#It’s awful and I’m glad I scrapped it

[kingbob2-0]

wanted to do a bit more art for Connor’s powers in my conduit au, while it has yet to have a concrete name, it is essentially shapeshifting with a few more abilities thrown in. He has three permanent forms (bear, eagle, and wolf) that he can transform into.

as well as a few temporary forms that he “recharges” by eating (he needs protein to use his abilities) the most common forms are: bull, rooster, boar, deer, goat, and rabbit. As drawn below (as well as a theoretical fish form I drew that scares me)

Connor’s eyes almost always glow blue when using his powers, and they generally tend to look more human than an actual animals would normally look. He keeps his necklace on, as well as a red armband, to help avoid accidental friendly-fire.

each animal has its own special “Natural” abilities that Connor can use in both animal or human form, (although they tend to be more powerful in animal form)

The Wolf can become invisible, The Eagle allows him to summon phantom wings in human form and glide short distances and, of course, can fly, The Bear is incredibly strong and can create shockwaves by hitting enemies or slamming both paws into the ground as an AOE attack that stuns and damages opponents or sends them flying.

The Bull’s charge can destroy almost any obstacle and trample anyone unfortunate enough to get in the way, The Rooster functions more as a distraction, Deafening enemies with a loud call or Calling allies to points of interest. The Boar, whilst capable of tanking bullet fire and causing a good bit of damage, it’s main ability is the ability to track a specific target for much farther than eagle vision would be able to.

The Hare’s main skill is its speed, giving Connor the ability to run much faster and leap further, as well as being incredibly hard to hit with any attack that isn’t an AOE. The Goat becomes temporarily invincible when charging, and can launch objects (and people) quite far with a headbutt. The Stag’s ability is slightly odd, it can channel and carry energy (such as electricity) it it’s antlers, and either redirect it into its hooves, converting the energy into a Healing AOE that heals and recharges allies, or into a bolt of lightning that is launched at a nearby enemy.

Connor can also summon animal constructs to help him fight.

more wolf Connor, this time without the accessories. And an attempt at working out bad karma/good karma colors, I wanted to avoid the red color for bad karma originally, but had difficulty doing so, perhaps I’ll try it with more yellow/orange next time.

[sorrowfulrosebud]

I hope you know you've given me puppy hybrid Bakugou brain rot, so you get another ask as a repercussion u3u

Whats the scenario or head canon of why we had to start putting a muzzle on hybrid Bakugou when going out? Did he bite, start a fight, did something out of spite? (Yes, that was a purposeful rhyme)

Gimme the tea 🫖

Blue? Wolf? Angel? 01? However you wish to be referred to, I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BIG SMART BRAIN MWA MWA. Also this got long hehehe

Warnings: bratty kid, animalistic Bakugou, wounds, reader passes out

I imagine Katsuki would have to start wearing the muzzle as soon as he left the shelter. In my AU, he was in a fighting ring (original, I know), so he still snaps when he gets frightened or angry. He doesn’t mean to, not in the slightest. But when you have to fight to the death for scraps, or a ratty blanket to keep you warm in a cramped and filthy dog cage, it becomes a nasty habit.

You try to keep it off him as much as possible unless you’re going out. It was a very long process to get him to relax even slightly with you, which was honestly a feat in of itself.

You listen to his body language. He comes to you when he has a problem. If he tenses when you’re petting him, you retract your hand and wait for the signal for you to continue, if any. You leave his food alone, because it’s his. You allow him to nap, knowing the poor creature needs some proper sleep.

It’s easier in the privacy of your own home, in a comforting environment that Bakugou can explore a million times over and never find anything new. In public though, when the screaming child demands to touch his sensitive tail, or when the shih tzu hybrid is sniffing him, it can be so overwhelming for the pup.

“Are you all ready to go, sweet thing?” You smile at your new puppy boy.

Katsuki growled lowly, his collar and leash loose on his neck. The muzzle was wrapped around his lower face, protecting himself from a future lawsuit. He tugged at the metal bars irritatedly. You sigh in empathy.

“I know, sweetpea. I’m afraid that until the padded muzzle comes, it has to be the one provided by the shelter. On the bright side, you can come outside for a walk! It’s a lovely day outside and you can meet the neighbours!” You explain happily.

Katsuki chuffs and rolls his eyes, walking ahead and pulling you on the leash as you squeak in surprise.

“See, I told you it was nice! How’s your collar feeling, honey?” You ask him gently, not wanting to overwhelm him. Katsuki’s pupils were blown with all sorts of new smells and sounds.

He never knew what squirrels sounded like. They scurried in the trees a lot more delicately than the rats in the compound. The screams of children were from fun as their parents chased and played with them. The new pups in the compound were snatched from their mother and sold or… Katsuki shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that place any more.

It was all so bewildering for him, but he seemed to be enjoying it as he threw you a nod.

“Aw I’m so glad!” You laugh softly. You stop near the local convenience store, the thought of a cold ice cream tickling your fancy. You call out to Katsuki to stop as he obeys.

“Do you fancy an ice cream? It’s such a hot day today, and you’ve taken everything in so wonderfully,” you ask him.

Katsuki cocked his head, not knowing what “ice cream” was. He had sometimes heard his old handlers talk about it, but he’d never been able to try any. You felt a pang of guilt at the realisation that he’d never had the sweet treat.

“Let’s go and get you one. I’m sure you’ll like it,” you promise him softly, allowing him to walk in first. He jumped slightly at the little ding-dong of the door, growling at it as you explained what it was.

Despite his grumbling and the occasional bark, he was behaving himself remarkably.

The ice cream freezer was thankfully stocked full to the brim, with flavours of nearly every description.

“Ah, here they are! I hope they have some that’s hybrid friendly. Katsuki, why don’t you come take a look and see what you want to try,” you encourage him. Katsuki froze a little. You were… giving HIM the choice? Was this some sort of trap? Your soft smile made him feel slightly at ease.

Plus, you would never hit him in a store, right?

He takes a look at the flavours in the freezer, entranced by the huge red strawberries and slabs of chocolate. He was about to grab an ice lolly with a motif of a raspberry when a shriek pierces his ears.

His hands slap to his head, covering the fluffy things as he snaps his head at the source. He lets out an automatic growl as his teeth curl back. A small child, not much older than 6 is staring back at him with a delighted look. In his sticky hand held a melting ice lolly.

“Doggy!” He shrieks excitedly, jumping up and down. A woman, whom you presume is his mother, is taking a phone call further down the aisle.

Katsuki pressed further into you when the kid tries touching him with sticky fingers. You immediately stand in front of him, trying to calm the puppy boy down and deal with the kid.

“Hi there sweetie, I’m sorry but Katsuki doesn’t like being touched,” you try to explain carefully, getting on the child’s level. You’re taken aback when the little monster’s face goes red and he lets out an ear-piercing scream that has Katsuki starting to hyperventilate a bit.

“NO! WANT TO PET THE DOGGY! MAMAAAA!” The kid wails, the woman walking to her son. She looks you up and down as she holds her son by the shoulders.

“What seems to be the problem here?” She sneers. You make sure Katsuki has space to cool down as you try to explain.

“Your son here is trying to pet my hybrid, but that is not something that he is comfortable at all with, so I’m trying to explain-” you were cut off by the woman.

“So? The beast is muzzled and leashed, why can’t my angel pet him?” She gave you a dirty look, as if she could look past your puppyboy who looked like he would rather be anywhere else.

“Katsuki is really not comfortable with that. It’s his first time out of the house in a long time and-” you were once again cut off by the woman’s snooty laughter.

“Well if he’s such a ‘rabid beast’ then he shouldn’t be out of the house,” she snarls viciously. You didn’t even notice the kid sneaking behind you until Katsuki lets out a vicious growl, and the sound of 2 screams fill the air.

Katsuki waited for the paramedics to bandage you up as they took you to hospital. They found you bleeding in Katsuki’s arms, his claw marks identical to the ones in your chest.

Turns out the little bastard had snuck behind you and yanked on Katsuki’s leash. Being already wound up and anxious, the sharp leash tug threw him into a frenzy as he instinctively went to claw the threat. You pushed the kid off in time, taking the blow instead.

Katsuki could only stare at you as cotton filled his mouth. His mouth twitched as he started trembling. He had … hurt you…

Your shriek of pain could never leave his head, him not even registering that he had made you bleed until the metallic smell hit his nose. The kid started wailing after being shoved on the floor, the mother picking him up and running away.

You look at him, then at the blood and you try to smile. You swallow, the shock of the pain making it difficult to see.

“D-don’t worry K’s’ki! I do- I don’ blame you,” you start to slur out, the shock and blood loss making you woozy. You slump against your pup, breathing shallow and light. Katsuki whined anxiously, looking for help.

A witness in the same aisle came forward slowly, aware of Katsuki’s hyperventilating and anxious state. He clutched you close to him, sitting on the ground as he trembled and nosed your face. Blood was everywhere, staining everything.

The customer slowly made his way to Katsuki, clicking her tongue softly to get his attention. Katsuki looked wild as he snarled savagely, pulling you tighter. She held her hands up slowly, demonstrating she wasn’t a threat.

“I’m going to call for help. I need to make sure that your owner is okay. I’m going to be super duper careful to make sure I don’t hurt them any more. You can still hold them, I just need to make sure their pulse is still there. Is that okay?” She spoke slowly and calmly, getting emergency services on her phone.

Katsuki snarled, but the claws digging into you relaxed slightly. The customer let a small smile out as she checked your pulse and referred everything back to the emergency services. She was slow and methodical, careful not to move too quickly and scare the trembling pup.

“There we go, all done. I saw everything you know,” she said quietly, kneeling near the two of you. Katsuki whined quietly, chuffing your hair.

“You were scared, and that monster of a boy didn’t listen. There are cameras everywhere, so I’m certain nothing will happen,” she said firmly.

Her hand slowly lifted up, paying close attention to his body language. Her hand slowly found refuge in his hair, slowly petting his ears. Katsuki could feel his heartbeat slow down, just for a moment, before it spiked again at the sound of the siren of the ambulance.

The paramedics filtered through with animal control, surprised to see a muzzled hybrid already collared and leashed holding on to the patient. The lead paramedic slowly approached you, the uniform and sterile smell making Katsuki snarl loudly and pinning you back to him. His eyes were like pin pricks as he held you tight.

“Heyyy, there you go buddy. Is that your owner there?” The paramedic questioned him quietly, bringing the cart to carry you beside her. Katsuki snarled as they got closer.

“I know, I know. It must be scary being in this situation. The lady on the phone told me what happened. You didn’t mean it, did you?” the paramedic prayed her words were getting through to him.

It seemed her prayers were answered when his grip lets loose slightly.

“You were frightened, weren’t you? The kid yanked on your leash? That must have hurt,” she murmured to him, getting more on his level. She was making slow progress to you, getting anxious when she sees the amount of blood lost.

“But now your owner is hurting. Can we take them to get all fixed up? You can ride with us in the ambulance,” she promised, holding her hand out. Katsuki growled, but with a small whine, relinquished his grasp on you.

The paramedic smiled at him, slowly picking you up as she dashed you to the cart, strapping you in as she rushed you to the ambulance outside. Katsuki whined and followed you, desperate to keep your pained face in his vision.

He rode with you the entire way to the hospital, whining when he couldn’t see past the curtain of the emergency room.

The next few hours were hell. He sat next to the curtained room, jumping up when the nurse talks to him.

“You’re very lucky. The wounds were relatively deep, but it was the shock that made them pass out. We stitched up the wound, so now we’re going to monitor your owner in a different room. Would you like to come with?” He asked. Katsuki nodded frantically.

He couldn’t help the whimper when he saw your bed being wheeled out, the bandages reaching a good way across your chest. You were docked into your new room. All Katsuki could do was wait for you to wake up.

Katsuki was a mess. He couldn’t stop whimpering to himself, scared shitless. You were the only person to ever treat him with such kindness, to talk to him like a person and not a dog. You were kind, and gentle, and-

Probably gonna hand him back to the shelter. He knew what that meant though, considering this was his ‘saving grace’. He wouldn’t get any more chances. He tried to toughen himself up, beating his leg in rage as he prepares himself for your rage.

The rage, however, never came. Katsuki must have fallen asleep, since he was awoken by the gentle call of his name. His head snapped up, mixed emotions when he sees your confused orbs.

“What… happened?” You slurred out, sleep still overtaking your system. Your eyes snapped open at the recollection of events.

“Oh god! Are you alright?!” You gasp. Katsuki looked at you dumbfounded. His body trembled. Even when he had hurt you… made you pass out… you still wouldn’t say a bad word against him. Your eyes softened as tears breached his waterline, making his beautiful lashes clump together.

“No no no no, sweet thing! What’s wrong?!” You coo at him, sitting up. He looks pointedly at your chest. You let out an “oh”.

“Katsuki, this wasn’t your fault. That little boy wouldn’t leave you alone, completely ignoring that I said to leave you alone. He still did, despite you being clearly upset and went to yank on your leash! I couldn’t have them take you away from me, so I chose to take the blow instead,” you said firmly, placing a gentle hand on his clenched fist.

“I would do it a million times over for you,” you murmured to him, softly wiping his tears. He flinched slightly, before shakily nuzzling his hand into your palm.

“You’re my good boy, my sweet Katsuki,” you preen, rubbing your thumb across his cheek. His chest rumbles as he slowly ambles into your bed. He makes eye contact with you, something within him trying to force himself to stop. Your warm eyes don’t however, simply shifting along to make room.

He cuddles into you, careful of your wound as he licks your neck gently.

“M-miiiine,” he tried, the word new as it rolled on his tongue. Your head snapped to him, amazed at his first word. Your eyes watered as you pressed a kiss to his head.

“That’s right, puppy. You’re mine.”

@archer-fb had to expand the first word babe 🤭

[webslingingslasher]

https://www.tumblr.com/webslingingslasher/759294401491206144/hi-j-is-there-any-content-your-gate-keeping-from

oh my god more overstimulated from trouble sex peter

or cherry and peter content

please and thank you 😩😩

cherry and peter moment!! (i don't have an ask for it so it might just get scrapped 😔 but it's also a sneak so??)

--

peter watched your face twist up, you regretted your decision instantly and had no idea what to do. you looked around the room, you were scared to offend peter and book it to the bathroom. you were also scared of puking. 

‘just spit it out.’ you glance down at your chest, it’s slimy and you want no part of it on you. slimy. your eyes water - you can’t fight it, you gag. peter holds his hand out, ‘spit.’ 

you open your mouth and scrape the substance off your tongue with your teeth, into peter’s palm. it’s worse looking at it, you squeeze your eyes shut and gag again. 

‘hold on, hold on!’ peter keeps that hand far away from you, he’s giving you a water bottle with the other. ‘drink. don’t puke.’ 

you chug like your life depends on it, only wincing when you hear peter wash his hands. 

‘i’m sorry!’ everyone prepares you for the taste. it's salty or metallic or tastes like nothing. but no one prepared you for the texture. 

‘are you feeling better?’ the water turns off, you take another sip from his bottle. you feel fine beyond the embarrassment. ‘i promise you didn’t taste bad.’ he didn’t, but god it was an awful mouth feel. 

‘hey, cherry,’ peter kisses the top of your head from behind before crouching in front of you. ‘it’s okay, i’m not upset in the slightest.’ 

you’re glad he isn’t. 

‘i am.’ 

peter brushes stray pieces of hair away from your eyes, you hope it’s not too messy. ‘upset on my behalf?’ he’s just as quiet as you. you were full of defeat, he’s full of tenderness. 

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 9: We’re Friends When You’re On Your Knees]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Y'all, you are not ready for this one. Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), murder, Aemond "there are other Targaryens" Targaryen having feelings again (good ones?? not good ones?? both?? who knows bestie, not me!), an unexpected family reunion, must be the season of the witch... 👀

Series title is a lyrics from: "7 Minutes In Heaven" by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: "Our Lawyer Made Us Change the Name of This Song So We Wouldn’t Get Sued" by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 8.4k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged! 🥰💜

You watch her from the shadows of the dungeons, rusted iron, phantom echoes of falling water, chilling drafts that come from nowhere and everywhere. She has not yet noticed you. She is beautiful, regal, arrogant, even as she sits gnawing on crusts of bread and the gristle of chicken bones, scraps that Lord Larys throws to her like she’s a pig nosing its way through a trough, an animal that is clever and yet condemned. And if she is livestock, then what are you? A creature of darkness, of nightfall, lethal and treacherous, a wolf or a bat or a spider. You step forward and into a ray of light that cuts across the stones like the path of a comet.

Baela gasps and drops the tibia she’d been working on, cracking it in two, sucking out the dead-blood marrow. Her wide-set, almond-shaped eyes catch on you. She is not afraid; you have never known Daemon Targaryen’s eldest daughter to be afraid of anything. She is fascinated.

“I’m sorry,” she says, crawling across the floor of her cell. She grips the metal bars and peers out at you, kneeling there like she’s praying. You suspect Baela has never prayed to anyone or anything. “I didn’t mean to almost burn you. I didn’t realize you were standing on the steps with him until after I’d given Moondancer the order. It all happened so quickly.”

You cannot appear to be angry. You have no reason to be angry if you are Aegon’s captive. “I take no offense. I wasn’t harmed.”

“No one had any idea the Usurper was here,” Baela says. Still her eyes are bright, entranced. “We believed Dragonstone to be vacant.”

Good. You give her a dismal smirk. “No. Not so vacant after all.”

“Are you with child yet?”

A bolt shoots down your spine like cold lightning. “What?”

“That’s what he’s trying to do, isn’t it?” Baela says. “He wants an heir from you. His wife is dead, his sons are dead. He couldn’t get his claws on me or Rhaena. But you can give him a Valyrian-blooded prince.”

Aegon has never mentioned having children with you. You don’t know if this means he doesn’t want them, or if he does not wish to place demands upon you, or if he is indifferent, or if he believes it to be impossible. “I have nothing to show for his efforts.”

“Has it been unspeakably awful?” And if Baela seeks to console, this is secondary to her personal interest; she is curious, she is absorbed. Her fingers close more tightly around the iron bars. “He’s a drunk, a degenerate. He’s vile. He’s deformed. Has he tortured you? Has he violated you in a hundred different ways? Does he tie you down, does he strike you, does he cut and bruise you?”

And this is the Blacks’ story, one they could never begin to suspect might be fiction: that you are a martyr, that Aegon is a monster. In place of an answer, you give Baela the treasures you have brought her. You pass them through the gaps between the bars: a bottle of ink, parchment, a quill with a point like a blade.

Baela takes these objects, amazed. “You can help me send a letter back to Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know if I will be able to get to the rookery. But I’ll try.”

“The Usurper allows you this much free rein?”

He trusts me. He loves me. He’s bedbound and in agony. “He’s rather distracted at the moment.”

“He’s dying, hopefully,” Baela says. She has already begun to write. And there’s a reptilian sort of coldness that is snaking deeper into you, constricting around your bones, gliding through the blood-slick chambers of your heart, too much a part of you to ever rip out. But now Baela’s face softens. She looks up dolefully. “Moondancer, she’s…she’s gone, isn’t she?”

You bow your head as if this is something tragic. “She did not survive Sunfyre’s attack.”

“Fucking beasts,” she seethes, resuming her writing. “When my father learns of this, he and Caraxes will come to rescue us. And he will burn the Usurper alive.” She finishes her letter, rolls up the parchment, and hands it back to you.

“How will Daemon know that you authored this and under no duress?”

“My signature,” Baela says, grinning. “I end all of my correspondence to him with Your ever-obedient daughter. It is a joke between us. If it was absent, he would notice. His suspicions would be aroused. That is how I would signal if I was ever forced to write to him against my will.”

There is dark satisfaction like a spell shimmering in your arteries, nerves, the void-black pupils of your eyes. You return her smile. “Perfect.”

“Don’t fear,” Baela tells you, and reaches through the rusted iron bars to clasp your hand. You fight the reflex to tear away from her, this woman who certainly maimed Aegon and might have killed him. You find yourself studying her, measuring her height and weight, calculating how much milk of the poppy it would take to end her life. “Cregan Stark is south of the Neck now. He will move heaven and earth to possess you, everyone knows that. Soon we will have Northmen marching through the Riverlands with Caraxes and Sheepstealer safeguarding them from above. And after the Riverlands they will be in the Reach, and then finally King’s Landing to stabilize the capital. The Usurper and Sunfyre cannot fight. Daeron is scarcely more than a boy. The Betrayers are avaricious, overconfident drunks. The Greens will be vanquished before winter.”

“And what about Vhagar?”

“Together, Caraxes and Sheepstealer can bring her down.” But there is doubt in Baela’s voice, yes, a vacillation that is rarely heard from her.

“I hope so,” you reply, one of countless lies.

You take Baela’s letter to the rookery, open it, examine it carefully for the subtleties of her handwriting: slopes and dots and lines. Then you get a fresh piece of parchment and painstakingly draft a very different message. Not a plea for help, but an assurance that all is well; not a summons to Dragonstone, but a confirmation that the castle was found to be unoccupied and is now held firmly by Baela and Moondancer.

And you end the letter before tying it to a leg of the raven trained to fly to Harrenhal:

Your ever-obedient daughter, Baela Targaryen

~~~~~~~~~~

“Please eat something, Your Grace. I beg you.” Lord Larys Strong’s face is creased with servile, attentive worry. On the plate before you is fresh, warm bread and a dish of salted butter. In your bowl is a crab soup thick with vegetables, the broth tomato-based and red like Autumn’s hair, like blood.

“I can’t.”

“Would you like me to bring you something else? I could have the chefs prepare roast chicken, or duck, or boar…”

“No.” You push the bowl of soup away. You and Larys are alone in the Great Hall, seated at the high table which presides over a silent, vacuous chamber. The room was built to resemble a dragon lying on its belly; the entranceway is its mouth, two massive doors edged with stone teeth. There are dragons everywhere, these talismans of Aegon’s house, these creatures that are monsters to some and saviors to others.

Larys studies you closely. His voice is tender. “Your Grace, please. Can I do anything for you?”

You consider him, an enigma that is useful and subtle and dogged in his loyalty. “What is it that binds you so faithfully to Alicent and her children, Lord Larys? House Strong was so favored by Rhaenyra. Her heirs were your blood, no matter how much she tried to deny it. You could have risen high in the Black Council. Make no mistake, I am very thankful for your service to the Greens. I am glad to count you among the greatest of our fortunes. But what inspired you to turn your coat?”

Larys smiles at you. He has eyes like rain, the wavy abundant brown hair of his spurned family. His hands rest on the handle of his cane. “Your eldest brother is an acclaimed swordsman.”

“Yes,” you agree, caught off-guard.

“And so was mine,” Larys says. “House Strong, is it any wonder what we valued most? My father loved Harwin. He was so fiercely proud of him. He was interested in him, he understood him. They would whisper to each other all through feasts, all through tourneys, conspiring, chortling, enmeshed in this synergy that left no air for anyone else to breathe.”

“And your father never understood you.” Just like Bartimos Celtigar overlooks Everett, a son gifted with books and quills instead of horses and swords. “Never even tried to.”

“It is a terrible thing to be in the midst of your family and yet feel alone.”

“It is,” you say, remembering the Blacks’ festivities in King’s Landing.

“Now Lyonel and Harwin Strong whisper to no one,” Larys says, his smile widening into a dark, victorious grin. “And I am the Master of Whisperers.”

You remember the words that Otto Hightower spoke to you as he waited for his execution in the dungeons of the Red Keep: These dark, contagious facets of life change us all. They ruins us. Time, heartache, violence. You become capable of inconceivable things. You would scheme and deceive. You would murder. “Do you ever regret it?” you ask Larys softly. Becoming a sinner, a killer, a kinslayer.

“Never,” he replies. “Dowager Queen Alicent was the first person to ever truly listen to me. To make me feel worth something. Worth anything. To advance her interests in every way possible…that cannot be an injustice. It is the cleanest kind of loyalty. And I have no doubt my sacrifices will be repaid. If the Greens triumph, that is. When this war is over, Alicent’s son must sit the Iron Throne.”

“You mean Aegon.”

“Yes, of course.” But something mournful passes over Larys’ face like a shadow; he peers down at his hands to hide this from you.

He doubts Aegon will live. He foresees Aemond or Daeron inheriting the throne instead. You stand from the table, your chair squealing shrilly against the stone floor. “We should bring the king his supper,” you tell Larys. “He needs his strength.”

Aegon does not like you to be there when the maesters prod at him, scrub his wounds, rebandage his shattered legs. You were once his healer, yes, but now he believes you to be his wife. He does not want to be your patient. He does not want you to see him as a wounded man writhing in bed, as someone helpless, pathetic, weak, doomed.

The maesters are just finishing when you arrive with a tray of buttered bread and fresh soup, steam rising from the bowl of red like entrails that litter the earth once a battle has ended. The maesters are gathering up bloody strips of linen to be burned. Aegon is sobbing; his silver hair hangs in chaotic waves, both hands cover his face.

Your voice is hushed and heartbroken. “Aegon…”

“No, I’m okay,” he says, sniffling, mopping the tears from his cheeks with his bare palms. Then he reaches out to you. “Come here, come here, come here.”

You go to him, sliding the tray onto his bedside table until it clinks against the glass bottles there: rose oil, red wine, milk of the poppy. You climb onto the bed and Aegon’s arms circle around your waist, pulling you in closer as he buries his face in the warmth of your chest, your throat, covering you in hurried, imprecise kisses. Dimly, you wonder what he tastes when he breathes you in; you wonder what colors bloom in the sunless passages of his lungs.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. You can feel the dampness of his tears on your bare skin, the roughness of his scars.

“I was only gone for a few hours.”

“Too long,” he says. “Far too long. How’s Sunfyre?”

“He’s down on the beach, Your Grace,” Larys answers from the doorway where he has materialized like stars at dusk.

“Is he eating? Ambulatory? Wading in the water?”

“He’s…” Lord Larys hesitates. “He seems to be in a great deal of discomfort.” And yes, you know this to be true: Sunfyre the Golden’s wings hang in shreds, his wounds are inflamed with infection, and there is something wrong with him inside as well, a wheezing when he inhales, blood that seeps from his nostrils and his jaws. There’s nothing anybody can do for him. No one can touch him but Aegon, and Aegon can’t leave his bed.

Aegon says to Larys, low and sinister: “I want Baela dead. I want her burned.”

“She is far more valuable to you alive, Your Grace.”

“I am the king and I wish her to die.”

“Corlys Velaryon is her grandsire,” Larys implores. “If he discovers you executed Baela, he may recommit himself to Rhaenyra’s side. He may launch his own rebellion even after Rhaenyra is defeated. If you wish to win and keep the Iron Throne, I advise you to spare her.”

Aegon sighs and glares out the window that overlooks the Narrow Sea, his arms still linked around your waist. You begin to weave his braid for him. “Aegon,” you say gently. “We’ve brought you supper. Please eat it.”

“I’m afraid I’m too nauseated by my own inadequacy. Perhaps later.”

“You want to be well again. And you will be. But you have to eat.”

“I really don’t think I can.”

“Aegon, please.”

“Well…” He glances over at the bowl of soup and then gives you a mischievous smirk. “I suppose nothing tastes better than a crab, does it? Particularly when it is served in bed.”

“Or on the floor of a library.” You smile and kiss him: his pale face, his trembling lips. You finish his tiny braid like a silver chain and tuck it behind his ear. Then you pour him a cup of milk of the poppy, just one pearl-white splash, just enough to sand the serrated edges off his anguish.

“No.” He stops you, a hand on your wrist. “I don’t want to be useless again. I don’t want to be swimming in dreams. I want to be here with you.”

You shake your head. There are tears stinging in your eyes. “But you’re in pain.”

He grins, brushing your hair back from your face. “I’ve been in pain my whole life, Angel.”

And he manages to force down half the soup and two brimming goblets of wine before he sinks beneath the sea of his consciousness, while outside waves crack open against the rocks and Sunfyre leaks viscous threads the color of crimson, roses, flames.  

~~~~~~~~~~

“You sent that raven a week ago,” Baela tells you when you bring her your offering, your clandestine kindness: apple cake, black tea. “More than enough time has passed for it to be received at Harrenhal and acted upon.”

You fill a porcelain cup with tea from the kettle and give it to her through the iron bars of her cell. “Perhaps the raven went astray.”

Baela ponders this as she alternates between unladylike chomps on a wedge of apple cake and slurps from the cup. “Maybe my father has been away from the castle. Maybe he’s out on the battlefield with the Stark men.”

Or maybe he believes you and Moondancer to be perfectly well and presiding unopposed over Dragonstone, and therefore not in need of his attention. What a welcome delusion to live under. I’m sure he’d rather be fucking Nettles anyway. You take the empty cup when Baela has drained it and refill it with tea. Baela accepts the nearly overflowing cup gratefully. She has had nothing to drink since she was taken captive except muddy rainwater that pools in one corner of each cell, guided by stone gutters that run along the outside of the castle. The tea is cloudy with cream and laced with sugar; still, her nose wrinkles a bit when she swallows it down.

“Bitter,” she notes distractedly.

“It’s made from leaves grown here on Dragonstone. Formidable, but not very sweet.”

Baela cackles; it echoes through the dungeon. This is the same voice that commanded Moondancer to brutalize Sunfyre, to send Aegon plummeting to the sand. Are her eyes already losing their viperish sharpness, is her heartbeat slowing? “Just like me!” She finishes her cup of tea and eagerly holds it out to you through the bars. You pour it full of the earth-colored brew once again.

You ask her as she licks apple cake crumbs from her fingers: “Why is Cregan Stark so determined to wed me?”

“He wants you. He considers you worthy of him.”

“But he doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t really know who I am.”

Baela shrugs indifferently. “None of us love anyone because of who they are. We love them because of who they make us believe we are.” She sips her tea and blinks groggily. “In any case, he will be your honorable savior, and you will be his illustrious damsel, and when the traitor dragons are dead he will spirit you away to Winterfell to bear his wolf pups. It’s not so bad a fate, I think. Not for someone like you. You aren’t ill-suited to matrimony. You are docile enough. A caretaker, a healer. You seem like the sort of woman who would be content with just one man.”

Yes. If he was Aegon. As you watch her kneeling on the stone floor of her cell, Baela sways and almost nods off, seemingly unaware that she is doing it.

“Burning might be too swift a death for the Usurper,” Baela says, smiling dazedly. “Cregan should have some of the Boltons flay him. They can all take turns wearing his hideous scars.”

“Yes. Skins shed, skins regrown, some of us change them over and over again.”

Baela stares at you inanely. She is beyond comprehension. Then she collapses to the stone floor, the porcelain tea cup spilling from her grasp and breaking into jagged white shards.

You take the key to the cell off the hook out in the corridor and unlock the door of iron bars. You step inside, still holding the tea kettle in one hand. You set the kettle down and drag Baela until she is propped upright against a wall. Her pulse is slow, but still present; she moans feebly as you position her. But it is all for a good cause; you must ensure she drinks the rest of the tea, the witches’ brew of leaves and cream and sugar and a fatal dose of milk of the poppy. Outside you hear a deep, prehistoric rumble as Vhagar flies over Dragonstone and scouts for a landing spot large enough to host her. Aemond is back again.

You angle the spout of the tea kettle between Baela’s paling lips and ply her with a small amount, less than a mouthful, then you rub her throat in just the right place to trigger her reflex to swallow. You know this trick well; you have used it on grievously wounded soldiers. You used it on Aegon after he was burned. You repeat the steps until the kettle is empty. Then you lay Baela flat again and watch her chest rise and fall slower, slower, slower until it stops. But still, you leave nothing to chance. You nick Baela’s wrist with a paring knife from the castle kitchens, until now tucked away in a pocket of your gown, emerald green silk to match the side of this war that you are pledged to. Her blood, unpropelled by the rhythm of a heart, dribbles sluggishly rather than spurts. She’s gone; she’s with her mother and Luke and Jace and the young sickly Viserys and Rhaenys, Otto and Helaena and Jaehaerys and Maelor and Autumn’s silver-haired son that she never had the chance to name. You wonder if the struggle goes on in the afterlife. Perhaps presently Otto and Baela are scratching and yowling at each other in a castle made of clouds.

Upstairs, Aemond is already in Aegon’s bedchamber. They are speaking in whispers when you enter, and you catch only pieces of the exchange: capital, Cregan, marriage, Daemon, crown. Larys stands in the corner of the room, his hands laced atop the handle of his cane. He gives you a reverent bow in greeting. He might not be so pleased to see you once he learns what you’ve done.

Aegon stops talking abruptly when he spots you and gestures for Aemond to go quiet as well, a commanding sweep of his hand. Aemond follows his brother’s gaze to the doorway. His lone blue eye climbs up and down you like a man on the rungs of a ladder. His hair is in one thick braid from his flight; stray white-blond strands that have been ripped free hang in disarray around his stoic, unreadable face. Aemond does not bow to you and never will. He only leers, a silver-haired wolf, a hawk with unhollow bones.

“Hello, Angel,” Aegon says, beaming or at least attempting to. He is frail and pallid and too thin and dripping sweat. There are indigo rings around his eyes like bruises. His legs are swollen, grotesque mountain ranges beneath the blankets. You rush to him and sit on the edge of the bed, feeling his forehead for fever and combing your fingers fondly through his hair.

Aemond sighs irritably. “Anyway, I’d like to torture her.”

“My prince…” Larys urges.

Aegon holds up a palm. “Now now, Lord Larys, let’s hear his proposal. Exactly how much do you intend to torture Baela?”

“Quite a bit,” Aemond says.

“To death?” Aegon asks hopefully.

“I don’t see why not.”

“My prince!” Larys says again. “Please, consider the possible ramifications, she is a prisoner of substantial strategic value, if your mother was here she would caution—”

“I’m afraid that Baela can no longer be interrogated,” you confess, and they all turn to you. There is a long, laden pause.

“And why is that?” Aemond says.

“Because she is dead of poisoning.”

“What?!”

“In her cell. Her body is there now. Feed her to Vhagar or Sunfyre, throw her in the sea, do whatever you wish with her. But she has paid her debt for the harm she inflicted upon us.”

Slowly, a grin splits across Aemond’s face. Larys shakes off his shock and resigns himself to it. But Aegon is neither proud nor reconciled. “You did that?” he says softly.

“You wanted Baela dead.”

“Yes, I did. But you don’t take life,” Aegon says, remembering what you once told him in King’s Landing. His oceanic eyes are stunned and fearful; not because Baela is was murdered, but because you were the one to end her. Because until now he was still able to tell himself that you could somehow escape this war unscarred, unruined. “You preserve it.”

“I preserve yours,” you reply. And when you offer him milk of the poppy—with no fear, for you know precisely how much it takes to kill a man—Aegon refuses it again, taking his suffering pure and sharp like the glass of a mirror.

~~~~~~~~~~

“What will happen to him?” Aemond asks you. You’re sitting on the stone staircase together under overcast midday skies, sipping wine and watching Sunfyre amble lethargically up and down the beach. You aren’t sure what’s made him so restless: his own dire injuries, Aegon in torment within the castle walls, something else entirely, some premonition that only beasts of ancient magic know. At last, Sunfyre seems to have exhausted himself and crumples onto the sand.

“I think Aegon will walk again. Eventually.”

“But he won’t be able to fight.”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Fuck,” Aemond hisses caustically, glowering out over the ocean.

You look at Aemond, needing to ask but terrified of the answer. “Can you win without him?”

“Can we win, you mean?” He smiles faintly, then sobers again. “I think so. Just before I left the Riverlands to come here, I received reports that Daemon had sent his lowborn little child bride away with Sheepstealer. He is trying to protect her from Rhaenyra’s assassins. My bitch of a half-sister has thus done us a remarkable favor. If Daemon is alone, I have no doubt that Vhagar can slay Caraxes. They say Daemon has fled Harrenhal. He’s hiding from me. I will find him, and I will burn him. I will end this war.”

“You need to be with Criston when his army faces the Northmen.”

“Of course,” Aemond says; but something in his face worries you.

There is a high-pitched shriek overhead, a glimmering flash of vivid gemstone blue. You startle and Aemond’s hand juts out, grabs you by the forearm, yanks you closer to him; then he relaxes when he recognizes who it is.

Aemond sighs loudly. “Why the fuck can’t he stay where he’s supposed to be?!” Then he stands, helps you to your feet while he’s at it, and heads down to the shoreline to meet Daeron and Tessarion.

The Blue Queen circles the beach several times, Daeron peering down as if struggling to understand something, his long white-blond hair whipping in the wind. At last Tessarion lands, her claws sinking into the wet sand, ocean froth bubbling around legs. Her long, swanlike neck stretches out towards Sunfyre, soft inquisitive squeals emanating from her jaws. Daeron leaps down from the saddle and strides to where Sunfyre is sprawled helplessly on the beach.

Alicent’s youngest child is clad in mint green—including a cape that billows out behind him in the seaside breeze—and glinting gold accents everywhere, buckles on his boots and the clasp of his cape and even a freckling of studs in his ears. He props both hands on his waist as he scrutinizes the crippled dragon. “Well, you’re not Moondancer.”

“He ripped Moondancer’s throat out,” Aemond says. “And then he ate her.”

Daeron whistles and gazes at Sunfyre admiringly. “I heard that Baela and Moondancer had taken possession of Dragonstone. I came to murder them. But now I see my services are unnecessary.”

“Baela is dead.” Then Aemond adds, nodding to you: “Here is the executioner.”

Daeron considers you, then laughs and assails you with a spirited embrace that nearly knocks you off your feet. “Welcome to the family, Lady Celtigar.”

“She’s the queen now.”

“Is she?” Daeron asks, eyebrows raised. “I was not under the impression that our brother was in any particular hurry to marry again.”

“His priorities seem to have shifted,” Aemond says.

“Can I see him?” Daeron looks around the beach and then up at the castle, shielding his eyes from the greyscale daylight. “Is he not outside with you? What is he doing in there? Not reciting prayers and composing poetry, I’d imagine.”

In Aegon’s bedchamber, Daeron cannot conceal his shock, his dismay; he gawks at the king like he is a three-legged dog, a blinded orphan. He stands thunderstruck at the end of the bed, taking in the vague yet horrifying outlines of Aegon’s shattered legs, the gauntness of his face, the fact that he is incapable of playing any meaningful role in the war for the foreseeable future. You sit on the bed beside Aegon, Aemond lurks by a window, Larys observes intently from a respectful distance, his eyes following every word as they flit through the air.

When Daeron recovers somewhat, he says: “I need to know what to do about Hammer and Ulf.”

“Why?” Aegon replies wearily. “What’s wrong with them?”

“Apparently, Mother once offered them the seats of House Costayne and House Merryweather as compensation for their efforts on behalf of the Greens, and they accepted. But now that’s suddenly not good enough. They’re asking me for the Riverlands and the Vale.”

Aegon turns to Aemond. “Is there anything left of the Riverlands these days? Should we find a new name for them? The Smolderlands, perhaps? The Everything-Is-Dead-Here-Now-Lands?”

“This is serious,” Aemond says flatly.

“I’m entirely serious.”

“Should I just tell them they can have whatever they want?” Daeron asks. “And then when the war is over and we’ve won…you know…pretend not to remember that conversation?”

“They can’t be given territory of any importance,” Aemond says. “They aren’t nobility.”

Daeron amends: “More relevantly, they are devoid of accountability and self-discipline. They drink all day and whore all night, and…oh, I mean no offense, Your Grace.”

“Fine,” Aegon says, preoccupied. There are fat beads of sweat on his bloodless face, glistening misery in his eyes. He gazes sorrowfully down at his left hand where he once wore his golden dragon ring before he lost it the same day he destroyed his legs. You pour him a cup of red wine and he drains it in seconds. You fill another.

“My point is that Hammer and Ulf are increasingly unreliable. I am only halfway convinced they could even show up for a battle before it was over. And yet we need them. Especially if Sunfyre cannot fight.”

“Agree to their requests,” Aemond says. “And if they survive the war, we will deal with them then. Rhaenyra’s faction is the greater enemy. We cannot risk the Dragonseeds racing back into her arms.”

“Lord Larys?” Aegon prompts dimly

“I could not agree more, Your Grace.”

“And on the subject of Rhaenyra,” Daeron continues. “Tessarion and I can take King’s Landing. Syrax is the only dragon in the city now, and Rhaenyra has never ridden her into combat.”

“No,” Aegon says. “We cannot risk setting the capital ablaze and turning the people against us. And Mother is there. Everett is there.”

“Everett?” Daeron looks around, baffled. “Who the fuck is Everett?”

“Angel’s brother. Not the firstborn son. The other one.” And as Aegon explains this, his chest is heaving and his eyes are glazed over. He tries to reposition himself in bed and has to bite down on his lower lip to keep from crying out, hard enough to draw blood.

“Is there anything else?” you ask Daeron and Aemond, a warning in your face. He needs rest. He needs to sleep, to heal.

“No,” Aemond says. He paces towards the door and snatches Daeron’s cape as he passes by him, hauling him out into the hallway. You follow after them.

As soon as he is out of earshot of Aegon’s room, Daeron tells Aemond: “He doesn’t look good.”

“He’ll be fine.”

“Aemond, I think you should prepare to—”

“He’ll be fine!” Aemond snaps.

“You don’t think I’m losing something too?” Daeron demands furiously. “You don’t think I want him to be well again? Of course I want that. But if wishing people to live made it possible, the world would be a very different place.”

“You are needed in the Reach,” Aemond says, and that’s all.

Daeron glares up at him, incredulous, defiant. “This will be over soon. I hope you’re ready for what comes next.”

Then he storms out of the castle, soars down the long stone staircase, meets Tessarion on the windswept beach and takes flight into the southwest where the earth is green but the nights are an inescapable, dreamless black.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aegon is weeping again; you hear him from the hallway. It is after nightfall, and the castle is illuminated only by firelight. Candles flicker; the hearth crackles and pops. In the shadows, Aegon lies with his dragonfire scars and his fractured legs and his useless hereditary magic, tears streaming down his face. You have a vision of what he will look like when he’s dead; you imagine the Stranger reaching up from underneath the bed to seize him with claws like a raven’s talons and drag him out of existence.

“I need it,” Aegon sobs when he sees you, grasping for the glass bottle of milk of the poppy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to need it, but I do.”

“I’m here, Aegon. It’s alright. Let me help.” You pour him a cup of the bitter remedy, a strange gleaming white like pearl, opal, moonstone. Then you tilt the cup against his lips. Aegon gulps down the milk of the poppy and then falls back into his sea of pillows.

He murmurs, eyes closed as you graze the backs of your fingers feather-lightly over his unmarred cheek: “I wanted to start over with you.”

“You’ll still get the chance.”

“No,” he whimpers miserably. “I ruin everyone. Everyone I’m given, everyone I touch. Helaena, Jaehaerys, Maelor. We don’t even know where Jaehaera is, in Storm’s End, lost on the road, taken captive, dead. Otto, Autumn, Aemond, Mother, Sunfyre. And now I’m ruining you too.”

“You’re not,” you plead with him in a whisper. And not for the first time, you think: What do you require from me, Aegon? Wrath, compassion, healing, children? What can I do to give you hope again? Tell me and it’s yours. I’d do anything. I’d become anyone. “Aegon?” you begin, trying to ask him; but he is already unconscious. He’ll likely be out until sunrise.

You drink cup after cup of red wine and sit in the flame-lit shadows with him, in the quiet, in the liminal space between decisions, envisioned sins and prospective virtues. Then you leave the bedchamber like a ghost, a creak here and a tap there and no other trace. You wander down long, twisting corridors framed by dragons of iron and stone. And at the other end of the castle beyond a door you’ve never opened before is the lair of a very different breed of dragon: tall and lean and ambitious, his eyepatch removed and stowed away for the evening, his long silver hair hanging freely to his waist.

He is wearing cotton sleeping trousers but nothing else. He is seated at his writing desk and scrawling something onto parchment in black ink, a list or a diagram or a design for a new crown upon his ascension to the throne, you don’t know and you have no intention of asking. You have far too many things on your mind already. You feel nauseous and unsteady, you feel like you can’t possibly go through with this. You can’t imagine it. You can’t fathom what he would feel like, taste like.

Aemond steals a nonchalant glimpse of you, having no sense of your inner turmoil. “Can I assist you with something?”

“Yes,” you say simply, sipping your wine under the stone arch of the doorway.

He looks up at you again, his quill suddenly still in his hand. His two eyes are on you, one wide and river-blue, the other a soulless glittering sapphire in a tangle of ruined flesh. And now he understands. There are other Targaryens, he had said. “Take off your clothes. Sit down on the bed.”

You step inside his bedchamber and close the door behind you, setting your empty cup on the edge of his writing desk. You walk to his bed—dark green blankets, gold thread—and shed each piece of clothing you have on, a black gown and everything under it, not looking to see if Aemond is watching you, too anxious, trembling wildly. But you know his gaze is on you when you—standing naked and shivering in the firelight—begin to pull back the blankets and hear the sharp reprove in his voice.

“I did not tell you to hide yourself from me,” Aemond says. “Sit at the edge. Yes, there. Good.”

You perch on the bed and wait for him, your ankles linked, legs swinging restlessly, arms crossed over your chest. Aemond is staring at you from the opposite end of the room. You can’t look at him; you look elsewhere, at the tapestries of dragons hanging from the drafty stone walls, at the thick candles that drip white wax. And this won’t be like lying with a stranger, but it won’t be like lying with someone you want either, because you are profoundly uneasy and monstrously ashamed and perhaps even afraid.

Aemond is approaching now, firelight skating over his smooth, unsinged skin. He is undoing the tie at the waist of his trousers. He yanks them off, revealing himself to you. He is already hard, and he is massive, vast in length and width. The panic hits you like a breaking wave.

“Oh,” you gasp in alarm, unable to stop yourself. Then you explain so he won’t be offended: “I’m not going to be able to take you if I’m not ready.” You rest a hand on your bare thigh, slip it between your legs, begin to stroke yourself the way Aegon does, trying to relax, trying to think of him…

“No,” Aemond says, moving your hand aside. “Let me.”

Obediently, you rest your palms just behind you on the mattress, open your thighs for him, inhale sharpy as Aemond’s long, artful fingers touch you somewhere only one other man ever has. And you’re a traitor, the worst kind of traitor, because it’s working: you can feel yourself opening for him, hungering for him, coating his hand in slick warm wetness.

Aemond isn’t looking at your face. His eye is fixed on the place where his fingers are circling, where he is now pushing two inside of you, and while it happens abruptly and roughly enough to startle you it is not quite painful, or maybe it is, just the tiniest bit, but the pleasure eclipses the pain, the pleasure is a current you are powerless to swim against.

“You can tell me to stop,” Aemond says as he strokes you from the inside with his fingers buried to the knuckles, his breathing labored. “I don’t want you to. But if you tell me to stop, I’ll listen. Okay?”

You nod, and instead of an answer you give him a moan, stifled but unmistakable, dark treasonous forbidden ecstasy. And this snaps something in Aemond, it unleashes a part of him he’d been keeping tied up like an untrustworthy animal, one that could maul or maim or kill. He drops to his knees, hooks his arms beneath your thighs, drags you to him until his lips and tongue are on you with dizzyingly blissful pressure. You fall back onto the bed, one hand twisting into the blankets, the other in his waterfall of unruly silver hair, pushing him even harder against you as he licks ravenously. Aemond doesn’t seem to mind; with each roll of your hips and bitten-back plea his enthusiasm blooms, hums and triumphant chuckles spilling from his mouth as he swallows down the proof of your desire. It’s starting, that swift climb towards a high like nothing else on earth, something Aegon once taught you was possible. You are a betrayer, but with the very best of intentions; you are making a sacrifice, but it feels so much like a gift.

“Aemond, I’m ready,” you pant, your fingers hopelessly knotted in his hair. “You can do it now, you can…” And then you lose your words because instead of rising to his feet, Aemond stays right where he is, his tongue insatiable, his face drenched in your wetness.

He’s going to make me…I’m so close…

“Aemond, what are you waiting for…?”

His lips close around the spot where you are most sensitive and he sucks forcefully, and that feeling like a shuddering, irresistible unravelling strikes you harder and faster than it ever has before, so intense it is almost painful, sharp and commanding, not something he is doing with you but to you, and you know even in the golden haze of the climax that this is not about love but about power, pride, control, worthiness.

He doesn’t stop. He is licking you again, opening your folds with one hand, thrusting two fingers inside of you with the other. You are still feeling the pulsing, involuntary aftershocks of one high when the next begins building, building, building, and when you close your eyes all you can see are waves on the ocean in a storm, swelling to impossible heights and ungoverned by anything except the dubious mercy of nature.

“Aemond please,” you beg in a frayed whisper, bathed in sweat and guilt and frenzied lust. “I’m ready. Just do it, please…”

And then he wrenches you into another vortex and it takes everything in you not to scream, not to jolt awake the skeleton crew that tends to Dragonstone and its surreptitious guests. You are beyond complete thoughts, beyond sentences. You are boneless, your muscles have turned to mist and air, you are entirely under Aemond’s control and that’s where he has wanted you all along.

“Aemond, please, please, please…”

Unable to resist any longer, he stands—wiping the glistening, dripping sheen from his face with the back of one hand—and forces his cock inside you to the hilt. He does not slow down when he meets resistance, and you don’t tell him to. You moan in shock at the disorienting fullness, you cannot help it; it is a feeling on the knife’s edge between ripping agony and euphoric pleasure. It is something you would gratefully die of. He moves within you, deep and quick, his hands clasping your hips. Emotionally, you feel nothing but a razored, perilous, impersonal intensity; in your body, it is paradise.

Again? Again…?!

“Are you going to come for me one more time, Angel?” Aemond taunts you as he thrusts; and that’s Aegon’s name for you that he’s using, and it’s wrong, and Aemond knows that, and there is absolutely nothing you can do to break the spell he’s got you under, you can’t tell him to stop, you don’t have the will to, and if this is about power then you know who’s won out of the three of you, you know who has steel in his bones and lightning cracking in his veins.

It’s different this time, pleasure rising like the tide in your whole body, a peak that is not concentrated so clearly between your legs but everywhere: fingertips, spine, belly, heart.

“Come for me, Angel. I know you can do it.” And then for the first time Aemond leans in close to you, his pristine scarless chest pressed to yours, his lips traveling from your throat to the curve of your jaw, his tongue darting into your mouth before you can turn away, and he tastes like pure, mineral lust, and maybe that’s not just because of what he’s done to you, maybe that’s all he is all the way down, hunger that is never satisfied, a need to consume like fire burns flesh.

You whimper, a desperate vulnerable sound, a pleading for him to finish what he’s started and give you this one last high, just one more, just one, please, please, you’ll do anything.

“I’m better than him, aren’t I?” Aemond demands as he fucks you, and there’s no other word for it. This isn’t making love, this isn’t a meeting of souls, it is using someone else’s body to patch up all your hollows, all the pinprick voids you’ve been walking around with for years, losing yourself one blooddrop at a time until you pass by a mirror one day and think who the hell is that? “I know how to take care of you. I know what you want. I can do things Aegon never could. I’ll make you come again. I’ll give you a prince.”

And he coaxes it out of you like the memory of a dream, more like an ether than something you could name: a shimmering elation all over, a cry you can only muffle by biting down on Aemond’s neck as he pounds into you, and then he at last he surrenders what you came here for, but only after all the rest of it. He fills you with himself, so much of it that you can feel it pouring out onto the blankets, immense flooding wet warmth that gives you no satisfaction whatsoever.

I’m a traitor, you think, and for all the times you’ve changed your skin this is the very worst of them. I shouldn’t have done this. I wish I hadn’t done this.

Aemond lifts himself off of you and rolls onto his back, panting alongside you as you both stare up at the ceiling, drenched in each other’s salt and knowing things that were once so unthinkable. Aemond is gazing over at you. His clear blue eye is tracing your lips, your breasts, your hips, your folds that are soaked with his sweat and seed. You don’t want him watching you. You feel sick knowing he’s watching you. You get up from the bed and begin putting on your gown.

Aemond says: “We should probably try again tomorrow.”

You shake your head. “I can’t,” you reply quietly.

He sits up on the bed, his lone eye narrowed and suspicious. His hair is damp and now flows over his shoulders in disheveled silvery waves. “What?”

“I can’t do this again. I’m sorry, I just can’t.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“So that’s it,” Aemond flings. “Just this once and never again. Never again in our whole goddamn lives.”

“It feels like betraying him. It is betraying him.”

“And what if he can’t father any more children?!”

“Then I’ll be barren.”

Aemond glares, petulant, affronted. “I thought you wanted to help this family.”

“You didn’t do this for your family. You did it for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m a fucking monster.” He tears off the bed, tugs on his trousers, ties the knot with swift furious hands.

“Aemond, I didn’t say that, I don’t think—”

“You’ve done enough,” he seethes, pawing through a chest of clothing. He finds a shirt and pulls it on, gathers up his things, rages to the bedchamber door. He whips it open and disappears into the nightscape corridor.

“Aemond!” you call after him in a fierce whisper, as loudly as you dare to. “Aemond, where are you going?!”

“To take Harrenhal,” he pitches over his shoulder. And then he’s gone, and maybe it’s your fault, and maybe it isn’t, but either way you are wholly convinced that it is.

You bathe in one of the massive tubs heated by the lava that runs deep beneath the rocky earth of the island, scouring away every trace of Aemond, lathering yourself with soap scented with pine, rinsing, lathering again. Still, you can feel the way he moved inside you with such battering, rapturous force. Still, you miss him, you miss being able to talk to him and look to him and trust that he will protect Aegon in every way he can, for no matter how much envy Aemond is built of you believe his love for his king is stronger.

You return to Aegon’s bed, always so careful now not to jostle his legs, his shattered bones that are only just beginning to mend. You are petrified that he will know somehow—that he will see it on your face, smell it sweating from your pores—but Aegon has nothing for you but seeking hands and contented, drowsy sighs.

“Where’d you go?” he mumbles, still half-asleep, drawing you in closer. “I missed you. I keep dreaming that everyone’s gone. I watch you walk through the doorway and I’m left here in bed all alone.”

“Aegon?”

“Yes, wife.”

“Do you need children with me to be happy?”

He waits a long time before he answers. When at last he does, he chooses each word carefully. “I have never felt a calling to be a father. I’ve never been any good at it. Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, Maelor…they were mine, but they also weren’t, and I can’t explain it. I felt nothing for them except a vague sort of sympathy that they had the misfortune of being born to me. Now, did a lot of that have to do with my relationship with Helaena? Probably. And do I think things would be different if I had children with you? Yes, I believe they would be, to some extent at least. But I don’t need children to be happy. I just need you.”

You say with tears in your eyes and your voice splintering: “I’m so sorry, Aegon.”

He is mystified. “For what?”

“For not being a better person for you. For not being able to cure or protect you. For not being able to end the war.”

“Angel, nobody can,” Aegon says, fingers snarled in your hair, lips to your forehead. Then he smiles; you can feel the warm, playful curl of it against your skin. “Well, except Aemond, of course.”

~~~~~~~~~~

She is there to greet him when he arrives. She creeps out of the shadows like a spider, long limbs and volcanic-glass eyes, whispers like wind in brittle fall leaves and flesh that will never refuse him. She wears black, not for one night like you did but always; she has long dark hair that she never cuts or braids or ties back. Sometimes there are raven feathers in it, sometimes herbs or powders from spells, sometimes twigs and petals, sometimes blood. It all washes out in the cold cryptic currents of the Gods Eye. Once Daemon Targaryen was here, but he did not have a wound in the shape that she could fill, could walk into like a doorway and stitch herself into the velvet-gore lining of his lungs, his liver, his heart. But now Daemon is gone. And Harrenhal has a new king to reign over the city of bones and ashes.

She meets him under the starlight that trickles in through the ruins of Harrenhal, less a castle than an architectural graveyard, less a place of beginnings than of calamitous ends. Her fingernails trace his scar and she tells him it is the mark of a hero. She touches her lips to his sapphire eye and tells him it reminds her of a god. And thus the doorway opens, and Alys drifts through it, silent and resistless like smoke, like a plague.

Perpetual Resurrection, Aemond thinks. He knows they are the words of House Celtigar. He has studied the mottos of every noble house in Westeros; but none speak to him more than these.

She touches him and he sees everything he could be. He tastes her lips and drinks down the smooth intoxicating fire that burns the boy he once was away.

[hotheadedhero]

Just so you know I’m shaking your writing like a dog with a squeaky toy it’s so GOOD!!

Like seriously you write Raph amazingly you nail this big sweetheart so well! First Date is specially framed in my mind for me to stare at lovingly in awe there are SO many good parts to that story where do I begin?? 

Raph’s brothers roping him into a date? So accurate 

Leo whispering “fly my pretties” to a cage of dove?? This drama kid WOULD do that 

Raph catching his date before falling? WOO! We love our Red Angel of Preventing Harm! 

Raph buying his date some food after the near fall with the birds?? What a goddamn sweetheart! 

Raph lending his date his hoodie?? Where’s this turtles good boy certificate! 

Raph doing a little happy victory dance after the date is over?? Raphael is the bestest turtle ever and I don’t want him to ever think differently! 

Sorry if this is a little lengthy I just love First Date so much! I get such cutesy aggression with it it’s an adorable story and it’s definitely one of my favourites with Raph! I know it says requests are closed but do you have any other ideas in mind for Raph centred stories?? Could you maybe share any ideas you’ve got in mind? (If not that’s cool look forward to whatever you post next!)

I am... unequivocally floored, speechless, and brimming with such joy omg. This has brought tears to my eyes, thank you, I'm so glad you enjoyed First Date 😭🙏 And don't you dare apologise Anon! I love hearing lengthy thoughts about my writing as I'm sure plenty of writers do heheh

Genuinely, it took a lot of thought and I'm so happy to hear that all the ideas I put so much work into it paid off! It's pretty crazy to think how the end product turned out considering how many pieces were rearranged and some even scrapped completely. There's nothing quite like a story that just really gets it going for ya, so to hear that one of mine does that? Amazing!

And I would love to say that I have more of our big sweetheart being the friendly giant that he is but, unfortunately, not at the moment. There's a couple Rise headcanons in the works but that's about it. I do, however, have some other iterations of Raph that I'm trying to work on, though, so there's that! :)

Thank you so SO much again for this lovely feedback, you have no idea how much my heart has been reduced to gush rn

Love to you and everyone else out there! Stay beautiful <3

[microposting]

macro/micro, all m/m, nsft, noncon, ownership, objectification

A man meets someone at a punk show with some unique (and unwilling) piercing jewelry.

He was a little embarrassed about it. Whole basement full of people in t-shirts, hoodies, jeans, cargo shorts, understated glasses, natural-color hair, normal, ordinary, perfectly attractive people, and here he was stealing glances at Mr. Hot Topic. Like a time traveler from 2005. Like a kid’s show’s idea of a punk rocker. But fuck if the eye shadow wasn’t doing something for him.

Bo leaned over to Mickey. “Billie Joe Armstrong over there,” he shouted. Might as well be whispering, the band was so loud. This was why he didn’t go to punk shows.

Mickey laughed. “Gerard Way over there?”

“Yeah, yeah, Pete Wentz over there. You know these people. He into dudes?”

He shrugged. “Fucking look at him. If he’s not bi, I’ll eat my socks.”

While the bands switched over, Bo approached him with a beer. He was sweaty from moshing, his dye-fried hair tussled, and very glad for the beverage. The guy was a few inches shorter than Bo, chubbier. His tattoos were numerous and seemed mostly DIY, and Bo was pretty sure he caught a glance of nipple piercing when his shirt settled just right.

“You’re pretty hardcore, man,” he opened. “No way you don’t have a band, right?”

He laughed. “Aw, I’m kind of in-between right now. Why, you trying to start something?”

“Well, I wanna start something .” Bo rose his brows.

He looked him up and down and licked his lips. “Teddy,” he said.

“Bo.” 

They shook hands.

The shed in the backyard was unlocked. Bo slammed him against one decaying wood wall, between a scrap metal shelf and a lawnmower, and a shower of dust rained on them. Tongues in mouths immediately. Fuck yes, a tongue piercing. The next band was starting up, he could hear them muffled through the wall. Grimy, throbbing, loud. That would make a nice soundtrack.

Against his tongue, something… moved? Did Teddy’s tongue piercing just move?

Bo pulled back. It was way too dark in here to see anything but the outlines of his face. The slightest shadow betrayed his frown. “Um, I think your piercing, um-”

“Oh!” He laughed. “Fuck, sorry, I forgot. Hold on.” Teddy took his phone out and shone the flashlight into his mouth. 

“Oh, shit!”

There was a guy in there. In his tongue. Some sort of plate encircled his chest, keeping him in place. His arms were spread out over the tongue’s surface. Couldn’t have been taller than an inch. Teddy flipped his tongue up to show off his little legs, kicking frantically. He was nude, except for the hardware. 

Teddy flicked off his phone light and Bo stuttered weakly. He wanted a better look, he wanted to figure out that mechanics of that whole thing. Was it clamped on? Screwed? Who agreed to do that? Why was there a tiny guy? 

“Bandmate,” Teddy said, as if that explained anything. “That’s why we broke up. There was some weird electrical incident during practice while I was on a smoke break. I like to keep an eye on ‘em.”

“And they’re cool with that?”

He cackled. “Absolutely not!”

Bo slipped his hand up Teddy’s shirt. His “nipple piercings” were soft and warm and wiggled at his touch. It felt like these two were strapped lengthwise along barbells. Cuffed at the wrists and ankles, maybe?

“Here’s a fun game,” Teddy said. “See if you can make them all come.”

“And what’s the prize?”

“I’ll suck your fucking dick, Bo, obviously.”

He smiled. That was fair.

Kissing first, then. Bo lapped at the tiny man’s chest. He imagined him sputtering and shouting. Couldn’t actually hear anything over the music. Of course, it didn’t take much to drown out a voice that small.

He paused. “Who is he, anyways?”

“Rich. He was tryna get us to call him Dragon, though. Drummer.”

“He’s in your mouth, and he’s not the vocalist?”

Teddy laughed. “You’ll get there.”

His tongue returned and slipped down underneath. The man tried to kick his legs against him to keep his tongue away just a little bit longer, so Bo twisted it vertically and slid in between. He pressed up hard and dragged back slow, rocked his tongue back and forth, grinded against him. If he really focused he could taste it… the musk, the sweat. He must be sweating nonstop in there, far more humid than any sauna. Bo flicked his tongue against the tiny sack. With the smallest bit of pressure, his tongue could press in and envelope his entire package. He wiggled it until he felt the whole body stiffen, and then the littlest hint of salt.

Bo pulled back. Saliva dribbled down his chin. “That was hot,” he panted.

“Don’t stop now,” Teddy teased back.

He pushed his shirt up and slicked his inner lip against Teddy’s solid, wrinkled nipple. His piercing strained against the contact. 

Teddy gasped and sighed. “That’s Al. Bassist. But I just call him lefty now.”

Bo could slide him out to one side. He kissed his lower half and felt the nub of his straining cock poking between his lips. Could just barely hear him yell… Not sure if it was a scream of pleasure or resistance, but both ideas were getting him hard. He was so little, he couldn’t even penetrate halfway through Bo’s pursed lips. Bo half-sucked half-kissed on him. The tiny man awkwardly tried to hump back and he smiled. “I think lefty’s liking this,” he muttered.

Teddy laughed. “Oh, are you being a good toy, Al? You being a sweetie?”

Bo smiled and gave his nipple another kiss. He tasted cum.

He wondered if they’d all wind up obedient and eager one day, like this one seemed to be becoming. Maybe it was just too overwhelming. The smell, the taste, the feeling of his flesh encircling them. They were almost part of his body. It had to be maddening. 

“Good boy,” Bo whispered. He heard a squeak in response. 

He brought his hand to Teddy’s right nipple. Righty had a lot more fight in him. Bo leaned in and brought his ear up. God, he was screaming, but he couldn’t begin to make it out. It sounded a bit more like desperate begging than anger, he thought. Bo spat on him and brought his ear back, right up to him, then pinched the piercing longways and wiggled him back and forth so the saliva worked its way between him and the interior of the nipple keeping him captive. His shouting devolved into humiliating, uncontrolled noises, and finally a long moan and quiet panting.

“Your vocalist’s got lungs,” Bo muttered.

Teddy laughed. “Nah, Grant was lead guitar.”

He frowned. “You’re vocalist?”

“Nope. Keyboard. Still gotta make the vocalist cum.”

Bo’s fingers trailed down to his belly button. Empty.

“C’mon, dude, you being dense?”

His eyebrows twitched. Oh. Duh. 

Bo reached down and slowly, carefully unzipped Teddy’s jeans. He tugged down his underwear, that smooth-textured mesh kind, and felt up his cock. On the short side, with a nice thickness and shockingly soft skin. And there on the very tip, one last tiny body. Prince Albert style, ankles and wrists cuffed together by a strict straight piece of metal, coated completely in pre. 

“Fuck,” Bo whispered. “Lemme see.”

“Go ahead.”

He got down on his haunches and turned on his phone flash. God, the little guy was soaked . Long hair flattened against him, thick liquid coating his whole body. He looked right into Bo’s eyes and even at his tiny, tiny size his expression was clear. Contempt. And exhaustion.

Bo took his sweet time looking at him. The erection must have been constricting him even further, what did that feel like? To be so directly at the mercy of another man’s libido? When Teddy came… when he pissed …

He leaned in and slowly licked up his shaft, taking his sweet, sweet time dragging the very tip of his tongue up the man’s body. Teddy moaned, and even more pre bubbled up around the man. He sputtered and gagged. 

“Frontman gets front stage,” Bo muttered.

“Now you’re getting it.”

He turned off his phone and stood back up. Before Teddy could argue, Bo pulled out his dick. With a hand, he carefully pressed their heads together. Fuck. God, fuck, it was incredible feeling the little man against him. The prisoner. He was like an insect compared to a of couple dudes fucking in a stranger’s garden shed.

Bo jacked them both off, tip to tip, the little piece of jewelry smashed in the center of them. “Jesus,” he hissed. “It’s so fucking hot, Teddy, they live in you.”

“It’s all I think about,” he panted. “He feels every twitch in my cock. They-they feel everything.”

“They should worship you.”

Teddy moaned and spurted over his hand, his cock, and no doubt half-drowned his prisoner. “Oh, fuck. Shit. Sorry, I─ Jesus, you got me hot.”

“Please suck me off,” he muttered.

“Yeah, dude. Yeah, yeah.” Teddy got down on his knees and licked up Bo’s shaft and oh god, he nearly forgot about the tiny in there. His arms fruitlessly fought off the tide of his flesh, and when Teddy took him in and pumped in and out he flailed to find any stability at all. “Are you jealous?” Teddy asked.

“God, yes.”

“You’d like some too, wouldn’t you?” He brought his tongue up and expertly slid the upper half of the little body down Bo’s slit. Oh, god, all those tiny movements suddenly dancing around inside of his cock.

Bo gasped and grabbed at his hair. “Yes!”

“I could… set up another accident. Maybe some of your friends. Or a hookup.”

“Please, please. Let’s be gods, Teddy.”

“You’d really be willing to do that? To another human being?”

“Yes!!” he squealed.

Teddy chuckled. “Good to know. I actually was thinking about a navel piercing.”

Bo froze. “Wait─” he muttered, but Teddy had already gone back to sucking him off, even more vigorously. He tried shoving him off and his hands faltered, his collar slipped over his shoulder, his pants slipped down. “Wait, Teddy─” he whimpered, and his voice was already so much smaller. Teddy bent over further and further down until he had to scoop Bo up, letting his shirt fall to the ground. Sitting in his hands, he was handheld. And the tongue, it was just so overwhelming. Bo couldn’t manage to get any sort of grip to push it off, just a helpless victim to its pressure. He came into Teddy’s wide-open mouth, assaulting him with awful humid air, and he could feel it, he could tell it could easily fit him in by now. Bo scrambled desperately away, but to where? There was palm on every side of him, and an awful fall past that.

Light blinded him and the surface he laid on tipped around as his new owner inspected him. “But maybe a scrotal piercing would be better… How ‘bout a trial run?” The light flicked off. His world turned and tumbled Bo went into a rapid free-fall. He hit some tense fabric, trampoline-like, and that shifted too until he was pressed up against bumpy, musky skin, squashed directly underneath his sack. “See how you like it, hardware,” Teddy called down. “Not like you’ll have much choice.”

[catboymoments]

I was having an awful day and I saw your art and I giggled because 1. Lil baby grows up to be big and strong 2. I imagined them having a deep voice but then scrapped that and gave them papyrus' fanon voice and 3. Imagine grandma amity being like "that's my kid! Get em honey!" While watching the bonesborough brawl

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS YAAAAAAAAA!!! I’m so glad my art made you feel better!!!!! I LOVE YOU !

[ronwestbreeze]

TO YOU , WORLDS AWAY : PART TWO : CHAPTER NINETEEN

pairing: jake sully x fem!reader

summary: your new life on pandora

word: count: 3.4k

author's note: get ready for a whole lot of domestic chapters of the sully family hehe &lt;3

AO3 | prev| next

Year 2160

“Doc!” Spider grinned happily when he spotted you.

The lab Norm and Max had set up was spacious enough for you to enter. And it was a little strange being the tallest one in the room for the first time. Though you were never really that short in your former body, it was still a startling contrast.

Spider ran up to you, awing at your new body, “Wow, you’re so tall!”

You grinned, kneeling down in front of him. Ruffling his hair, “And you’re so tiny, little Parrot.”

His little arms wrapped around your neck in a tiny hug, “I’m glad you’re okay. Mom says you weren’t feeling well and that I couldn’t see you.” When you pulled away slightly, he had a little pout on his lips, “I thought you left for good.”

Sometimes you forget how young the boy was. Had to be around Kiri’s age, maybe a little older. Still he was too young to truly understand what had happened and you were sure that Mary would prefer you not go into heavy detail. And you really didn’t want to burden him with it either.

“I was a little sick and it was very contagious.” You say instead, cupping his small face in your larger hands. “I didn’t want you to catch what I had. Now I’m better.”

Spider nodded like he understood, his wide eyes still taking in your face. “Now you’re one of them! When can I be like them?”

Norm entered the lab the same time Spider asked that and chuckled loudly, “Too little, kiddo. Gotta wait until you’re older.”

“So I have to be old?” Spider pouted. “Like you?”

You snorted while Norm rolled his eyes, “Keep up with the attitude and you won’t get one til’ your thirty!”

Spider stuck his tongue out at him as you laughed, placing the boy on your shoulders before following Norm to one of the computers. In some places you had to duck your head extra low, just so the boy’s head wouldn’t get caught by the ceiling.

When Norm brought up some images, swiping by to get to what he wanted, you spotted one of Hell’s Gate. Well, a blueprint of it at least. It looked different from the other one—the one you saw years ago while snooping through their computers after you first arrived on the planet. You had to have been sixteen or seventeen at the time when you saw the old blueprint outlines of Hell’s Gate.

Norm noticed your where your gaze settled and sighed, “Ever since the last one was destroyed—which I have to say was pretty fucking ballsey of you—those of us that stayed behind after the RDA left worked on rebuilding what was left. Keeping at least a few of the places alive and working so that we could live here comfortably.”

“You seemed to have made some progress.” You hummed, feeling Spider resting his arms and chin on top of your head.

Norm shrugged, “It's amazing how much time can go by when you’re hyper focused on this.” He waved his hand at the blueprint flippantly. “It’s not the same Hell’s Gate—don’t think we or the Na’vi would want it that way anyway—but it’s enough, ya know?” He then tilted his head, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “Though, you could’ve left a little more than scraps for us to work off of.”

“My bad.” You shrugged, both of you grinning.

Norm then pulled up a few schematics and other blueprints, this time of smaller projects. “Alrighty, what do you think, Doc?”

You spent the past twenty minutes giving your opinion on some of the projects. Then again, that was the whole reason as to why he asked you here in the first place. To get an engineer’s opinion on work. Like the good ol’ days. The only good days, really, besides Grace’s School. You liked being useful. Back when you first arrived at Pandora, you were trying everything you could to make yourself useful for the team. That was when you joined Grace in helping out with the school.

And when that had come to an unfortunate end, you buried yourself in studies, passing all your exams to become a prodigy engineer and a biologist in training.

Now, as a practically newborn Na’vi that was now starting your way as one of The People, you had to find new ways in this culture, in this clan, to be useful.

Max then arrived, standing awkwardly in the doorway, “Um, one of the warriors is here for you, Doc.”

You cringed when you realized the time, “Crap—I mean darn!” You placed Spider down as he stared up at you in confusion. “I forgot the time—you got it from here, Norm?”

He nodded, “Yeah, thanks for your help. You still got it, Doc.”

“Of course, I do.” You stood, adjusting the loincloth. “I may be in a different body but I’m still the best damn engineer on the planet.”

“Can I come with you?” Spider asked, following you as you walked toward the lab entrance. Even through the window you could see a warrior, standing further away and looking quite impatient.

You gave him a small smile, “Not this time, little Parrott. I got to start my training and I don’t know if they’d take too kindly to bringing you along on my first day.” Spider pouted and you ruffled his hair again, noticing bits of it were locking up. “Maybe next time, okay?”

“Okay.” He nodded, not hiding his disappointment.

When you got outside, the warrior’s eyes narrowed on you as you cautiously approached him. “You are late.”

“Only by a couple of minutes.” You weakly protest.

He huffed, adjusting his grip on his spear, “Come. We have much to do. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

Without waiting for a response, he leaped up onto a tree and began climbing. When he saw that you weren’t right behind him, he scowled down at you. “Skxawng! Climb!”

Rolling your eyes, you began climbing up after him. Like last time, you weren’t as fast compared to Neytiri. And it was the same with this nameless warrior. The only difference this time was that he didn’t have any particular patience for your slowness.

“Faster!” He ordered from his spot on a branch. Once you got up to the branch he was on, he glared, “If you plan to fight like one of us, you must learn to navigate this forest. It is your home now, you must know your own way without someone having to tell you.”

“Alright, I get it.” You mumbled. And really, you did. You had no energy to complain or protest against the attitude he was giving you. All you could do was follow him and learn. That’s all you could really offer at this point. “At least tell me your name.” You started as he started jumping from leaf to leaf. Wobbly but steadily, you followed after him. “You probably already know my name so don’t you think it’s fair?”

“Ezì.” He muttered, pointing his spear ahead. “Follow and watch.”

Carefully, you followed his instructions. Ezì moved elegantly and swiftly through the trees. Barely making a sound. You tried to mimic him, it wasn’t perfect but it was the best you could do. Ezì didn’t complain so it seemed like you were doing something right.

The both of you continued going like this, not stopping once. You figured if you asked for a break he’d probably snap your head off, so you refrained from doing so. At some point, you even managed to pass a Thanator without it noticing your presence. From the high ground, the creature looked a lot less intimidating.

Ezì watched your expression as you stared at it, “You’ve seen them before?”

After a few seconds, you realized he was speaking to you and nodded quickly, “Yeah, um, yeah I read about them and nearly got sniffed out by one a few days back.”

Ezì had a thoughtful expression, “You escaped one? You? Without having to kill it?”

“Yeah?”

“And you learned how by reading your….” He made a flippant gesture, “books?” You rolled your eyes, tail swaying behind you. “That is not how we will be doing things. You do not learn to be a warrior by reading. You learn by action.”

A sudden thrust from behind threw you off the branch. A yelp left your lips as you fell through a bunch of large leaves until you got to the ground, where the Thanator was.

You glared up, “Are you fucking kidding me, man?!”

From above, Ezì gave a smug grin as he squatted from his spot above, “You’ve escaped one before. Show me that you’re a warrior!” The Thanator’s eyes were already locked onto you, growling. “Show me you are worth my time and not another dreamwalker skxawng!”

You would’ve scowled at him, cussed him out, but the Thanator did not wait for you. When it pounced, you dashed away.

In your former body, you wouldn’t have been able to move as quickly as you were. Haphazardly jumping onto trees and plants, avoiding the Thanator’s claws and attempts at pouncing. Still, it didn't mean you were a pro at it, at least not as good as Neytiri or Ezì. But it was enough. Enough to keep you alive.

You just needed a way to lose it. Since your oh so generous teacher didn’t give you a weapon to defend yourself, losing it was the only option. As you kept going, you chanced a glance at the Thanator, finding it still on your tail and nearly grabbing it. You had to think fast.

Ahead of you was a vine hanging low from a taller tree. You jumped up and grabbed onto it, the Thanator missing you by inches at another attempt at pouncing toward you. Using what little upper body strength you had, you climbed up the vine as fast as you could, with the Thanator still growling at you from below.

One thing you knew for sure, well as for as your intellect on the subject went, they weren’t climbers. God you hoped they weren’t.

But of course, things couldn’t be easy for you.

When you got to a branch that was higher up than the one you had been on with Ezì, you spotted the Thanator making its way toward you by pouncing from tree to tree. And it was moving pretty fast too.

Damn those creatures!

Again, you leaped onto a nearby leaf, sliding down to another until you reached another branch. You looked up, stopping. The Thanator was nowhere in sight. And it was far too quiet.

For a moment, you wondered if Ezì was nearby, watching you with an annoying smug expression on his face. You thought about calling to him, but you weren’t going to be that reckless. That stupid.

This scenario, this training method, chillingly reminded you of your time training with Quaritch. He had taken it upon himself to teach you to fight when your father couldn’t. And you had asked him to, you were determined to be strong like him and your father. That part of you was long gone. But at least you learned one thing from him.

Always be aware of your surroundings.

Your ears twitched, your hands searched the ground beneath you until you found a long thick stick that if upon further inspection you’d see it used to be a smaller branch. But it was enough.

Leaves shuffling behind you gave you the go ahead turn around and swing as hard as you could.

And your swing had connected with something solid. The black blur of the Thanator toppled off from the hit and fell through the big leaves. You waited and waited until you heard a thud from below.

After waiting a few more seconds, you finally climbed down. Albeit clumsy, you managed to make it down without slipping or injuring yourself.

Ezì was already there, kneeling down next to the limb Thanator. He was mumbling something, words you could barely hear before he stabbed the creature with his spear. The creature went still after a few seconds and then Ezì stood to face you with an unreadable expression.

You tried not to think about the fact Quaritch would do the same thing. Examine you from head to toe, calculating without you knowing it until his words come. That’s what Ezì did with you. Out of habit, you waited for judgment.

Ezì finally spoke, “You’re quick on your feet. That could be useful.” He circled you, poked at the arm that held the branch. “Perhaps you’d do well with a spear…mmm, yes. A bow would slow you down…”

“Could’ve used one by the way.” You commented with a huff, dropping the branch to the ground. “The thing could’ve killed me.”

“But it didn’t.” Ezì smirked. “You are like Olo’eyktan. Adaptable. But a faster learner than he was.” You tried not to seem impressed by those words. You’d tease Jake about it later. “But you have a long way to go, tsmuke. Are you prepared for that?”

You shrugged, a determined look set on your face, “I wouldn't be here if I wasn’t.”

“That’s right.” Ezì smirked. “You wouldn’t be. Come. The sun is still high. We have much more to do.”

And you spent the entirety of the day scouring the forest with Ezì. He taught you all about the forest through minced words and a lot more action. Let’s just say, he liked putting you in dangerous situations. Though, he says it’s so you could adapt quicker and always be prepared to act without having to think about it.

Before dinner had arrived, you had spent the last of your day learning how to bond with a direhorse. For the first few hours you had failed but you were so determined to get it right, that you spent nearly half the entire day on it, despite Ezì telling you it didn’t have to be mastered in one day.

But eventually, you were able to stay on and bond with your new direhorse. Ezì, both impressed and reluctant, made you ride around to test if the bond was actually made. And you did. And it was amazing, almost relieving as you galloped through the forest with Ezì right next to you. This time he allowed himself to be impressed.

“Well done, tsmuke!” He grinned at you. “Well done!”

A smile broke out onto your face. Because you realized right then, what you felt was nothing close to your former training. It didn’t feel as gratifying as this. As proud. You always felt like you had to keep earning something, even if you were making progress. You still do, deep down, you knew that taming a direhorse wasn’t enough to be one of The People. You knew you had a lot more to do, a long way to go.

But it was looking pretty alright.

You came to dinner that night on your direhorse, surprising both Jake and Neytiri. But the kids' eyes widened in excitement.

“Horsy!” Kiri giggled excitedly as she ran toward you.

“Kiri.” Neytiri scolded but her face didn’t match the sternness she tried to muster. She followed after the child while looking up at you impressively, “Ezì is teaching you well then.”

You grinned as you picked up Kiri and sat her down in front of you on the direhorse, “Nah, I’m just a good student—get this Jake, he says I’m better than you, but I think we already knew that…”

“Ha. Ha.” Jake rolled his eyes, “I was not that bad.”

Neytiri grinned, “Ma’Jake, you were worse.” You laughed as you slowly rode around them, Kiri giggling in your arms. “You fell off so many times, face dirty every time. It took you two weeks to be able to tame yours.”

“Okay, okay, she doesn’t need to know all of that.” He sent Neytiri a look despite the smile he tried fighting back. “Besides, the flying is a lot better anyway.”

“I want to fly!” Kiri shouted, waving her arms around. Lo’ak began following behind the direhorse, asking for turns to get a ride.

“You will one day, baby girl.” Jake smiled fondly up at the two of you.

“My turn! My turn!” Lo’ak said to you as you pulled your direhorse to a stop.

You grinned down at the younger boy, “Alrighty.” You heaved him up and placed him down in front of you and Kiri in front of him. “Hold onto your sister.”

“Tell us more stories!” Neteyam said from next to his father.

Neytiri thought for a moment as you continued circling around them. “When I met your father—”

“God no!” Jake sighed, cringing as both you and Neytiri laughed. “We’ve already told the story, Neytiri. We fell in love and the end.”

You purse your lips, “I know I wasn’t there but I’m definitely sure it didn’t happen like that.”

“It did not.” Neytiri confirmed.

Soon Neytiri began telling the children about how Jake and her met. It sounded as if she had told the story many times before and so had Jake who chimed in every once in a while. Eventually, you got off your direhorse and set both Kiri and Lo’ak down as they listened to the story.

As Neytiri finished, Neteyam looked at you curiously. And in that adorable way where he tilted his head up at you as you stood behind Jake, yellow eyes looking at you curiously. “How did you meet, sempul?”

You hummed thoughtfully, the day you met him clear as day in your mind. “Well, unlike your mother, I did not want to kill him at first.”

“But you were definitely thinkin’ it.” Jake commented as you knelt down behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Oh I was.” You paused thoughtfully before continuing, “My sa’nok actually introduced us. In a way she set us up.” And so you told a lighter tale of how both you and Jake met. From when you were humans, from your time together in the Hallelujah Mountains, and up until the war with the Sky People which you told them cleverly that they’d have to wait until they were older to hear the rest of that part.

Eventually, after finally getting the children to eat and put to bed, Jake pulled you toward a random direction, “Jake, the hammock’s that way.”

He chuckled, “Ssh and follow me. I’m gonna show you somethin’.”

“Show me what?”

From behind you, Neytiri grinned, squeezing your shoulders, “The stars!”

Before you were about to say something dumb like “I already see the stars”, you soon realized what they meant when they led you to their two ikrans. Neytiri stepped away from you and got on her own. Jake led you to his, pulling you up to sit behind him.

The last time you had rode with him on his ikran was five years ago and one of the few good moments the two of you had shared together, after seeing each other in your avatars for the first time. Now you sit behind him again, wrapping your arms around your mate confidently while past you would’ve been hesitant and shy about it.

“You remember what to do?” He grinned at you over his shoulder.

“Shut up.” You pinched his waist.

With that, the ikrans took off. The wind whipping your face, caressing your ears and ruffling your hair. The forest below you and the sky…Neytiri was right.

They were taking you to see the stars.

As you flew, you leaned over a bit, holding onto Jake’s shoulders, to get a better look at his ikran. You never realized how beautiful yet vicious they were, how elegant they flew.

A grin tugged at your lips, “I have to get me one of these.”

Neytiri let out a hoot, smiling as she flew next to you and Jake.

You felt Jake’s hand tap your thigh, gaining your attention toward one of the moons. You had never seen it so clearly, even back when you rode with Jake for the first time, you had never seen anything as beautiful as the moon in the sky.

Your laugh was mixed with Neytiri’s excited shouts. And your eyes danced from the sky to meet Jake’s who looked back at you fondly, holding your hands tightly around his waist.

And in that moment, you hoped for more like it.

This peaceful life wasn’t so bad.

taglist: @luvvfromme @sully-stick-together @jakesullylvrr @s-u-t @ssc7514 @cheari @tojigirll @nyotamalfoy @perfectprofessorloverapricot @naityelen @dumb-fawkin-bitch @raggedyoldwitch @nhemmingsf @biooiuygjjgfsrb @thatsenoughformelol @thotd-f1 @beaniebeensbaby201 @theoriginalwife000 @3leni @23victoria @lovesickollie @atxara @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @ladylovegood-69 @lovekeeho @lilithmoon14512 @n7cje @fyfy-world @cleverzonkwombatsludge @goddesslilithmoriarty @itszzmoon @eternallyvenus @bajadotcom @ducks118 @alexandra-001 @sweetllamaparadise @padfootsvixen @avatarmasterlistblog

[sm0lprism]

Bite-Sized (3) - A BG3 G/t fanfic

This contains g/t (giant/tiny content) so if that isn't your thing, then I suggest you stop reading. Thank you!

Read on ao3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Summary: After spending the night at Gale's camp, Ria is offered a warming breakfast and meets the last party member of the group. Astarion, still grappling with his hunger, doesn't let that stop him from jabbing some insults towards the borrower.

Pairing: Astarion x borrower!oc (Tav) (slow-burn, Astarion is a complete ass but eventually comes round in future chapters)

Warnings: V*re mention, mouthplay, fearplay, blood, swearing/course language, blood drinking, Astarion is a real asshole to little people/borrowers and doesn’t see them as people so be prepared for him being awful.

Word count: 4.6k

Ria awoke the following morning to the feeling of earth-rattling tremors shaking the ground. She was almost jostled from her spot underneath her makeshift blanket and it immediately sent a wave of panic through her body.

What is going on? Where am I?

Memories of the previous night soon came flooding back to her mind as she sat up in her miniature tent. It was hard to believe that last night she had been so close to death and now she was in a camp surrounded by giants. Gingerly she stepped out of her tent and saw that everyone was awake. A loud screeching noise resonated throughout the camp and she had to cover her ears with her hands at the dreadful noise. The source of the loud noise was coming from Lae’zel, who was sharpening a longsword on a slab of stone.

Gods, make it stop!

Shadowheart approached Lae’zel with a rather disgruntled look on her face. “Shar help me, Lae’zel, if you don’t cease your sword sharpening at this ungodly hour, I will make you stop.”

Lae’zel paused what she was doing and snapped her neck towards the half-elf. If looks could kill, Shadowheart would be dead right where she was standing.

“Chk. I’d like to see you try, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart bristled with anger and opened her mouth to speak, but Karlach immediately came blundering in between the two with a plate full of pancakes in her hands.

“Guys, you won’t believe this! Gale made pancakes!” Karlach was practically oozing joy from her face as she shoved a piece of pancake into her mouth, not sensing the tension between Lae’zel and Shadowheart.

Lae’zel paused her sword sharpening to stare at Karlach with her plate of steaming pancakes.

“Pancakes?” Lae’zel wrinkled her nose. “That sounds like food for children.”

Karlach’s face quickly changed from joyous to that of utter disbelief. “Oh, my gods, you’ve never had pancakes before? You’re in for a real treat, Lae’zel.”

Lae’zel furrowed her brows, not very convinced by the tiefling’s statement. “I doubt that Gale could produce any food that could please my tastebuds, but I will try it.”

“When I was in Avernus, I never had food like this,” Karlach continued, her cheeks full of food. “Gods, this is so fucking good.”

“I’m glad that at least you’re enjoying it, Karlach. It does smell good.” Shadowheart’s anger from before had dissipated as she smiled warmly at the tiefling.  

Ria remained grounded where she was, not entirely sure what to do. The others hadn’t noticed her entering out of her small tent yet and she didn’t feel comfortable asking for some food, either. Borrowers didn’t exactly ask for food from giant people, she was so used to taking pieces of food scraps and anything that she could find without anyone noticing.

Ria didn’t have to wait for much longer as Shadowheart’s gaze soon trailed over her tiny frame.

The cleric greeted her with a gentle smile. “Good morning, Ria. I hope you slept well.”

Ria nodded, craning her neck to meet her gaze. “Good morning! Y-yes, it was actually the best sleep that I’ve had in a long time, actually.”

“I’m glad that you slept well,” Shadowheart replied. “Would you like to join us for breakfast? There is more than enough to go around.”

Ria blinked in surprise. No one, especially someone who wasn’t her own kind, had offered her breakfast.

“I would love to join you for breakfast,” she answered.

Shadowheart fell to one knee so that she was closer to Ria. The half-elf extended her open palm to the small borrower, gesturing for her to climb on.

“It’ll probably be easier if you climb on,” Shadowheart said. “And safer for you, too. I’d hate for someone to step on you.”

Ria inhaled deeply and steeled herself. She had allowed Gale to hold her and nothing bad had happened. Surely Shadowheart could be trusted as well, especially since she had been the one to heal her wounds from last night. Slowly and with great caution, she climbed into Shadowheart’s open palm. She instinctively grasped onto Shadowheart’s index finger as the half-elf stood to her full height.

Karlach’s eyes brightened as she looked down at the little borrower now sitting in Shadowheart’s palm.  

“I still can’t believe that little people are real,” Karlach said in between mouthfuls of pancake. “You are so cute!”

A faint blush blossomed across Ria’s face at Karlach’s words. “Um, t-thank you.”

“I can’t believe Shadowheart hasn’t dropped the poor thing yet,” Lae’zel grunted.

Shadowheart shot a scathing look at the githyanki. “As if you’re gentle enough to hold a borrower, Lae’zel. You would crush her with one simple hand movement.”

“Chk! I am not so careless to do such a thing, Shadowheart. I may be a seasoned warrior, but I can be gentle when I need to be.”

Shadowheart bit her tongue to stop herself from laughing. “You? Gentle? Don’t make me laugh, Lae’zel.”

Shadowheart and Lae’zel continued to bicker back and forth for some time, and all Ria could do was silently watch from her seat in Shadowheart’s hand. She quickly caught on that Lae’zel and Shadowheart certainly weren’t friends in the slightest, as it was obviously apparent. While they continued to argue back and forth, Ria looked around the rest of the camp. She noticed Gale hunched over the morning campfire with a frying pan seamlessly levitating above the fire by itself – a glowing aura of magic surrounding the kitchen utensil as the wizard flicked his wrist every so often.

At least Astarion won’t be out here.

Her gaze trailed away from Gale and her heart nearly caught in her throat. There, standing in broad daylight, was Astarion. Her mouth hung open in shock as she watched him absentmindedly flick through a book, as if standing in the sun was a very normal occurrence for him.

But- but- HOW? Vampires can’t walk in the sunlight! What in the hells is he?!

The only noise she could hear now was the blood pounding fiercely in her ears. Her heart rammed against her ribcage, threatening to break through them at any moment. Her knuckles turned white as her fingernails pierced into the palms of her hands. Dryness enveloped her mouth and her throat tightened. Images of last night replayed through her mind – flashing teeth, crimson eyes, the crushing weight of his fingers squeezing her tiny body. Without thinking, she instinctively wrapped her arms tightly around Shadowheart’s index finger and held onto it as if her life depended on it. Rumbling murmurs vibrated around her, but she couldn’t hear anything over the blood hammering through her ears.

Shadowheart’s fingers twitched around her quivering body. The half-elf’s face soon came into view as she brought Ria closer towards her.

“Ria? Is everything alright?” Shadowheart asked, her face etched with concern.

“Your unpleasant face has frightened the poor borrower, Shadowheart,” Lae’zel quipped.

“Now is not the time Lae’zel!” Shadowheart glowered at the githyanki.

“Is she okay? What’s going on?” Karlach’s worried voice rumbled through the air.

“H-How is he there?” Ria choked, her voice barely a raspy whisper. “I-In daylight – how?”

“Ah,” Shadowheart said, quickly noticing that Ria was staring at Astarion. “Well, I suppose we have a bit of interesting information to share with you…to put it simply, our entire group has been infected by illithid tadpoles.”

Ria swallowed thickly. “Illithid? As in…mind flayers?”

Shadowheart nodded. “Yes, unfortunately. It’s a bit of a long story, but our entire group were captured by some mind flayers who infected all of us with their tadpoles. Surprisingly, though, we haven’t transformed into mind flayers, even though under normal circumstances we should’ve started sprouting tentacles a long time ago.”

“Precisely why we need to seek out a creche,” Lae’zel interrupted. “Only a gith creche can cure us of these ghaik parasites that plague our brains.”

“And that’s basically why we’re all traveling together,” Karlach added, smiling softly at Ria. “We figured that sticking together as a group we’ll be able to get rid of these worms in our brains a lot easier.”

Ria took a moment to process all the information. She knew of mind flayers and their parasites, but being so small, being infected by one of those tadpoles was something she didn’t need to worry about. The mind flayers themselves, on the other hand, were a different story. She was aware of their oppressive tendencies and that they enslaved a multitude of races, one of them being the gith. She had never encountered a mind flayer in the flesh, but she had heard stories of their horrific reign and power. The fact that everyone in the camp was infected by illithid parasites didn’t exactly ease her nerves.

“So, the parasite allows him to walk in the sun freely?” she asked, turning the focus back to Astarion.

“Yes, fortunately for him, it does.” Shadowheart nodded. “However, I believe he’s still vulnerable to stakes, but we’re not exactly sure just how far the parasite will go in terms of other vampiric weaknesses.”

“If the spawn merely glances at my neck, I’ll be sure to test my blade on his throat,” Lae’zel hissed venomously.

“Why haven’t you all transformed into mind flayers yet?” Ria questioned.

“That’s what we’re still trying to figure out,” Shadowheart replied. “We really have no idea why, but we’re trying to find a healer, or someone that can help us rid ourselves of these tadpoles.”

“A gith creche is the only solution,” Lae’zel persisted. “Our priority is reaching the creche. Only then will we be free of these ghaik vermin infecting our brains.”

Shadowheart heaved a tired sigh. “Yes, Lae’zel, thank you once again for reminding us about the creche. As if we haven’t heard that enough times already.”

Lae’zel curled her lip into a snarl. “Chk! You will be thanking me once the gith relieve us of these parasites.”

“Hey, are you hungry?” Karlach tore a tiny piece of pancake off her plate and offered it to Ria, interrupting the conversation before things got heated again between Shadowheart and Lae’zel. “You’re welcome to have some of mine.”

Ria blinked, surprised at the tiefling’s generosity. “T-thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

Karlach flashed a rather charismatic grin. “Hey, it’s not like it’s a whole lot anyway. Oh, just be very careful not to touch my skin.”

Heading her advice, Ria carefully plucked the tiny piece of pancake from in between Karlach’s fingers. The piece of pancake was like the size of a loaf of bread in her small hands.

“Why can’t I touch your skin?” Ria asked.

“Infernal engine.” Karlach tapped her chest with her fist, and a loud clanging noise resonated throughout the air like she had just banged a hard piece of metal. “A gift from my old master, Zariel. Basically, it means I can’t touch anyone without rendering them into a pile of ash.”

Ria’s eyes widened. “That sounds…awful. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Karlach grinned. “We’re working on resolving it, as well as these tadpoles in our noggins.”

“I trust that our guest is doing alright?”

Ria tore her gaze away from Karlach and turned around to see Gale approaching them. A small feeling of calmness washed over her at seeing the wizard – out of everyone in the camp, Gale was the one who she felt she could trust the most after he had saved her the previous night.

“Good morning,” Ria said with a small smile. “I’m doing very well, thanks to the bed that you made for me last night. It was the best sleep I’ve had in a long time.”

Gale returned her smile, warmth reflecting in his hazel eyes. “That’s very good to hear. Feel free to eat as much food as you like, I think I’ve made enough to last us all the way to Baldur’s Gate.”

“Thank you again for all of this,” Ria said. “I never thought humans or anyone else for that matter could be this kind to borrowers. You truly have me in your debt.”

Gale shook his head. “No, no, again, it’s the very least we could do after what happened last night. Feel free to stay here for as long as you need.”

Ria continued to smile at the wizard, her heart fluttered gently in her chest. A sharp pang in her stomach reminded her of her hunger and she soon remembered the piece of pancake that she was holding. She tore a piece off with her teeth and nearly moaned with delight. It was the best thing she had ever tasted. The light, fluffiness of the pancake spread across her tongue as she chewed, relishing the delectable flavours.

“Would you like to sit down?” Shadowheart’s voice chimed from above.

Swallowing a piece of pancake, her gaze met Shadowheart’s. “O-oh, yes, that would be nice.”

Shadowheart nodded and slowly brought Ria down towards a nearby log that sat next to the campfire where Gale had been cooking up breakfast, it was the perfect spot for her to sit while still being out of harm’s way. She hopped off Shadowheart’s palm, clutching her piece of pancake close to her chest, and made herself comfortable on the log. Sitting down, she devoured the rest of her breakfast and watched as the rest of the group helped themselves to some of Gale’s pancakes.

All of them except for Astarion.

Ria tried her best to ignore the vampire spawn, and she refused to make eye contact with him, but she could feel his gaze burning into the back of her neck. If Gale and the others weren’t around, she wouldn’t dare be out in the open like this with Astarion so close by.

“Is that pancakes I smell?” A new, unfamiliar voice filled the air and Ria felt her body turn frozen solid.

Another person? Seriously!?

“Ah, Wyll, you’ve made it just in time for breakfast,” Gale’s voice rumbled from above, plating up another stack of pancakes for the newcomer. “Please, help yourself.”

Ria swallowed thickly as a man entered the camp – he had dark skin and a pair of curled horns protruding out of his skull. One of his eyes was black and red, whilst the other was a pale grey. He was certainly handsome, but his devil-like appearance made Ria bristle in fear.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Wyll answered, helping himself to some food. “I managed to get some more supplies for the camp while I was gone. It should last us until we reach the Goblin Camp.”

“Excellent, I’m glad to hear that your trip was successful,” Gale replied. “You should meet our guest, Ria. She will be staying here for a while until she is ready to leave.”

Wyll’s gaze searched the camp in confusion. A puzzled expression soon formed across his rugged features as he failed to see who Gale was referring to. “Um, is this a trick, Gale? I don’t see anyone.”

Ria cleared her throat. “Down here.”

Wyll lowered his gaze and finally settled on where Ria was sitting on the log. His jaw almost hit the ground and his eyes widened in shock. He immediately glanced back to Gale then back to Ria as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“G-Gale? Is that a tiny person sitting on the log?” Wyll stammered.

“Yes, and her name is Ria,” Gale repeated. “And I take it you’ve never seen a borrower before, have you?”

“Oh, a borrower!” Wyll exclaimed. “W-well, I’ve certainly heard of them, yes, but I thought they weren’t real. Just a fairy tale for children.”

“I’m certainly not a fairy tale,” Ria said firmly, furrowing her brows. “Um, it’s nice to meet you, too, Wyll.”

“O-oh! I’m sorry, please forgive my rudeness.” Wyll leaned down towards Ria and extended his index finger to her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ria.”

Ria tentatively took his index finger in her hand and smiled at him. Despite his devil-like appearance, Wyll seemed to be a kind person.

“What brought you to our camp?” Wyll asked curiously, removing his index finger away from her.

Ria’s jaw clenched. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story…um…”

“Astarion nearly ate her,” Lae’zel interrupted rather bluntly.

Wyll almost choked on thin air at hearing Lae’zel’s statement. “W-what? Seriously? Oh, gods above, I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

“I-It’s quite alright,” Ria said breathlessly, although she knew deep down, she wasn’t alright.

“No, it’s not alright.” Wyll scowled. “It looks like I may need to remind Astarion that he needs to keep himself in line if he wishes to travel with our group.” He shot a deathly look towards the spawn who was still lurking in the back on the camp.

Astarion, now noticing that everyone was staring at him, snapped his book shut in anger.

“Save it, Wyll. I’ve had just about everyone in the camp berate me for what happened last night. I really don’t need to hear it from you.”

Ria had been avoiding looking at the vampire up until now, but in that moment, she had made a quick glance towards him as he had snapped at Wyll. In the blazing heat of the morning sun, she immediately noticed just how ragged Astarion looked. There was a feral hunger that reflected in his crimson eyes – it was almost animalistic the way that he looked. The tips of his fingers were twitching every so often and his fangs were sticking quite noticeably out from under his lips. She had seen this same look in the eyes of other predators when they were on the brink of starvation and it never ended well.

“I do believe Astarion has learned his lesson,” Gale said.

“Thank you, Gale,” Astarion sighed. “Now, is someone going to bring me breakfast? I’m far too weak to hunt, unless anyone wants to volunteer-?”

“It’s okay, Fangs, we’ll get you something,” Karlach said rather suddenly. “Anyone want to come with me?”

��I would enjoy accompanying you,” Shadowheart replied. “If it means I’ll be out of earshot from Lae’zel sharpening her blade, then I’ll gladly come.”

“Chk.” Lae’zel curled her lip into a snarl, but said nothing more.

“I would like to come long as well,” Gale added. “I need to pick up some scrolls from the trader in Emerald Grove. We could make a quick stop there on the way.”

Ria’s stomach dropped at hearing all three of them were leaving. She had only just met Wyll, and she wasn’t entirely certain of Lae’zel’s intentions at this stage, so being alone with them at the camp with Astarion didn’t exactly make her happy. She immediately contemplated leaving right then and there, but it would be foolish to leave a camp when there was so much food and shelter available, despite the risks.

I’ll wait until they return, stock up on supplies, then leave.

“Wyll, make sure Astarion doesn’t get too peckish while we’re gone,” Gale said. “Especially for our little guest here.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure he behaves himself,” Wyll answered.

Gale, Karlach, and Shadowheart soon left the camp leaving Ria alone with the remaining three members of the group. She noticed that Wyll was looking at her with a soft look reflected in his eyes.

“Is there anything I can get for you?” Wyll asked with a gentle smile. “Some water? Any more food?”

Ria’s mouth was practically a scorched desert and her throat burned at the thought of having some water.

“Water would be amazing, thank you.”

Wyll’s eyes instantly lit up. “Right! I’ll go fetch you some.” His brows furrowed in thought as he realised that she couldn’t exactly drink out of a normal cup. “Hm. Give me a moment, I’ll go find something for you to drink out of first.”

Panic flared in her chest at the prospect of Wyll leaving her side temporarily. “O-oh, it’s quite alright, you don’t have to-“

“Don’t worry, I’ll only be a moment,” Wyll interjected. “Just sit tight and I’ll be right back.”

Ria could only watch in dismay as her main source of protection walked off to the other side of the camp. He began rummaging around in bags, tossing aside cutlery and silverware as he searched for something suitable for her to drink out off. Lae’zel had also returned to her own tent, seemingly disinterested in making conversation with her. She steadied her breathing and attempted to calm herself down.

I’m being stupid. It’s not like Wyll has left the camp, he’s just not watching where I am is all.

Despite her feelings of fear, her gaze couldn’t help but to wander back over to where Astarion was standing. He was still several metres away from her, but he looked incredibly restless. He had tossed aside the book that he was reading as if he couldn’t focus on it anymore. His crimson gaze soon met hers and her heart almost stopped.

Please don’t walk over. Please don’t walk over. Please-

Astarion began to saunter towards her direction and her breath almost caught in her throat. She wanted to move, but it was if someone had glued her to the log that she was sitting on. Goosebumps trailed up her arms as the vampire spawn continued to approach her until he was close enough to reach down and grab her in his fist. She almost expected him to snatch her up in his hands, but much to her surprise, he simply stood there watching her.

Oh gods, oh fuck, what is he going to do?

“Hello, darling,” he said with a playful smirk. “Are you making yourself comfortable, hm?”

At hearing his remark, Ria could feel her chest tighten and her blood boil.

The audacity of this man! What is he thinking?!

“You have a lot of nerve acting so casual after you literally tried to eat me last night,” she hissed furiously, her face fuming. “Just who do you think you are?”

Astarion simply laughed at her statement. “Oh, I’m sorry my dear, you’ll have to speak up. It’s quite hard to hear you from all the way down there.”

Ria immediately no longer felt like she was glued to the log anymore. She jumped to her feet and craned her neck to look up at the giant vampire. Fear still flickered in her chest at being so close to him, but burning hot anger soon replaced the fearful thoughts away with each passing moment. She squared her shoulders and glared daggers at the enormous man – she wasn’t going to let him walk over her metaphorically or literally.

“Look here, you massive vampire ponce, just because I’m small that doesn’t mean you can just say whatever the hell you like to me!” She pulled the middle finger very aggressively at him with both of her tiny hands and waved them about. “You can go fuck yourself!”

This seemed to get a proper reaction out of Astarion as he clapped his hands together and his eyebrows shot up at her outburst. He seemed almost pleased, which isn’t exactly what Ria had been wanting nor expecting.

“Oh, bravo little one!” Astarion chimed, the stupid shit-eating grin still plastered across his face. “My, my, that was quite the outburst, wasn’t it? Very brave of you to say something like that given your stature, hm? I must say, I do admire your bravery if anything.”

Lae’zel had now come out of her tent and was now watching the two of them with interest.

“The little istik has a lot of fire in her for someone so small,” Lae’zel quipped, seemingly impressed by Ria’s defiance towards Astarion. “That is most admirable.”

Ria was caught rather off-guard by Lae’zel’s sudden compliment.

“Um, thank you.”

Lae’zel simply smiled down at her in response, her normally sharp, piercing gaze slightly softer than it had been before.

“Sorry about the wait, I finally managed to find something small enough for you.” Wyll’s voice resonated from behind Ria as he approached the log that she was standing on.

Wyll’s lips tightened as he shot a very hostile glare towards Astarion. He immediately stood in front of Astarion to place some distance between the vampire spawn and the borrower.

“Astarion, what in the Nine Hells are you doing?” Wyll snapped, his face seething. “Haven’t you done enough to her? You better not be thinking of doing anything funny!”

Astarion put his hands up in the air and shook his head.

“Believe me, Wyll, I wasn’t trying anything out of the ordinary with our vertically challenged guest over there,” Astarion said rather smugly. “Can’t I just simply engage in conversation? I’m on my best behaviour, honest.”

Ria flipped the bird off at Astarion’s direction once more and scowled at him.

“Somehow I find that very hard to believe, Astarion,” Wyll replied dryly, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Astarion was being no more than his snarky self than usual,” Lae’zel added. “However, I would’ve gladly offered a stake to his chest if he tried anything funny.”

“See? We’re all friends here,” Astarion smiled. “No need to jump to conclusions.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ria muttered under her breath.

Wyll heaved out a long sigh. “Right, well, if you don’t mind, I’m actually here to give Ria some water.” He dropped down to one knee so that he was eye-level with her. In between his index finger and thumb there was a tiny thimble filled with water, although compared to Ria, it was more like the size of a bucket.

“Sorry, this is all we had,” Wyll said. “I hope this is alright.”

Ria tentatively took the thimble from Wyll and held it in both of her tiny hands.

“N-no, this is perfect, thank you.”

She brought the thimble to her face and took a hungry gulp of water. It hadn’t occurred to her just how dehydrated she was until she continued to drink ravenously, the cool water easing the burning sensation in her throat as she quenched her thirst.

“I needed that.” Ria placed the thimble down, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Is there anything else I can get for you?” Wyll asked gently.

Ria shook her head. “No, I’m quite alright, but thank you.”

Wyll smiled down warmly at her in response. “Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.”

Ria returned his smile and nodded in reply. Her gaze shifted over towards Astarion and she immediately stiffened. Hunger was ever present in the vampire’s glowing red eyes. His fangs were protruding very noticeably out of his mouth now and both of his hands were clenched into a fist. His gaze kept flickering between both Wyll and Lae’zel’s necks as if he couldn’t decide who to sink his teeth into first. Lae’zel, noticing Astarion’s behaviour, glared at him fiercely, her hand hovering over the handle of her longsword in anticipation.

“Astarion? Are you feeling alright?” Wyll asked tentatively.

Astarion blinked before shaking his head. “I think it’s best if I avoid all of you for the time being until I’ve had something to eat.” His hungry gaze shot downwards to stare at Ria. “I’m using all of my energy left to restrain myself right now.”

“You are one step away from ripping into our throats,” Lae’zel hissed. “Leaving is an excellent idea. If you so much as glance at my neck one more time the only thing you will be tasting is my blade.”

“Yes, I agree with Lae’zel,” Wyll answered. “It would definitely be safer for all of us if you kept your distance for now, at least until the others are back.”

Thank the gods.

Ria felt a small feeling of relief wash over her as Astarion shot her one last look before scurrying out of the camp. It didn’t comfort her that he was on the verge of going ravenous, but at least he still had enough control left to remove himself from the situation. Gale and the others couldn’t come back soon enough.

[y0urm4m]

No Time to die ch.3

Warnings: smoking, swearing, arranged marriage (it is consensual so don’t come for me!!), alcohol consumption, weapons, blood, arguing, possible smut, fighting.(This includes all parts!!)

Summary: What will happen when two strangers with awful backstories are forced into an arranged marriage but one is seeking revenge.

┏━━━ 🀥 ━━━┓

A few days had passed since everything had happened with my dad and Darren. My dad ended up firing Darren which was utterly ridiculous and unnecessary as he hadn’t done anything wrong. Once I had found out about him being fired, me and my dad once again had a massive argument and I was sent to my room for the rest of the day. Like always.

it was currently the night before the wedding, I was sat in my room with Nick as I painted my nails a pearly colour. “What do you think about this colour?” I asked Nick, showing him my nails. “I love it, it will definitely go with the dress.” He replied, inspecting the nail polish bottle. “I’m glad and if you really like the colour I’ll see if I have some spare,” I offered smiling. “It is one of the only colours that I use.” I added, giggling. “Oh before I forget I brought an early wedding gift for tonight!” Nick exclaimed jumping up, he walked over to where his bag was grabbing something. “I got some more of wine we had the other night!” He grinned. “Oh gosh, well I will not be drinking as much as I had the other day.” I giggled.

— Once I had finished my nails, me and Nick grabbed a couple of wine glasses and brought them back up to my room. “Soo, have you spoken to Chris?” He asked, pouring a glass of wine for himself and I. “A little bit.” I said as nick passed me a glass. “Oh well, you’ll have all the time to speak to him tomorrow,” “That’s another thing, have you written any vows?” He added.

Shit I had completely forgotten about writing vows.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you forgot,” He giggled. “I can help if you want?” He offered, sitting up. “It’s fine but I’ll have to write some now.” I said, getting up and grabbing my notebook.

I sat for 5 minutes staring at the blank lined page, what was I supposed to say. I barely knew Chris.

“Just write from the heart, trust me it’ll work.” Nick said softly, sipping from his drink.

Me and Nick ended up scrapping the personal vows because my mind had gone completely blank, we ended up lying down to watch a film which also was scrapped as we ended up falling asleep.

— “Are you excited?” Nick asked from beside me. I nodded. “Time has gone so fast!” I replied, as the woman behind me styled my hair. “Is it okay to start doing your makeup?” Someone else asked. I nodded my head in response as they walked over with loads of makeup products. “I’ll be back once your make up and hair is done. Okay?” Nick said, patting my shoulder. “Okay that fine, I’ll see you then.” I smiled as he left the room.

My hair and makeup was finally done.

I decided to put the dress on once I had got to the venue so it wasn’t creased or potentially damaged.

“Nick I’m done.” I said, walking out the door. “Great, let’s head to the venue now as we’re still early.” He said, leading me towards a car.

“Your hair and makeup looks breathtaking by the way.” He grinned. “Thank you, I’m honestly scared I might ruin it if I’m not careful.” I giggled. “You won’t, don’t worry. We’re Almost there anyways.” He replied, looking out the car window.

— We eventually arrived and went straight to put the dress on. “Holy shit y/n you actually look amazing.” Nick said, as I showed him the finished look. I smiled, as a faint knock was heard. “Who’s that?” I whispered, looking towards the door. “I don’t know, one second I’ll check.” He whispered heading over towards the door.

After 5 minutes of Nick having a conversation with the person, he finally opened the door revealing my dad. His eyes widened as he looked at me. I smiled walking over to him. “Do I look okay?” I asked, looking at him. “You look wonderful, your mom would be proud.” He smiled, pulling me in for a hug. I felt my waterline fill as the words left my dad’s mouth. “No water works before the wedding, please.” Nick said which caused me and my dad to laugh as I pulled away from the hug.

“Everyone should be arriving and sat down soon so I suggest staying in here for now.” Nick said, looking down at his phone. “Yeah Matt, Chris and some of the others are actually already here, I saw them just before I came in here.” My dad replied, also looking down at his phone. “Right I’ll be back once everyone is sat down, I love you.” My dad said, leaving me and Nick in the room.

“Y’know, I actually really appreciate the fact that you wore my mom’s dress.” Nick smiled, sorting out his tie. “I’m glad I could wear it, it’s a beautiful dress,” I replied, smoothing out the sides. I looked up at the clock, surely everyone was sat down by now? “Nick, you should probably go after all you are one of Chris’ groomsmen.” I said, patting his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll tell your dad to come and get you, I’ll see you soon!” Nick replied, giving me a quick hug before leaving.

I sighed, looking at myself in the mirror, this was actually happening it wasn’t just a dream. “You can do this y/n.” I whispered to myself and with that someone was knocking on the door again. “Y/n, it’s me,” My dad said entering the room. “Everyone is settled down now, so are you ready?” He asked, walking Towards me. “I’m ready, before I forget let me get the bouquet.” I replied quickly grabbing the bouquet from next to me. “Okay let’s go.” I took a deep breath, as we left the room.

We began walking the corner, arm in arm. “I’m so proud of you.” My dad whispered.

It’s felt surreal the moment me and my dad made it to the start of the aisle. The decor that filled the venue was absolutely enchanting and made the ceremony feel as if it were a dream.

“Please rise.” The priest declared as I finally was in sight for the family, friends and guests. Everyone who was sitting arose from their seats turning to look at me and my dad :who was on my left, as we walked slowly down the aisle. I could see Nick grinning as I walker closer towards him and the others but that’s when Chris caught my vision, his mouth agape as he watched me finally reach him.

As we reached the end of the isle, my dad let go of my arm giving me a kiss on the cheek as he sat down.

Chris took a step forward, smiling at me as we took our places in front of the priest.

“In the name of the father, and of the son, and of the Holy Spirit,” The priest began.

“Amen.” Everyone else replied.

“Grace to you and peace from God our father and the lord Jesus Christ.”

“And with your spirit.” Everyone replied once again.

“I will now start with an opening prayer. Be attentive to our prayer, O lord, and in your kindness uphold what you have established for the increase of the human race, so that the union you have created may be kept safe by your assistance. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one god, forever and ever.” The priest said, nodding his head.

After the priest read a few readings from the Old Testament, the New Testament and the Gospel.

“Are you prepared, as you follow the path of marriage, to love and honour and honour each other for as long as you both shall live?” The priest asked.

“I am.” Me and Chris said together.

“Since it is your intention to enter the covenant of holy matrimony, join your right hands, and declare your consent.” The priest announced, as me and Chris joined our right hands together.

Chris took a deep breath. “I, Chris Sturniolo, take you, Y/N Y/L/N, to be my wife. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honour you all the days of my life.”

I smiled. “I, Y/N Y/L/N, take you, Chris Sturniolo, to be my husband. I promise to be faithful to you, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love you and to honour you all the days of my life.”

After the priest blessed the rings and said a few more prayers it was now time to give one another them.

“Y/N Y/L/N, receive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” Chris said, sliding the ring on my finger.

“Chris Sturniolo, revive this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity.” I replied, sliding the ring on his finger.

I looked over slightly to see my dad, who was now wiping tears off of his face as he smiled at me.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” The priest declared.

“You may now kiss the bride.” The priest said to Chris.

I looked at Chris before his lips met mine for a quick peck.

As we pulled back, the room filled with claps from everyone around us.

— After everyone had congratulated me and Chris we headed to the reception but before I entered Chris pulled me to the side. “I just wanted to say thank you for wearing my mom’s dress it really means a lot.” He said pulling me in for a hug. I was taken aback by the hug but I didn’t pull away from him, instead I hugged him back. “I really loved wearing this dress and I’m glad I was able to wear it.” I replied as we pulled away from each other.

We walked into the reception as I was immediately taken over to the dance floor where my dad stood. “You ready for a father, daughter dance? He chuckled. “I’m not going to let you go that easy.” He added as I walked over towards him.

The song ‘father and daughter’ by Paul Simon started playing which caused me to immediately tear up as it was a song my dad would play to me all the time when I was younger and we’d dance around the kitchen whilst my mom made sure we didn’t break anything. We began dancing slowly and carefully, as the song continued.

“I know I’ve already said it once but I really am proud of you.” My dad said to me as we danced to the song. “Thank you dad.” I replied as my lip quivered. “How about we dance just like we did when you was little, and if you keep crying it’s going to make me cry.” He chuckled, spinning me round just like he did when I was little which caused me to giggle. “There’s my happy girl.” He said as the song came to an end.

Chris walked towards the dance floor smiling at me and my dad as he put his hand out. My dad nodded, leaving me and Chris to dance. The song ‘At Last’ by Etta James started playing as Me and Chris began dancing. We danced to the soft beat of the song.

One of my hands was on his shoulder whereas his situated on my waist, our other hands were clasped together. Our movements were slow and synchronised as we danced around the dance floor. As we moved around, I looked at everybody who was watching. I smiled at Nick and Matt who was watching from the side as my dad put his thumb up and me and Chris. As mine and Chris’ dance came to an end he gave the top of my head a quick kiss.

“What would you like to do now?” He asked, my hand still holding onto his. “I’m not too sure.” I replied, looking towards Nick and Matt who were walking towards us both. “How are the newly wed feeling?” Nick asked. “Happy and excited.” I replied, smiling at him. “Same here.” Chris added.

— After having conversations with Matt, Nick and all the other guests we decided to eat some food.

Me and Chris were sat next to each other with my dad and some of Chris’ other family members including his brothers.

My dad arose from his seat, getting everyone’s attention. “If it’s okay I’d love to say some words for the newly wed,” He announced. I nodded, smiling at him.

“Y/n the moment before and when I walked you down the aisle will be a memory I will cherish forever.” He said, smiling down at me.

“And Chris, I don’t think any amount of preparation can ever make you feel ready to give your daughter away, but if I really had to choose someone, just know I would choose you every time without a doubt.” My dad said, toasting his drink.

After my dad’s meaningful toast, everyone ate their food, drank their drink and got lost in conversation.

“I hope you’re all having a great night so far but most importantly I hope you’ve all saved some room for something sweet because it is indeed that time! Please may the happy couple make their way over towards the cake so we can get this dessert party started!” The MC announced.

I looked over at Chris as we both got up from our seats making our way over towards the cake.

“Don’t they make the perfect couple? Let’s get some great pictures whilst they cut the cake!” The MC signalled for the photographer to come over.

Me and Chris grabbed the knife from next to us getting ready to cut the cake.

“Now if you’ll both do us the honour of cutting the first slice together.”

Me and Chris cut the first slice of the cake, placing it carefully on the plate in front of us.

“Wonderful! Let’s give them an applause.” The MC started clapping as everyone else around us joined in.

“And now, I invite the couple to feed each other a bite of the cake.”

I picked up a fork from next to us, collecting some of the cake as Chris did the same. “You ready!” I smiled, Chris nodding in return as we fed each other the cake.

“Wasn’t that lovely? Now, friends, family and honoured guests feel free to enjoy some cake and refreshments but most of all enjoy the rest of your night!” The MC said as pretty much everyone approached the cake.

The night was slowly coming to an end, everyone had eaten their slice of cake and had more drinks. Including me, I was currently sipping on wine having a conversation with Nick, Matt and my dad about today.

“Today has flew by it feels like moments ago I was walking down the aisle.” I sighed, looking at the few people who were dancing. “It really has.” My dad agreed. “It’s also been an emotional rollercoaster.” I giggled.

“Good evening everybody! Before this special day comes to an end, let’s have one last dance!” “Feel welcome to come join the others on the dance floor!” The MC announced.

“Are you guys up for one last dance?” I offered, standing up. “Chris is already there.” I added motioning towards where he was. They all agreed heading towards the dance floor.

An upbeat song played through the speakers as everyone spent the rest of their time dancing. The floor was highlighted by bright strobe lights: which flashed colours of yellow, red, green and blue. I rotated through dancing with Chris, Matt, Nick and my dad but we eventually started dancing all together resulting in a laughing mess as the song slowly came to a halt.

— Most of the guests had left leaving me, my dad, Chris and his brothers who were all helping clean and pack stuff up. “So are you coming back with me or do you plan on going with Chris?” My dad asked collecting all his stuff. “Uh I’m not too sure,” I replied. “Chris!” I called out, Chris’ head immediately shooting up and look over at me. I ushered him over. “My dad would like to know if I’m coming back with you or not?” I told him. “Me and your mom stayed the night in a hotel to get away from all the stress for the night,” My dad said. “I wouldn’t mind paying for you guys to stay in one.” He added. “I would love to. But only if Chris wants to.” I replied, looking at Chris. “Why not, thank you sir.” He thanked. “It’s no biggie and you don’t need to call me sir.” My dad chuckled, patting Chris’ back.

After my dad said his last goodbyes to the rest of us, he gave me some money and headed home.

— “Did I hear that the newly wed are staying at a hotel!” Nick teased as we left the reception. “You did indeed.” I chuckled, wrapping my arm around Chris’. “Well you guys have fun!” Nick winked which was followed by immediate laughter from us all. “We will do.” Chris chuckled.

After me and Chris said our goodbyes to Nick and Matt, we headed towards the hotel.

And if I was being honest I was excited to finally have more time with Chris.

Maybe this whole marriage wasn’t that bad after all, today had been amazing.

┗━━━ 🀥 ━━━┛

A/N: hope you enjoyed this part. For the super delusional people, No this does not mean ur married to Chris!! (Just had to clear that up). You all are going to enjoy the next part and no one come for me for writing out like half of a wedding ceremony and basically a whole reception. — hugs and kisses Gracie 💋

Tag list: @watercolorskyy @junnniiieee07 @patscorner @mattyb4dominicans @brooklynn0103 @imwetforyourmom @stasiesturn

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

omg for a guilty gear request, how about baiken x gender neutral reader? maybe u could write about her teaching her partner how to fight ...

Ha Ha! Finally! my first Best Samurai ask!

NOW YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND!

Baiken Teaching You How To Fight!

Right off the bat, Baiken, really, really, REALLY! Didn’t want to be doing this.

She doesn’t even want to imagine you being in a fight.

Too many things could go wrong.

Way too many things.

But Baiken also knew that if you got into a fight without her around the possibility of going bad was higher than if she had taught you what little she could.

So, after a massive amount of deliberation, arguing with herself, and a lot of panicking over the decision…

She decided to teach you, and Delilah, how to fight.

Nothing like her or the few other swordsmen she knew of like Nagoriyuki or Kliff Underson god rest his soul.

But enough for the both of you to get by in a scrap if needs be.

She really hoped it never came to that though.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Your mock blade collided with Baiken’s who parried the blade away and swung her sword which you barely slipped under.

Delilah came from behind, trying to sneak attack Baiken who easily weaved out of the way and countered by throwing her a ways away.

This however gave you a chance to strike.

As you could probably tell though, it didn’t go as well as you would think and you ended up sprawled out next to Delilah.

“Owwwwwwww…” you groaned.

“Why are you so mean to us mother?” Delilah asked in pain.

“It’s tough love Delilah, ya can’t rely on Bed forever.” Baiken retorted.

“And me? What did I do?” You asked.

“Ya were stubborn about getting to know me, so now you get to enjoy the fruits of yer labor.”

You let out another groan.

Soon the familiar sound of Bed rolling to carry you and Delilah inside entered your ears.

You still weren’t totally sold on the still extremely glitchy robot, but Delilah promised that he wouldn’t try to burn the shops down after one of the tables broke and in turn broke her foot so it would have to do.

You and Delilah both happily groaned as the cool metal frame wrapped one arm around each of you to cart you back home.

Baiken shook her head as she walked behind Bed.

“I’m glad the two of them get along well, Delilah ain’t the easiest gal to get along with. Not to mention Bed.” Baiken thought to herself before speaking.

“The two of ya did well today. Tonight, we’ll eat out, my treat.” Baiken told the two of you who immediately perked up.

“You hear that Delilah?” you asked, flabbergasted and wanting to make sure you heard right.

“I did, mother is going to let us eat out!” Delilah responded in the closest thing to excitement she could muster.

“Oi! Don’t be so surprised!” Baiken hissed, a vein in her head throbbing in anger.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

That night, true to Baiken’s word, she took all of you out to eat.

True, you and Delilah felt like you got hit by Sol in dragon install, but it wasn’t too bad.

That was a lie, it was agonizing pain.

Still, the food was good.

So good in fact that Delilah actually ate so much she got tired from it.

And that leads to the current situation you are in now.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Delilah quietly snored as you carried her on your back while walking next to Baiken.

“*Yawn* That was some good food!” you tiredly exclaimed.

“You better not fall asleep on me, I'll leave ya in the streets if ya do.” Baiken told you gruffly.

“Aw! I enjoy your company too!” You happily responded to Baiken’s gruff statement.

In response to this, Baiken quietly muttered under her breath “Only “enjoy?” I’m gonna have to fix that.”

“You say something Baiken?” you asked.

“Nothin for you to be hearing, and shouldn’t you be focusing on keeping yer eyes open?” Baiken told you, dismissing your question.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Baiken is a gruff person.

She might not show it often, but she loves you dearly.

And everything she does with you, is representative of that.

She might not have Anji’s charisma.

Or Jam’s energy.

Or Haeyun’s cuteness.

But she does have a stubborn streak a thousand miles wide and wears her heart on her sleeve when around those she loves.

Baiken might not tell you, but her training is the best way she can show you how much she cares.

Because Baiken is a gruff person

A hard person.

A kind person.

A caring person.

And even though it's hard for her to show that, she has her ways of doing so.

[st-hedge]

i won't try to change your mind about not sharing every doodle, cus working on that stuff is good for us, but i do wanna let you know i how much i appreciate every scrappy scrap we get of your art. you've really inspired me with my own art, and ive tried new techniques i was too intimidated to try before. so thanks! im really glad you decided to start posting your art one day

🥹 aw man I’m so glad u gave it a go even though it was intimidating! That’s why I like sharing stuff but I also think it’s important to remember that not everything is meant to go on the internet, some things are just for urself and that’s just as important

[wellthebardsdead]

Karlach: the- new look is, something to take in. I mean you look incredible just- something about Raphael bearing a heavenly appearance is- well it’s something.

Lucy: *a fine line between a devil and an arch Angel after an audience with Ao* it is. He keeps trying to throw his halo away but it comes back like a boomerang each time.

Karlach: so the blood wars over then?

Lucy: yep. All I had to do was return the shard asmodeus took, I ventured to the abyss to see myself what the demons were doing with it and they all just sort of, looked… peaceful… they were just lingering around the seed of evil and making sure the shard was in place, some were even sleeping. If they acknowledged me it seemed more out of curiosity than anything else… it was like… they could all finally rest again now that their domain was whole once more… Asmodeus wasn’t too happy as you can gather… he’s my throne now after Ao granted me the power to petrify him and Mephistopheles is reduced to grovelling at Raphael’s feet for a scrap of his power. The hells are now operating as they should, sinners are punished accordingly and I’m filtering through all the denizens to set free anyone innocent who got trapped there, like you…

Karlach: Aw, I’m glad Lulu. So, you’re happy then?

Lucy: oh yes, very much so. I’ve little to fear or worry about now that all the other devils are scared shitless of me and my husband.

Raphael: *suddenly gets clotheslined by his own halo*

Lucy: …Mostly me though.

[shysneeze]

paper rings | robin buckley x reader

description: your christmas eve wrapping tradition takes a turn when you find a ring amongst the presents

warnings: christmas themed fic, proposals, crying, kissing, alcohol, mentions of marriage etc etc

a/n: i’m a child of divorce and marriage makes me feel icky but then this popped into my head and here we are

“I’m just glad Nancy is bringing the desert this year,” Robin explains absentmindedly, busy cutting another length of wrapping paper. “I’m still haunted by Steve’s sticky toffee pudding.”

You’re sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by ribbons and wrapping paper scraps as you partake in your usual last minute wrapping tradition. Last Christmas spins on the turntable in the corner, a soft background melody to play behind Robin’s ramblings of past Christmases.

“God, remember when Eddie dropped his paper crown on the candle?” Robin recalls, “Honestly, men just shouldn’t be trusted at the dinner table.”

There’s an odd nervous edge to Robin’s rambling this evening, a slight tremor in her hands as her bandaid adorned fingers glide along the folds of the paper. You watch, awaiting another paper cut to tend to as has become your Christmas Eve tradition.

You put it down to the pressure of hosting your friends for Christmas dinner, and you lean closer to squeeze Robin’s knee.

“This is why we put Steve on beverages this year,” You remind reassuringly, “and why we aren’t putting candles on the table.”

“Right,” Robin says, “Yeah… tape me.”

You roll your eyes a little, pulling some tape from the dispenser and holding it out to her. She takes her wrapping duties very seriously, your girlfriend.

“And if Eddie misbehaves we’ll sit him next to Max,” You suggest, “She’ll keep him in check.”

Robin grins, taking another piece of tape from your outstretched hand, pausing briefly to steal a kiss before returning to her wrapping, concentrated crease returning to the space between her brows.

Leaving her to it, you retrieve the bottle of cheap red wine from the pile of crumpled up paper of failed attempts, unscrewing the lid and topping up your glasses whilst Robin does the finishing touches to Steve’s cable knit sweater.

“What time does everyone arrive tomorrow?”

“Just after lunch,” Robin informs, taking a break to sip at her wine, “What am I wrapping next, my beautiful assistant?“

“Sap,” You tease, “Hm, let’s see…”

You twist to the pile of presents still to be wrapped, the little ones perfect for the last lengths of the roll of paper. You have to rummage amongst the gathering of discarded packaging, and Robin has already returned to cutting the paper when you find a small box, pulling it from the pile with a frown.

“Did we get someone jewellery?” You ask, “Don’t remember this one.”

You pass the small black box between your hands, and Robin hums distractedly beside you, not lifting her head from her current task.

It’s only as you open the box on its hinges that Robin realises what you’ve asked, what has happened, and she turns in protest only to find you looking down at the delicate silver ring with furrowed brows, eyeing the little gemstone with parted lips.

“Robin?”

“That’s not-“ Robin starts, “I mean, you weren’t supposed to… That wasn’t meant to be in that pile!”

Robin reaches out to grab it from you, but you scuffle backwards across the floor, still staring at it in awe. Robin lets out a slight whine of protest, panic swelling up inside her.

“Is this…” You start, swallowing thickly, “Is this for me?”

“No.” Robin blurts, “It’s for, um, someone else.”

“Who?”

“I-“ Robin starts, voice right with desperation. “Please, (Y/n)… just give me it.”

“Who’s it for?” You repeat, almost sounding stern.

“You!” Robin groans in defeat, “God, I had this whole thing planned and it was going to be magical and I know we can’t get married married with the church wedding and certificates but we’d know, and our friends would know and we’d be married for us and now you’re looking at me like I’m insane!”

Red floods her cheeks and her shoulders drop with disappointment, defeat. You stare at her still, truly stunned.

“You want to…” You gulp, “You want to marry me?”

Robin’s entire body trembles with a sudden onslaught of adrenaline in her veins. She nods, willing her lips to find some sort of words to say as the nerves tighten her throat.

“Of course,” She manages, “I love you, (Y/n)… I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know it.”

For a moment, you can only stare at her in disbelief. Then, eyes welling with salty tears, you can’t help but sniffle and begin to cry.

“Oh,” Robin inhales, “Oh god, don’t cry, Bub. You don’t have to say anything. It’s fine, we can just shut the box and pretend it didn’t happen, okay? Please don’t cry, I’m sorry-“

“No!” You exclaim tearfully, “No, I just- You want to marry me!”

Robin shuffles closer, cupping your cheeks and swiping away each tear with her thumb.

“That can’t be a surprise, (Y/n),” She exhales, “We live together, we’re hosting christmas together, we have traditions together… I want to do all that for the rest of our lives.”

In the absence of coherent sentences, all you can do is launch forward to hug her, sending her tumbling into the wrapping paper pile as you pepper her in teary kisses.

“Yes,” You insist between each kiss, “Yes, yes, a thousand cliche ways to say yes!”

You sit up, straddling her waist and she leans up on her elbows to watch you stare longingly at the ring in its box, pride and relief easing the stiffness from her bones.

“You want to marry me.” You whisper again, as if trying to make it sound really, “You’re going to marry me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, Robin,” You nod, “I love you so much.”

She sits up further to capture your lips, kissing you with so much tenderness it almost brings more tears to your eyes. She tastes of red wine and Christmas chocolate, as she pulls you closer, paper cut fingers in your hair; all so wonderfully Robin.

You pull back as the record cracks to a halt, silence filling the room beyond the faint whisper of you catching your breaths.

Your eyes trace the face of the woman, now your fiancé, and your own luck astounds you. You press one last chaste kiss to her wine stained lips before reaching down for the briefly abandoned ring.

“Well, are you going to put it on, or do you want it back for your big thing tomorrow?”

Robin takes the box from your fingers.

“I know you’re teasing,” She whispers, “but I put a lot of thought into making it special.”

“Oh,” You exhale, poorly hiding your disappointment, “Right.”

Robin smiles sympathetically at your forlorn expression. She taps your thigh and you climb from her lap with a small pout.

“You don’t even have to wait a whole day,” She says, pulling a small scrap of wrapping paper, metallic red, and beginning to fold it into a long strip. “but this… can tide you over until the morning, yeah?”

She takes your hand and carefully wraps the paper around your ring finger, sealing it with a little bit of tape and a kiss across your knuckles.

You stare at the paper ring with a twitch of a grin, shaking your head in affectionate disbelief at Robin’s cheesiness. Still, climbing back onto her lap, you sling your arms around her shoulders with a warm sigh.

“Always such a sap,” You tease in a whisper, “but if you wanted me too, I'd marry you with paper rings and christmas cracker crowns… anything you want, just to be yours.”

Robin reddens, tugging you closer with her arms around your torso.

“I love you,” She exhales, “My beautiful fiancé.”

You hum in content, leaning in to kiss her again, finding her lips like a well practiced art. You whisper your love in each caught breath as she sinks back against the floor, kiss deepening and Christmas wrapping forgotten.

“Hm,” She mumbles suddenly, pulling back, “No Christmas cracker crowns… too flammable.”

“God, Eddie is never living that down,” You shake your head, “Shut up and kiss me, fiancé.”

“Of course, fiancé.”

[bhnsby]

Every day I mourn a ROTI world tour singing season so here’s some things I would’ve loved to have seen

- an unexpected character being a really good singer Duncan style but let’s be honest everyone expected him to be at least decent.

- the three team concept here too. It would work it would mean 4 people (one with five) per team but whatever it could easily be done

- more episodes. Like at least 18 episodes or sum. The 13 episodes would not work but whatever

- Zoey needs to be our Courtney substitute since her voice actress is a really good singer. Idk if there’s any other roti vas that we know are good singers other than her but yeah. Give Zoey a lot of time to shine

- I want a character to rap. But like well. Not like Gwens awful rap in world tour give a character something good I’m pitching Sam since I can imagine his voice being quite hard to sing in but Harold proved that he’s able to rap so Sam should be the resident Eminem this season

- a Jomaria duet. Please 🙏 give me some scraps

- for some of Mikes alters to sing. Idk I think it’d be funny hearing them sing, and the different styles they’d have. I’d mainly wanna hear Manitoba because I think it’d be funny having him sing with the accent

- B is also an easy first boot they wouldn’t have to justify as he wouldn’t be singing. That or if they want him making it further either a) cast an amazing singer as his voice actor like proper Frank Sinatra level singer or b) have him beatbox. Since it’s not talking it’s noises? And also this would’ve been before beardo and if this means that this would’ve indirectly caused beardo to have never have been made that would be perfect (I hate beardo I’m glad he died)

Please give me other ideas that people have since this has been on my mind for years and I need to think about roti

[mostremote]

USE THIS TO POST ANY/ALL EVERSNOW YOU DONT PLAN ON POSTING

(ex. too graphic of sex scenes, idk maybe i’m just a whore for that old man but that’s really what i’m after)

lmao ok!!!

I won't post everything because I just have a mess of folders and subfolders and drafts and redrafts of all kinds of things and they're not that coherent. I've got a couple of pieces that are nearly finished or at least mostly coherent that only need a bit of work to finish, so i'll try to get to those.

For now here is a much earlier draft of what eventually became Chapters 11 & 12 of The Shivering Season, "Proserpine" and "Bombs". This approach just wasn't working for me so I entirely started over. There's a few chapters where I just scrapped what I had and started again. But there's still some fun stuff in here, I like Snow not knowing how to deal with Katniss' inexplicable hypersexuality.

Pancakes again. Katniss turns them over with her fork, over and over. They’re always making her pancakes. Is it because they know her mother made them? Is it to try to make her feel better, remind her of home? Or hurt her? Make her miss what she can’t have?

She cuts them into little pieces and makes towers. She builds the town hall of District 12 and the square, and she smiles as she makes the street with the bakery. She imagines Peeta, coming and going from the little pancake house. He would think it was funny to live in a pancake.

‘Is your breakfast particularly amusing this morning?’ comes Snow’s dry voice, and Katniss’ smile drops as she looks up.

‘Not really.’ She topples her pancake towers and moves them around her plate in entropy.

‘You ought to eat something.’ He isn’t even looking at her; he’s distracted by whatever he’s reading on a tablet. ‘You keep skipping breakfast. It’s not healthy.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

He glances at her. There it is: concern mixed with threat. A certain amount of unhealthy is useful to him. Too much is dangerous.

Katniss spears the smallest piece of pancake and lifts it to her mouth. It makes her sick to chew it, but Snow seems satisfied.

‘As I mentioned last week, there have been some comments on how “stiff and uncomfortable” you and I sometimes appear with one another.’ He holds up the tablet and shows her a photo. Katniss can’t help but crack a grin. It’s the two of them at some stupid event. They’re holding hands, but both are looking in the opposite direction. Katniss isn’t sure which of them looks more like they want to kill someone. ‘I’m glad you find this amusing,’ says Snow. ‘Perhaps you have forgotten how tenuous all of this is. Marrying you might have obliterated the mockingjay symbol, but there are plenty of people left who want to kill us. If people start to think you’re unhappy with me, well – they might reinvent you. The kidnapped child bride of the President. That might rejuvenate the rebellion. Is that what you want?’

‘No,’ says Katniss quickly. ‘I’ll do better.’

‘We both need to do better.’ He nods at one of the servants who comes to deliver the tablet along the table to Katniss. ‘Take a look at those. I had one of my team draw up a…’ He rolls his eyes and pulls a face of uncharacteristically extreme disgust. ‘…a selection of suggested intimate gestures that you and I might employ in public to appear more palatable. Approve the ones you’re comfortable with.’

Katniss accepts the tablet without looking the servant in the eye. She starts to flick through them. Each gesture has a title, a sunny summary, and an awful cartoon diagram to illustrate it. Head resting on shoulder: this is an easy way to express the stability and comfort one person feels in the other… Black-and-white, insipid cartoon people smile back at her, one resting its head on the other. After that comes forehead kiss, hand on thigh, hand on the back of the neck, stroking hair, nuzzling…

‘Nuzzling?’ she says incredulously.

‘We can veto that one,’ Snow mutters. ‘And forehead kissing. That will only remind people of our age disparity. Do you have any vetoes?’

Katniss tosses the tablet down. Weird little shapes are dancing before her vision and her anxiety is starting its inexorable climb up her throat. ‘Do any of them. Whatever.’ She collects herself a little. ‘Uh, not hand on the back of the neck, please. I’d feel like you were choking me.’

‘Fine.’

‘Maybe we should kiss more,’ she murmurs.

‘It would be easy for that to become unseemly. Katniss?’

She is rubbing her forehead over and over and over again. ‘What?’

‘Are you alright?’

Katniss contorts her face into something like a bracing smile. ‘Yeah. I’m fine. What’s happening with the rebellion? Are people still fighting?’

Snow nods and sips his coffee like death and rebellion are quotidian topics for breakfast discussion. ‘District 11 has been very inflammatory. A few dozen were shot there last week. But they’re making little progress, we’ll easily put them down. It’s just a question of how many lives they’ll lose before they surrender. District 12 has been utterly complacent. I think they saw the wedding as—’

‘A betrayal?’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ he says lightly. ‘Either way, they’re not willing to die anymore for what you once symbolized. But then we have other problems. Many in the Capitol were unhappy with our increase in rations to the Districts, so we have enemies on that side, too. There are plenty who think you’re a poisonous influence on me, eroding the Capitol’s power from within. That coterie want us both dead. Fortunately, they’re not a large or powerful group – at least at the moment. But if the election doesn’t go our way, well…’

Katniss’ head is full of cotton wool and ants. ‘If what? They’re only electing who’ll take over when you die, right? And you’re not…’ She frowns. Looks at the tiny pieces into which he cuts his food. Can see even from here a bit of blood on his napkin. ‘You’re not going to die soon, right?’

‘I don’t intend to, Katniss, much as that might disappoint you.’ His smile is wry and wan. ‘But the moment a successor is chosen, then certain people might get… impatient. The summary, Katniss, is that we have enemies on all sides. The best thing we can do is keep up appearances.’

Katniss crumbles some piece of pancake between her forefinger and thumb. This is like eating, only better, because it doesn’t make her sick. ‘Can I do anything more? Be more…’ There’s a big blank spot in her vision now, and it covers all of Snow’s face if she holds her head in a certain place. She shifts her head back and forth, back and forth, watching him disappear and reappear…

‘Katniss?’

‘Oh.’ She blinks. The blank spot remains. ‘I was going to say, can I be more… I don’t know, attractive to them? What would help?’ She shrugs. ‘I’ll do anything.’

‘In terms of your styling, I don’t think there is any room for useful improvement. All we can do is sell our relationship to them. Hence all of that.’ He waves, revolted, at the tablet.

‘You can do what you want to me,’ Katniss says, her words vague, her thoughts elsewhere – her thoughts nowhere. ‘I’ll make it look okay. I’ll smile, and I’ll look like I like it. I can do it.’

‘I don’t want to do anything to you,’ says Snow, and his voice is strangely gentle. ‘And if you can’t cope with any of this, we can reassess. I need you in one piece, Katniss. Do you understand?’

Katniss nods. She picks up a large piece of pancake, crumbles it, lifts it to her lips, tastes a few crumbs, then lets the rest fall to her plate. It sort of looks like she just ate a whole chunk.

‘I understand. I’m fine.’ She smiles, just how she does for the cameras, and all she can see in Snow’s face is skepticism and concern.

It’s easier once they’re in the car together. Some weird reversal has happened to Katniss’ anxiety. Rather than spiking whenever Snow touches her, now it’s at its worst when she’s worrying about it, or thinking about it. Actually feeling him against her is the worst things can ever be, and there’s something comforting in that. There’s reassurance to the smell of blood on his breath. It means the worst is currently happening: you are already in hell, and that’s okay.

They have to open some stupid new art gallery or political building or execution block today, so they stand for the crowds and smile. Katniss doesn’t initiate any of the new physical gestures, but Snow touches her shoulder and her hair. After he gives his speech, when the cameras are supposed to have lost interest (but, they both know, have not) he pulls back her hair and kisses her lightly, like this is meant to be a private moment and they just can’t help themselves.

As he shifts her hair Katniss is yanked back to her coronation after winning the Games, the first time he ever spoke to her. She had to stand still and let him touch her then, too. He didn’t ask permission then. He hated her. Now he doesn’t seem to mind her so much. Does that make it harder for him to touch her? Or is it because the first time he touched her it was predatory: examining a thing he had to control. Now it’s affectionate – or the performance of affection. Katniss wonders which she hates more.

[This is when a version of the ballet, hand-on-thigh scene from “Proserpine” originally occurred]

Katniss is struggling. The misplaced cog rolls around her body and makes it misbehave, makes it sick. Her anxiety has reached its limit, and the fluid that spills over in excess is abject and stinking and it pools between her legs.

They’re at a party. A fundraiser? A campaign party? It’s something to help some Capitol politician that Snow thinks is important, somehow, and Katniss is expected to attend and advertise to everyone the wonderful unity Snow has achieved with the districts.

She is not doing a good job.

When Snow reaches for her hand, Katniss pulls away. When he smiles at her, she turns her head. When the rich, fetid smell of his blood-breath cascades over her, familiar and vile and, now, also, delicious, she looks anywhere else. His scent drops through her chest and congeals in her abdomen, and then she feels sharp notes flutter through her clit. She tries to keep as much distance between them as she can, but just his presence and his smell – which once just filled her with anxiety – now fills her with syrup.

Snow is displeased.

He tries to engage her in light conversation when there’s a lull in the political small-talk, but Katniss’ voice is sticky in her throat. She cannot meet his eyes, and she cannot be near his mouth. He keeps trying to hold her hand, or touch her waist, or put a hand on her shoulder, and she keeps sliding away. It isn’t even putting a stop to her arousal, but she cannot countenance letting him touch her and letting that feeling build again. It’s profane.

The evening is crawling by and Snow is trying once again, in futility, to get Katniss to let him hold her fingers in his, when he finally has enough.

‘We need to talk,’ he says, and tries to steer her out of the crowded room. Katniss shies away from his hand and walks ahead until they’re out in the empty, quiet corridor, where Snow finds a private alcove in which to address her. His face is set in confusion and disappointment. Not yet anger. That will come soon. ‘What on earth is wrong with you tonight?’ he hisses. ‘We are supposed to be an advert for a prosperous new alliance between the Capitol and the districts, and you are doing an extremely poor job of selling that.’

Katniss leans as deep into the alcove as she can, her bare shoulders rubbing against the walls, trying to get away from Snow’s breath and his smell.

‘I’m just not feeling very well,’ she says.

‘That’s not good enough. As far as I can tell, there is nothing physically wrong with you. You can walk around and eat well enough, so there shouldn’t be anything precluding you from holding my hand.’

She’s not even eating that well. Snow has simply become so accustomed to watching her pick at her food that he doesn’t register any difference.

‘Can I just have the night off?’

‘No.’ She is trying to sidle away from him again, and Snow places his palm on her other side to trap her. His voice is sand and broken glass. ‘Thus far, Katniss, I have mostly been impressed with your conduct – barring a few notable incidents. You have played your role excellently. But this is unacceptable. You cannot have the night off. You cannot take a break. I warned you what this life would be like, didn’t I?’

A ghostly smile haunts her face. ‘No end,’ she repeats from memory. ‘No respite.’

‘Exactly. So, are you going to do your job, or do I have to force you?’

Katniss convulses with a shiver. The new, cancerous part of her likes the idea of being forced. There is no way out of this maze, only ever deeper in. Digging in the dirt at the center, burying her face among the worms.

‘Okay,’ she breathes, her voice high with despair. Resigned and disintegrating, she reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers together like schoolkids in love. With her other hand, she reaches out and touches his face. His skin is soft paper, bristled and familiar, old and hateful. He does not stop her when she kisses him. It’s a small, pathetic, grieving kiss, and Katniss feels her body’s sexual response come in low, persistent waves. Perhaps it would be easier if she could just keep kissing him, and forget about the party, and lose herself in the sewage.

Snow pulls his lips away. ‘Good,’ he says, confused. ‘We don’t need to kiss, Katniss; it’s only a campaign party. Just try not to seem revolted by me.’ He smiles, and Katniss returns it with a completely different smile. Oh, she is revolted. Her revulsion will never be exorcised out of her. But the revulsion is lined with gold, and it makes her cunt leak.

At the very least, it’s kind of funny.

Katniss lets Snow escort her around the party and show her off, and she laughs at the men’s jokes. She lets Snow touch her however he likes, and when his hands brush against her waist or he leans against her side, unintentionally pressing her breasts, the usual anxiety sparkles into arousal.

She is introduced to some important senators who Snow tells her pose some important rival to Daric, a man she can barely remember, and Katniss laughs and smiles and looks at her husband with what looks like love but which is actually putrid desire.

‘I must say, you are every inch as stunning as you are on television,’ says one senator.

‘An astounding creature,’ says another. ‘You practically glow.’ Katniss smiles winningly.

‘My husband brings it out of me,’ she croons, and everybody laughs, and she turns her head to Snow’s and gives him a gentle kiss. He accepts it, as he must, and you can practically taste everybody’s heartfelt sentiment.

But Katniss doesn’t let him go.

She places one hand on the back of his neck and holds him prisoner, as once she did to punish him, and she lets her kiss bloom with all of her lips and her saliva and her tongue. She feels the craters of his mouth sores and erotic disgust trembles through her.

Just at the point where she knows she cannot push impropriety any further, Katniss pulls away. Snow’s expression must look like affection, but she knows how to track the fury in his eyes.

Katniss turns back to the senators – whose eyes are wide and astounded at the display – and smiles again, the picture of grace, and she laughs and the men laugh and everything is fine.

It is not until they are back in the car that Snow unfurls his anger. He waits until they are sat side by side, silent and unspeaking, and then he looks at her with his own kind of disgust.

‘I have warned you about this, Katniss,’ he says. His voice burns. ‘I warned you at the auction. You need to behave better than this. This is unacceptable.’

Katniss feels high with surreality and arousal.

‘It wasn’t unacceptable,’ she says lightly. ‘I was very careful. They were impressed by that. It was passion, not humiliation.’ She gives him a flat, adolescent stare. ‘They like to see that sort of thing. You’re not some sad old man who bought a child; you’re a man who inspires…’ She sighs and hopes a suitable phrase will come to her. Nothing suitable comes. ‘Who inspires intense sexual desire. They want to see that, the men. Makes them think they can get the same thing. They’ll go home, have sex with their wives that hate them, and they’ll fantasize about going out to District 10, 11, 12 and picking up some desperate little teenager who worships them. You’re selling them an ideal.’

Snow is unsettled, and Katniss likes that. He does not know where the lines lie. Nor does she.

‘It is true I have not been married in a long time,’ he says carefully. ‘And my last wife was one I specifically chose for her plain and conservative qualities. But… Katniss, it is not normal behavior.’

‘Of course it’s not normal,’ she scoffs. ‘How many men there genuinely have wives like me that adore them and want to fuck their brains out?’

He looks away from her at that. How he can’t stand it! But it’s not fun anymore. She’s not trying to torment him; she’s just wandering around her new labyrinth.

‘You just don’t like it because it makes you uncomfortable,’ she continues. She manages a bitter smile. ‘You’re kind of a prude like that.’

She studies the streetlights and the people for a while, and then she realizes Snow is watching her. She looks back at him. His expression is strange to her.

‘I worry about you, Katniss,’ he says quietly.

Katniss laughs: a short, brash bark, and then she throws back her head and convulses with laughter. It feels good to laugh; it takes the edge off her arousal.

‘Oh, sure, sure,’ she says, surfacing from the fit. ‘The man who let my District starve to death for years, who idly stood by as I fought for my life in the Games, the man who threatens to kill me on, oh, a daily basis… He’s worried about me.’

She expects a fight, or a cutting remark. But Snow only watches her. For some reason, it stops being funny. Katniss settles down and avoids his eyes. He does not stop staring.

‘Yes, Katniss,’ he says, at last. ‘I worry.’

She glances at him sidelong, and he finally turns away from her and absorbs himself in whatever important news has been poured into his tablet. She thinks about kissing him again. She thinks about smashing her head into the window, or getting into the minibar and taking one of those little glass bottles to her wrists. She would love to bleed out, wade into the quiet, and Snow could recede on the distant horizon. She would float away in the red, and wave goodbye, and he would wave back.

But… Prim…

So she sits still, and she tries to rest her mind, but it’s full of flies and blood and Snow’s lips, so she resorts to counting the streetlights, and she tries not to think about the raw, pulsing pit that her new future is hurtling toward.