooted, each step so close to Alastor’s bare feet. He had the legs of his pants rolled up, exposing his tan ankles and calves. Your shoes, tied to his laces, swung from your hands in time with each step you took. The ocean breeze cooled the warm air, ruffling your hair as it kissed your skin.

Dinner was far from extravagant. Alastor had been right; there were little food carts and stands dotting the boardwalk. You had a meat pie in your hands, gravy rich and thick, surrounded in a flaky crust. It was simple, delicious and a perfect dinner shared while walking along the beach.

Alastor chuckled as he wiped gravy from your cheek. “Enjoying it?”

“Yes,” you dabbed at your face with the napkin, knowing it was a lost cause, Alastor had already wiped away the smear of gravy. “Laurence wouldn’t let me eat something as rich as this.”

“Good thing he isn’t here,” Alastor said, slowing to a stop in front of a trashcan to toss his trash in. You did the same, only to be wrapped in his arms as soon as your hands were empty. “This weekend is for us, not him. He can’t touch us here. He isn’t here. It’s just you, me, and the ocean.”

“I know,” you sighed, leaning into him. “I’m just- I don’t know how to do this, Alastor.”

“Just follow your heart,” Alastor said, kissing you softly when you turned to look up at him. “That’s all we’re doing. It doesn’t have to be anything more complicated than that, not right now.”

“Okay,” you whispered, not knowing how to argue with him when he looked at you with those warm brown eyes. It wasn’t fair how he could stop your brain from thinking and send your heart beating too fast in your chest with something as simple as a look.

“Good,” he said, kissing you again before tugging you down to the sandy beach, shoes swinging and bouncing between you.

“I’ve never been to the beach.” You confessed as you kicked at the sand, sending it flying through the air as he lead you along. The soft sound of your laugh rang out when a seashell sailed along the wave of sand.

“Never ever?” Alastor asked, kicking his own foot, sending more sand flying in front of you both. “Does that mean you’ve never built a sandcastle?”

“Nope.” You giggled, feeling for the first time in a very long time like the young girl you had been before you were married. He began tugging you along as the walk became a jog, your skirt bunching over your knees as the pace quickened, sand kicking out from around both of your feet.

He pulled you closer to the water, soft dry sand giving way to heavier waterlogged sand. Then the splashing of water, the hem of your skirt and his pant legs soaked with the spray as you both continued running, freely. You only slowed as you came upon some trash, paper cups half burred in the sand.

Alastor’s hand left yours, leaving you instantly wanting for the warmth of it again. Too soon, you wouldn’t be able to casually indulge in the feeling of his hand in yours. For what short time you had, you wanted to soak it up as much as you could.

“What are you doing?” You asked as Alastor bent down, grabbing the wax coated cup in the best condition and examining it.

“Let’s make a sandcastle?” He held out the cup to you as if it was a prize. “Have another first with me?”

“Alright,” you couldn’t help the laugh in your voice as he snagged the second cup, much worse for wear, and led you up higher along the beach, just out of the reach of the waves.

“Here’s good,” Alastor said, tugging you down as he knelt in the sand. His large hand made quick work of smoothing the sand out. You struggled to pay attention to what he was doing, far more captivated by the boyish smile on his face.

Was that what he looked like as a young man? How lucky you would have been to have had the honor of knowing him before the weight of the world had really weighed on his shoulders.

“Are you going to help?”

Of course,” you answered quickly as you knelt in the sand.

The grains clung to your damp skirt and wet feet as you scooped sand in your cup. When you turned the cup over, trying to stack the sand in a neat tower, you were faced with disappointment as ran freely off the pile. You pouted before trying again, refusing to be defeated by the simple task children would surely know how to do.

“Let me show you,” Alastor spoke softly, smiling as he stood.

Sand clung to his pants just as it did yours. He didn’t spare it a thought as he jogged down to the water’s edge, filling the cup with water. You watched as he dumped it into the sand in front of you before reaching down, showing how it clumped in his hand. “Add a little water and it holds together.” Water splashed as he poured water into his hand. “Too much, and it runs freely again.”

Together, you and he stacked cupfuls of wet sand atop one another, sometimes squishing it down with your hands to form something wider for a base. Fingers brushed fingers in innocent, comfortable touches. Laughter carried on the ocean air as you took turns, running to the waves to collect more water. As towers came to life, tilted though they were, you couldn’t help but admit you were having the time of your life.

With finger tips and seashells, you etched details into the wet sand and decorated the castle. At times, you or he ran off, searching through the sand for the perfect shell for a doorway or a window as Alastor sat in the sand, watching you.

The castle didn’t look good. It didn’t even look like a castle, really. But it was something you had built with your hands. It was something you created with Alastor and you loved it.

There wasn’t much you could say was built during this thing you shared with Alastor. There was a bond, there was a stack of letters tucked into a slit in the bottom of your bag that you knew you really needed to burn, and now there was a rather terrible looking sandcastle.

How little you had with him brought bitter tears to your eyes that you blinked away. What little you had with him was beautiful, a hidden gem that only you and he could see. You’d treasure it for as long as you could, the price it would cost you be damned.

“What’s wrong?” Alastor asked, fingers working around your hand sitting on the sand.

“Thank you,” you whispered to Alastor as you looked up from the creation, crumbling as it dried.

“For what?” He asked, “I haven’t done anything.”

“This weekend.” Looking down, you ran your fingers over the damp sand. “For being with me on my first trip to the coast.”

“I am honored to be your first anything,” Alastor said, leaning in and placing a soft, chaste kiss against your lips. Your arms wrapped around his neck as waves lapped at your toes with the rising tide. It was a matter of time before the waves swept away your creation.

His hands rested on your hips as one kiss began melted into another. You breathed eachother’s air, and you tasted eachother’s lips as he pulled you closer. A gasp slipped out of you as he settled you into his lap. Alastor’s soft warm tongue slipped between parted lips after he nipped at your full lower lip.

Strong hands ran up and down your back, taking in the feel of the zipper along your spine and the seams of the dress. You soaked in the feeling of his hands moving over you, braved doing the same with your own hands on his body. It felt like your heart would beat out of your chest as his lips left yours to trail kisses down your jaw.

This was wrong, you knew that. It was indecent. It’s not how ladies carried themselves in public. It certainly wasn’t how a married woman should act. None of that mattered enough to you at the moment to ask him to stop.

His lips worked along your neck, leaving fire burning under your skin. Careful nips that left a trail of pink that Alastor knew wouldn’t develop into any lasting marks that would raise questions littered your skin. You couldn’t help but tilt your head, giving him more space to work as your fingers twisted into the fabric of his shirt.

“This isn’t proper,” you whispered, gasping for air as his tongue ran along the straining tendon along your throat, up again to kiss under your ear.

“There’s no one to see,” Alastor whispered. “And this is a town for lovers. We’re far from the first to neck on the beach.”

Letting your fingers relax, you ran your palm up his chest, around his shoulders. Everything about him felt so strong under your hand. There was no give, nothing but hot steel. It made you feel safe, secure in his arms.

Cold water splashed over your back, soaking your hair and washing over your head. Icy water poured over your shoulders, splashing onto Alastor’s shirt. He jerked back from the sudden cold so harshly that he fell back against the sand.

You fell forward with him, hair dripping down around you as the shocked look on his face bloomed into a smile and a roaring laugh. You couldn’t help but be pulled into it, laughing as his hands rested on your lower back. His chest jerked, vibrating with the joy of his laugh.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered as he finally settled again.

“So are you.” You marveled at how warm his chest felt under your hand.

Leaning down, you hesitated, wanting to feel his lips on yours again. The idea of initiating a kiss when you were already in such a compromised position left you feeling shy, timid. This was something that happened in books, in movies, in daydreams. It wasn’t something anyone got to have in real life.

But you were here, laying atop Alastor, a man you loved. His warmth radiated up into you. The sounds of the beach were all around and yet what you could hear most of all was his breathing.

“Are you going to kiss me or not?” Alastor whispered, head resting against the sand, wet hair giving way to curls.

Leaning down, you shut him up. Sighing into him, you melted as his hands ran up your wet back. Waves caressed up your legs, fighting for your attention while his hand tangled in your wet hair.

This was right where you belonged. He was where you belonged.

It felt good to lie atop him, the warmth of his body contrasting with the cold ocean water lapping higher along Alastor’s side and your legs with each wave. Water rushed up your skirt, sending sand along your legs, but you were far from eager to move.

Alastor kissed you as if he would find salvation in your mouth and you let him. It was terrible, indecent. It was something you should have felt shame for, and yet there was nothing you wanted more than to feel him against you for every second you could.

Alastor rolled his torso slightly, dumping you off of him and onto the sand. In a heartbeat, he was atop you, kissing you deeper still as his chest settled against yours, pushing you deeper into the sand.

It was on your sides now that the water lapped at but you didn’t care. This was your chance to wrap your arms around him, to touch his back and feel the way the muscles flexed under your touch. You were greedy with the opportunity, feeling the way his body warmed the wet shirt he wore.

The warmth of his skin soaked into her hands. You couldn’t stop yourself from bunching the fabric under your fingers as you pulled him closer. The feeling of his lips again on your neck was driving you mad, leaving you a gasping mess, uncaring for the sand that your wet hair was surely collecting.

You struggled to think. Had you known kissing someone could feel that good? That being kissed could feel as good as this.

Alastor’s hand gripped your ribs as his lips worked along your collar, taking in the breathy gasps that slipped past your lips.

He couldn’t help but wonder how much more you would let him push. The warmth of his hand spread as he caressed higher, gripping softly before moving on, always giving you a chance to stop him until his hand caressed the swell of your breast.

There was nothing painful or taking in the way he touched you. Every caress left you gasping, begging, wanting more. Never had you wanted to be touched in such a way.

You didn’t know it could feel good to be touched like this either. It left you wanting more of his touches. That fire in your belly was burning again, the need sending your hands on a greedy mission to take in the feeling of his torso, the muscles of his chest and arms.

“We should get back,” Alastor said, lips moving against your neck, just above the collar of your dress as he spoke. “The sun is setting. Tide is coming in. We’ll be under water soon if we keep doing this here.”

As if to reinforce Alastor’s words, a larger wave washed over your bodies, drenching your dress and Alastor’s pants.

He pulled back, sitting up and helping you to do the same. You couldn’t help leaning into him, kissing him hard again, wrapping your arms around his neck before untangling again.

The feeling of him was intoxicating. It was like his touch chased away every bit of pain from your life. He erased it all, leaving behind just the woman you could have been. You never wanted to leave this beach, this place where you could just be a girl in love.

Alastor pulled you to your feet, chuckling at the sand in your hair and coating both of your clothes.

“Let me rinse the sand out of your hair.” Alastor knelt down, grabbing the cup before filling it with ocean water. He then used to rinse the sand out, covering you in fresh water.

You shook your head, flinging water and san everywhere. Holding his hands up, alastor laughed before doing the same. With the water in his hair, it had returned to the wild curls you had so rarely gotten to see.

“What?” He caught you looking at him, face flushed. He looked as young as you felt in the moment.

“Your hair looks good with the curls,” you whispered.

“You say that now, it looks alright wet.” Alastor brushed off the compliment.

“Will I get to see it dry?” You asked as he rinsed the sand from his own hair, shaking the water out again.

“I suppose so,” he said after a moment, reaching out for your hand. “I don’t usually straighten it until after coffee.”

“I look forward to seeing it,” you admitted blushing, walking hand in hand with Alastor as if you hadn’t just been taking in the feel of him in public.

“I’ll get to see you with your wild morning hair as well,” Alastor pointed out, “It’s only a fair trade. Are you sure you still want to make this deal?”

“I do,” you said after a moment of thought. “It’s a part of spending the weekend together, isn’t it?”

Alastor rounded on you, snagging your chin between his fingers and pulling your face up to look at him. “It is,” he said, after placing a longing kiss on your lips. “As is continuing to act like young lovers.”

“What does that mean?” You asked as his smile grew wider.

“It means, let’s race.”

Alastor’s laugh was all that was left of him as he tore off ahead of you. After blinking twice, you ran after him. Laughter spilled out from you as you ran as fast as your legs would carry you.

Ahead of you, Alastor tripped, stumbling to catch himself as you closed the distance, heart hammering in your chest. Then his foot slipped out from under him and you overtook him, kicking up sand behind you. It shouldn’t have been possible, with the way your heavy wet skirt tangled between your legs.

The door was so close now. The rush of having Alastor hot on your tail pushed you forward. The cobble stones bit at your feet but you didn’t care. Faster, faster!

You reached the door with a crash, turning to rest your back against only to be met with Alastor crashing into the door, pinning you between him and it. Both he and you were breathing hard, gasping for air.

“I won,” you said, chest heaving with each gulping breath. He let you win, you knew that. He had a foot of height on you. With legs so much longer than yours and clearly being fit, you knew you had no chance to beat him in an actual foot race.

“You did,” he whispered.

You felt brazen, bold, as adrenaline still pumped through you and asked, “What’s my prize?”

Alastor kissed you rather than answer, holding you firm between his body and the door. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers running through the damp curls at the back of his head as he worked his knee between yours.

You gasped as he pressed his thigh into your core carefully. This was everything you had wanted, craved, and were too terrified to ask for. It was what you dreamed about, alone sitting in the tub as your hand ghosted over flesh you were still too scared to explore.

Alastor held your hip tightly in his hand as he reached for the doorknob, working the door open. You giggled, floating on a cloud of elation as he pulled your lip between his teeth. There was a hint of pain as his teeth grazed over where your lip was still healing from the blows your husband had dealt.

The pain should have made you cringe away but instead, you leaned into it. It felt like his teeth were scraping away the memory of what had been done to the lip, replacing it with a passion filled ache.

“I love you, Alastor,” you whispered as his lips moved to your neck. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”

“I love you too,” Alastor said and you couldn’t remember if he had ever said it to you before. Your mind was floating away as he replaced everything you knew. You wanted to hear him say it as many times as you could.

Alastor wrapped his hand around behind the small of your back, grabbing ahold of you and pulling you tighter against his body as he twisted the knob. The door fell away from behind you and Alastor controlled the clumsy stumble into the villa, holding you tightly as he kicked the door closed behind him.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

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arsonlookers · 3 days ago

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Two Worlds Apart

Pirate Aventurine x admirer Mermaid Reader

With your usual mundane routine, you hide yourself in the darkest parts of the ocean and shadows only to look up at those passing ships leaving by, dreaming of one day meeting him again joining the people up above...

the only thing a mermaid like you can do right now is ADMIRE.

You, as a mermaid always love to explore the ocean, and so does the upper land where dangerous humans reside. In your merman folks always warn you about the danger the human monsters always pose to your kind whenever they are discovered how they will be trapped, devoured, tortured, used, abused, killed, mistreated, and lastly never going to be seen in the depths of their beloved ocean again, forever to be trapped on the living land.

it was never a saying but a warning. knowing that some of your kind did get lost on the shores and will never be seen again roaming in the depths of the sea. Even with the warnings from your kind to be always alert and never trust any human words even if it is the sweetest honey of promises and lies.

You only tend to visit the shore at midnight knowing that people are asleep at this time. You are as careful as not to be seen or discovered by any people on your everyday rendezvous.

except for tonight.

You have been following a young sailor lately, and he catches your attention. he has this otherworldly beauty you have never seen any humans have, and his eyes are so captivating that at first, you thought he was not human at all, maybe he is like you a another being disguising himself to hide his true identity. however he was not.

he is just a human, a cunning, captivating, stunning human you have a little crush on. was it because of his eyes? his voice? or his personality? you don't really know.

and here he is right in front of you looking at you curiously yet still having that smile on his face as he greets you

"oh...sorry for interrupting you dear, I was captivated by a beautiful voice here on the shore" Aventurine scans you up and down knowing your true form he is not scared at all in contrast he walks and approaches closer to where you sit.

"don't be scared, I don't mean no harm" he sits beside you still has this distance he puts in between the two of you "Please...continue your song... it was the most beautiful song I have ever heard in my entire life" he said pleadingly looking at you expectantly wishing for you to sing again

You were cautious and yet relaxed because you dont feel any malicious intent from him, so you continued to sing your song.

After one song you look at him and notice him asleep beside you as the shore is the only noise in the background. you cautiously come closer not daring to disturb his sleep, as you come closer you admire his face and how calm he is when he is asleep, unlike the fake smiles you see whenever you see him.

for a while, you stayed but after you decided to leave for the night.

Aventurine wakes up later as the sun rises on the shore, he was expecting you to be there, to see the beauty from last night. But to his disappointment, you are not there, not even a little trace of your existence he thought it was just a dream after all.

"...a dream?" he goes on his day but in the back of his mind all he can think about is you.

Every night he started this little habits of walking on the shores expecting you to show up and sing to him again.

He was sure it was not a dream, he didnt tell anybody about you. A mermaid on the shore rumors might scare you and got you hunted down that's why he never want to even tell people about what he saw.

One night, luckily he waited. On the full moon you show up again sitting on your spot and starts to sing a different song from last time.

he was yet again captivated and waited for you to finish.

"hi, darling" startled you turn around, and looking at him made you feel relieved?

you tilted your head pretending to not understand him

"I'm Aventurine, if you still remember me from a few moons ago" he cautiously comes closer trying to get close to you. You did let him get close but not close enough.

he introduced himself that night, nothing really happened as you decided to go even before he wanted you to stay for a little while longer.

he sighs in disappointment "I didn't even get to know her name, such beauty..."

Night after night he stayed and waited patiently on the shore for you to show up. you did show up a few times and he did get a little closer to you, that's what he thinks to himself. you talked to him a little he did get your name eventually "y/n? That is a fitting name for a beauty like you" he was smitten, he doesn't understand why but he knows you wants to be with you more, longer, just a little bit longer.

"you need to go? can you please stay? even for a little while? how about until sunrise? " Aventurine pleaded holding your hands firmly trying to convince you. but that didn't work at all

you shake your head "That would be dangerous for me, please let go" you say as you pull your wrist and go back to the ocean.

This little meeting was not supposed to last long, you know that but after a while of secretly meeting him, you also started to feel attached to him. You have never seen this side of him, so vulnerable, pleading, and weak. Every time you looked at him secretly in the morning you know him well enough that he was putting a facade even so it still fascinated and attracted you to a dangerous man such as himself.

however every night there he is with his disheveled blond hair and tired eyes, he looks vulnerable so weak yet even knowing that he is a pirate every time you look at him like that it broke your heart that every time he comes you offers a hug.

You now know his past because he told you the story with his own mouth one night, he was so disturbed by his nightmares that he cried in your arms one night until he fell asleep in one of your songs.

As you gave him your usual hug he melted in your warm embrace every time. As he cared for your hair and held you tight it was a different type of hug as he started to kiss your exposed neck.

you didn't stop him after all he had been doing it for a while now you got used to it, every time you tried to stop him he just gave you a pout and a sad look on his face.

"y/n...y/n...i love you" he looked you in the eye one night, and he confessed every time since that night. it becomes a routine a kiss here and a peck there.

he never crossed a line.

"kakavasha" he told you to call him by his name not the other one who he rarely shows you that other side of his. The cunning aventurine.

"hmm?" continues kissing and giving you a hickey "do you want me to stop?"

for the first time, the way he looks at you makes you feel more heated inside as you make the move and connect your lips to his.

a heated kiss happened as both of your tongues clashed with each other, with the desire of devouring each other in mind. You wrap your arms around his neck and he wraps his hands on your waist sensually massaging the spot.

You cant think straight and so does he.

A night of passion was spent between the two of you, you don't understand why you did it but you were happy to do it.

night after night you spend more and more time with kakavasha the more you too fell deeply inlove with the man.

You know he loves you too, and he wants you too, but he has his missions, his goals.

And you know this was forbidden to do, to love a man. a Human at that. You know the consequences...and the difference between the two of you, you know that your kind live much longer than humans... the idea of you living much longer than the man you love makes you feel despair so what you will do is both for the sake of the two worlds. For his.

like the usual night, you spend it with him you sing a song for him you have sex with him and you express more of yourself to the man you will never going to see in person again. at least he won't be able to see you in person again.

"kakavasha, my love?" you called out to him as he wrapped his arms more tightly around you

"yes, darling? is something the matter?" as he held you closely and pecks your head

"I love you" you said it with a small smile

he was shocked, this was the first time you said it. he was ecstatic, so happy even. he hugs you tight "i love you too darling" he was smiling like crazy

As you lean in closer to his ears, you chant a spell to make him pass out. After he passes out and goes limp on the shore you start to chant your spell to make him forget about you, everything about you, and your every night life. After crying while doing the spell all you san say to his unconscious body in front of you is "Sorry...im so sorry darling, i love you kakavasha"

After that night you erase everything that happened and just leave him to the shore alone as you just stare at him far far away hidden in the waves and the rocks waiting for him to wake up.

The only thing you know you can do from now on is live in hidding.

Aventuirne wakes up confused why he is in the shore, sleeping

"huh?...did i sleep here?...did...miss something?" he sits there confused and tired as if he was loss someone or something, he doesn't understand this feeling of loss??

he looks in the ocean he opens his mouth and is about to call out to... "Huh?? who was i about to call out??" confused by his own action he stood up and starts walking away from the shore

the sun has risen yet he feels like he's missing something while he was asleep, he doesn't understand, he's confused yet he also doesnt know why he is confused

"did I just dream?" he yawns and starts walking away from the shore moving back to his travern

....

...

it was sad seeing him forget everything as he moves on. But that was the best you can do...for the both of you.

So you stayed and did what you always do in your mundane night routine, to stare upon his ship like always hiding in the darkest part of the ocean and the shadows of his ship, not wanting to be seen by him or any people. only to dream of one day meeting him again and joining the people up above as the two of you dance your heart out. But for now, all you can do is... ADMIRE from afar....

not noticing a pair of eyes looking at you from above and admiring you from below

A/N : im back yiiieee!! well, can you guess who was spying on her? anyway, it's been a really long time since I wrote something so if there are a lot of mistakes, I'm sorry for it I didn't really proofread it hehe. And I feel kinda rusty when writing again after a really long time:) sorry for the really longtime absence hehe. THANK YOU FOR READING AND ENJOYING ‪‪❤︎‪‪❤︎‪‪❤︎

#x reader #fem reader #slight suggestive #female reader #hsr aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine #aventurine x reader #mermaid reader #pirate au #pirate aventurine #hsr x reader #im back #hsr fanfic

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am-i-interrupting · 1 day ago

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Can’t Go Back | Silco x Reader

Chapter 3 | Pushed Under the Waves

Summary: You had a long, complicated history with Silco before he became the Eye of Zaun. You thought you’d buried it a long time ago. It all starts to re-emerge from the ground when Vander dies and Powder is found in the hands of Silco.

Time felt like it passed by extremely fast and incredibly slow. Most days it felt like just yesterday that you were at the rubble where you found Vander and the boys. Yet it felt like it’d be forever before you saw Jinx (as she was insistent you call her even if it made your stomach curl) again.

It’d been eight months since you stopped fighting. You and Silco had founded a routine. Jinx was with him while you worked and vice versa. Most nights she stayed at The Drop but roughly a week or so worth of nights each month she’d stay with you.

She would curl up in the bed with Ekko after a long day of tinkering and toying and bickering and playing together, just being kids. Even if both of them had haunted looks in their eyes that wouldn’t go away.

Occasionally on those nights she would wake up and go to where you slept on the couch. She would grab your hand and pull you into the bedroom. You’d wrap your arms around her as you both laid down. Normally Ekko would stir at this and roll into your awaiting arms with her.

You cherished those nights.

Tonight, you were throwing yourself into work. At least, that’s what you had planned until Babette informed you, you had been bought out by one person for the night.

You went to the designated meeting spot that had been given. Some people didn’t like being separated from others with only a mere curtain, you could understand that. However, you couldn’t help but feel on edge.

“No,” you said simply as you turned to walk out immediately upon seeing who it was.

A hand grabbed your wrist and you jerked it away. You reared your hand back and punched him in the face.

He faltered for a moment. You went to continue your walk away but he was stubborn. He followed you. It wasn’t until you were out of the building though that he managed to grab you again. This time a tight grip around your forearm instead of a careful one.

“Have a smoke with me,” the velvet voice said. “That’s all I ask.”

You sighed. “Fine.”

You gave in too easily. You knew that. You reprimanded yourself for it. Still, you followed him to the edges of the water.

Another event flashed before your eyes instead of just the one today was the anniversary of.

Running. Adrenaline high. A vague ache in your torso and with each contact your feet had with the ground.

You had been desperate.

There was a slice that rang through the air as Silco cut a cigar. A nice click of his lighter as it opened.

You looked at him. His ocean eye on your side.

He held the cigar between his teeth as the light grew closer to the end of it. His other hand came up and curled around the flame. Slowly the end sparked with a red hue.

His lips pressed against the cigar as he inhaled. His right hand slipping the lighter back in his pocket. His pointer finger wrapped around the top as he used his others to stabilize it.

He drug it away from his mouth. His hand fell to his side for a moment as he closed his eyes and let his head tilt back. Then he carefully exhaled.

He took another puff before he handed it off to you.

“Where’s Jinx?” you asked as you plucked the cigar from him.

“Sedated,” he said causing you to pause, “she had a fit this morning when she realized what day it was. She kept hitting herself, throwing things, talking to her ghosts. I tried talking her down but nothing worked. Sevika brought the doctor in and he sedated her. Not my preferred method but whatever works, I suppose.”

“You should have gotten me.” You took a drag. “I know her better than all of you combined. I could have figured something out,” you said as smoke flooded out your mouth with your words.

“I thought of it but I was more concerned with making sure she didn’t hurt herself severely. Sevika disappeared as soon as the girl threw a knife at her. Came back twenty minutes later with the doctor in tow.”

Your own voice rang in your head from years ago. “She’s got good instincts.”

You said nothing in reply.

Your heart ached at the pain of your girl. You hated that she was going through this.

Thankfully, Ekko was doing much better. At least in comparison to throwing things and hurting himself. He’d requested that you give him his space but you knew where he was. He was at Benzo’s shop, rundown, ragged, and abandoned.

It was truly a miracle that in a years time someone hadn’t snatched it on up and claimed it as their own or that it’s managed to keep its walls free from addicts and those without any roof.

You wanted to buy it but some of your top buyers hadn’t been coming down. Scared shitless of being caught up in the fights. Only within the past month have some started to drip back down to the Lanes.

“Why are we here, Silco?” you asked.

“A man died here, years ago,” Silco began. “You need to let him go in order to move on with life. I’m not him anymore.”

You looked him in the eye. You felt your nostrils begin to sting as your eyes watered.

“I know.”

Silco took the last drag left in the cigar and flicked it into the water. The waves pulled it down until it was beneath the black.

He stepped forward. The water lapped at his shoes. He turned and extended a hand to you.

“He tried to find you,” you told him. “Vander was sorry.”

A bit of the coldness melted away. His arm slumped a bit. No longer straight and rigid but more relaxed. Still, it was reaching for you.

“No matter what he did to you and no matter what you did to him, he still loved you,” you said as you let your hand slip into his.

His hands were cold, long, and wrapped delicately around your own. Engulfing it in his icy touch.

“We tried to find you for months but you didn’t want to be found,” you continued on. “You didn’t even come to their funerals.

“All we wanted was to get to independence and peace but we’re not anywhere near close. How are you any closer to achieving that compared to Vander?”

He didn’t answer you.

You shoved his shoulder with the hand that wasn’t in his hold. “Huh?”

The water was up to your hips.

He didn’t reply.

“There’s been fighting and death and people are dying every day on the streets because of what you put in them! What’s the point? How does this help anyone? How does this make them—“ you gestured at the buildings in the distance— “respect us? All they’re seeing are animals fighting for scraps!

The water was above your chest now, reaching for your shoulders if the waves were strong enough.

He stopped. He turned to you and took both your hands in his. You held his gaze for a minute before you sighed. You let your head thump against his shoulder, uncaring that water lapped at your chin.

“How does this fix things because all I see are more problems,” you said, your voice going quiet.

“We tried to fight for our independence. We tried before and we failed. These are the trails to make our fight succeed,” Silco said. “There will be loss but this way we have subjects who are willing.”

“They’re addicted,” you corrected.

“Would you rather I kidnap people off the street?” he asked. “Pay them to? What money would go back into the trails if we gave it away just to test?”

“Did you even think about trying to strike a deal?” you asked.

“Our tongues are practiced in different forms, even combined, did they ever listen to us before? We need to scare them and if they want a war, we need to win.”

You let your weight fall against him. Felt his hands move to your elbows to adjust. His breath warmed your skin in comparison to the water.

You felt him slowly begin to pull you both down. You didn’t fight it.

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked.

“If I wanted to, I would have done it when I killed Vander,” he said it with such ease.

A tear fell down your cheek. “How comforting.”

The water tickled your lips. You got half a second of warning to suck in a breath before you were under.

In the freezing waters, Silco was warm. You let your eyes close. Your head rested against his own. His hair tickled your face as the soft currents made it sway and dance.

You let your arms wrap around Silco’s middle. He hugged you back.

Together you stayed like that until the inevitable need to breathe befell the both of you. Silco’s foot kicked the bottom of the floor and brought the two of you to the surface, where standing upright the water was beneath you.

You didn’t let go for one moment, then two. You wanted to hold on, keep this moment of peace between you.

He let go first.

Your hands slowly went from his back to his shoulders and down his arms. You opened your eyes.

One sea foam green eye stared at you. The other a flame in the night.

He must have been wearing some kind of makeup because the skin around was blacked, almost necrotic.

He squeezed your elbows. His hands went down to yours. His fingers wrapped around your own. His thumb rubbed. He squeezed again. He walked away but didn’t let go until he was too far away to hold on.

You watched him leave.

You felt cold. The water was cold. The breeze was cold. Neither of those is what caused your feeling.

You stared at the water surrounding you. The waves clashing against each other. The current that tried to push through but went around you as it realized it couldn’t.

Your hands touched the surface. Ripples dispersed. The rings started off small. Then they stretched out as far as they could before they broke.

You breached the surface. Stood for a moment and simply felt. You felt the rush past your fingertips, tickling your skin.

Something slowly bubbled up inside you. It was warm.

You let yourself feel it, touch it, poke it, stoke it. It flared and quickly went from warm to hot to scorching.

Your jaw clenched and your nostrils flared. Your breathing quickened. You were struggling for air.

You slipped beneath the water once more. This time alone. The only source of heat coming from this feeling which overflowed, bubbling and boiling.

You let out an agonizing scream. Water filled your mouth, grimy and desolate. It aimed for your lungs. Going through your clenched teeth like breaking through a dam.

Breaching the water you coughed and heaved.

Your fingers went through your hair and pulled. You felt like you were being strangled. Like a frightened animal in a corner but with the anger of a beast protecting their pride.

You slammed your fists against the water and let another scream ripe through your lungs but this time it went through the air instead of the water.

Ekko didn’t question when you came into the apartment soaked. You didn’t question why his hands were covered in bandages.

In some weird way, you almost felt better.

There was so much going on. Fighting, bombs, guns, punches, yells, screams, struggles, death, life. All of it surrounded you.

Just moment ago you’d been aiming at enforcers. Now you were running. Tears in your eyes as your breathing came out in strangled puffs. You couldn’t keep it down. You couldn’t keep the air in.

You wiped at your tears. Scratched them off your skin.

A yell, his yell. You picked up the pace.

Distantly, oh so distantly you registered ache in your torso that went down and doubled with each contact your feet had with the ground.

But you were desperate.

You saw thrashing in the water. Above the waves one man, below the waves was the one you were more worried about.

Vander looked different. He looked murderous in way you’d never seen before. He looked dangerous in way that made you scared.

The man who’d only ever given you warmth and kindness was scaring you. He scared you here now more than the enforcers ever had.

His hands were wrapped around the neck of Silco beneath the water. He was thrashing and clawing. Every few seconds his hands would come up from the water.

You yelled out both their names but neither responded as you raced closer.

You heart dropped to your stomach when the thrashing stopped. If he could last a few seconds more.

Tears poorer down your face, heated streams of worry and grief. Just a few seconds more.

Vander’s breath left him and he stepped back in the water. Silco’s head bolted up from beneath. He scrambled to his feet. Vander tried to grab him, push him back down. A backward slash to his arm allowed Silco to get away.

The water soaked through your boots as you raised your hand and pointed your gun. This time not at enforcers but your friend.

Your head turned to watch Silco run. Blood tainted the water. It dripped down his face but his hand covered it as he ran.

“Don’t make me shoot you,” you said, voice far more steady and stern than you felt.

Vander took a step closer as Silco still ran. You squeezed your finger around the trigger. The bullet swirled past his head. A warning.

Your lips trembled.

“Don’t think I won’t!”

You readjusted your aim towards his chest.

Vander held his arm that leaked into the water and grunted. Looked at you, past you and then back again. He yelled through clenched teeth as he walked the other way. He picked up his mining gloves and back into the real fight he went.

You stood, staring at the water. It was a murky brown, tinged red with blood.

The reality of what happened sunk in and weighed on you heavier than an anchor.

Your gun fell from your hand. It misfired into the bloodstained river.

You stood for one, two, three, four seconds? Minutes? Hours?

At some point you just snapped into action and ran toward where Silco had. You were only able to follow his trail so far before the blood had been completed washed by the rain.

You collapsed at the end of the trail. The tears never stopped but they doubled down harder.

Fari, dead. Felicia, dead. Connol, dead. Vander, dead to you. Silco, gone.

Your head tilted down towards the pavement as your body curled in. Your hands went to your middle, clutched in fists where your heart was. Almost like if you tried hard enough you could rip your heart from your chest and take the pain with it.

Not once had you ever felt like this before in your life. You weren’t sure you would survive it. It hurt, throbbing a painful beat in your body. With every breath, every movement, every second the pain worsened.

You passed out in the alleyway.

You awoke to a hard pushing against your shoulder. Your eyes opened and you winced at the few scattered bits of sunlight the Lanes got. You rubbed at the sleep in your eyes and tried again. This time the world was less blurry.

Benzo.

“Come on,” he said, heaving you up. “The kids are worried about you.”

You let your head fall against his torso. His arm around you was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Right good scare you gave all of us,” he said with a forced laugh. “We were worried you’d have run off.”

He tried to lift the spirits. Bless him, he did try. However, there was no fixing this right now.

The Last Drop came into view and you stopped.

“Don’t let me see Vander,” you said, spitting out his name like a curse. “I don’t want to kill him in front of the kids.”

Benzo looked at you, worried and concerned. It took a moment for him to realize you were serious.

“Alright,” he said, “give me a second.”

He walked into the bar before you. You leaned against the wall beside the door. You felt numb. You felt heartless. You felt cold.

#silco arcane x you #silco arcane x reader #silco x you #silco x reader

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alittlerobin · 1 day ago

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Elbert/Kate/Alfons

tags: hurt/comfort; established relationship, m/m/f word count: 1.4k

The last thing she wanted to do was leave Elbert there on his own, but the moment she heard the faintest of falling footsteps out in the hall, she rushed out of their bedroom.

She was clad only in her nightgown, her feet bare as she raced down the stairs, heart pounding. It was hours past midnight, yet dawn was still too far off to begin chasing the darkness away. The thought of leaving Elbert alone in their room for even a second, shivering and gasping with tears in his eyes, it wrenched her heart into pieces…

But on nights like this, she didn’t always know what to say, how to calm him or distract him. Not like how Alfons did, at least. She was still learning, still struggling to find the right words or actions, uncertain if a thought would be triggering or comforting, uncertain of everything.

She stopped on the bottom of the stairs, feet frozen from the chill and the panic, and then her eyes met Alfons’s ashen-grey gaze as he returned from one of his nights on the town. “Al, he’s–”

Alfons’s signature grin dropped immediately.

“He’s not hurt,” she stammered in her rush to explain, the words almost choking in her throat. “He just had a bad nightmare, and I can’t… I don’t know what to do. Please hurry.”

At that, Alfons swept across the hall with unusual urgency. His jacket billowed like raven’s wings behind him and he paused only briefly at the top of the stairs, waiting for her to join him. She grabbed his hand, using it to steady her own aching heart, and together they ran back to the bedroom.

“Al…” Elbert’s voice sounded beautifully broken as they both stepped into the room. The low light from the single lamp she’d lit illuminated his skin, making the sweat beading on it glisten.

Alfons’s hand slipped out of hers as he clicked his tongue, crossing the room. “Tsk, tsk, my dear Elbie. You should’ve seen the look on Kate’s face when she ran down to greet me. Absolutely terrified.”

“I… I’m sorry…” Elbert’s voice was softer than a whisper and his golden lashes fluttered shut, the tears clinging to them sparkling like diamonds.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Kate replied, sitting back down on their bed. She shifted as close to him as she could without touching him, letting him be the one to initiate contact when he wanted to.

“She’s right, you know,” Alfons sighed. “But if it makes you feel better, you can go shout your sorry’s from the rooftop.”

Elbert opened his eyes, the oceanic blue of them going wide. “...Does that help?”

“For you, I very much doubt it.” A smile was back on Alfons’s lips, but it was softer, more genuine than the one he usually had plastered on. He slipped out of his shoes, removing his coat and his tie, but when he made to shed the rest of his clothes, Elbert reached out and took hold of his wrist to stop him.

“Don’t… Leave it on, please. I…”

She knew why. And so would Alfons.

Elbert had mentioned before that the mix of cologne, booze, and god knew what else that clung to Alfons after his nights out were a comfort. Because when that profane scent was around, it meant Alfons was around. And when Alfons was with him, no one would come and make him suffer any further on those nights…

Alfons heaved out an exaggerated sigh, but he didn’t protest. He peeled off his gloves and then pressed a knee into the mattress, boxing Elbert in between him and Kate.

The second he was within reach, Elbert turned into him, dropping his forehead against Alfons’s chest. The rapid rhythm of Kate’s heart slowed and she sighed with relief, the tension dropping from her shoulders as Alfons’s arms wound around Elbert to comfort him.

“You’re such a fool. Since our robin has a far more ample bosom, I'd recommend burying yourself in her chest rather than mine.”

There, just like that. Alfons always seemed to be able to drive that pain away with his nonchalance and depravity that might’ve seemed like some ill-advised joke, yet always succeeded in turning thoughts from gloom to scandal or exasperated amusement. Early on, she might’ve scolded him. Yet now she smiled, seeing a hint of the same expression gently touch the corners of Elbert’s beautiful lips.

“Both…” Elbert whispered, his long and elegant fingers clinging to the fabric of Alfons’s vest. “I want both…”

“So greedy. Whatever will we do with you.” Alfons tutted, faking a scolding, and his gaze caught Kate’s. “Come on, little robin, you heard him. He wants both.”

As if she could ever deny him. Either of them. She moved closer, closing the distance between them and gingerly touching Elbert’s back. At the same time, Alfons’s fingers stroked over the nape of Elbert’s neck, light and soothing, like he was petting a kitten. However he didn’t lean down to whisper, casting no illusions. It was merely a touch, with no magic, no curse behind it.

And as soon as Alfons’s fingers pulled away, Elbert turned, slipping into Kate’s open arms instead. She craned her head down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head as Elbert nuzzled into her chest, his arms winding around her waist. She stroked her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp and taking the role of whispering to him softly, reassuring he was safe there between them. No more bad dreams, no more nightmares. Not for forever, but for tonight. For the rest of tonight, he had them both there to protect him.

His grip gradually loosened, his beautiful lashes fluttering shut. And within a few minutes, his breathing was steady and calm, lulled into a far kinder sleep.

The last of the tension inside her melted away and she swallowed a sob of relief, glancing up. The expression on Alfons’s face was so gentle and sweet, it made her heart ache–but this time, with utter joy.

“Thank you…” she whispered, threading her fingers through Elbert’s golden hair once again. “I feel like I’d be so lost without you…”

After a long, silent moment, Alfons closed his eyes, as if afraid to meet her gaze. When he spoke, it was with an unusual strain to his voice. “For so many years, on nights like this, I tried to offer him comfort, tried to give him an escape. At times, on those days when I hadn’t been able to help him evade those vile servants… I offered him illusions, but he always broke out of them so quickly…”

Alfons opened his eyes, looking into hers briefly, before dropping his gaze to their peacefully sleeping Elbert. He reached out, picking up a lock of Elbert’s silken hair, and twisted it between his fingers. “He very rarely accepted my help, preferring to suffer like he believed he deserved. And he never sought out comfort or asked me on his own. The fact that he does so now…”

Alfons leaned down, pressing one kiss to Elbert’s golden hair and another to the back of Kate’s hand. “You may feel lost at times like these, but you’re the one who saved us both. Never forget that, my dear.”

A heat painted her cheeks and melted all the way down to her heart. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Al.”

“Of course not.” Like a shadow passing over a mirror, a haughty grin danced its way back across Alfons’s lips. “All three of us are hopeless fools. We need each other, or we’ll completely fall apart. Isn’t that disgustingly tragic?”

Kate laughed, then bit her lip to stifle it, not wanting to rouse Elbert. “I love you both.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware. Be sure to tell him in the morning when he wakes up. I’m sure he’ll be eager to thank us by ravishing us both.” With a large and very much put-on yawn, Alfons nestled into the bed and draped an arm around Elbert’s waist. He shut his eyes, muttering out a casual good night.

With a smile, Kate tugged the blankets over all three of them and laid down as well. She cradled Elbert’s head against her chest and found Alfons’s hand under the sheets, lacing their fingers together. As she drifted off to sleep only minutes later, she swore she felt his thumb gently stroking over the back of her hand.

This scene was the furthest thing from what she could’ve imagined happening when she was first brought to Crown Castle. But now… she wouldn’t wish for it to be any other way.

#ikevil #ikemen villains #ikevil fanfic #ikevil fanfiction #alfons sylvatica #ikevil alfons #ikevil elbert #ikevil kate #elbert greetia #I need an Elbie/Kate/Alfons route in canon so bad

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katherynefromphilly · 3 days ago

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Winter Solstice 2024 will be Saturday, December 21, at 09:31 UTC.

And because the Winter Solstice always makes me think of Merthur, and specifically this scene from Ever onward, through magic, through love, (pt 4 of the We Begin Again series), I figured I’d re-share this bit of fluff and feels here.

Happy Winter Solstice everyone!

************

They spend the Winter Solstice in a small house Arthur found for them on the internet. It’s upon the western shore of one of the larger, more popular islands, but it has its own private beach, surrounded by palm trees and thick-leaved shrubs.

After they finish a swim, Merlin spreads out a blanket upon the warm sand, and Arthur lays down upon it, arm beneath his head so he can watch the sun descend into the ocean, from a sky already aflame with brilliant oranges and reds.

“Now that is a sunset,” Arthur says.

Merlin lays at his side, propped up on his elbow to appreciate how Arthur’s skin shines golden with the softening light, how his chest rises and falls with his breaths, how his legs are still muscled and strong beneath his soaking swim trunks. Arthur is beautiful, breathtakingly so, and somehow growing more so ever day, in this new life they’re sharing together.

Merlin finds he can’t help but stare. But then, he’s allowed to do that now, isn’t he. So he goes ahead and keeps on doing it.

“You’re missing the sunset,” Arthur laughs, and pokes at his ribs.

What’s a sunset, Merlin wants to say, compared to you? But his throat is too tight, and he can’t get out the words. So he looks at the setting sun instead. Watches the view go blurry. Tries not to blink, to let Arthur see what he’s feeling.

He can’t help it though. Moments like this, with Arthur warm and alive at his side, and the sun setting so beautifully into the tropic water, and their long lives stretching out before them, together, gods, always together-

“Come here,” Arthur says, rough, and pulls him close.

Merlin wraps himself around Arthur’s body, and kisses him, and kisses him.

The waves lap at the beach, and the leaves whisper in the humid wind, and the sky shifts from reds to oranges to violets as the sun dips below where ocean meets sky.

Merlin lifts his head, half drunk on Arthur’s kisses, and on his touches, and on love. Arthur looks the same, a crooked smile upon his face as he lays beneath him, hands running up and down Merlin’s sides.

“I think we missed the sunset,” Arthur says, unconcerned.

“Happy Winter Solstice, then.”

“Feels more like a Summer Solstice, doesn’t it.”

“Too peaceful to be a Summer Solstice,” Merlin says, meaning Arthur’s return from the dead, and the battle they’d waged.

Arthur must think he means the festival, though, because he quirks his head to the side, as he brushes hair from Merlin’s eyes. “Do they have a festival in Avalon on the Winter Solstice as well?”

“People gather near the standing stones. That’s about it, though.”

“You don’t throw a big party?”

“In the cold weather?”

“Just like you to avoid being out in the cold.”

“Well if I’d had a decent coat, or fur lined boots, like a certain royal prat I know-“

“Excuses, excuses…”

Merlin shoves himself up to an elbow. Peers narrow eyed down at Arthur. Then lifts a hand over Arthur’s chest, and wiggles his fingers.

Arthur’s yelp at the freezing sleet that follows is music to Merlin’s ears, for a few seconds anyway, until Arthur picks Merlin up and carries him, laughing and shouting out half-hearted protests, into the ocean.

Merlin’s protest silence completely, when Arthur embraces him in the warm, warm water, mouth finding his own as the foam hisses around them, salt and heat delicious as yuletide sweets upon Merlin’s lips.

“Royal bully,” Merlin breathes between kisses, fingers winding into Arthur’s dripping hair.

“Insolent sorcerer,” Arthur murmurs back, and moves his hands lower, turning Merlin’s reply into soft gasps, and then groans, and finally, over and over again, simply “Arthur”.

#and like the cycle of the year we begin again #altcotywba #merlin fanfic #merlin fan fiction #merthur #yes i’m still writing the sequel #alongside like 5 other things #sorry about that #this is how my brain wants to brain these days

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cpvnksabm · 3 days ago

Text

i think sometimes rtc fans (fic writers especially) who are aware they aren't disability experts will try to "play it safe" and avoid depicting anything that could end up being offensive or inaccurate, because they'd rather not handle something at all than risk handling it badly. i understand this approach, and don't get me wrong, it's a good thing to want to avoid offending people - and it's also a good thing to be aware of when you don't know enough about something to write about it.

but it's upsetting when ricky is sidelined or excluded because people don't know how to depict him. and "include ricky but avoid going into detail about his disability" isn't a perfect solution either - for shorter fics it tends to work fine, but in longer fics, it becomes noticeable when something hasn't been mentioned. ricky's disability would realistically affect his life in many ways, such that if you're depicting him realistically for an extended period it's likely it will be relevant at some point.

on top of that, sometimes the "play it safe, don't do anything that could be problematic" approach extends to people removing parts of canon* that they think may be problematic. and i'm in favour of improving/ignoring the shitty parts of canon, but this needs to be done carefully and with a good understanding of what specifically needs improving and why, because sometimes it's a fine line between "removing the shitty parts of canon" and "erasing disability representation". there are some issues where, even if canon was flawed in its depiction of something, erasing/ignoring it is actually worse.

*when i say canon i mean the 2016-2018 script. i feel we've all agreed that the ableist 2022 script changes are non-canon for obvious reasons

one example of this is ocean's canonical ableism, and how often it's just ignored by the fandom. i think sometimes people are unsure how to handle it respectfully, or feel like it shouldn't have been in the musical in the first place. and different disabled people have different opinions on how well it was handled in canon, i have mixed feelings myself, but regardless of if it was handled well or not, i don't think making her some sort of Perfect Disability Ally Who Loves Ricky in fanworks is a good solution. because as a disabled person, i don't see ocean's ableism as something trivial that can be easily removed, and when people do casually remove it, i find it to be dismissive & minimizing of a real problem. it makes me uncomfortable.

which is funny because i'm sure, at least some of the time, people go with this depiction of ocean because they don't want to risk making any disabled people uncomfortable by depicting ableism!

basically what i'm trying to say here is: when you're depicting a disabled character, you have to make a lot of choices about how to depict them. and if you're scared of accidentally handling something badly, you might try to set it up so you don't have to make a choice on how to depict it, because it just isn't relevant - because ocean was never ableist in your headcanon, or because ricky's disability never impacts him in the story you're trying to tell, or because ricky barely appears in your fanworks anyway.

but choosing not to make a choice is still a choice. when you can't decide how to handle ocean's ableism, so you just don't acknowledge it - that's a choice! when you can't decide how ricky's disability would affect him beyond what we see in canon, so you just avoid going into detail about it, that's a choice. and sometimes the choices that you see as "playing it safe" and "not offending anyone" are, in fact, making some readers uncomfortable - disability representation is very rarely something as simple as "go with the safe option that cant possibly offend anyone", and avoiding showing disability is not a good approach.

and to be clear i am absolutely not saying i think everyone should have to go into full detail on how ricky's disability (& ableism) affects him in every fic. that would create its own set of problems. i think it's important for able-bodied people to be aware that some stories about the disabled perspective are not their story to tell.

but there's a lot of middle ground between "fic entirely focused on depicting disabled experiences in detail" and "ricky's disability is barely mentioned, his backstory is edited to remove ableism references, ocean is his best friend who was never ableist"! having some exploration of ricky's disability as background info or side details can really elevate representation - some of my favourite rtc fics ever are ones where, even if ricky's disability is never plot-important, it was always handled with care and there were clearly no points where the author could have forgotten he was disabled.

i don't have an easy solution here that makes this simple. but i do have some important advice:

just because something can be depicted badly doesn't mean it's always inherently wrong to depict it. there's a big difference between, for example, "the rtc writers could have done a better job handling ocean's ableism in the musical" and "ableism should never be shown in fiction, it was wrong for them to show it on-stage and we must never show it in-fic". there is really no need to entirely avoid something just because it could be done badly.

as i said at the start, it is a good idea to be aware of when you don't know enough about something to write about it accurately. but this doesn't mean you can never write about it, it means you can learn! research is super important and super helpful, and a lot of strictly factual stuff (i.e. the effects of neuromuscular disorders) can be found on a quick google search. writing advice specifically can be harder to find, since it's more opinion-based, but i find you can find a lot of general posts on tumblr and other social media

If you've tried doing research but there's something you don't understand, or you want to depict a really specific situation that nobody has made a general post about - you can ask! my asks are open for this exact subject! another knowledgeable person in the fandom, @icepoptroll , also has asks open and has given me permission to @ them

if you ever DO accidentally come across as ableist or just misinformed... it's not the end of the world. you can receive criticism, and you can listen to that criticism. this happens to everyone because nobody is perfect. you can apologise if necessary, you can go back and edit your own work to make it more respectful if you see a need to do so! while cyberbullying & harassment in fandoms does happen sometimes, most people aren't looking to "cancel" you, and most people will be understanding when you make mistakes.

so if you tend to sideline ricky, or write around his disability, because you're not sure how to tackle it and you're afraid of getting it wrong - please reconsider. there are things you can do to better equip yourself! ricky doesn't have to be a main character, nor does disability have to be the main subject of a fic, but it shouldn't be ignored entirely.

go forth and be brave in your depictions! thanks for reading!

#ride the cyclone #rtc #ricky potts #rtc fandom #ricky potts ride the cyclone #ricky ride the cyclone #ricky potts rtc #ricky rtc #harper explains

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smiley-mcdoggington · 1 day ago

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ALPHA CONSTANCE OMEGA STANFORD BECAUSE YOU CAN PRY THESE TEENAGERS OUT OF MY COLD DEAD HANDS :3 NO GIRLDICK SORRYYYY TW STANCEST TW NONCON TECHNICALLY BECAUSE CONTRACEPTIVES NEED TO BE KNOWN AND AGREED ON TW IMPLIED MPREG TW ABO

Outside the window, a tiny dog was yapping loud enough to echo down the street. Inside, the old AC could be heard buzzing from a room away, and a steady beat of a rubber ball against a wooden paddle tried to drill a hole into Ford's brainstem. The metal finally broke off the pencil he was chewing, and he snapped, spitting out the pencil end and whipping around. "Constance, would you quit that?! You can't copy off my exam if I can't write my own exam because you kept me from studying." He said tersely.

Stan let her toy flop to the side, cocking her head. "You know, studying ain't the only thing you coulda slammed on your desk and done the last three hours." She said, back arched just slightly, legs crossed in her pilfered boxers that Ford would never be able to wear properly again because she was most definitely stretching them out.

"The joke is homework." Ford said vaguely, looking at the way her thighs squished together.

"Huh?"

"'Homework' is what you slam on your desk, 'studying' is a verb."

"Fuck off, you get the gist." She said, getting up and sauntering over. "You gonna do me or am I gonna lose you to that geometry?" She asked, gesturing to his open textbooks.

The reminder snapped Ford back to reality. "I can't, Stan, I have to study. You would know that if you ever tried it yourself." He said, turning back around in his chair and picking up his now broken pencil.

"Aw, but I'm great at studying - I know all the different browns in your eyes because I'm always studying em'." She said, leaning over the back of his chair and letting her warm tits press into his shoulder blades.

"Are you trying to take me to bed with cheesy one-liners? If so, it won't work this close to exams." He lied, because the words he had just written were already blended together with everything else on the page while his mind tried to map out where her nipples sat on his back between their shirts. Damn her.

"Hey, come on Sixer, only thing you're doing is stressing yourself out." She muttered, lips itching his sideburns just slightly. "Why don't you come to bed?"

Ford leaned back against her and blamed it on his nature how easily he sank into her warm, gentle touches. "I can't tonight, Constance, I'm tired." He said, while her fingers carded his hair away from his face.

She hummed, gently turning his head so his ear rested on her shoulder and putting his mouth so close to her neck he could reach out and taste her without having to leave the hold of the fingers scratching at his baby hairs. She smelled like the ocean, salty and earthy - Ford could get drunk off it. And Stan just showed her neck so readily, as if she were the omega in the room. Ford leaned just slightly closer, giving teasing bunny kisses to that sensitive gland on her neck, feeling her breath hitch as much as hearing it. Her other hand came up to his ribs, he laced his fingers through hers and held it there.

She huffed a short laugh, not at all subtle with the deep breaths she was taking. "What happened to studying?" She asked lowly.

"You happened." He retorted, giving the side of her neck a gentle kiss that had her nails digging just slightly into his flesh.

Pulling away was like pulling teeth, and Constance seemed to agree from the way she groaned when his head left the cradle of her shoulder and his hand left hers, but it had to be done. "Take me to bed." He said hoarsely, and Stan keened in a way she obviously didn't mean to from the expression on her face.

"Course'." She said shortly, surging forward, one hand on his ribs and the other on his hip, she looked up at him like the moon and the stars, slowly turning the both of them like a ballroom dance.

She slowly guided him backwards until his knees hit her bunk - her bed still looked the same as it had when they were six and their grandma had gotten her a frilly pink bedding set that was now sunbleached white with fraying frills along the edges. He wasn't one to judge, his bunk was decorated with faded rocket ships. He sat down and she immediately moved to straddle him, mound grinding against his stiff cock. But he grabbed her hips.

"I'm tired, remember?" He dragged, the empty feeling in himself more glaring the more he thought of his next words. "Won't you take the lead?" He asked, and his sister's eyes widened.

For a second she just studied him, looking for a tell that he was lying, before a wide smile lit up her face. "You're shittin' me - I can?" She said, excitement lilting her words, hips rocking just slightly against his thighs - he could feel the moisture through his stolen boxers.

Ford had looked into it - he was fairly certain she wouldn't be able to Lock with him on her first attempt, so it wouldn't matter that he had been so busy studying he had forgotten to refill his birth control. He was almost certain - and more pressingly, he very much wanted to know what it felt like to Kiss with her.

He nodded in response to her, and she all but tackled him into her threadbare sheets, giggling like an excited child and kissing all over his face - it was impossible for her giddiness not to affect him, he found himself chuckling along with her.

Then she pulled back, hips still gyrating just slightly on his stomach so she could lay face to face with him. She took his face in both her hands. "You wanna be on your front or your back?" She asked, nerves starting to show, trying to hide it with an awful grin.

Ford had seen a book, and while he was flexible, being on his back while Kissing seemed... Ambitious. Especially for a first time. "Front." He said, and Stan nodded, before crawling off of him. He almost flipped onto his front immediately, but then he felt her thin hands on his knees. He looked down and saw her looking at him with her head between his legs. She gave him an evil little grin, reaching for the button of his jeans. She pulled his pants down agonizingly slowly, giving herself a little show as she traced his thin, hairy legs with her eyes. His brows lowered, waiting for her to be quite done amusing herself, even as something like pride curled in his stomach just seeing the evidence that she found him appealing.

Finally the pants were off his legs and she went for his waistband. He hadn't felt how wet he had become until she pulled his boxers away, and he could see the dark spot in the gray material. Stan also seemed to notice this, and maybe something else, from the way her hands had stopped dead on his waistband and she was looking between Ford's legs with wide, dark eyes. Ford put his knees together in front of her. "Hurry up, Stan."

Constance nodded, still distracted but at least getting his boxers off his legs. "You smell like taffy, you know that?" She said, swallowing her saliva.

Ford's face twisted. "Gross." He said, because he had no idea why Stan liked it.

"Gorgeous." Stan corrected, gently pulling his legs apart again, looking for a reaction - permission. He let his legs fall open again and she smiled dopily. "Ya smell gorgeous." She said as if it made sense.

She kissed up the insides of his thighs, one of her smaller hands coming up to wrap around his cock and squeeze. Then something hot and blunt pressed against his hole and for one heartstopping moment he thought it was a phallus - as if he hadn't seen Stan's genitals before, as if he didn't know female alpha biology, as if her crotch was even close to his - but the the pressure dragged upwards, over the slit of his taint, making him shiver, stopping right at his balls. That was her tongue. She was licking him. His face burned hot - her actions were obscene, he was suddenly frantic to remember the last time he'd showered - too long ago. Then her tongue lapped at him again and he keened, high and embarrassing, his hands both snapping down to grab her hair just to hold on. Sure she had stuck a finger or two in him before but this was different.

Stan moaned with her tongue still out and against his hole, and the vibrations made him squeak. "Stan!"

Stan poked her head up, looking dazed as all hell, an indiscernable clear liquid glinting on her chin. "Ya?" She said astutely.

Ford felt like a live wire in her hands. "Would you get on with it? I want to t-try..." He trailed off, but his twin understood.

She stood up, shucking her pilfered boxers like they were on fire, t-shirt gone with enough force it made her tits sway like a hypnotist's pocket watch. She grabbed under Ford's thighs, picking them up and turning his whole body to be in line with her bed before crawling up after him. Ford was so startled by the sudden action he nearly forgot to flip onto his front. Her thighs bracketed his hips, sopping cunt pressing his cock into his stomach while she pulled at his shirt as if she didn't know what she was doing to him.

Her ten fingers snaked under his shirt and pulled it up, only pausing for a second when she saw his nipples - he did not understand her fascination - before pulling the clothing over his head with his assistance. She kissed his cheek and his jaw and after a quick nod from him, kissed his neck, one hand idly groping at his chest for a tit that was not there. Then she backed off, crawled back to the foot of the bed to give him space and waited with eager eyes still roving over him.

He got his elbows under him, slowly turning himself, only looking away from her when he absolutely had to as he laid down on his front, arms poised and ready to push himself up and off at a moment's notice. He heard no shuffling - Stan was still waiting. He buried his face in a greasy pillow that smelled like the ocean and slowly arched his body into the mattress, stiff cock dragging against the mattress as his pelvis slowly tilted up. He heard her hum, low and infatuated with what she saw. His legs were already shaking when she moved, straddling the backs of his thighs. Her small hands moved to his ass, cupping the small amount of fat there, thumb rubbing gentle circles into him. "It's alright, Stanford." She said, voice rough but words gentle, more soothing than they had any right to be. "You can tap out if you need to--"

"Don't." He snapped without thinking. "Just - just fuck me, Constance." He said, and Stan groaned. The weight left his legs as she shuffled forward.

Then she was on him. Knees on either side of his hips, warm, wet heat dragging against his hole. He keened, long and low, feeling her gyrate slowly against him with little huffing whines of her own. He could feel his own pulse - or maybe it was hers? Inside him. Her weight kept him from rolling back into his sister but she seemed more than content to move enough for the both of them. Her hands reached for his and he quickly put them over hers, feeling her kiss his shoulder blades. Her clit caught his rim and they both moaned.

Stan huffed, her grinding slowly getting faster. He could feel his slick and hers both running down over his taint. She swallowed thickly, and something about hearing her behind him made Ford feel cut open for her to see. "You like it?" She asked, voice gravelly but still checking on Ford.

Ford nodded against her pillow. "Yes!" He yelped as he felt the briefest suction on his rim. His mouth got stuck on the word, repeating it over and over until it didn't sound like a word anymore, just gibberish as his release built and built. Stan rolled her hips hard against him and he yelped, hands gripping hers for dear life while he drooled on her pillow. His peak was so close he could taste it, every brief meeting of her hole perfectly against his driving him that much closer. He could hear his sister above him, wanted to catalogue every new noise she made but her movements were melting his thoughts away into a pretty little puddle like the one he could feel growing between his legs. Their holes caught again for a second, and Stan growled slightly. He tried to formulate a question to that when she repeated her movements but stopped dead halfway through, and Ford wailed into her pillow while his brains were pulled out of his asshole, warm suction like a perfect kiss covering his hole. Locked, his brain added, but he couldn't remember why the concept was anything but earth-shatteringly hot.

Then Stan's thighs started quivering at his sides while she keened, and the first rush of warmth painted his insides. He cried, rutting as much as he physically could, feeling her seed slowly fill him with a rush of satisfaction that had him finally falling over that edge, shaking apart under his sister while her weight held him down and she put gentle kisses in his sweaty hair.

He was panting when he rolled his sister off him so he could face her, kiss her, hold her. But then a trickle of her seed trailed down his ass cheek and he paled.

"You came in me." He said quietly.

Constance smiled dopily at him. "Yeah - but it's fine, you're on the pill, right?"

"I haven't had a chance to refill my prescription." He said faintly, and her face paled to match his.

"Shit."

#stancest #a/b/o dynamics #Please I need other people to see the vision this is hot right #drafts

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dungeefox · 3 days ago

Text

A Love That Lingers - H.J

She wouldn't mind spending the rest of her life making Joshua remember how much she loves him.

pairing: joshua x oc

genre: angst, fluff

wc: 2,710

She stood at the edge of the park, her heart a swirling mix of hope and anxiety. The gentle rustle of autumn leaves was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions within her. Today, she would meet Joshua, the boy she had loved for two years, whose memory was now a blank slate.

It had been two months since the accident. Joshua had survived physically unscathed, but his memories had not. Doctors called it retrograde amnesia, but to her, it felt like losing him twice. She missed the way he knew her favorite coffee order, the way he laughed at her terrible jokes, and the feeling of his hand in hers.

Determined, she had spent weeks visiting him, showing photographs, recounting stories, and trying to rekindle the spark that once burned so brightly. Today, she hoped to remind him of their shared past, and maybe, just maybe, light a candle in the darkness of his memory.

𓂃۶ৎ

She sat comfortably on the couch, her phone turned on, an album full of their photos together ready. Her boyfriend, sat beside her, a curious yet blank expression on his face.

"Ready for a trip down memory lane?" She asked with a gentle smile, trying to infuse her voice with warmth and hope.

"Absolutely," Joshua replied, a hint of excitement in his voice despite the uncertainty that often clouded his thoughts. He was eager to rediscover the fragments of his past, trusting her to guide him through the mosaic of forgotten moments.

She showed him the first photo, revealing a picture of the two of them at a beach, laughing as the waves crashed around them. "This is from our trip to Jeju last summer," she explained. "You insisted on teaching me how to surf, even though I was hopeless at it."

Joshua studied the photo, his brow furrowing slightly as he tried to connect with the image. "I remember the ocean," he said slowly, "but not the trip. It feels like trying to recall a dream."

She nodded, understanding the struggle. "That's okay. We can create new memories, too. But I thought revisiting these might help.”

Turning to the next photo, she revealed a candid shot of Joshua proposing during a picnic in the park. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a romantic glow over the scene.

"You proposed to me here," she said softly, tracing the outline of the photo with her finger. "It was the happiest day of my life."

Joshua gazed at the picture, silent for a moment. "I wish I could remember that," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "But I can see how happy we were. I can feel it."

She felt her heart race at the thought of how Joshua could still recall the emotions they shared in that moment. It was as if time had folded back on itself, bringing those cherished memories to the forefront of her mind. The way he smiled, the warmth in his eyes, and the gentle touch of his hand were all reminders of the connection they shared. It was a bittersweet nostalgia, a dance between what was and what could have been. Despite everything that had changed, the essence of their bond remained untouched, a testament to the depth of their feelings. As she looked at him now, she realized that some moments are timeless, etched into the heart and soul, waiting to be revisited with every beat.

𓂃۶ৎ

Meeting Joshua has become part of her routine, and their dates are feeling a lot more like tutoring lessons. Excited to look back on their memories together. As she approached the bench where they had agreed to meet, she noticed Joshua sitting with a girl she didn't recognize. The girl was laughing, her eyes sparkling with ease that made her heart sink. Joshua looked at her with a polite, distant smile, a stranger wearing a familiar face.

"Oh hi! This is Hana," Joshua introduced, his voice warm, yet detached. "We met at the library. She's been helping me with some... stuff for a few weeks now"

She extended her hand to Hana, trying to mask her surprise and disappointment that Joshua did not bother introducing her as his fiancée. "Nice to meet you," she said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her heart.

As they sat together, she tried to share memories, recounting trips they had taken and moments they had cherished. But every mention of the past was met with a blank stare from Joshua and an encouraging nod from Hana. She watched as Joshua turned to Hana for reassurance, the connection between them undeniable.

Despite her best efforts, she felt her stories fall flat, like raindrops on a parched ground. Joshua listened, but his eyes often drifted to Hana, as if she were the anchor, keeping him grounded in a sea of confusion.

Eventually, the conversation turned to lighter topics—music, books, and favourite movies. Here, Joshua seemed more animated, engaging with both her and Hana. She noticed how Joshua's eyes lit up when Hana spoke, a spark she had longed to see.

When it was time to leave, Joshua walked her to the edge of the park. "Thank you for coming," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I appreciate you trying to help me remember."

She nodded, trying to ignore the lump in her throat. "I'll always be here for you, Joshua," she replied, her voice soft but firm. "No matter what."

As she walked away, she couldn't help but glance back. She saw Joshua rejoining Hana, their heads close together as they laughed at something she couldn't hear.

As she watched him now, she felt like a shadow of a stranger's life. She remembered the way Joshua used to look at her, with eyes full of warmth and love. Now, that same look was directed at someone else. It was as if she was invisible, a bystander in a story that was spiralling away from her.

The woman he was with, Hana, had been a constant presence in Joshua’s life since the accident. She was kind and understanding, someone who had helped him navigate the complexities of his new world. She couldn't help but acknowledge the bond they shared, a bond that seemed to grow stronger each day. A bond that she once shared with him.

Her heart ached as she realized she was losing him, not to a rival but to a forgotten past that she could not reclaim. Every smile they exchanged, every laugh they shared, was a reminder of the memories she treasured, the memories that had been erased from his mind.

She wondered if she should fight for him, remind him of the love they had once shared. But she feared that pushing too hard might drive him further away, might cement his feelings for Hana, who seemed to understand him in a way she no longer could.

She knew then that she had a choice. She could hold onto the past, or she could let go and allow Joshua the chance to find happiness, even if it was with someone else.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she grappled with the decision before her. It was not an easy choice to make, but she knew it was necessary. She took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill her lungs, and resolved to give Joshua the space he needed.

𓂃۶ৎ

In the days that followed, she focused on rediscovering herself, immersing in hobbies she had set aside, and reconnecting with friends she had drifted away from. Though her heart still carried a shadow of sorrow, she found solace in the small joys of everyday life. Maybe she needed to give Joshua time for himself. It would allow him the freedom to explore his thoughts, passions, and dreams without feeling the weight of expectations. In doing so, she hoped that when they came together again, it would be with renewed energy and understanding. Perhaps this period of reflection and personal growth would bring them closer, allowing their relationship to flourish in new and unexpected ways.

𓂃۶ৎ

One afternoon, as she sat in her favorite café, sipping a steaming cup of tea, she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turned, surprised to see Joshua standing there with a soft smile.

"Hey,” He greeted, taking a seat beside her. “I've been thinking a lot," he said, his voice earnest.

She was filled with fear, anxious about what the future might hold. Is this it? She hadn't come to a conclusion yet, but did she need to let him go now? Could this be the end of their love story? Attempting to push these thoughts aside, she looked at Joshua’s hand and felt her heart shatter at the sight of his bare ring finger. Shr had given him a promise ring. It was a symbol of their shared dreams and hopes, a testament to the bond they had nurtured over the years. Each time she glanced at that spot, now empty, it was as if a piece of her own heart was missing.

Joshua seemed to notice this, panicking, he reached out something from his pocket.

“I remove it when I shower. Is that okay?” He said smiling, lifting his right hand in front of her eyes holding the ring. Her heart skipped a beat as relief washed over her. A warm smile spread across her face, and she felt a wave of affection for him. "Of course," she replied softly, touched by his thoughtful gesture.

Joshua chuckled, slipping the ring back onto his finger. "I just wanted to make sure you knew it was always with me."

She nodded, feeling the tension between them dissolve. "Thank you for reassuring me," she said, her voice gentle. "I've been doing a lot of thinking too. I think this time apart has been good for us."

He nodded in agreement, his eyes meeting hers with a renewed sense of understanding. "I feel the same. It's given me the clarity I needed. I realized that no matter what, my heart always finds its way back to you."

They sat there for a moment, the world bustling around them, yet it felt like they were in their own little bubble. The love between them seemed to grow stronger with each passing second, unspoken words and shared memories weaving an invisible bond that was unbreakable.

"How about we take things one step at a time?" she suggested, her heart full of hope.

Joshua smiled, a spark of excitement in his eyes. "I would love that," he replied, reaching across the table to hold her hand. The warmth of his touch was a promise of new beginnings and endless possibilities, and she knew, deep down, that this was just the start of a beautiful new chapter in their lives.

They lingered in that moment, savoring the peace and understanding that had settled between them. Around them, the café buzzed with the sounds of life—clinking cups, soft chatter, and the occasional laughter that drifted through the air like a gentle breeze.

"What do you say we make some plans for the weekend?" Joshua asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

She grinned, a playful glint in her eyes. "I think that sounds perfect. Maybe a picnic in the park? Or we could try that new art exhibit downtown."

"Why not both?" Joshua suggested with a wink. "We can make it a day full of adventures so I can get down on one knee and propose to you again."

Her heart soared at the thought, and she nodded enthusiastically. "I can't wait," she said, feeling the excitement bubble up inside her. She was so excited that she wasn’t able to comprehend what he said last.

“Wait, what?” She asked, lifting furrowing her eyebrows at him.

“Mmh? Oh nothing, go ahead finish your coffee.” Joshua answered looking away from her.

Little did she know that Joshua meant what he said. He was planning on proposing again, may not be in the park or the art exhibit, but he will. Joshua had been planning this for weeks, meticulously crafting a day that would be both memorable and meaningful. He wanted to recreate the magic of their first proposal while adding new layers of shared experiences and cherished moments.

𓂃۶ৎ

Joshua did just that, taking her to some of the few places he remembers the two of them have shared so many memories of. Although he may not remember all the little details, he loves how the places made him feel and how it makes his heart always go back to you. He guided you through the vibrant streets of the old town, where the aroma of freshly baked pastries filled the air. You both paused at the quaint café on the corner, where you had spent countless hours lost in conversation, sipping rich coffee and sharing dreams. The laughter and warmth of those moments seemed to linger, enveloping you both in a comforting embrace.

Next, he took you to the park where the autumn leaves painted the ground in brilliant hues of gold and crimson. It was here that you first held hands, and as you walked under the canopy of trees, the crunch of leaves beneath your feet brought back a flood of cherished memories. Joshua smiled, recalling how you had playfully tossed leaves at each other, your laughter echoing through the crisp air.

Finally, as the sun began to dip below the horizon, he led you to the hill overlooking the city, a place where you had often sat together, watching the world transform under the twilight sky. The city lights twinkled like stars, and as you both settled down on the familiar patch of grass, Joshua turned to you with a tender gaze. "No matter where we go," he said softly, "these places will always hold a piece of us. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

𓂃۶ৎ

As they finished their lunch, Joshua suggested, "How about we start with a stroll through the botanical gardens today? I hear the cherry blossoms are in full bloom."

She smiled, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. "That sounds perfect. And maybe we can stop by that little cafe we love again for some pastries?"

Joshua nodded, his heart racing with excitement. "Absolutely, sweetheart."

The sun was shining brightly as they meandered through the gardens, hand in hand, surrounded by the delicate beauty of the blossoms.

As they approached a quiet, secluded spot by a serene pond, Joshua paused and turned to her, his expression serious yet tender. "This is where I wanted to bring you," he said softly.

She looked around, taking in the peacefulness of the moment, unaware of what was about to unfold. Joshua took a deep breath, reaching into his pocket as he knelt down on one knee.

"Every day with you is an adventure," he began, his voice filled with emotion. "And I want to spend the rest of my life creating new memories with you. Will you marry me.....again?"

Tears of joy filled her eyes as she nodded, her heart overflowing with happiness. "Yes, a thousand times yes," she whispered, pulling him into a warm embrace.

The world seemed to stand still around them, the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of birds the only witnesses to their moment of profound love and commitment. As they held each other close, the pond reflected their entwined silhouettes, capturing the essence of their renewed promise.

Soon, they found themselves seated on a nearby bench, fingers still interlocked, reminiscing about the journey that had brought them here. The garden, with its vibrant tapestry of colors, seemed to celebrate alongside them, each flower a symbol of the love that had blossomed and flourished over time.

"We should come back here every year," she suggested, her eyes still glistening with joy.

Joshua smiled, kissing her hand gently. "And every year, I'll ask you again, just to make sure you're still willing to put up with me."

She laughed, the sound like music in the tranquil setting. "Always," she replied, knowing that their love was a garden that would continue to grow, nurtured by shared dreams and cherished moments like this one.

𓂃۶ৎ

#hong jisoo #hong joshua #joshua #joshua seventeen #joshua angst #joshua fluff #svt #svt fic #joshua fic #seventeen #hong jisoo x reader #hong jisoo x you #joshua x reader #joshua x you #joshua x y/n #joshua x oc #hong joshua x reader #hong joshua x oc

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peterjakes · 2 years ago

Text

Theon x Sansa - 'It feels like there's oceans between you and me'

Theon Greyjoy is at Dragonstone. Sansa Stark is at Winterfell. No matter how far apart, these two can’t help but feel the pull towards each other. And that must mean something, surely?

After years of saying I would write about theon and sansa, I have finally done it. I really enjoyed their dynamic in s5+6 and their reunion in s8 was lovely but let’s just forget what happened afterwards :)

set during s7 – I’m not sure if this one even has a plot, more about their feelings and thoughts about each other! might write some more but will see :)

thank you for reading x

also posted on ao3; https://archiveofourown.org/works/45549028

Regret. Guilt. Shame.

Those were the feelings Theon had about the things he had done, and they were terrible things. Some nights he’d try to forget, forget how many lives he destroyed, forget how people he betrayed. It was futile. This wasn’t going to make him go to sleep any easier or quicker. The nightmares always came. He was always there. Other nights were different. Theon didn’t like to think of what he had done, the shame and guilt were sometimes too much. But he had to, he was reminded of what he had done every single day. He would think of how he betrayed Robb, his friend Robb. He would think of how he murdered Ser Rodrik in cold blood. He would think how he terrorised the people in Winterfell. How he was the reason two innocent farm boys died, burnt their bodies, and had them displayed for all to see. And all for what? Because his father didn’t love him the way he wanted him to? Because everyone on Pyke seemed to prefer his sister. Because he was neither a Stark nor a Greyjoy, not truly. Those were not nice things to think about, particularly at night. But lying in the bed he’d been given at Dragonstone; he didn’t know what else to think about. He deserved to think about those things, to relive them, he couldn’t let himself forget, he mustn’t. It had to be that way.

And everything that had happened after, at the Dreadfort and then Winterfell, it was only what Theon deserved, what was coming to him. He had to pay for his crimes, for his sins and Ramsey Bolton had made sure of that. Ten times over. Repenting, having remorse, being redeemed – Theon wondered what it all meant. It didn’t change anything, it couldn’t. They couldn’t go back, no matter how much Theon wanted to. Theon had regretted what he had done, not just because of what happened at Winterfell not too long ago, because it was the right thing to do, to feel. He had betrayed so many people, he had destroyed and taken and ruined so much. Sitting in the kennels night after night as Reek, Theon believed this is what he deserved and believed he would lie there until his death. He would be Ramsey’s forever.

But Theon was Theon again, Reek did not exist. Reek had never existed, not truly, and Theon had known that deep, deep down. It was Theon who had witness the horrors the Bolton’s enacted for so long. It was Theon who was there that wedding night. It was Theon who had brought Sansa breakfast every day and refused to help her. Until he didn’t, until he couldn’t not do something.

And it was Theon was had killed Myranda and got Sansa out to safety. This was one of the only truly good things Theon had ever done. But it couldn’t make up for the rest. The good certainly did not outweigh the bad, as he was so often reminded. He deserved the memories, the nightmares, the terrors.

The scars were still there, they would never leave. They were everywhere. They were in his missing fingers. They were in his sunken face. They were in his bony arms and legs. They were covering his back. They were in everything that had been taken from him. Theon’s whole appearance had changed, he knew that. He was no longer the stupid boy he once was. He had been reborn, almost, but Theon wasn’t sure it was something better. He had learnt his lesson, learnt from his mistakes and would never stray again. He would never do what he had done, he couldn’t. Whatever he did now, it would be good. Theon had to try.

When Theon did eventually sleep, it was never for long. The outside world always seemed too loud, crashing waves, howling wind, singing birds. It was all a big distraction, to anything else that surrounded him and his thoughts. In a way, Theon didn’t mind. Those sounds, they were real, real life and they were happening in that moment. They weren’t the nightmares that cursed him, not the memories that followed him or the feelings that haunted him.

Ramsey Bolton would always make an appearance in his nightmares, the thought of seeing his face every single night plagued Theon. It was never for long, Theon always seemed to find a way to wake himself up and escape. But it long enough, within the nightmare it always felt like an eternity. Just seeing that deadly smile. Those wicked eyes. It was enough to be sure Theon didn’t sleep for a week. And this was constant. A never-ending cycle. He would sleep. Ramsey would appear. He would awake. And he would stay awake until he could sleep once again. Theon had come to accept this; this was how his life was would be. A constant nightmare, a different one from before, but still a nightmare.

When his thoughts had shut out the bad feelings, the bad memories and the bad nightmares, his mind wandered elsewhere to something better, to something good. To someone good.

Theon hadn’t wanted to think about her, or maybe he did. He didn’t want to think about those long nights in Winterfell, not how she looked on her wedding night or the pain in her face. He couldn’t ignore them, but the thing he wanted to think about was her smile when they had departed, was that hug she gave him. That was what helped Theon sleep, to know Sansa was safe, to know she had gotten away. To know Theon had a small part of that.

Sansa had hated him, had despised him when she had realised, he was there in Winterfell. And it was what Theon had deserved. Robb had been killed, and Theon had a part in that. Maybe not directly, but he had betrayed him in the worst possible way. They were not blood, not family, but he was his brother. He would have followed him until the end. But he had not. Theon put his faith in the wrong person, and he had paid for it, as had the Starks.

Sansa had every right to feel the way she did, and Theon had never expected anything less. He had thought the two would be trapped, would be stuck under Ramsey’s wrath for eternity. They would never leave; they would be broken forever. Theon had accepted that, at least for himself. But he couldn’t let the same happen to Sansa, he couldn’t and wouldn’t. It wasn’t fair. He deserved it, but Sansa did not. She deserved better, much better than Ramsey. And much better than Theon could ever give her.

But she didn’t hate him now, that much was clear to Theon. She was grateful for Theon. She didn’t look at him with disgust or anger, but sadness and appreciation. Or so Theon thought. It seemed so long ago that the two had parted, that Sansa had made her well to Jon, whilst Theon home. The Iron Islands didn’t feel much like home. They didn’t the first time had returned and even less so this time around. But it made sense for him to go. There was no way of knowing what could have happened if he stayed in the North. Going to Castle Black was never an option for Theon, no matter how much he wanted it to be. But the two had parted as friends, at least.

Theon still wasn’t so sure he deserved that. He may not have killed Bran and Rickon, but he had still betrayed the North, betrayed the Starks, Winterfell, Robb. He had still killed Jack and Billy. Ser Rodrik. He had destroyed so much and maybe he didn’t deserve to be forgiven. Maybe he would have to live with that guilt for all his days, until it finally took him.

What is dead may never die. But Theon wasn’t dead, he was far from it. He had made it, he was existing. No, it was more than existing, more than surviving. He was living. There were things to live for. Things Theon could live for. His sister, Yara. Even after everything, after her anger and hatred for what Theon had done and what he had become, she had accepted him. They were both at Dragonstone, they were both alive, they had each other now, more than they ever had in the past. Maybe there was hope, too, more hope than Theon had realised could exist.

And Sansa. That was a reason too, regardless how far away Theon was, his thoughts would drift towards her and her safety. There was no real way of knowing whether she had made it to Castle Black, the safety of her brother. But Theon, as Sansa, had put her faith in Brienne of Tarth. Theon had only met her once, so briefly on that cold day, but it was enough for him to know she was trustworthy. She would keep Sansa safe, in a way Theon could never. The adrenaline was slowly faltering away after escaping Winterfell and no matter how much he wanted to, how much he would have risked for Sansa, he knew he couldn’t stay with her any longer.

But Sansa… she was something worth living for. To know she was safe, she was alive. There was hope for her, even if there wasn’t any left for Theon.

Sansa Stark was having the same dilemma. She was back at Winterfell, her childhood home, and yet everything felt so different. The happy memories Winterfell once held were gone, replaced with the terrors and nightmares she had endured by the hand of the Bolton’s, by the hand of Littlefinger, by the hand of Ramsey.

But he was gone, dead, mauled to death. The way it had to be. Ramsey wasn’t coming back. Maybe he would visit Sansa in her nightmares, but they were not real. Just nightmares.

Her old bedroom, where her parents would kiss her goodnight, where she would dream of Kings and Queens, of Knights, of dances and feasts. That no longer existed. Jon had suggested she take her parents’ bedroom, and though it didn’t seem right, she couldn’t go back to that bedroom, she just couldn’t.

But Sansa was home, and it was her home now, more than it had been before. The meaning had changed, it had shifted but that didn’t change the fact that Winterfell was the Starks again. There must always be a Stark at Winterfell. And now there were two. Bran was out there, somewhere. Maybe Arya too. Her family, still scattered across the way. But a family.

But Theon…it was Theon who she had to thank for this. It was Theon who had stopped Myranda. Theon who had jumped the wall with Sansa. Theon who had protected her from the hounds. Theon who had saved her.

Sansa had no way of knowing whether he got home to Pyke safely. Home. Was Pyke truly Theon’s home? Was Pyke the one place Theon wanted to be? Sansa wasn’t so sure. Regardless, she wanted a sign at least, to know Theon was safe. That was important. It was true she hadn’t sent word to him, but all of Westeros knew Jon was now the King in the North, with his sister by his side. Maybe Theon had heard that, Cersei certainty had. She hoped he had.

She missed him, Sansa could at least admit that, even if she struggled to admit anything else. Being back at Winterfell, being surrounded by Stark supporters, by Northerners, by Brienne, by her brother, Jon, it made Sansa think back to the past.

Those days before Winterfell was visited by King Robert, they were peaceful. Sansa couldn’t remember a time before Theon. It had always been both her brother, Robb, and Theon, the Prince from the sea. That was what he would tell any girl he could find. He may not be a Northerner, but he was a Prince. That always seemed to stump Robb. Sansa was never taken in by Prince Theon, or so she liked to tell herself. There may have been a time, a very short time, when Sansa had wondered what would happen if her father would have wed her to Theon. It was unlikely, of course. But that thought had crossed her mind, and it must have been for a reason.

The first last time Sansa had seen Theon after so long, he was so skinny, so frail. She was surprised to find him in the kennels. Myranda had known what Sansa would find; she had done it deliberately, of course, to spite her. And to spite Theon. He had clearly been avoiding Sansa. After that, it was anger, pure anger. There cowered Theon. Theon, who the Starks had grown up with. Theon, who was like a brother to Robb. Theon, who Sansa would sometimes watch as he practiced his archery, something he was so skilled at. Theon, who had betrayed Robb. Theon, who had killed Bran and Rickon. Burnt their bodies. No, Theon, who had killed those two boys, the ones that Sansa didn’t even know existed.

But that Theon didn’t exist. He hadn’t existed for a long time. He had been chipped and chipped at, stripped of anything that was important. Sansa didn’t realise this at first. All she saw was a coward, someone who was pretending. But Ramsey made sure Theon wouldn’t pretend, he couldn’t. Theon was Reek, or so he thought. Reek. Reek. Reek! Never Theon. Not Theon. He wouldn’t allow it, he couldn’t allow it, no matter how much he wanted to. Sansa wasn’t going to let herself turn into that, turn into something so strange and unlike her. She would die as Sansa; she wouldn’t let Ramsey turn her into something so far from the truth.

The thought of Theon now stirred something in Sansa, she wasn’t quite sure what it was or when it appeared, but it was there. It was different to what she was younger. Her childish fantasy hadn’t lasted long. She had become occupied with something else, something better, or so she had thought. Sansa hadn’t been particularly clever in that department. But time had passed. Joffrey had been dead years. He no longer haunted her. Soon Ramsey would go too, he would visit her in her dreams and then it wouldn’t be a nightmare, just a memory.

Sansa knew she bore scars from Ramsey, just as Theon did. The physical scars, the bruises, they had almost all disappeared. Her skin was no longer ragged and harsh, but smooth once again. But those were not the only scars, those other things Ramsey would do to her night after night, they would never disappear. She would always remember. They would always be with her. Sansa was changed, by Joffrey, by Cersei, by Ramsey. But she had learnt. She would never let anyone treat her the way she was treated. She wouldn’t allow that to happen. To her. Or to her family.

But Theon. Somehow, in the midst of everything, it was Theon who had saved Sansa. Theon who had protected. It was Theon who had come back, for Sansa. Sansa wasn’t sure she could repay him for that. It was true he had done terrible things, awful things. That betrayal… But Sansa wasn’t angry with him, not now. Far from it. She understood, she accepted. And he understood her, far more than anyone else could. More than anyone at Winterfell. More than Jon. They had something, something shared. It wasn’t something nice, wasn’t something anyone would want to share, but they did. They always would, until they were dead and buried. Sansa would be connected to Theon until her last breath, and until his.

They were tethered together, the two of them. Sansa understood that now more than she ever did before. More than when they escaped Ramsey together. More than when she begged him to help her. More than the first moment she saw him again. More than when she heard of his betrayal. More than when she was young and foolish, dreaming of a faraway Prince. And yet, Theon seemed so far away. There was no way of Sansa knowing where Theon was and how he was. Had he recovered from their terrible ordeal? Had the scars he’d acquired from Ramsey healed? Would they ever truly heal? She had thought of sending a raven to Pyke. There had been no word, no rumours or whispers about Lord Balon’s heir. If something had happened, even something bad, Sansa would have heard. She would have known, would have been told.

Or would she? Theon Greyjoy was still known as a traitor in the North. He had betrayed Robb, the heir of Winterfell. He had betrayed the Starks. Betrayed Winterfell. Betrayed the North. Betrayed her father’s memory. The North knew what Ramsey was, what he did to people, what he had done to Sansa, what he had done to Theon. But Ramsey was gone, he wasn’t going to hurt anyone else, not now or ever. The realisation came to Sansa, that Theon didn’t know this. Ramsey was still haunting him, taunting him, torturing him. Possibly. Sansa didn’t know if there was any way of getting this to Theon, releasing him from Ramsey’s clutches.

It was hard, focusing on anything else. Winterfell was preparing for battle. Jon was preparing. But Sansa was tired. She was tired of fighting. Sansa didn’t think she had experienced a moment of peace since when she first arrived at Kings Landing with her father and sister. Since then, it had been a fight after a fight. Constant, never ending. But she didn’t want that. She wanted peace, she wanted warmth, kindness. Maybe it was Theon, who could give her that.

#game of thrones #got #theonsa #Theon x sansa #sansa x theon #got fic #got fanfic #game of thrones fic #game of thrones fanfic #theonsa fic #theonsa fanfic #theonsa fanfiction #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #my writing #mine #It feels like there's oceans between you and me

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