#NO i am not selling anything you will have to pry these away from my cold dead hands

[ryuuseirune]

WHEN will my rune factory brain rot be over.

[helluvapoison]

Make Me Weak

˚✧₊⁎ The Vees ⁎⁺˳✧༚

warnings: violence

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Everything you are she should abhor– and would if it was anyone else— so she doesn’t pretend to understand how you weave into her life so easily. That time is instead spent wondering how the fuck she’s survived both her hellish lives without you

• Velvette always felt she was owed the praise and compliments she got. Receiving them from you was an entirely different type of high to ride. Your candied tone and sickeningly sweet words clung to her like smoke and had her itching for more

• You massage her hands so she has no choice but to surrender her phone, only then does she realize how cramped they’ve become. You sit in her workshop during Hell Week, sending a mellowing wave that relaxes her chaos in the form of a simple thumbs up. You make up for not being on the receiving end of her camera by setting up aesthetic dates for her to capture instead

• Velvette captures your chin, “You put up with a lotta my shit, Dollface. I’m not great at sharing credit, but I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“But I didn’t do anything?”

“You’re my muse, baby. Gimme the word and I can have you on a billboard tonight. Fuck Joanne, the raggetty bitch, I’ll bump her and have you up there for all of Hell to see!”

Your smile falters to a grimace, your eyes telling her what she already knows. Vel doesn’t get why you hate the limelight. This conversation always ends one way and if she hears you say one bad thing about yourself, she’ll tear out her hair. With a sigh, she tucks you back under her arm and kisses the crown of your head

“Fine. I didn’t wanna share you anyways.”

Your light laugh makes her smile again

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Val does everything in his power not to allow you to witness one of his volatile moments. He has a very specific image of you in his mind and to a looser extent, you do too. You’re not prim or naive that you don’t know what he does, but his violent tendencies are something else to behold. You’re too sweet, too pure to completely join his world

• It’s never bothered him before, seeing that look on someone’s face. The one where their eyes go wide in horror because they know exactly what comes next but there’s no telling what would happen if the pedestal Val put you on crumbled because you saw him grabbing a whore by the neck and using them as an ashtray

• Truly, no indulgence he’s ever sampled has come close to taking the edge off him like one of your hugs. Softer than angel wings and more intoxicating than any elixir, you’re euphoria trapped in a sinner’s body

• “I almost feel bad for keeping you to myself,” Val purrs in your ear. He’s been laying underneath you for six minutes and already the shittiness of the day evaporated, “I could bottle and sell you. Make everyone in Hell as happy as I am.”

A nervous, bitter laugh escapes you

“You wouldn’t make much money, Val.”

“I would make millions, corazón” He argues seriously, though he has no intention of sharing you

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The irony is lost on him; someone as soft as you could bring him, an Overlord, to succumb. Below the surface, he’s more insecure than he lets on. He’s perfected the mask of a charming show host, developed it so well that it bleeds into his personality. So much so, that you make him glitch when he gets an inkling of self doubt. Your gentleness makes him weak and it terrifies him, fills him with the urge to push you away but your arms are so inviting that he lets himself be cradled by them. How could he do anything but?

• Rare are the days where he actually feels tired but those are the days he seeks out your affections. To him, you’re safe. You won’t judge him, you don’t pry for details, you’d never tell him to suck it up

• Vox lets himself sink into the couch beside you, tapping your thigh with a claw to invite you to come closer. You never fail to accept and deliver exactly what he needs. It’s bizarre how you know what he needs when he doesn’t himself. Turning to straddle him, you rest your head on his chest and hug him impossibly closer

• “You’re tense today,” You comment quietly, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Come with me to set for once, you’ll find out why.”

Nuzzling into his chest as if trying to find his nonexistent heartbeat, you replied, “Nah. Sounds like too much of a hassle.”

“Exactly why I need you there.”

“Promise not to bring me on air like you’re always threatening to?”

A dry cackle escapes as he keeps his gaze towards the ceiling. Vox has this fanatical plan that you two could be the power couple of Hell, outranking Lucifer and Lilith (and lasting twice as long) if you would just sit at the same desk as him, deliver news and playful banter that would knock 666 News down a couple thousand pegs. You were worried someone wouldn’t want to see your face, you’d make his ratings plummet, you’d ruin everything he worked so hard to build. He hates when you spiral like that.

“No.” Vox mumbles honestly.

He’d prove you wrong like he’s done everyone else, one way or another

[tatertato]

Can we have a small little list of everyone’s roles/parts in the circus? (My peanut brain is getting a little lost)

cirque de la vie AU powers/roles list!

i did a poll on the gem and pearl post on whether or not i should release a full list, and guess which option won!

the results came out really close, so if you want to wait for the comics to drop, i advise you to simply ✨look away✨

this list is going to be formatted as: Name - Circus Act/Role - Power

some will be on this list without their powers, or with ambiguous descriptions of their powers until i finish their backstory comics because i really do want those ones to be a surprise, so look out for the update!

some of them i am still on the fence about as well, so the comic may not always line up with this list in the future, but i'll do my best to keep it up to date.

with all that out of the way, let's get into it!

Management

martyn - manager/organizer - enhanced hearing

ren - $the funding$ - none he's just rich (some form of smaller nobility)

The Performers

cleo - knife thrower - doesn't have magic, but alive somehow??? (hint: it has something to do with bdubs...)

etho - magician - has magic but hates using it (rumor has it that only bdubs knows what he's hiding)

bdubs - doubles as knife thrower and magician's assistant - something to do with time. no one knows exactly what, but sometimes he disappears for weeks on end. scar usually steps in as the replacement.

jimmy - aerial acrobat - wings/flight

grian - aerial acrobat - same as jimmy, but sometimes scar says his vision is uncanny

scar - ringmaster - jedi mind trick (he can convince anyone of anything depending on how strong their mind is)

lizzie - underwater escape artist - don't tell anyone, but she can definitely breathe underwater. the escapes are still pretty impressive tho

joel - stilts (11 foot joel is canon) - no power, he's just lizzie's supportive husband (more kenergy than jimmy)

gem - happy clown - deer traits, mostly enhanced agility

pearl - sad clown - doesn't like elaborating, but she disappears during full moons...

scott - tightrope walker - read the comic when it comes out lmao

impulse - juggler - power still very much in development, but he can talk to/see/control ghosts to a degree (inspired by the phasmo streams)

skizz - strongman - enhanced healing

tango - fire breather - literally breathes fire. very high internal temperature, good for winters.

The Production Team

mumbo - lighting (it's still the late 1800s-ish so the lighting is very rudimentary- that said, mumbo is a bit of a genius, so the shows still look pretty amazing) - is almost an unlimited source of electricity (he's a little eccentric, makes a big deal about how much of a human he is, which has sparked curiosity, but never enough for anyone to pry into. grian seems to know something.)

bigb- concessions (he sells cookies!) - everything he bakes tastes amazing! (he swears that's his only power, but he has a habit of leaving rooms through doors that weren't there before...)

pearl (again) - sets and props, she decorates the stage!

joel (again) - makes the boxes and tanks for lizzie to escape from

and that is all! i might have some hermits or empires folks make cameos every so often, but this is the main cast!

[babyblue711]

Little Dragonseed

Sister Story to Loyalty Aemond Targaryen (HOTD) x Handmaiden - Part 1 Summary: A young maid of Harrenhal has been forced to remain hidden from the public eye, but as soon as she sets her eyes on a true Targaryen, she realizes to whom she truly belongs. Words: ~1.5K

Chapter Warnings: None, this chapter is tame. But it won't remain that way. A/N UPDATE: I should have been more explicit so you know what you are reading. The final part of this fic will have noncon/DD;DNE elements. Please be warned and I apologize for not saying sooner. As much as I see Aemond having a genuine heart, he is going to struggle in this fic. A/N: This is more of an introduction and I thought it best to break this story up into smaller parts rather than present you all with one traumatically long fic. Yes, that is Daemon on the banner, he is integral to Part 1, but this is very much another Aemond story. So far, I am planning 3 chapters that will eventually be tied together in Part 2 of "Loyalty". 💙 My personal head-cannon for the little handmaid is Freya Allan (Ciri from The Witcher series). 💙 Thank you to @arcielee for being my sounding board and reading over this for me. Your enthusiasm means everything. 😘 And thank you to @myfandomprompts for recreating the Targaryen symbol for me for the banner. She’s so incredibly talented y’all 😘

She knew from the moment she laid eyes on him. 

She felt it in her very bones, a deep revelation that she couldn't quite explain. She saw it in the perpetual frown upon his brow, in the shape of his chin, in the sharpness of his nose. She saw it in the color of his brilliant blond hair, indisputably the same hue as hers.

Her eyes didn’t share the same vibrant shade of purple that belonged to the royal family who ruled Westeros, but her light baby blues and bright silver-blonde hair had always been enough to attract attention in this part of the kingdom. She didn’t look anything like the humble folks of the Riverlands. 

Growing up, she had often wondered about her origins; she had known that her mother passed away during childbirth, leaving her without any further knowledge of her parentage. In her stead, she had been raised with care by the head matron at Riverrun. When the young maid questioned about her family, the matron would elaborate on the few details she recalled about her mother. She learned of the few physical attributes that the young maiden inherited, but if she pressed about her father, a dark cloud would shadow the matron's face and she would always refuse to say more.

Then, when Harrenhal passed to House Strong, the matron was called to oversee the running of the new household, as she had some distant familial connections with the new inhabitants. Unable to part with her adopted child, the matron brought the young maid along with her. 

Despite her best efforts to provide a sense of home, life at Harrenhal was anything but comforting. The castle was dark and ominous with rumors of haunting spirits that sent chills down the spine of anyone who dared to speak of them. As the young maid blossomed into womanhood, her adoptive mother started to impose strict rules upon her, forcing her to wear a headscarf at all times, hiding her unique features from the prying eyes of visitors and castle inhabitants alike. Now at one and eight, the young woman had begun to resent these restrictions, longing for the freedom she once had at Riverrun where she could roam without fear and be herself. But she knew the matron only had her best interests at heart: with her unique beauty, outsiders may be tempted to kidnap her, and worse, sell her into slavery at a brothel.

The Rogue Prince strode into Harrenhal with the air of absolute authority, and for the first time in her life, the young maid beheld a true Targaryen, suddenly feeling like everything was falling into place. Usually, she would have been kept hidden from unfamiliar faces within the castle’s walls, but due to the war's demands and the shortage of staff, she had no choice but to do as she was bid, and she had been bid to personally serve this member of royalty. He stopped right in front of her and as their eyes locked, she thought she saw a glimmer of recognition from him and an ever so subtle double take. But with her hair bound and wrapped, he didn’t have a chance to see the color of her matching tresses. 

In his full set of armor, Daemon looked huge and intimidating. Without a word, he handed her his helmet, a silent directive that she was to assist him with his armor. She set to work, hands trembling slightly as her fingers worked deftly to undo the numerous clasps and buckles that held the armor together. At last, when she was done, she bent to gather his things when he caught her unexpectedly by the wrist, sending electricity coursing up her arm and straight into her heart as her eyes jumped back to his.

“Clean it well, little one,” he said, in a much more gentle tone than she had anticipated before he immediately turned and strode from the room without a backwards glance.

She didn’t remember making it to the washroom with all of his armor, she didn’t remember anything for the next few hours. All she could think of was his face, the way his eyes bore into hers, the way he seemed to see through her. Inexplicably, she knew from the moment her eyes landed on Daemon Targaryen that she was one of them, that the notorious Rogue Prince himself could quite possibly be her father. Intrigued, she longed to mention her suspicions to the matron, but the memory of the matron's reaction whenever her father was mentioned gave her pause, and she thought it best to keep it to herself for the time being. 

Daemon didn’t linger at Harrenhal for very long; she suspected the witch had something to do with that. With each passing day, the shadows under his eyes grew darker and he seemed increasingly on edge, flinching at the slightest loud noise. The young handmaid suspected it was her behind his growing distress, likely attempting to drive him away from the castle just as swiftly as he had arrived.

During the course of his stay, he didn’t show any further signs of recognition as she carried out her duties diligently. Her heart was full of hope and fear, constantly questioning if she should say something to him. On the last night of his tenure in the castle, she entered his room, carrying freshly laundered clothes and unexpectedly found him sitting by the fire. He was gazing into it without really seeing and her presence seemed to break his trance as he beckoned her forward.

“Set that on the bed,” he said with a careless wave of his hand, the silver rings on his thick fingers shimmering in the firelight, “and come here, little one.”

She did as she was bid, heart thundering in her chest as she took her place before him, eyes cast downward, hands clasped in front of her.

“Take off your scarf,” he instructed softly. She hesitated; the matron had strictly forbidden her from removing it, no matter who asked. But she knew that this was the moment she had been waiting for, a spark of fate, of destiny. And so, with trembling fingers, she untied the scarf and shook out her long, silver mane, eyes flicking nervously to meet his gaze.

His violet stare was so intense, it was like looking directly into the sun as he studied her appearance, a deep frown on his low brow. She tried to stand tall and proud but, ultimately became too intimidated to maintain eye contact, lowering hers to the floor by his feet.

“No, child, please,” Daemon said as he stood, towering over her and reached out to gently lift her chin so their eyes met again, “You look just like her,” he whispered, sounding awestruck. His thumb traced her jawline paternally, a faraway look in his eyes, as if he was remembering another time. Her heart thundered in her chest, was he referencing her mother?

“We have much to discuss, little dragonseed, but there isn’t any time,” he became serious, adding, “I have some important matters to attend to now, but I shall return for you.” Her heart swelled with his confirmation, she had just known she belonged to him. 

He dismissed her shortly after, leaving her no time to ask any of her questions. In the dead of night, the hauntingly shrill cry of Caraxes sent a shiver up her spine and she knew Daemon had departed the castle. She cried herself to sleep, desperate to go with him and join her greater destiny, not understanding why she had to wait. She cursed the witch under her breath for purposefully driving Daemon away faster…if only she just had a little more time with him.

But little did the handmaid know that another Targaryen relative would soon arrive at the castle. Within just a few days of Daemon’s departure, an unexpected thunderclap echoed through the clear blue sky, though it wasn’t a precursor to a storm. A dark shadow fell over Harrenhal and another great dragon descended from the sky, its immense wings blotting out the sun. Atop the dragon's broad back, a tiny blond figure could be seen—barely more than a speck from the ground.

The castle’s inhabitants paused in their activities, gazing upward in awe and trepidation at the tremendous size of this giant, much larger than Caraxes had been. Whispers spread quickly as the dragon landed with a thud that shook the ancient stone walls. The blond figure leapt gracefully from his seat to the ground as the castle’s gates prepared to receive yet another army, but this time the banners that approached were not the familiar black and red of Queen Rhaenyra but the green and gold of King Aegon II. The Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen, had come to lay claim to Harrenhal, and unbeknownst to the little handmaid did she know what was next in store for her.

Part 2

[lisaslosingstreak]

You Can’t Escape Love

A Messy PipWen AU

You can blame this all on @caitlynskitten ok?

Chapter One

With a weary sigh Wednesday eased herself out of bed and allowed her feet to slowly touch the cool wooden floor of her bedroom. The boards let out an ominous creak which made her feel at home a little, but the house itself was a poor substitute for her parent’s mansion In terms of spookiness.

In an effort to escape the devastating end to her relationship with her far-too-short-term girlfriend Enid Sinclair, Wednesday had decided to move across the Atlantic to put as much distance as possible between them. It hasn’t been easy, she probably would never fully get over Enid, but she at least had a new life to keep her occupied.

She had chosen a little sleepy village in England to make her home, her father helping her purchase the old Manor House on the outskirts of the village for her to reside in. It was cold, drafty and gloomy, just as she preferred, but at night the lack of warmth from Enid turned her mood sour every time. Damn that girl for making her yearn for more than her own solitude.

The locals were achingly boring and middle class, but that suited her fine. They didn’t pry into her life and she returned the favour, happy to be the weird young woman rattling around the old manor. She had seen on the local chat groups (thanks to Enid she knew how to access them, at least something a little positive from that relationship) that the villagers were happy that someone new had moved into the old house, and didn’t seem to care about who she was or where she came from.

Wedneday has secured a part time job in the local records office. She didn’t need the money but the free use of civil service records would be very useful for her writing, which was now more thoughtful and introspective than her Viper trilogy. This was adult fiction on a whole new level, and she hoped it would sell well despite being a departure from the style her fans had become used to.

After showering and dressing she went to the kitchen to find the fridge bereft of anything nutritious to eat, which wouldn’t normally bother her, but finding the coffee supplies empty was too much. She would have to go shopping.

It was a warm day as she strolled to the local shop from the manor, the fresh English air scented with freshly mown grass and wildflowers. England was different in so many ways to her home country, but Wednesday would never have guessed that it’s smell would be the one characteristic that she would enjoy so much. It was so relaxing, especially in the morning sun, and it lifted her mood a considerable amount, no mean feat considering she hadn’t consumed her usual quad over ice that morning.

As she stood waiting to cross the road opposite the convenience store she watched the locals walking done the sidewalk - sorry pavement. They all seemed lost in their own worlds and didn’t notice her, the short dark-haired girl dressed in black, her face relaxed into its usual slight scowl.

As the cars drove off Wednesday was about to step off the curb when she was abruptly knocked to one side into the gutter.

“Oooh sorry my dog is pulling so hard I didn’t mean that, are you ok?” a sweet voice blurted out before Wednesday even had a chance to turn round to see her new sure-to-be sworn enemy.

Any insult she had faded away as she looked up into an oddly familiar - yet clearly unknown - pair of intensely blue eyes bracketed by a concerned frown.

“I-I-I am f-fine, th-thankyou” stuttered Wednesday as she stepped back onto the pavement.

“Oh that’s good. Sorry again.” the girl replied, a big grin spreading across her face, her eyes twinkling with delight. She bounced on her toes and thrust a hand towards Wednesday.

“I’m Pip by the way.” she offered.

Wednesday stood perplexed, a weird feeling of deja vu creeping across her thoughts. Pip had a little of Enid’s sunny disposition, and the captivating eyes were familiar, but everything else was different. No layers of makeup, her hair was a deep chestnut wavy shoulder length style instead of bleached and dyed. Pip wore some brown shorts and scruffy sneakers, with a crop top and blue sleeveless jumper on her top half. No bright pink skirts or jackets or crazy jewellery either, just a watch on her left wrist.

She was different.

She was gorgeous.

Wednesday took Pip’s hand and shook it gently, determined to make a good impression.

“Wednesday, Wednesday Addams.”

Chapter 2

[lunareclipse39]

The Princes' Whore (Pt. 8)

Sameria now finds herself in the hands of another Targaryen prince, Daemon, also known as the Rogue Prince, whose reputation precedes him. Aemond is desperate to find his wife and get her back, determined to keep her under lock and key once he finds her. Sameria's fire gift progresses, and it terrifies her.

Warning: Sexual language, swearing, violence

Daemon

The girl stirred, her eyes blinking open. She saw me, immediately sitting up and widening her eyes. I smirked. "You chose a very unsafe place to rest, my Lady."

"P-Please. Let me go." She whispered, tears starting to well in her bright, sapphire eyes.

"What's your name?" I asked, dismounting my horse.

"S-Sameria." She replied, cowering away from me.

Wait... Sameria... that name rings a bell. I widened my eyes, a huge grin spreading across my face. No... it cannot be. This is just too rich. "Might you be the princess Sameria Martell?" I questioned.

Sameria widened her eyes in pure terror and made to run, but I caught her with ease, restraining her as she tried to pry herself free, to no avail.

"P-Please. Let me go. I need to get away." She pleaded.

"Get away from who?" I wondered, curious.

"My husband." She squirmed.

I started to cackle. "You're running away from my nephew, Aemond?"

"Y-Yes." She nodded.

"Why? What has my craven nephew done to you that you ran away?"

"He's a monster." Sameria spat. "He takes great pleasure in humiliating me, hurting me badly, and laughing at my pain."

"Yes, that about sounds like him." I nodded.

"Please, let me go." She pleaded again.

"Why? So he can hunt you down? I can take you with me to Harrenhal. I can offer you protection, but in turn you must bend the knee to Rhaenyra." I offered.

Sameria widened her eyes, then scoffed. "You don't know Aemond. He's very volatile and unpredictable."

"And you don't know me, my Lady. If anything, I am the only person my nephew truly fears and wouldn't dare challenge." I said.

Sameria was thoughtful for a moment, but nodded. "I bend the knee to Rhaenyra, and accept your offer."

"Smart girl. Now let us go." I offered her my hand.

She mounted my horse and I behind her, and we rode off towards Harrenhal.

Sameria

It seems my life is meant to revolve around Targaryen princes. I of course do not support Rhaenyra, nor Aegon, but I must do what I can to survive. "You will not obtain House Martell's support, my Prince, if that is your aim in capturing me." I warned.

"What makes you think I want their support?" He grinned.

"Why else would you offer me protection if not to get something out of it?" I shrugged.

"Fair point, but believe me when I tell you I don't expect nor want the support of your house. In truth you are not needed." Daemon said nonchalantly.

Harrenhal was a grand, ominous fortress, looming over us like a threatening prison, only it was more or less a castle. A bright red, slim dragon rested not too far from the castle, wrapped like a cinnamon roll, dozing off peacefully. Daemon caught me staring at it for he spoke, "that's my dragon, Caraxes."

"It's... very red." Is all I could say.

"Indeed." Daemon dismounted the horse, helping me down as I clutched the pouch.

"What have you got in there? Money?" Daemon smirked.

"No. Jewels. Some that I had planned to sell, others to keep." I mumbled.

"I see. Well, you won't be needing money anymore. This will be our home for a little while, then we shall fly to Dragonstone, where you shall remain." Daemon nodded.

The interior of Harrenhal was even more gloomy and dark, not liking at all. An elderly man wearing black armor approached us, his gaze on me.

"Ser Simon, this is our new guest, the princess Sameria Martell." Daemon introduced.

Ser Simon widened his eyes. "And how did a Dornish princess end up all the way here?"

I sighed, and told him my story, leaving some parts out. Ser Simon was horrified when I finished. "I am truly sorry, my Lady. Marriage can be a wonderful thing for some, and not for others. I am sorry you were unfortunate."

"Yes, well, I am here now, away from him." I exhaled.

"Do make yourself comfortable. There's plenty of empty rooms ready to be lived in, and I am sure Alys can lend you some clothes." Ser Simon offered.

"Thank you." I smiled. "Who's Alys?" I asked.

"She's a wet nurse, and rumored to be a witch." Daemon grumbled.

"Oh." I nodded, suddenly feeling uneasy.

"I am no witch." A velvety, female voice spoke, startling me.

"Here she is. Alys, this is-"

"Princess Sameria Martell. Yes, the runaway princess." Alys extended her pale, gaunty hand.

I shook it tentatively. "H-How do you know my name?"

"I am no witch, princess, but I do see things. Many things. I saw you coming. I can see you run away from what haunts you, and you are curious to know more." Alys smiled enigmatically, her glowing green eyes gleaming with their own curiosity.

She suddenly looked into my eyes. "Something burns within you. Something very bright, and powerful."

"Like what?" I squeaked.

"I don't know yet, but you are more than meets the eye." Alys said.

I gulped, and Ser Simon spoke. "Perhaps you could lend her some of your old dresses, Alys?"

"Of course." Alys nodded. "Come along, princess."

I followed Alys, fear coiling in my gut as we passed by dark corridors, barely lit by candlelight, no decor in sight. We stopped before a dark oak door that Alys pushed open, revealing a grand room that looked quite out of place here, given how intricately decorated it was. Her bed was big enough for two people, the covers black and embroidered with gold, fine thread. There were two, large dressers made of dark oak, and an oil painting depicting an eerie forest hung in the wall next to the arched window.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but none of my dresses are very bright." Alys said, rummaging through her dressers.

"It's alright. I thank you for lending me clothes." I bit my lip.

Alys pulled out two simple dresses, one a soft blue shade to be tightened at the back, and another ivory-colored one with a light brown corset. "These might fit you. If not I'll see if I can find something else."

"Thank you." I smiled.

I left Alys' room in search of one I could call my own, if only for a short while. I do hope we leave this place soon. I finally settled on a room that was quite secluded, but fully furnished. It had a single dresser, also made of dark oak, a small window, and a single bed with deep blue covers. It looked clean, which means maids do reside in this place. There was a dark oak vanity, and a small desk, which, to my delight, had four books neatly stacked. I opened the dresser and hanged the two dresses Alys lent me, and explored the room. It was all empty save for the books.

I suddenly felt the room spin, and I crashed onto the bed, screaming into it. Tears flowed freely from my eyes, a knot forming in my throat as a torrent of sobs escaped my lips.

Aemond

My wife has run away. I shook my head, clenching my fists. I ordered the entire City Watch to look for her all over the capital, but no sight of her. A sailor reported having seen her steal a horse and ride off into the night, likely towards the woods. Sameria... I will find her. I will not stop until I find her and when I do I shall keep her under lock and key. Then there is the matter of her apparent immunity to fire... unless I was hallucinating, but I don't think I was.

"But how could this happen? Why would she even run away?" My mother exclaimed.

"I don't know, mother." I sighed, knowing exactly why she did.

My wife seemingly hates me, and I can't even get angry because she has a reason to. It's true, I ignored her for days, pining after Aly only for the latter to choose the path of a Septa. It's also true I loved Aly, but I also love Sameria, at least I do now, but it's clearly too late. There's war, now my wife is missing. I shall send scouts to search for her in the woods. I will not let her get away from me.

I was on my way to my chambers when I found Helaena out of hers, in white robes, wandering like a ghost. I widened my eyes and rushed to her side.

"Helaena! What are you doing outside of your chambers? Where's your handmaid?" I made her face me.

"The fire wielder..." She mumbled.

I frowned. "What fire wielder?"

"A fire wielder will rise from the south, an icy cold one will rise from the north, the water wielder will wash ashore from the east, and the winds will blow from the west." Helaena muttered.

I widened my eyes. She is speaking another prophecy. "Who are these people?" I whispered.

Helaena merely repeated the prophecy, and I led her back to her chambers, ensuring she was alright.

Helaena's words thundered in my mind, and I cannot help but think the fire wielder she speaks of is my wife, Sameria. Fear and excitement gripped my gut. I sat down in one of my cushioned chairs, when there was a knock on my door. "Come in!"

Grandsire Otto stepped in, closing the door behind him. "We will do everything in our power to find the princess Sameria, Aemond, but we are at war, and I need you to stay focused on the matters at hand."

I scoffed. "I know that, grandsire. I know we're at war and that I am needed, however I cannot let Sameria slip from my mind. I sent for scouts to search for her in the woods."

"Good. Nobody can know the princess is missing, yet, especially her family. We do not want to risk the wrath of Dorne." Grandsire warned.

I snorted. "What will they do? We have dragons."

"Yes, and remember Dorne is the only kingdom to have successfully resisted Targaryen rule, and killed a dragon." Grandsire reminded.

"One dragon, grandsire. But not two, or three, or more." I shrugged.

"Still, it would be best not to incur their wrath. Tell me, Aemond, do you know why the princess Sameria might have felt compelled to run?" Grandsire looked at me.

"Because I was an imbecile to her." I shrugged again.

"In what way?" Grandsire frowned.

"I've been in love with Alyonna this whole time, and Sameria gathered that, but now... I realize I do in fact love my wife." I clenched my fists.

Grandsire widened his eyes, then nodded. "I see." He paused. "I understand there is a lot of turmoil within you, Aemond, but you must control your impulses. First Prince Lucerys, now your wife. I promise you, you shall get the revenge you desire, and also the love."

I looked at grandsire. "I believe I already had my revenge, one of them at least, and as for love, Sameria will succumb to me."

"Do you want her to love you or to submit to you?" Grandsire frowned.

"Both." I said.

"Alright. If I may, Aemond, please, when you find her, do not lose your temper, even if it is tempting. Show her your concern for her well-being-"

"I have. She is an ingrate. I took her to Maester Orwyle when she was poisoned, have had dresses and jewels be made for her, and she has the audacity to defy me and disrespect me." I said bitterly.

"Yes, well, while women do appreciate material things, they much prefer love and affection, and safety. You scared the princess, Aemond." Grandsire crossed his arms.

"If so why did she defy so much? She insulted me, made treasonous accusations, and she hid her fluency in High Valyrian." I gritted my teeth.

Grandsire widened his eyes. "She speaks High Valyrian?"

"And Dothraki." I said.

"Impressive. The princess is well-traveled it would seem. What treasonous accusations?"

"That I was getting intimate with Alyonna." I huffed.

"Is that really a lie though, Aemond?" Grandsire bore his gaze into mine.

I glared at him. "I will not take accusations from you as well."

"Aemond, whatever the truth may be, it doesn't matter anymore. When you find her, love her. Love her with everything you can give. Make her feel safe. She will, I assure you, warm up to you given time." Grandsire reassured.

"She escaped through the tunnels in her chambers." I spoke.

"What tunnels?" Grandsire asked.

"There is a secret passageway in her chambers." I bit my lip.

"I see. Well, we can seal the wall, and should she desire to go out, let her, with guards of course." Grandsire nodded.

I sighed. I just want her back.

Daemon

Sameria came down a little while later, her eyes a bit red, as if she had been crying, and perhaps she had been.

"I trust you found yourself a room?"

She nodded.

"Good. Did Alys let you borrow clothes?"

"Yes." Sameria squeaked.

"You are not a prisoner here, let us get that clear. You are free to leave whenever you wish, but if I were you I would not. Aemond and his goons are looking for you, so you risk being caught. I also would not alert your family in Dorne, or even go there. Aemond is likely to search for you there first, and things could get ugly. It is best no one knows your whereabouts." I crossed my arms.

Sameria nodded. "I know."

"Well then, do as you please."

"There's a library, princess, and our gardens, which aren't nearly as impressive as those in Highgarden, but they may just please you enough." Ser Simon spoke.

Sameria nodded shyly. "Thank you."

I watched her go outside, and bit my lip. "She is one fascinating creature." I spoke.

"All Dornish women are." Ser Simon laughed.

Sameria

I headed out for the gardens, the weather slightly gloomy. I figured I'd spend my days here cooking and baking, and praying that we'd leave for Dragonstone sooner rather than later. The gardens were not at all colorful or even very floral. There were a few flowers beds, but that was it. There were lavenders, beautiful red roses, goldencups, and not a herbal plant in sight. Fantastic.

Nevertheless I picked a few roses, lavender petals, and goldencups. I'd use the rose petals for my bathwater, the lavender petals for my nightly tea, and the goldencups to decorate my room. Their color reminds me of Sunspear.

I bundled the flowers in my scarf and headed back inside, looking for Alys. She might have thread and needles I could use to mend the dresses she lent me a little. I finally found her in what looked to be an apothecary. Is she a witch? I've heard stories of witches and people practicing magic, particularly in Essos.

"Did you explore the gardens, princess?" She asked, furious at work, hunched over a cauldron.

"Y-Yes." I nodded.

"So boring, and so dull, but you work with what you have. What do you need?" Alys finally looked at me, her green gaze poring me over.

"I, uh, I was wondering if you had needle and thread." I asked.

"I do. What color thread?"

"Do you have gold thread? Or yellow? Pink will do as well." I shrugged.

"I certainly have gold, but no yellow or pink. I hate such colors." Alys admitted.

"The needles and thread are in my sewing basket, in my chambers. They are right next to my dresser by the window. Help yourself." Alys beckoned.

"T-Thank you." I said and scurried out.

It didn't escape my eye the numerous bottles and vials filled with strange liquids and herbs, some that I've seen and others that I have not. Alys is most definitely a sorceress of some sort. In Dorne we are quite keen on alchemy as well. I have a vast knowledge of herbs and poisons myself. I can make just about any tea, herbal remedies, and of course, poisons.

As Alys instructed, I bent down and rummaged through her sewing basket, taking out a spool of golden thread and a few needles. It is all I needed. I hurried back to my room, placing the goldencups in a glass vase and taking out the soft blue dress from the dresser, sitting at the small desk, starting to embroider the sigil of House Martell into the bodice. I did the same to the ivory dress. When I finished, I smiled in satisfaction at my work. Not too shabby. My sewing skills are fine enough.

Daemon

I have received word from my wife, and she is looking for new dragonseeds. She claims we need dragon riders to go into battle. Prince Joffrey and my daughter Rhaena have been sent to the Vale under the protection of Lady Arryn. My sons Aegon and Viserys have been sent to Pentos to stay with the prince, an old friend of mine. Well, the plan is to send them either tomorrow or the day after. The princess Sameria has been an absolute delight. She has spent her days cooking and baking, and she is rather proficient in her craft. It is the most delicious course of meals I have ever tasted, and desserts.

"Princess?" I knocked on her door.

"Come in." She said from the other side.

She lay on the bed, reading. "I bear good news."

She turned to me, closing the book.

"We leave for Dragonstone, so make sure you are ready."

A wide smile broke out on her lips. "Finally."

I chuckled. "Yes, I admit Harrenhal is quite gloomy and dull, and Dragonstone won't be much better, but perhaps I can arrange for you to stay with Lord Corlys Velaryon in Driftmark."

"Driftmark?" Sameria raised her eyebrow.

"Indeed. Now get ready." I beckoned.

Sameria

Finally we leave! I hate this place. I packed all of my jewelry back into the pouch, and I was already dressed, wearing the same pale green layered dress I had come in, but I washed it of course, three times. I clasped my golden sun necklace around my neck, slid my feet into the leather sandals, and brushed my hair, wrapping my scarf around my head, leaving my entire face visible this time.

"I shall miss your company, princess." Alys said, sadness clouding her eyes.

"I will too, Lady Alys. Thank you for the dresses."

"Keep them." She told me.

"Really?"

"Yes. You have after all made them your own." Alys winked.

"True." I chuckled.

I folded the dresses neatly and fastened them together with a leather belt. I met Daemon at the entrance, who studied me.

"Have you ever ridden a dragon, princess?" He asked.

"No." I shook my head.

"Well, there is a first time for everything." Daemon winked.

I gulped. I followed him outside where Caraxes was, and Daemon hoisted me up as I struggled onto the dragon, nearly sliding off but Daemon caught me. I clutched the dresses and put them in-between my legs, having slung the pouch over my shoulder. Daemon mounted Caraxes with ease, and I grasped onto his waist.

"Hold on tight, princess." Daemon chuckled.

Fear washed over me. Caraxes started to run, and descended into the sky. I screeched, making Daemon laugh. Bastard. I grabbed onto him tightly, closing my eyes at first but then opened them again to admire the view. Wow.

We arrived at Dragonstone soon after, and it was a rather empty island, with only a towering castle as dark as Harrenhal glistening under the sunlight. Caraxes landed, roaring. Daemon dismounted, helping me down. The guards of Dragonstone greeted the prince as we walked up to the entrance. Dragonstone castle was not at all like Harrenhal. Yes, it was dark, but it had much more life inside.

A woman with silvery white hair styled in a braided ponytail wearing a black, sleek dress adorned with a silver dragon on the bodice started to approach us. I can only assume this is Rhaenyra.

"Dearest wife. I am finally home." Daemon smiled.

"Yes, and you've brought the princess." Rhaenyra turned to me.

I curtsied. "My Queen."

"See? Well-mannered and already calling you queen." Daemon grinned.

"Welcome to Dragonstone, princess Sameria. Daemon has told me about you in our letters. I offer my condolences about your marriage." Rhaenyra spoke.

"I thank you for your hospitality, my Queen." I smiled.

"I shall call for my servants to tend to you, princess. You may choose any empty room to your liking." Rhaenyra smiled.

"Thank you." I nodded.

She turned to Daemon. "Bisa iksos dangerous, se ao gīmigon ziry." (This is dangerous, and you know it)

Daemon sighed. "Ziry iksos harmless, nyke kivio. Besides, ziry could sagon nykeā useful hostage should ziry sagon bēvilagon." (She is harmless, I promise. Besides, she could be a useful hostage should it be necessary)

I pretended not to understand, because they do not know I speak High Valyrian, and they never will. I will also not be their hostage.

"Gaomagon ao really jaelagon naejot incur se wrath hen mēre dārion bona could resist īlva?" Rhaenyra crossed her arms. (Do you really want to incur the wrath of the one kingdom that could resist us?)

Daemon was pensive for a moment then nodded. "Yes."

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and a servant came hurriedly, curtsying. "Nyssa, take the princess Sameria here to an empty room of her choosing and tend to her. Draw her a bath, get her clothes and style her hair."

"Yes, my Queen." Nyssa curtsied again and led me to a corridor full of rooms.

I chose the one at the very end, and it was much better than the one at Harrenhal. There was a mahogany dresser and a small mahogany desk by the wide window that overlooked the shores. The bed was large, its covers burgundy in color with gold embroidery. I placed my pouch on the desk, as there was no vanity but there was a full-length mirror. Nyssa put my dresses in the dresser, and hastily started drawing me a bath in the corner of the room, where there was a black marble bathtub.

I paced around while I waited, drawn to the candles standing by the desk. I stuck my fingers into the candle's flames, not feeling their heat. I withdrew my fingers but the flames stood on the tips, unflickering. I started shaking my hand, trying to put them out, but they wouldn't budge. Shit! Nyssa came back out and I blew my fingers, and the flames died out. Goodness me...

"The bath is ready, princess." She announced.

"Thank you, and please, call me Sameria." I said, as she helped me undress and get into the tub.

I finished my bath, dried myself and Nyssa laid out a black dress for me, similar to Rhaenyra's in that it had a silver dragon on the bodice, only this dress was not as elegant as the queen's, of course, and bits of dark red fabric peeked through the black fabric underneath the skirt and the sleeves.

Daemon

I watched Sameria descend down the grand staircase, her dark brown curls bouncing with each step she took, a golden sun necklace dangling above the silver dragon on the bodice of her dress. If only my craven nephew could see her like this, pledging herself to us because he couldn't treat her well. Such is life.

[fawnhoards]

a collection of in-character dialogue from the balance arc of the adventure zone podcast. this is part one, taken from here there be gerblins, moonlighting i / ii / iii, murder on the rockport limited, and lunar interlude i. to be used as sentence starters. as per usual, feel free to change pronouns or whatever you see fit.

　❝ hey, let’s search these fools. ❞

　❝ no, i like my plan. ❞

　❝ now they definitely know we’re here. ❞

　❝ i’m foolhardy, but i’m not stupid. ❞

　❝ i’m still chilling out here, if anyone’s curious. ❞

　❝ excellent. well, i trust your judgment. ❞

　❝ hello, friend! hail and well met! ❞

　❝ we’ve taken a wrong turn. ❞

　❝ how dangerous are you? how dangerous are we talking? ❞

　❝ you are making me… extremely uncomfortable. ❞

　❝ …well, tits. ❞

　❝ yeah, fuck that guy. for real, though. ❞

　❝ are you sure you don’t want any tea? ❞

　❝ can i play with your dog? ❞

　❝ what the hell are you talking about? ❞

　❝ it would look super bad if i just, like, died. ❞

　❝ well, i’m not like every dwarf you know. ❞

　❝ so far so good by me. ❞

　❝ i love riddles. ❞

　❝ oh, your voice is like a song… ❞

　❝ you’re super wrong. you’re, like, super duper wrong. ❞

　❝ i might need your help still, come with me. ❞

　❝ kind of a weird question, kind of a weird request. ❞

　❝ dooon’t test me. had a reeeal long day. ❞

　❝ i’m not going to lie, this is super above your pay grade. ❞

　❝ when did you wake up? ❞

　❝ bring it on, tough guy. ❞

　❝ roll to chill. chill check. ❞

　❝ you guys are gonna love what happens next. ❞

　❝ you guys ready for stuff to get weird? ❞

　❝ i am but a simple idiot wizard. ❞

　❝ oh, don’t sell yourself short. ❞

　❝ that was very kind of you. thank you for doing that. ❞

　❝ congratulations are in order. ❞

　❝ i just want a dog. ❞

　❝ no dogs are allowed on the moon. ❞

　❝ any other non-terrible questions? ❞

　❝ what are you wearing? ❞

　❝ dibs! ❞

　❝ you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. ❞

　❝ if you do that, you’ll definitely die. ❞

　❝ i thought i’d feel more excited. that was just kind of sad. ❞

　❝ how far away is your house? ❞

　❝ i am just so charmed by you. ❞

　❝ i’d like to sit on your lap and rest here a little bit. ❞

　❝ okay, well, this was a great talk. ❞

　❝ but my whole body is a weapon. ❞

　❝ tell me all about it, stud! ❞

　❝ a witch kissed me and cursed me. ❞

　❝ smell ya later. ❞

　❝ hey, man, are you alright? ❞

　❝ first of all, do you need anything? ❞

　❝ i’m just trying to chase my bliss. ❞

　❝ there’s nowhere i’d rather be than here, my man. ❞

　❝ for right now, i’m gonna get my grub on. ❞

　❝ okay, that’s not cool, man. ❞

　❝ what’s the skinny, kid? ❞

　❝ i am the world’s greatest detective. ❞

　❝ there’s prying eyes and prying ears! ❞

　❝ fine, i’ll come. ❞

　❝ high fives all around! ❞

　❝ oh, no, absolutely not. ❞

　❝ that hurt a lot! ❞

　❝ are you interrogating me? ❞

　❝ do you want a cup of coffee? ❞

　❝ daddy needs his special magic juice. ❞

　❝ you are impossible to talk to. ❞

　❝ i’m a shitty wizard. ❞

　❝ it doesn’t seem like the right time or place for that. ❞

　❝ i’ll pinky swear! ❞

　❝ you’ve been doing a surprisingly good job! ❞

　❝ oof, that’s a biiig ask. ❞

　❝ i’ve found that not killing is pretty easy. ❞

　❝ bad news, compadres. this place is magic as hell. ❞

　❝ i’m out! ❞

　❝ that’s exactly right. it would confirm my suspicion. ❞

　❝ i have a moment of lucidity and i don’t want to waste it. ❞

　❝ i would sooner die! ❞

　❝ let’s hear your theory, little man. ❞

　❝ don’t touch my stuff. ❞

　❝ have a little bit of faith in humanity. ❞

　❝ what if i get bored? ❞

　❝ what the fuck? ❞

　❝ i hate you all so much. ❞

　❝ absolutely… not. probably. ❞

　❝ i’m too young to die! ❞

　❝ it’s okay, they’re with me! ❞

　❝ let us be as two ships passing. ❞

　❝ tell it to the bees. ❞

　❝ i can’t believe you’ve done this. ❞

　❝ you better keep that shit in check. ❞

　❝ do y’all wanna get paid or naw? ❞

　❝ this is super, duper, duper illegal. ❞

　❝ are we under attack? ❞

　❝ if you lose, your first child is mine. ❞

　❝ i know you’re wondering, ❛ what’s in it for me? ❜ i’ve already told you this: it is _____. ❞

　❝ i feel like this conversation’s starting to take a turn for the worst, so i’m gonna head out. ❞

　❝ well, strangers aren’t strangers anymore once you’ve talked to them and learned their names. ❞

　❝ i do wish i could help you out in this regard, but i do not think there is anything i can do for you. ❞

　❝ here’s my solution, and i think you’re going to find it very equitable: i’m not going to shoot you with this giant crossbow. ❞

[liebgotts-lovergirl]

Fire On Fire: Chapter 27

(Ch. 26.2) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: "I can accept the idea of my own demise, but I am unable to accept the death of anyone else." - Maya Angelou

WARNINGS: Death, Espionage, War, Survivor's Guilt, the usual

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu @emmylindersson

Contemporary: 11:30 PM, December 2nd, 1944. Liart, France.

“You do know where Liart Station is, right Nix?”

As the pair crept through the thick trees, Alix's whispers were underscored only by the subtle crackling of the frosty ground beneath their feet.

“You’re not going to get us lost agai–” 

“Oh Jesus Christ, let that live forever,” the intelligence officer griped in mock exasperation but even among the chirping chorus of crickets and the occasional crunch of dead leaves, Alix could hear the wry laughter in his voice. 

“How about next time, I complain and you can navigate. How’s that sound, Runt?”

Alix made a vague noise of acknowledgement as they trudged onward, her heart already beginning its heavy drumbeat as speckles of gold began to appear just beyond the treeline a few yards ahead.

The train station.

“Oh ye of little faith,” Nixon remarked dryly and if it hadn’t been for the thick blue lenses, she would’ve rolled her eyes and come up with a snappy retort.

But her mouth had suddenly gone bone-dry, all mirth dying in her throat.

She had bigger problems now.

Under the unforgiving glare of the station lights, there would be nowhere to hide. 

She would be a sitting duck.

It was a spy’s worst nightmare.

Alix’s joints seemed to lock for a split second but she forced herself to catch up with her case officer, slowing only when the hem of her dress snagged on the extended arm of a nearby tree.

“Cazzo!” 

Muttering more expletives under her breath, the spy undertook the arduous task of prying the delicate blue silk from the bough’s stubborn grasp.

The tree's taller branches rustled above her as she worked, showering her in puffy golden blossoms like tiny comets raining down onto her newly-auburn hair as Nixon snickered. 

"Less laughing, more collecting, wise-ass," Alix advised with a cocked eyebrow as she tossed a couple starry blooms in his direction and managed to ease the rest of the gauzy material from the gnarled bark. 

"Saves Donovan some cash on my funeral arrangements." 

“Don’t even joke about that,” the intelligence officer snapped before turning his attention back to the compass in his hand. “You’re going to be fine.”

 Alix would have rolled her eyes but the uncomfortable blue contact lenses stung enough as it was so she settled for an impetuous toss of her hair which launched a few more flowers into the chilly night air. 

“If you say so,” she mumbled but after hiking the skirt of her dress up to her thighs, she forged ahead, trying to ignore the nagging doubts dogging her every step into the night.

No one had told her anything about her mission partner except that they were a floater but that fact alone was enough to fill her with dread.

More of an asset than an agent, floaters were just temporary consultants with highly-specialized skill sets. 

Codebreakers, forgers, interrogators, radio operators, explosives experts, floaters hired by the OSS had talent on top of their respective training, of that she was sure. 

But they weren’t spies and that caused Alix serious trepidation.

How could she put her whole life in the hands of someone who'd never even been in the field before?

What if they froze when she needed them most? Then what?

How did she know they wouldn't sell her out to the Gestapo as soon as they got the chance? 

How did she know they hadn't already done so? 

She didn't, Alix realized as ice seemed to run through her. She didn't know a damn thing. 

What if–

“Knock it off,” Captain Nixon interrupted over his shoulder as if reading her mind. “I can hear you worrying from here.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered, tugging the thick mink wrap even closer around herself protectively. 

“You’re not the one walking into a trap, Nix." 

"And neither are you," her handler retorted testily.

“He’ll be there. Just remember the recognition phrase and look for the ring. You'll be fine." 

The notorious skull ring. 

The identifying symbol of a Werwolf Kommando, only gifted to the most dangerous of combatants. 

Alix didn’t even want to know how the OSS had managed to get one for her partner. 

“Hey Runt,” Nixon interrupted her musings once again but his expression was one of slight concern, though his usual laughter still put a lilt in his tone.

They were almost there now.

 “Loosen up, will you? Jesus, you've got the same expression as Dick going on and he usually looks like he’s being marched to the gallows.”

“Well that’s what it feels like,” she grumbled, her stomach churning at the thought of being in plain sight of the Gestapo with a 1 Million Franc bounty out for her capture.

“Hey.” 

Her handler gave her a light smack on the shoulder. There was a brotherly concern in her handler’s eyes but he tried to summon a lackadaisical grin anyway, which she appreciated.

“Relax, 'kay? It’s a mission, not a death sentence.”

The shriek of a train whistle cut off her reply.

It was not her train; she still had plenty of time but she still needed to get to the agreed-upon meeting spot before someone else. 

Hurriedly smoothing some fallen pine needles from her dress, her muscles tensed with anticipation as she made her way beyond the treeline and to the station door, leaving her handler behind in the shadows of the forest.

Alright, she said to herself, forcing an imperious posture as she tugged open the door. Let’s get this show on the road.

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━━━∆∆━━━━∆∆

If anyone had asked, Alix would’ve told them the worst part of being a spy was the waiting. 

Bathed in the yellow glow of the station lights overhead, she remained frozen on her solitary island, the few passengers in sight hustling past like a flock of seagulls without so much as a glance in her direction.

With every light puff of breath, Alix noticed her fingers twitch slightly with the urge to reach for the rosary that no longer resided there. 

Alix may have been Catholic, but "Tanya" was not. 

Her Nona Lucrezia’s rosary was stuffed into a tiny pouch buried at the bottom of one of her many suitcases, which had already been shipped ahead to Paris. 

In its place around her neck was a weathered golden medallion bearing the icon of Saint Nicholas the Wonderworker, a popular Russian Orthodox intercessor. 

The patron saint of deliverance from misfortune.

She could certainly use some of that right about now.

Feigning boredom, the young agent casually reached into her silk purse and retrieved an ornate silver lighter and her half-smoked pack of Herzegovina Flor cigarettes. 

Instantly, she felt nearby eyes on her. 

Locating the closest reflective surface, Alix clocked the observer: an elderly Frenchwoman in a patchwork skirt who was gaping at her as she shuffled her way past to the fourth bench. 

Of course people were going to stare, Alix reminded herself, trying to focus instead on the lime-green packaging in her lap, the name embossed in glinting gold Cyrillic font.

After all, she was covered from head to toe in diamonds, fur, and silk, not to mention she was smoking the priciest cigarettes in all of the Soviet Union. 

Remembering what Nix had taught her, Alix was careful to pinch the cigarette between her thumb and forefinger instead of how she would normally hold it– casually propped between her first and second. 

"It's always the little things, Runt," the intelligence officer had commented around noontime as he'd adjusted her grip on one of her beloved Chesterfields. 

"The stupidest little things can make or break an op." 

Making a mental note to thank Nix when she got to Paris, Alix took a long drag off her cigarette, enjoying the rich, earthy flavor. 

No wonder it was reportedly Stalin's favorite brand, she mused. The tobacco was of superb quality. 

Noting the time– twenty minutes till midnight – Alix scanned the scene as she awaited the arrival of her contact. 

Liart Station wasn’t very crowded at that hour of the night so he should’ve been easy to spot but none of the men in view wore the distinctive skull ring of the Werwolf Kommandos.

They're going to be late, she thought, gritting her teeth with irritation. This is why I don’t work with floaters.

She could practically hear her handler’s teasing sing-song in her head:

“One-time assets are just as necessary as full-time operatives, Runt."

Only the ones that take the job seriously, Alix thought bitterly. Which this one clearly didn’t, seeing as they had not received any word from them and it was rapidly approaching midnight.

With a huff of irritation, the spy went back to surveying the scene around her.

The gray-haired matron was now hunched over a book whilst a pair of businessmen stood nearby, commiserating about the late hour.

Moments later, a small gaggle of young women bustled past, causing one of the men to let out a rude wolf whistle.  

Clearly working girls, there were about four or five in the bunch, all with tousled hair piled high and splotches of rouge coloring their gaunt cheeks. 

Three were her own age, the other two a bit older, but they all had the same rings of exhaustion around their eyes that even heavy makeup couldn't camouflage.

No doubt, their workday was just beginning but the windy French night had no pity, battering them with icy gusts that their flimsy chemises and torn stockings couldn't hope to combat. 

The call-girls were shivering uncontrollably as they reached the 4th bench, the older two gathering the younger ones to them in a futile attempt to ward off some of the chill. 

A pit formed in Alix's stomach as she watched them.

It was a miserably cold night, the bitter wind nipping at her face, and she had a luxurious coat to protect her. 

The call-girls had nothing, nothing but each other.

How could she help them while still maintaining her cover? 

Hearing raised voices, she glanced toward the sound, where a harried-looking teenager in an ill-fitting blue uniform was scurrying two stairs at a time down to the platform below while an older man in the same uniform was shouting after her, shielding the edge of his coffee cup to prevent spillage as he made his way down the stairs.

The poor girl looked scared to death, nearly in tears, and seeing her supervisor bellowing at her over what was the most minor of mistakes was really pushing Alix's buttons.

Taking a languid puff of her cigarette, the spy yawned and nonchalantly stretched out a leg at the last minute, just as the supervisor was hurrying past her bench to no doubt continuing bullying his employee.

 

The Three Stooges could not have timed it better. 

The man's boot caught the hem of her dress and he stumbled forward, accidentally releasing the cup into the air like a baseball. 

The container’s soaring arc gave Alix ample time to briefly flee the bench, ensuring that while the occasional droplet sprinkled down on her coat like a soft rain, the supervisor was completely doused in his own coffee.

Howling, an expression of confusion and outrage flashed across the middle-aged Frenchman’s face but before he could get a word out, Alix seized the opportunity to round on him first, stepping towards him and snarling expletives in Russian with such vehemence that spit practically flew from her red-painted lips. 

"You idiot," she hissed, switching to heavily-accented French as she examined her clothing with melodramatic horror. "My favorite coat-"

"Madame, I-"

The supervisor had reached out, presumably to assess the damage, but Alix slapped his hand away with a glare so scathing that it would've made even Lady Macbeth run for the hills.

As the spy tore off the offending article, she muttered expletives in Russian before hurling the mink coat to the cobblestones and taking an intimidating step closer to him with a shrewish stomp of her foot. 

"The station will receive bill," she intoned with a final sneer before smoothing off her dress and stalking back to her bench, leaving the priceless mink in a heap on the cobblestone and the station supervisor fuming behind her. 

Noticing one of the shivering women inching her way toward the coat, small puffs of breath escaping her chattering teeth, Alix glanced away at the giant clock mounted on the wall. 

Ten minutes till Midnight. 

She had time.

Affecting boredom, Alix took a long drag off her cigarette and rose from her seat, heading toward the tiniest, most decrepit-looking newsstand she’d ever seen to give the callgirl an opportunity.

Keeping an eye on the last remaining travelers trickling their way into her periphery, the spy flipped through the latest edition of Le Figaro for the benefit of whatever prying Nazi eyes might be watching.

5… 4…

As she counted down in her head, Alix fought the urge to turn around and check.

Pick up the coat, she urged the prostitutes silently, still keeping her eyes trained on the newspaper in front of her as she loitered. Take the damn coat.

3… 2… 

She couldn’t wait any longer without seeming suspicious. 

1…0…

When she began to head back toward her bench, just as she’d hoped, the coat was being used by the older women in the group to shelter the others, all huddling to take advantage of the fur's warmth like chicks under a mother quail’s wing.

One of the callgirls–  was gazing over at her with tear-filled eyes, seemingly unable to find the words to express her gratitude.

Chewing on her bottom lip to avoid smiling, she let her eyes flicker away just as a couple sailors hurried through. 

The thin gold rings encircling both sleeves marked one of them as an Ensign, a junior officer probably just graduated, and Alix felt as though a boulder had been dropped onto her stomach.

╔══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╗

5 Years Ago: 30th Street Station, November, 1939. Philadelphia, USA.

"You're going to send Helen Astor into fits, you know," the eighteen year old teased as she jogged after her brother. "Leaving without saying goodbye when she's been pining after you for years." 

"Well I've been avoiding her for years," Giovanni countered, slinging his canvas knapsack over his right shoulder with a grunt, causing his uniform to rustle. 

"It's Dad who wants me to go steady with her, not me. She's not my type." 

"Have you told him that?" Alix inquired as she wove through the onslaught of servicemembers and their families, all crying and hugging as they said their final goodbyes. 

"Right," Gio snorted skeptically.

"Because that would go over so well. What would I even say?!

'Sorry Pops, I know you had big plans for me but I'd rather get eaten by a shark than marry any of the Astor girls so I’m going to run off to the South Pacific instead! Take my inheritance and shove it! Sincerely, your firstborn’.

Yeah, that’ll go over splendidly.” 

“You’re still the favorite,” the girl reminded him doggedly, a tinge of resentment creeping into her voice.

“Between being valedictorian, track team captain, and an altar boy, I think you could start robbing banks and Dad would still say 'Alix, why can't you be more like your brother?'"

She had expected a breezy chuckle and one of his usual witticisms but her brother let out a long exhale instead.

"I’m sorry about that, Passerotta. I know it can't be easy–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Alix interrupted, her tone sharper than she’d intended it. 

Gio raised his eyebrows but acquiesced and continued the dutiful trudge ahead. 

Jostling past a cluster of other officers, Alix gave her brother a wan smile as she tried to lighten the mood.

"Don’t let this go to your big head but we’re all gonna miss you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Giovanni remarked with a grin. “Between your crying and Mom’s, I thought we were all going to drown before we even got here!”

“Can you blame us?” Alix retorted, trying to keep her voice light. “You are going to be over 4,000 miles away.”

“Yeah, in Hawaii.” Her brother barked out a laugh. “Do you know what happens at a duty station that nobody's ever heard of?” 

Alix shook her head and her brother readjusted his grip on his knapsack, heaving the canvas bag over his other shoulder.

“Exactly,” he grunted, dark hazel eyes twinkling as they continued their walk.

“Nothing happens. I'll be bored to tears."

Alix quickened her steps to keep up with Gio’s long strides.

“You’ll have liberty though, won’t you?” she asked and he shrugged. 

“Once a week supposedly but how many times can a guy watch the same four pictures? Benji says-" 

Alix cocked her head inquisitively.

That was a name she hadn't heard before.

"Benji?" 

"A friend," Gio replied too quickly and Alix swore she could see his cheeks reddening slightly. "At OCS. He was…We were–" 

The train’s piercing whistle cut him off. 

“Well, that’s my cue!” he piped up with a tone of false confidence but she could see the sadness just behind his eyes. 

Noticing her expression, he gave her a light smack on the shoulder and yanked her into a tight hug.

Alix wished she had hugged him for just a little bit longer... But before she knew it, her brother was boarding the train.

Hanging his head out the window, he shot her that trademark million-dollar grin of his, and called out a joke that would still haunt her even 5 years later:

“Relax, 'kay? It’s a three-year contract not a death sentence."

╚══ •🖤🖤•🖤🖤•🖤🖤• ══╝

[lmelodie]

I'm being THAT guy, sorry not sorry for the immaturity I am about to release in this ask: 69 😎

Okay FUCKER here's exactly ZERO spoilers because you managed to pick one of the only notes that very EXPLICITLY states what Jack did during the breakup. I'm gonna clean up these dialogue scraps to make it easier to follow with the actual note under it.

This note was from May of this year so it's a bit outdates as far as writing style goes but here!

Note #69: BlackIce Confrontation

"You think you have any right to put a band aid over this bullet hole while standing right next to the shooter?" Killian said. Lucy stood in right in his line of ire with two unsteady hands gripping her staff defensively.

"Because you're out of your league and out of your mind if you think you can just—"

Jack cut through the sentiment and admits what he did, out loud to the both of them. It silences the room and both redheads stared back at him in very different ways.

Lucy doesn't seem all too surprised at the revelation, but stays quiet out of tangible disappointment, just nearly mimicking his own posture of remorse and guilt.

Killian, however, has mastered the perfect cold unwavering stare of shock that's designed to make the receiver immediately uncomfortable. He actually admitted it. After 910 years of radio silence and he thought hearing it from the man himself would've felt better than this.

"Well, and here I thought I was possibly gonna sell your secrets on the black market."

Jack swallows, "It's not a secret. It's a tragedy."

Very wrong choice of words to use. He fumbles at anything resembling a half-baked reconciliation attempt.

"Are you pitying me right now?" He sneers.

Jack hesitates for a second, "Only...a little?"

"Listen here, Frost!"

His hand flips up and black tendrils on shadow form out of the ground, climbing up Lucy's legs and taking hold of her staff and forearms, locking her in place. She yelps and tries prying the instrument from the surprisingly stiff grip of the darkness entangling her.

Jacks' attention is torn away for a split second before he's violently deprived of air and the crushing pressure on his throat chokes what was left out of him. Killian has him by the throat at less than an arm's length; more shadows start creeping up his legs as well to keep him that way.

"I did not bring you into my home again after 900 years for you to PITY ME. I brought you here so that you can finally suffer for all that you've wrought."

Jack sputters and gags as his airway is dangerously constricted, trying to pry his hand off and give himself any room to breathe. But Killian's grip doesn't budge. He's not letting go so easily this time.

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

Judas | Deal | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “Do you realise how stupid you sound right now?”

Requested: No

It is painful to have to witness you doing a terrible job at bartering, so Judas makes you a different deal.

With your hands on your hips, you proudly stand in the field that has just been cultivated, the few patches of grass a shade of green you haven’t seen in a long time. Besides you stands Judas, who lets his eyes go over the piece of land with a grin plastered on his face. 

“We’ll be able to sell this for so much!” he breathes, “It has been a great call to get it fixed, (Y/n).”

You smile and nod firmly. “Hadad is going to faint when he sees this. We’ll make him proud.”

“Don’t forget that you’ve got yet to prove yourself,” Judas says, “After all, you haven’t made a single sale yet. So far, we’ve only lost money.” 

“Don’t be so negative, Jude.” you tell him off, “I’ll be fine. Once I get this piece of land sold, I’m certain that he’ll have another job for me.”

Judas shrugs and nods towards the village. “Now, let’s see if we can’t find a farmer who is interested in buying this plot. It’s beautiful, but I’m curious to see how you’ll get a decent price for this.”

On that note, the pair of you head back into town and enter the nearest inn, ordering a drink at the bar before finding an empty table near a few farmers. “Luckily,” you whisper at your friend, “It is nearly time to sow seeds and plant trees. That way, these men ought to be more keen on purchasing fertile land, no?”

“You tell me.” Judas huffs, not thoroughly convinced, and he takes a sip from his drink whilst your eyes roam through the inn in search of someone who seems like he can use a new piece of land. 

In the corner, a man sits hunched over five empty cups and is currently nursing his sixth. The dirt under his nails gives away his profession and you raise an eyebrow as he runs a miserable hand over his face, sighing deeply. “How about him?” you query, but do not await Judas’ answer before standing up and striding over to the man in question. 

You clear your throat, which causes the stranger to look up, and he frowns slightly at your smile. “I've still got enough to drink, thank you.”

“I’m not the waitress.” you tell him, “Just a… Concerned citizen.”

The man pulls a face and leans away from you. “What’s it to you?”

Forcing a smile on your lips, you pull back the seat across from him and sit down, resting your elbows onto the table and folding your hands under your chin. 

“What seems to be the matter, sir? I’ve been watching you for a while and am noticing a lot of empty mugs that were once filled to the brim. Forgive me for prying, but shouldn’t you be working your land right now?”

He lets out a scoff and looks at his ale before throwing it back in one gulp, swallowing thickly whilst flinching. “Bah. What land?” You reckon that the buzz of alcohol makes him open up more, “I’ve tried to cultivate my land but all my trees have died. Even weeds don’t grow there anymore. Pathetic, right? Can’t even feed my wife.”

You have to fight the grin that tugs at your lip and hum in pity, tilting your head slightly. You give Judas a look from the corner of your eye and he is watching you with bated breath and some curiosity, wondering where it is going to lead. 

“Poor soil?” you question, and the man nods.

“Has been like that for a long time. Have been cheated out of decent care when hiring a few men the other year, and it never quite recovered. Ground’s exhausted if anything.”

You purse your lips and sigh. “Ah, what a shame. What will you do?”

The farmer lets out a noise that is almost indifferent. “Starve, I suppose.”

Clicking your tongue, you shake your head. “Now, don’t do that. Tell you what. I’ve recently come into an inheritance upon the passing of my uncle, and he bequeathed to me a large plot of land which I cannot work myself. After all, I have to care for my children whilst my husband is out fishing.”

The man raises one shoulder in half a shrug. “And?”

“And I’m looking for someone to take it out of my hands.”

“I don’t have a lot of money.”

You hum and lean back in your chair, draping one leg over the other. “Can’t you take a loan? It’s good land, a lot of people want it. My uncle used to grow several kinds of vegetables there. It has been lying fallow for a year or two now, so the soil isn’t exhausted anymore.”

“And get myself into massive debt? No thank you.”

“It is near the Korazim Plateau.” you try, “Very fertile grounds. My uncle became very wealthy because of it, but it is now just there being useless. Would be such a shame to let it go to waste.”

With his interest slowly increasing, the man eyes you a little suspiciously. “Why hasn’t your husband taken up that task, if it made your uncle so rich?”

“Because he is a fisherman,” you explain, “And he longs for the Sea no matter how much I have begged him to consider a better-paying job. Now, we are in need of more money because our daughter has fallen ill.” You let out a wistful sigh, “So, that’s why we are in desperate need of money.”

The farmer hums and something sad comes over his features. “I’ve lost my boy to sickness. I know what that feels like. You must hold onto them as much as you can.” He sighs. “Very well. How much do you want for it?”

“Fifty talents.”

The man lets out a sound of disbelief.

“Fifty?! Are you mad? I’m not about to let myself be ripped off!”

You pick at your nail and raise your eyebrows. “Who knows, you might just be coming into a fortune. You know, my uncle used to make a profit of several hundred talents a year just by selling his crops.”

Judas breathes in, wanting to intervene, for he isn’t certain that your fake story to make it more appealing is fair at all, but the man frowns in slight interest. “Several hundred? Enough to pay taxes?”

“And then some more.” you mutter. 

“Who was your uncle? Perhaps I know him.”

“He lived in another village.”

“And he had his land here?”

You lean closer. “He didn’t want others to know where he worked in case they wanted to sabotage his business. He was a wealthy man and thus very envied. Made a lot of enemies who tried to get their hands on his property, but they failed.”

“Are you saying that I can get so much money from that land that I’ll be a notorious merchant one day?”

With a deep sigh, you stand up and dust your hands down your skirts. “Well, that is what I was getting at, but it appears that you aren’t really interested anymore. Shalom, sir, have a good day.”

As you turn away, the farmer calls after you. “Wait!” the man exclaims. “I want that land! If it is as good as you promise, I’ll be the richest man in Capernaum in no time! Fifty talents is only a fraction of what it is worth, then!” 

The words drift through the inn and cause everyone to fall silent and in turn look at the peasant who had just been so tactical as to shout such things in public for all to hear, and another farmer soon meddles, heading towards you. 

“Excuse me, miss. If someone wants to purchase your plot of land for fifty talents without thinking twice, it must be very good. I can pay more than him. What do you say about fifty-two talents? I can even get you some silver if you want it.”

You blink in slight confusion, not really knowing how to respond to that, but another stranger wants to try his luck.

“Fifty-five talents!” 

“Fifty-six!”

“Hey, I talked to her first, she gave me the option to buy it first!” the farmer you spoke to cries out. 

“But you didn’t seem to be so interested, otherwise, why would she have walked away, huh?”

Judas steps closer to you as the men bicker back and forth, and a few other people seem eager to get involved as well, approaching either you or the group of arguing farmers. “Is this what you were aiming for, (Y/n)?” he mutters, “Do you have any idea how this will end?”

You swallow thickly and talk into your friend’s ear: “Well, I’m just going to sell it to the highest bidder.”

“The highest bidder? Do you realise how stupid you sound right now? We are business apprentices, we don’t actually own any real estate for our business other than that dumb piece of land you’ve bought!” 

Letting out a sound of indignance, you plant your hands on your hips. “Dumb piece of land? You told me it looked good!” 

“Your current highest bid is seventy talents, (Y/n)! If you actually accept that, we’ll get in so much trouble, because it will come to light that your piece of land is worth not even half that amount!” 

“We’ll be out of town before that!” 

“We aren’t swindlers, (Y/n)!” 

You sigh and let your shoulders slump. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just want to prove that I’m able to make a good sale, you know?”

Judas hums and puts a hand on your arm. “I know. Shall we get out of here before all attention is turned back to us?”

The farmers are still bickering with one another and have in their passion lost focus on you, and you grimace at them. “Ah, yes, I think we should go.” you tell Judas, running a hand over your neck rather awkwardly. Before anyone can notice the two of you, you rush outside whilst leaving the men to their conversation, for pulling out of the deal publicly would likely lead to even more arguments that might turn sour.

Once you’ve walked a safe distance from the inn so that you are certain nobody has followed you, you halt. 

Deeply grunting, you close your eyes in frustration. 

“I’m a failure, aren’t I? Hadad is right about me. I can’t make a decent sale. I could have sold that piece of land for the price it was worth and showed up with a couple dozen talents. Now, we go back empty-handed and I’m the only person to blame for that.”

Judas’ blue eyes narrow and he shakes his head. “Of course not, (Y/n)! Don’t say such things about yourself, come on now! It’s just something you have yet to learn. It’s not something that comes to you overnight. You make mistakes sometimes. Hadad himself still does so from time to time.”

Smiling wryly at Judas, you click your tongue. “I know you’re right, but it doesn’t change the way I feel. I’m going to get myself in trouble one of these days.”

Your friend pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring look. “I’ll tell you what,” Judas suggests, “Although we are both still apprentices, I have some more experience than you. What if for next time, we thoroughly analyse our options and share them with each other to see what ideal situation we come up with? That way, I’m certain that we’ll get way further since we will be more aware of the risks we can take and those that we shouldn’t.”

Your eyes light up at the suggestion. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

Judas nods determinedly and grins. “Of course, (Y/n)! You’re my friend. It is never fun to see you in distress. That back there?” He points with this thumb back over his shoulder to the inn, “That is not something you want to go through again. We’ve been lucky now, we cannot risk such a thing again.”

Letting out a soft scoff, you roll your eyes. “I’m that bad, aren’t I?”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, that’s all.”

With a slight tilt of your head, you give it some thought. “Ah, I like the idea of that. Thank you, Judas. That’s really kind of you.”

He gives you a polite nod. “My pleasure. So, how about we head to the next town over? And… Perhaps try to make up a different story than something about your uncle. First off, that’s a lie, and we aren’t exactly fond of these because they often come to light. Instead, you should consider using some convincing language that is still the truth.”

“Using people’s words against them?”

“That sounds like something Hadad would say, so… Yes?” Judas shrugs and pulls a face, and you hum.

“Let’s give it some thought whilst we are on our way there.”

“Of course,” Judas says, “We will sell that plot and prove your worth.”

He pauses and momentarily mulls over the words before rephrasing himself. 

“Actually, (Y/n), how about this: Whatever talent you have does not determine your worth. Who you are as a person is way more valuable, that is what matters most. No matter what Hadad will think, I am of the opinion that you’re great to be around and an amazing friend, so, there’s that.” 

A little surprised, you give him a questioning smile, for they aren’t words that you’re used to from him, for his demeanour is usually abashed and slightly timid, so hearing such things is odd.

“Thank you.” you muse, patting his shoulder. “I think you’re a great friend, too.”

“And if we keep that in mind, we’ll get there.”

Smiling gently, Judas gestures towards the road, and the pair of you head over to the nearest village in the hopes of finding more success in selling the plot of land.

[squirrelno2]

Jesse Lives AU, pt 4

What is a schedule? Are these even remotely similar in length? Am I ever posting this anywhere other than Tumblr? These are the questions that have no answer.

Under the cut: Jesse and Jale go exploring and finally get off-world. (Apparently tumblr hates me so never mind on that last part I guess I'm writing part five based off my memory of the fuckton of content I wrote that Tumblr just lost. Have fun with what I've got though)

Previous: 1, 2, 3

Next: 5

Jale went around the side of the crash, knowing better than to try and enter a ship at the engine end when it had only recently wrecked. He and a still-complaining Jesse found their way in at the hangar bay doors.

With the angle the ship had hit the ground at, just walking through wasn't always feasible. Jale and Jesse clambered awkwardly over the hulls of shuttles and starfighters in the hangar. Jale kept one eye on the clone as they went. He didn't trust Jesse not to start waving that blaster around again, or worse.

"Here," Jale said when he found a starfighter that wasn't completely crumpled in the impact. "Give me a hand."

"Clearly you work on your own," Jesse said. "Can't you handle this shit?"

Jale rolled his eyes and slammed his foot into the window. It took a few tries, but it finally shifted under his weight and shattered inward.

"Wait here, then," Jale said. "And if I find something that's obviously personal, I'll take it and I won't tell you."

He smirked at the sound Jesse made as he climbed up to watch as Jale swung himself inside.

There wasn't quite enough room for Jale to get his tools from his pack. He looked up at Jesse, weighing his options, and decided he would just have to remove what he could by hand. Jale crouched over the control panel and got to work prying it open with his fingernails.

"Wouldn't that work better with a tool of some kind?" Jesse asked. Jale scowled and gave the panel a vicious tug. It finally popped loose, bending one of his nails in the process. Jale bit back a curse. He didn't want to give the clone any satisfaction.

"I happen to be good at what I do," Jale said with dignity. Jesse snorted.

"Right," he said. "Who wouldn't boast of their skills in graverobbing?"

Normally when dealing with bitchy assholes Jale would imagine the wires he was tugging were the person's hair. Unfortunately, Jesse had only the barest hint of fuzz on his scalp. Jale tugged the targeting system out of the ship and settled for pretending he'd just shoved Jesse off the starfighter's hull.

"You got your prize. Can we go?" Jesse asked as Jale pulled himself back up.

"You can, if you want to walk around with that head wound on an unfamiliar moon. I have more work to do."

"It's healed," Jesse said.

"So you just didn't wipe off the dried blood as some kind of fashion choice?"

"If you're so worried about me, we ought to go."

"Don't read into it," Jale scoffed. "With you here, I can carry more, which means we're both less likely to get dumped on the first hellpit of a planet that crew finds." He hopped down. Jesse followed more slowly; his face twitched as he touched the ground, like he was in pain. Jale wondered if the clone was hurt anywhere other than his head. His mother would eat him alive if she knew he was dragging an injured man around a wreck instead of finding medical care, but then again it wasn't like his mother would ever meet Jesse.

"And when are you going to be satisfied? What are you looking for?"

"Anything I can sell," Jale said grimly. The floor slanted up away from them, made even harder to navigate by the wall that had been punctured in the crash and now poked jagged edges into Jale's way. Awkwardly, he climbed the wreckage, hoping Jesse wouldn't test his larger bulk on it until Jale had made it up. He had no such luck - Jesse apparently refused to let Jale out of his sight - but thankfully the surface held.

Jale looked into the hall, trying to see where he should go next.

"What's this way?" he asked. "Engines?"

"Medbay," Jesse said tightly.

"Oh, good," Jale said. "That shit sells."

"You're not touching the medbay," Jesse said. "I'll take you to the engine room. But you aren't going anywhere near - near the medbay."

"Something you don't want me to see?" Jale asked.

"Someone I don't want to unbury," Jesse said. Jale couldn't hold in a small "ew" at the thought. He hadn't realized there might be bodies in there, but decomposition certainly wasn't his thing. He could stick with the rest of it today.

The engine room was still a little smoky, even days after the crash. Jale gave the hyperdrive a wide berth. He'd have to be an idiot to poke around there.

Some of the fuel reserves were intact, and Jale carefully inspected it to be sure he wasn't going to blow them up if he took a barrel.

"I'm not carrying that," Jesse said. Jale rolled his eyes.

"I can manage it," he said.

Jesse clearly didn't believe him. Jale, who normally rolled barrels like these, scowled and heaved it up into his arms.

"You're an idiot," Jesse observed.

"Shut up," Jale grunted, setting the barrel down by the door.

"Is that it?" Jesse asked. Jale sighed, turning to look. The engines were worse off than he'd hoped, but he could probably strip a few parts.

"I'm going to head up there," Jale said, indicating the upper level.

"The lifts aren't going to work."

"I have done this before, thank you. I know what I'm doing."

Grateful for the awkward slant of the ship, Jale hoisted himself up on a computer and jumped for a sort of ledge that had been created when something on the other side slammed into the wall. Carefully, he snuck along it and reached up for the edge of the catwalk.

"You're not tall enough for that!"

Jale jumped at the clone's voice, and frantically grabbed at the surface beneath him.

"Are you trying to kill me?" he demanded. Jesse raised an eyebrow as he peered up at Jale. Jale hated him a little more.

The worst of it was that Jesse wasn't wrong. Jale took his bag off his back and pulled a rope from it. With a toss, a careful knot, and an emphatic tug, he had another way up. Jale began the climb, trying to ignore the ache in his shoulders and the expressions he imagined Jesse making.

The upper level was a lot less stable than it had looked. It creaked under Jale's feet. He drew a steadying breath and carefully did not look down.

"No wonder this ship crashed. You people can't even put railings on these walkways," Jale called, trying to distract himself from the shaking under his feet.

"Is everything a joke to you?" Jesse snapped. "Why don't you dedicate some of that thought to keeping yourself from falling and shut up about my dead siblings?"

Jale grimaced. He could, perhaps, see how that had been in poor taste.

He wasn't wrong, though.

He found the equipment he was looking for, a kind of monitor to help look at the hyperdrive when it was unstable. It was one of the few elements of an engine this big that could be installed on smaller ships like the one he'd begged passage on. Unfortunately for him, it was significantly better secured here than on the smaller wrecks he'd been working lately.

Jale started to unscrew the corners of the monitor. Three were reachable, but the far top corner was just out of range as the walkway curved away from the monitor.

"Almost done?" Jesse called as the catwalk groaned.

"I just have to get this screw -"

His joke about railings came back to haunt him. Jale's foot slipped as he leaned out over the gap, sending him tumbling. He flailed, barely managing to grab the edge. He was dangling over the gap - not as far down as if the engines were below, but enough that he'd break a bone or two. Jale wondered if he could swing himself enough to land where Jesse was -

Where was Jesse?

"Hey, idiot!"

Jale nearly let go in his surprise at seeing Jesse kneeling above him. With a grunt, Jesse grabbed him by the forearms.

"Try not being deadweight," Jesse said through gritted teeth. Jale dug his fingernails into Jesse's arms in response as the clone pulled him up. For a second, he was on top of the clone, trying to catch his breath. Annoyingly, Jesse had nice eyes.

Then Jesse shoved at his chest.

"Get up," he snapped. "How the hell are you still alive? You can't have been doing this long."

"As though you're the expert?" Jale spat. He got to his feet. Begrudgingly, because this was another thing his mother would eat him alive about, he added, "Thanks for the save."

"Yeah, well," Jesse said. "Don't read too much into it."

[purplebirdsees]

Warm-up 1: Whatever - Part 1

Hello! I am Citron! Yes, again!

Remember my notes? If yes, good job! If no, why?

Thanks!

(citronslation: basically, this is kind of an excerpt of this piece of fiction, written by my boy tsuzuru. you don’t need to read it to understand this one but pls do bc quality of life u get me yeah. ok. thanks.)

(footnotes were not made by tsuzuru, unless stated otherwise) (theyre mostly itaru)

Children, without exaggeration, are horrible beings.1

It’s always those kids you just stumble on, maybe in a convenience store, or in an absurdly long line from the cash register, or even during church, especially during Sunday Church (my parents aren’t Catholic, but my grandparents father’s side is). As soon as I step foot on the Church’s white and gold tiled floor, my immediate response is to look around on every single pew for someone who may look like my age. I’d feel relief if they were sitting out of sight, but if they weren’t.… Well, usually, I’d try to avoid eye contact as much as I can, but whenever I accidentally glance at them, they’d always have that smug look, with the straightest posture, and the loudest, most obnoxious singing. Sometimes, when they’re near enough for me to hear, I’d catch a few words they’d whisper loudly to their parent. Usually, it would be along the lines of, ‘We’re going to (insert fast food chain name here) after this, right?’ like it added to this nonexistent leader board on who is the best kid in Church.2

I could go on and on about my horrible Church experiences, but somehow, none of those were the ones that struck a nerve more than that one time in a bookstore.

It was a week before classes started, and as much as my parents wanted to scrounge as much of last year’s school materials, the pens and notebooks either had only a sliver left of its use or was completely depleted. Mom had to double check it though, as she gathered all we had in a cardboard box. After her third inspection, she said she could debone the frayed used notebooks to separate as much of the blank papers to make new notebooks. Which was the reason why she decided that dad was the one who should do the shopping instead, which in the end he did do, but we had to try to convince her that the old and used were completely unusable and should be left to retire. After a few prying and pleading, we were able to sell the whole box to the waste courier.

I was appointed to go with dad to the bookstore; the others had to help mom with the kitchen… and to make sure she won’t chase the waste courier and end up blending up all the notebooks into a pulp to make new paper.

She did this before, but her faux notebooks were extremely unusable because the paper was too thick, and for some reason, felt a little wet and made the ink bleed into the pages. During the first week of classes, my school bag smelled of wet dog, and every time I had to take down notes, I wish I didn’t. The moldy smell would make my seatmates turn their heads away from my direction. Even the resident class clown once remarked how ugly the cover of my notebook was, saying it looked like his grandmother’s post-chicken pox skin, puss and all. One afternoon, just as I was about to arrive home after school, I remember passing by Tadoru and Meguru sitting by the riverside, their backs hiding their guilt ridden yet determined faces. At that point I knew, and the absence of the wet, moldy dog fur smell was enough evidence.

Like an unspoken vow, we made sure we never, under any circumstance, let mom DIY anything. 3

-----

1 Understatement. They’re dickheads, actual hellspawn. I have never met a kid who was genuinely kind, they ALWAYS have an agenda at the back of their pea-sized brains. I’m qualified to say this because I’ve been a tutor example? Sure, but im tired so no (actuallly I don’t have to prove myself you literally juST READ A PRIME EXAMPLE WHY)

2 When they say yes, ding-ding-ding! Wow! His parents ACTUALLY love him enough to buy him food! As if that isn’t the lowest bar, bare minimum a parent should do f[word redacted due to profanity] mot[word redacted due to profanity] why don’t I f[words redacted due to vulgar language] mom then once im your step dad ill kick[words redacted due to vulgar language] space until yo[words redacted due to vulgar language]eath

3 [tsz] wording feels awkward/weird

part 2

[nrc-research-club]

me, my lover, and their $500, life-sized plushie of me.

↬ Summary: They are literally right there. Why would you even need a plushie of them, anyway?

↬ Genre: fluff, slight hurt/comfort, mildly suggestive in Floyd's part

↬ Characters: Vil Schoenheit, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech

Vil Schoenheit

↬ The plushie is made in the chibi-fied image of Vil. Though the style is cartoony and similar to the anime Idia watches, he supposes it can still effectively capture his beauty. It wouldn't do well to be appreciated through only one medium of art. He allows his management to sell the plushie, and as expected, they're gone within the next 10 minutes.

↬ He doesn't know if he should've expected you, of all people, to get one. He isn't even aware of your purchase until he walks in on you one day, only to see you snuggling up with a softer version of him. Your arms are wrapped around the plushie, holding it close to you as you nap. 

↬ Your blanket is pulled over you, leaving only the top of the mini-Vil's to poke out. Its stylized eyes seem to mock him for standing there and not within your arms like it is. Vil knows he isn't the most enthusiastic about physical affection, but really? A plushie of him? He's flattered that you'd buy his merchandise. of course, but he isn't about to compete for your affection with a stuffed toy.

↬ When you wake up, he's already planning to spend the next day off with you. Half of it would be spent on a more elegant date outside, while the other half would be spent in the comfort of your rooms. He'd be damned if his precious free time was wasted on watching you dote on a plushie created in the likeness of him, but not actually him.

↬ "While I am not the keenest on things like hugging and cuddling, I'm certain I would concede if you asked at opportune moments," Vil starts to chide you as you wake up. You haven't even blinked the post-sleep bleariness away before he talks again. "Are you so deprived of affection that you would resort to a toy, dear?"

↬ That night, he finally allows you to sleep next to him, provided that you don't disturb his sleep or anything. He wakes up the next morning feeling the most refreshed he's ever been, instinctively holding you closer to him as he allows himself to close his eyes for another five minutes. After that, it’s back to business with him.

↬ Your arrangement becomes routine when he realizes that the special ingredient to his glowing skin has been you all along. He integrates your presence into his nightly routine, making sure you can stay in top condition with him. The plushie stays on the other side of the bed, undisturbed except for nights when Vil’s not around.

Jade Leech

↬ Jade is both amused and perplexed. On one hand, he finds it adorable that you had a plushie specifically commissioned for this. It cost you a great fortune as well, especially with how big it is. You don't seem to mind, though, cuddling with it whenever he's away.

↬ On the other, he doesn't know whether it's a cry for help or what. You haven't exhibited signs of being touch-starved, as far as he's aware, and you're honest whenever you want attention from him. He isn't the type to drop everything and spoil you senseless, but he knows he isn't neglectful enough for this kind of stunt.

↬ Still, its existence doesn't warrant any jealousy on his part. He lets you come to him for hugs and kisses anytime, though your requests have been dwindling ever since you got your stuffed toy. Jade decides to wait for an explanation instead of prying it from you. After all, it would be interesting to see how long you'll go without the real him.

↬ But maybe what he hasn't considered is how he misses you as well. His body has gotten quite used to your hugs and kisses, and to his dismay, he's started to get a bit restless too. He used to think of himself as independent, but after seeing you baby-talk your plushie, he's not too sure. The last straw is when you visit the Lounge with the toy in tow, showing it off to the equally-excited Floyd and a confused Azul.

↬ You've given him almost nothing today, yet here you are, waltzing in with a copy of him? Jade is quick to take your order, making sure none of the other waiters serve you. When he arrives at your table, he notices that you've reserved a seat for the plushie. Goodness.

↬ "Oh my, I've been seeing that toy around far more often than I expected," Jade says with a smile before feigning hurt. It's been fun, but this stops now. "Are you replacing me, perhaps? I'm a bit hurt."

↬ You see through him almost immediately. You hug your plushie closer to your chest, squishing it between your arms before inviting Jade to the now-empty chair. You're grateful that today's a slow one at the Lounge. Azul probably wouldn't mind an employee of his taking a five-minute break (he would.)

↬ "I just thought you'd get sick of me asking for hugs and kisses, you know," you mumble. Jade takes your explanation in stride, patiently waiting for you to continue. "So I got a specially-made copy of you, just for all that. I'm not blaming you, by the way. I didn't think you'd ask me about it."

↬ Ah. So that's what this is about. He eyes your plushie, taking it off your lap and placing it on another surface before holding your hand in his. He relishes in your surprised, embarrassed expression before saying, "Rest assured that your requests don't bother me. In fact, how will you ever make up for the lost time to me?"

↬ Jade allows you to keep the toy, but he makes sure to monopolize your attention before it can. He sometimes plays hide-and-seek with you, hiding the plushie in positions that would always lead you to him. The most recent game has landed you in his bed with him, and he has no plans of breaking the cycle anytime soon. 

Floyd Leech

↬ Floyd can't believe what he's seeing. He thinks it's unfair, especially when he's been taking care not to squeeze you too hard (or until you’re wheezing). Now you're squeezing a miniature version of him that can't even squeeze you back. There's a bitter taste on the back of his tongue as he watches you cuddle with the plushie, seemingly happier with it.

↬ He doesn't waste any time ripping the plushie from your hold. It gets thrown to who-knows-where, but you don't have the opportunity to check what happened to it. He pins you down to the bed, a dangerous, possessive glint in his eyes as he frowns at you.

↬ "Tell me, Shrimpy," he drawls, his voice taking on a low-pitched, hushed tone. You tremble like prey underneath him, though you're unsure whether it's from fear or something else entirely. You squeak when you feel him nipping on the outer shell of your ear, feeling your face heat up. "Do you want to get squeezed that badly?"

↬ "N-No," you say. He relaxes as you wrap your arms around him and nuzzle into his neck, doing your best to calm him down before his mood gets worse. But you don’t feel any better, cheeks still warm as you try to come up with a good reason for getting the plushie. You have one, but you wouldn’t exactly call it good. He sees right through your thinking face, his face twisting into a frown.

↬ “You better not lie to me,” he says with a pout. The plushie can’t even squeeze you back, and now you want to make something up to justify having one. As if to demonstrate, he changes your positions so that you’re lying on top of him before hugging you tightly. You return the favor by doing the same.

↬ “I actually wanted to do that,” you mumble into his clothes. Floyd is infamous for his squeezes, whether hostile or not, but sometimes, you find yourself wanting to hug him as well. Although you trust him not to hurt you, you’re worried about the grip strength if you decide to squeeze him back. So, your best decision… is now lying on the ground, ignored. “Is it bad that I want to hug you too?”

↬ “Little Shrimpy wants to squeeze me?” he breaks out into a grin and splays himself across the bed. The position is akin to an invitation, one that you gladly take as you attach yourself to him like a koala. As expected, he cuddles with you with a tighter, but not bruising, grip. The two of you lay on the bed until he’s called for his shift at the Lounge, though Azul has a hard time separating the two of you from each other.

↬ In the end, you don’t see much of your plushie around after that incident. You don’t know what Floyd has done with it until Jade approaches you, the plushie stitched and sewn in one piece. He had apparently seen it lying on the ground, dirtied and torn apart, and thought that it might be yours. You take special care to hide it from Floyd afterwards.

[yesimwriting]

The Needs of Pain

A/n as promised,,, here is my gift to you bc I finished ap gov today :))

The darkling x heartrender!reader story based on the whole ‘no one but me can hurt you’ thing :))

Warnings: sexual innuendos,, attempts to sexualize pain if you squint, kinda lemon-y

I kinda want to write a smutty part 2 let’s see lol 

Summary: after a training injury, Kirigan reveals how he views the dynamic of your relationship and figures out how to best help you work through the pian 

--

In an odd way, the most painful part of my injury had been the wound on my pride, not my shoulder. Though the pain that begins beneath my collarbone and continues down my left shoulder is not exactly pleasant. I can’t bring myself to pity myself too much as I stare at the extent of my burns. There’s a war going on. People die, people lose loved ones, I have to tolerate pain for an hour or two before a healer can be sent to be. 

I told Genya I’d be fine in the medical wing, but she insisted that I wait for a healer to be sent to me. The people here look up to me, if news of my injury got out, especially considering it’s a training wound, morale would take a blow we can’t currently afford. Genya had looked relatively sympathetic when she told me that many healers were occupied considering how difficult training had been and I had told her I could bear the weight. 

Now, in my room, staring at the basin full of water, I’m starting to regret my desire to be self sacrificing. I dip the towel in the water, squeezing out the excess before daring to dab the fabric on the outer edge of the wound. The feeling is fire against my skin all over again. An instinctual curse leaves me as I drop the towel on the counter that surrounds the basin. 

Arthur hadn’t meant it. I can still hear the frantic apologies tumbling from his full lips. He should have been more focused on the task at hand, he should have never stopped to look at me, at the way I could control so many living things at once. In some odd sense, his distraction had been a compliment. Many of the girls here would sell anything to have Arthur’s attention, even if it resulted in such a careless mistake. 

I grimace, picking up the towel and preparing to start again. I should at least clean it before the healers have to deal with both a physical injury and an infection. The sound of my door flying open and then shutting angrily is enough of a distraction for me to accidentally dab the towel against my skin too harshly. I curse again, turning my head towards the bathroom door. Did Genya exaggerate the severity of my wound? Are the healers that desperate to get to me? 

I turn on my toes, towel forgotten by the basen full of water as I approach the door that connects my room with the bathroom. “I’m--” Words meant to calm a frantic healer stick to the back of my throat as soon as I register all the black in the room. General Kirigan. Great. He no doubt heard about my injury after prying it from Genya and now he’s here to scold me for the childishness of it all. To be injured because a boy and I just couldn’t help ‘make eyes at each other’. All he does is insult my refusal to become bitter just because I was born possessing power. 

“You’re what?” His words are a different level of callous, darker than the shadows he creates with the will of his mind alone. “An idiot that let herself be sent back to her room instead of demanding to see a healer?” 

That’s an odd thing for him to focus his anger on. At least it’s not fully directed at me. On instinct, I half turn, attempting to hide my injury from his piercing eyes. My instinct tells me he should never see me so mortal. “Genya recommended it,” my words are determined yet calm, “It’s such a small injury it isn’t worth risking everyone’s morale. A healer will come here when one is available.” 

His face tightens in what must be some kind of disgusted disbelief. “Foolish girl--have you no instinct for preservation?” 

Every decision I’ve made since being injured made sense before he spoke to me. The fierceness of his voice leaves my face warmer than it was a moment ago and reminds me of the stem of my dislike for him. General Kirigan speaks and I am left a clumsy child. “Some things are more important than one’s self.” I expect he’ll turn that into something else to mock or belittle about me. “And it’s not a grave injury it’s barely--” 

The distance between us seemed so great less than a second ago, but he’s closed it so quickly, grabbing my left wrist and extending my arm forward so that I can’t hide anything from him. “You’re burned.” There’s the slightest bit of surprise coloring his words along with something else I can’t interpret. “How did you get burned?” 

Kirigan doesn’t know. My stomach knots, anticipating embarrassment. “Training incident--I was standing too close to an Inferni.” 

His grip on my arm tightens. I grimace as he pulls me forward with no regard for my injury. “Who?” The voracious way he says the word leaves my thoughts trembling. He is a void of darkness, starving for a victim to snuff the light out of.  

When my thoughts settle, I cannot bring myself to tell him the truth. “I didn’t see, I was distracted by the burning.” I exhale slowly, desperate to escape the flames behind his eyes the way I could not escape the fire of earlier. “It doesn’t matter, I’ve been injured worse in training.” His hold on my arm doesn’t loosen, I glance down at his hand, his firm grip on me somehow worse than the burn. “You’ve injured me worse in training.” 

“I may push you, exhaust you, and leave you mad--but I have never done anything that comes close to--that!” The last of his words carry themselves louder than the rest. 

If the skin of my shoulder wasn’t so sensitive I’d try fighting his tightening grasp. The accusation on my part had been a little much, but it was meant to serve as a reminder that he’s not one to care about my comfort or well being. “Why does it matter?” I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze. “You’ve never cared about any of my injuries before.” 

Kirigan releases my arm in a stiff trance, raising his hand to brush his thumb down my cheek. The contact is reminiscent of an extremely different moment. “The first night here you only let a few tears escape you when you were convinced that no one could see them. Do you remember how I turned and wordlessly wiped them away?” His gesture had not been comforting then and it isn’t comforting now. He never wanted to comfort me, he wanted to assert some strange power over me. “I let those tears fall because they were because of me and I knew it was for the best.” I say nothing, letting his thumb ghost tears that will not come. “The moment I discovered you, what you could be, you became mine.” 

“I am no one’s.” The reaction is instinctual, a pride my mother instilled in me. My voice is too loud, too brash. “I am my own.” 

I brace myself for his anger, but all I receive is the slight relaxation of his lips. “It’s things like that give you so much potential in other ways.” His voice is a jagged rock caressing my skin, not minding the scrapes it leaves behind. “You’re a fair plaything, as well as useful.”  

He’s speaking so gently his voice borders on vulnerable. Something in me warms, but I can’t tell why. I know that Kirigan finds joy in my discomfort--why else would he belittle me so often? “The healer will be here soon.” 

“Yes,” he makes no move to leave, instead Kirigan grabs my wrist again, forcing me to turn so that he can analyze the extent of my burn, “Which is why I will ask you again…” I try to catch his gaze, but his stone stare is focused on my burned shoulder entirely. “Who did this?” 

“I told you.” He can never know. “It was a training accident.” 

“And someone is responsible.” 

I let out a breath, tired of feeling so incomplete. I just want to be healed and go to sleep. “Why does it matter?” His fingers trail up my arm patiently, my body betrays me by shivering. “Accidents happen, you’ve put me in more risk than--” 

“I’ve always intended to break you one way or another,” his voice is more supple than it’s ever been before, “Your goodness is too tempting to not tarnish.” He turns my wrist over easily, ignoring my slight wince. “But if someone else were to do it…” Kirigan trails off, expression tightening in a way I can’t read, “I don’t let others break my play things.” 

Some strange resolve in my chest cracks at that. “Kirigan--” 

“Who are you protecting?” He moves his free hand, placing it without reservation on my shoulder. “Not telling me will only make it worse.” 

Thoughts of Arthur paying for such a small mistake leaves my stomach rolling in guilt. “Make what worse?” 

His expression tightens again. I wait for some kind of rebuke. Kirigan’s lips part as if he expects to criticize my naivety, but instead of speaking he turns sharply. He doesn't release his grip on my wrist as he leads me into my bathroom. 

“What are you doing?” 

Kirigan ignores my surprise, releasing me to pick up the towel I was so quick to abandon. “If you’re too good to take a healer from someone, you should at least avoid infection.” 

“I’m not an idiot, I was cleaning it.” The sharpness of my tone is ignored, Kirigan simply places one hand on my forearm to keep me in place. “Wha--”

 He brushes his thumb over my pulse gently in an effective attempt to silence me. I part my lips in hopes of protesting, but something odd reflects across his eyes. It must be some trick of the light because his expression seems...hesitant. Maybe even concerned. And then cool fabric is pressed into my burn. I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed. 

“Saints.” 

His expression shifts to that of almost amusement. “I think I’d like to hear you curse in a,” he exhales softly, fingertips trailing up my forearm, “Slightly different scenario.” 

The shock of such a bold innuendo clears my mind from thoughts of pain. But the most startling thing is that the innuendo isn’t entirely unwanted. In the wake of my surprise, he presses the wet towel into my wound again. I fight against a grimace, but that doesn’t go unnoticed by Kirigan. Instead of mentioning it, his free arm touches my uninjured shoulder. For the first time since he’s come here I’m aware of how improper my attire is. I changed out of my starched kefta and into a silk nightgown in order to leave my shoulder unbothered. Genya had helped me change, bearing all of my grimacing and pained curses. 

I should push him off of me. Kirigan can get away with a lot because of his status, but I by no means have to allow something like this. I should not feel shy, I should not be embarrassed. He’s the one that’s out of line. I look up into his eyes, prepared to yell at him for being so out of line. But when I meet his eyes, I see something so un-monstrous I am left breathless. There’s a gentleness to the way he tilts his head downwards, eyes never leaving mine. Is he asking for permission? Permission to--to what? I stay frozen as his lips brush against the unmarred side of my collarbone. His touch is almost enough to make me forget pain ever existed. He pulls away enough that I can feel his breath against the base of my neck. Thoughts I’d never dare speak are banished as the towel presses against my skin again. My face cringes immediately, but he’s quick to press his lips to the base of my neck, lingering kisses melting into my skin. 

“I thought you said you were fine.” His chiding is half-hearted, whispered between two brief kisses against my bare ski. 

He dabs the towel on the burn again, but before I can think to complain, his lips are against my skin again. This time, his lips part slightly allowing his teeth to graze over my pulse. Kirigan pulls away slightly, expression hardening, “I’m almost sorry about this part.” His words leave him in a whisper as influential as sin. 

“What part?” My voice feels foreign in my throat. 

Kirigan doesn’t reply, but then I feel the sharpest pain yet. The towel is cleaning the worst of the burn, the ruined patch of skin that will never recover without supernatural intervention. The gasp I let out is that of a bird with shattered wings. A cry forms in the base of my throat, but before it can leave me, Kirigan’s teeth bite into the skin above my pulse. The pained sound is reduced by my shock, twisting in an odd combination of some kind of pained sound and something dangerously close to a moan. 

He releases me with one last soft brush of his lips, straightening his back and retracting the towel. “There.” Kirigan drops the towel onto the bathroom counter. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

I can still feel the ghost of his lips, tongue, and teeth against my skin. I understand now. Each kiss had been a way to distract me, to lessen the pain. Something odd swells in my chest as I try to will my eyes to stop watering in pain. 

Kirigan presses his lips together, pressing his hand against my cheek again. His thumb brushes the few stray tears that escape me. “Don’t cry,” his tone is pure velvet, “I won’t tolerate tears in your eyes caused by anyone else.” He tilts his head oddly, hand sliding down my cheek before gripping my jaw, “I can provide reason for your tears if you’d like.” 

Inhaling deeply, I continue to stare at him. Today has been so sudden. He’s flirted with me through strangely sexual insults and threats before, but never has he been so forward about it. 

“I’m fine,” I force my voice to remain clear. He nods once. A soft rap at my door has me turning away from him. “The healer--I shoul--” 

“Come in,” he calls, voice clear and leaving no room for argument. 

My eyes widen. To be caught with him here could be detrimental for my reputation. Kirigan pulls away, something sharp playing at his features, something almost humorous. 

He leaves the bathroom like this is his own room. “Her wound is clean, work quickly.” I walk out of the bathroom in a strange trance. Kirigan’s gaze lands on me as I enter the main part of my room, “I need her at her full strength for what I have planned.” 

There’s a heaviness to his words, a weight that tells me he means more than what his words imply. Goosebumps erupt across my skin as I try to banish the thoughts of his mouth against my skin between inflictions of pain, blending together to create the most intense sense of fight or flight I’ve ever experienced. 

Kirigan begins to approach the door to my room. “I’ll be checking on her later.”

--

People that asked to be tagged in this/expressed interest:

@luminous-99 @voyevoda-thejoy @voidmalfoy @i-padfootblack-things @all-art-is-quite-useless @buckverse @mandowh0re @uhanddreag  

@we-love-our-bandz 

[nightowlfandom]

Yuma Mukami- Scream For Me

CHECK OUT MY MASTERLIST HERE

SO ANON ASKS

If you’re prompts are still a go can I get a Yuma Mukami from DL and reader with the prompts

37- “Am I making you nervous, Y/N?

17- “We’re only sharing a bed, it isn’t the end of the world.”

39- "Just admit you want fuck me…if you behave, I might just let you.”

28- “I’m more than capable of being rough with you babe. You just watch.”

32- “Shh, wouldn’t want the boys to hear us, now would you?”

And the reader is still pretty new to the Mukami mansion, and is Lowkey terrified of Yuma because he’s so big and loud and ANGRY sounding but she also like has a thing for him? She’s also quite smaller than he is because he’s so tall and broad

That’s a lot BUT LET’S FUCKING GO YESSSSS

Babygirl.....it’s on. ALSO IM SORRY THIS IS SO LATE.

Leggo!

...

Was hiding really the way to go? Absolutely! You were in a constant state of alert in this place. You had only been here less than two weeks and you were honestly over it already. 

You had gotten lost so many times, you began to wonder if you lived in a maze that changed with every turn. It wouldn’t surprise you to be honest.

Of all the people that could have been forced into this world without choice, it was you. Thanks to your mother and her debts. You could just remember her words.

It’s for our family, honey...

Selling you out to strangers, nice. 

You missed your other friends, you missed Yui (God only knows how much shit she’s going through without you to back her up. Every day you would go over there to make sure she was still alive. There was hell to pay if you saw so much as a scratch on her.)

You had found yourself in a seemingly abandoned bedroom.

“Finally away from those freaks.” you grumbled, sliding down the door. “This is what I’ve been reduced to, hiding.” you griped. You could still hear the commotion, the smashing of glass and the arguing of men over who would get to bite you first. It suddenly got quiet, too quiet. It felt like the air was getting stiff. You felt eyes on you...you were being watched, but by who.

“Someone’s in here.” you concluded.

Before you could scramble to your feet and leave, you were stopped.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, not unless you want to get ambushed.”

Yuma Emerged from a dark corner, toying with a hair tie. You watched in silence as he secured his hair back. He swaggered over to you, gently resting his hand against the door, trapping you between it and himself. “Any reason you’re in my room?”

You were taken aback, he seemed quite calm and reserved unlike the rambunctious and loud asshole you saw before. That wasn’t good. If anything this side of him made you even more afraid.

.”I said what are you doing in my room!” he demanded, slamming his fist on the door. That alone was enough to make you flinch and turned your head away.

“I got lost!” you replied as loudly as you could, not even close to matching his tone. You sounded scared and pathetic...mostly because you were. “Please don’t punish me like RukI!” 

You had looked him in the eye...once. Big mistake.

“Please, like I’d waste my time.” he sneered. “You’re really that frightened of my brothers?”

You shamefully nodded your head, not trusting your voice. 

“Fine, stay as long as you want.” he huffed, stepping away from you.

“Huh?” you found your voice. “Really?!” you sounded a bit too happy.

“Are you that excited to be here with me?” he tilted his head to the side, a strange smile spreading across his face. “Y/N....it’s Y/N, right?” 

“Y-yes?” it came out like a question instead of an actual answer. 

“I figured. Just thought I put a name to the face that watches me so often.” he winked. “Do you like me or something?”

Shit! He knew?

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? " he asked, still smiling devilishly. “It’s adorable.” 

Yuma made you look up at him, slipping his fingers under your chin.

“I think your little crush on me is funny.”

“Funny?” you repeated, feeling shocked. Wow, were you that pathetic? “Good to know.” you grumbled.

“What did you say?” he glowered, glaring down at you.

“I know you think I’m just a weak human...but I have feelings.” you moped, starting to turn around. “I’ll just leave.”

“Are you gonna wait for me to finish?” he snapped, just as your hand hit the doorknob.

Defeated, you lowered your hand and turned back around. 

“I like messing with you, Am I making you nervous Y/N?”

As you stayed silent, he burst out laughing. 

Yuma thought you were adorable, adorable and slightly wimpy. You were much more fun to torment than the other one...whatever her name was. Yuki? Yuna? Jennifer? Who cared?

“Since you have to do what we say, you’re gonna spend the night with me.”

Shit....

...

You crawled onto your side of the bed, as close to the edge as possible. You didn't want to risk anything. You were scared to death. 

“We’re only sharing a bed, it isn’t the end of the world.” You saw Yuma yank his shirt over his head, revealing all his glory. “I mean, it could be with me.” he winked. You hadn’t even changed clothes, you were in the same dress you wore that day.

You instantly turned on your other side, not wanting him to see your face. You turned away from him. He was so godly it was wrong. You felt the bed dip down.

It was silent for a few minutes, you had almost relaxed a bit. Keyword: Almost. You felt his fingers creep up your thigh. 

His low breathy laughter caught your attention.

“You’re so cute.” you heard him whisper. “I think I’ll keep you.” his lips ghosted over your ear.

You bit down on your lip to stop from moaning. You felt his tongue trace the shell of your ear, his hot breath tickling you. His fingers kept inching and inching closer to that spot between your legs. “ Just admit you want fuck me…if you behave, I might just let you. “

You choked on your own breath as he lashed his tongue around your ear, moaning to add insult to injury. 

Then you did it. You moaned ever so quietly, but he could sure as hell hear it. Yuma slapped a hand over your mouth right before he pushed you on your back. He used his other hand to pry your legs apart. “Look at that, all fucking wet for me....what if I just?” He bought his fingers to his mouth and spit on his fingers. Your eyes widened in anticipation as he bought his hand into the waistband of your panties. You felt his wet fingers slip inside. 

You let out another moan, this time louder. 

“ Shh, wouldn’t want the boys to hear us, now would you?” He shushed you. “Listen to that.” he reveled in the lewd sounds your body made for him. “Listen to that~” he snarled as he thrust his fingers deeper. “Fuck.” he watched you tremble under him. You moaned into his hand, practically drooling. Your insides clenched around his fingers. “You like being defiled by me, don’t you? You’re making a fucking mess, nasty slut.”

You watched through hooded eyes and Yuma finger fucked you. He stared down at his hand doing the deed, mouth again with his tongue hanging out. It was almost like he was receiving pleasure of his own through bullying you in such a lewd way. You were moaning into his hand, completely unaware of your volume. Anyone who could way by would absolutely hear.

Yuma took his hand from your mouth and grabbed your right leg. He tore his fingers from your and lifted your leg up, running his tongue along your calf before burying his fangs into your scorching hot skin. You gasped at the pain. 

“Fuck.” he lapped up your blood. He drove his fangs even deeper into the exact same place. Yuma’s brothers would be pissed off when they learned that they wouldn’t have been the firsts to bite you.

Yuma stared down at you, looking absolutely feral. Blood smeared across his cheek. He smiled evilly.

“W-what are you gonna do to me?” you dumbly asked. “You’re not gonna be rough are you?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“I’m gonna be more than rough, human.  I’m more than capable of being rough with you babe. You just watch. I’m gonna fucking destroy you until you can’t go anywhere without being carried there by me.“ 

[total-fandom-tr45h]

Trade fic!!

This is part 1 of a multi-part fic I am writing for @iamasimplesimp in exchange for some art!

This is shorter than the usual length of my fic chapters, but I wanted to break it up into chunks in accordance with my outliine.

This is where the angst from earlier came from.

Now, enjoy~

Thick black smoke obscured Sun’s vision as the heat of the flames caused his body to begin to overheat. His fans roared in his chest as his body tried to cool itself in vain, flames lapping at his ankles as he climbed one of the play structures. 

“Come o-o-on!! Moon, talk to me-e-e!” His voice glitched as he spoke, the heat causing his wires to start melting together as he could feel himself losing control of various parts of his body. 

His counterpart just let out a wheezing cackle in their headspace as Sun collapsed on top of the play structure, losing control of his legs and getting one of his arms caught in between the bars. He let out a choked cry from his voicebox, his optics flashing as his body began to force a shut down due to overheating.

‘I don’t want to die…’

~~~~~~~~~~~

You carefully made your way over some charred support beams, the acrid smell of soot filling your nostrils as you took a deep breath. Something shifted off to your right, and you ducked down behind a slightly bent metal beam, hiding from sight for a few moments before peeking out over the top, checking if the coast was clear. 

Lucky for you, it seemed it was just some debris settling, and you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as you stood back up, surveying the immediate area. 

You really weren’t supposed to be there, standing amidst the rubble of the recently-burnt-down Mega Pizzaplex, but you were in desperate need of cash and you knew there would be some salvageable scrap amidst the melted plastics and broken glass. You took a few steps away from where the debris had settled, halfway through putting your foot down when you felt something large under your boot. 

You lifted your foot to see what it was you had been about to step on, and you were shocked to see the hand of a S.T.A.F.F. bot, mostly undamaged, save for the melted rubber fingertips exposing the sharp metal beneath. You grinned and bent down, grabbing the arm and prying it loose from the otherwise destroyed robot it had been attached to. You carefully set it in the wire basket you were carrying, settling it alongside an intact S.T.A.F.F. bot head and what looked like some kind of blaster toy, the casing of it only slightly melted but otherwise perfectly fine. 

You started on your journey once again, whistling/humming as you searched every nook and cranny for stuff to sell. As you were starting to try and yank one of those adorable little wet floor bots out from under a metal beam something else caught your eye, glinting in the sunlight despite everything being covered in soot. Whatever it was, it was rather large. 

You dropped the wet floor bot and ran over to the new object, picking your way through the remains of what looked like a playset, metal bars and melted plastic stuck together. Upon reaching the object, you immediately recognized it as a hand, and you nearly squealed in delight. It looked much more intricate than the three fingered hands of the S.T.A.F.F. bots, the soot-stained digitsslightly curled, like when a human relaxes their hands. 

You gave the hand an experimental tug, only to find that it was stuck fast to whatever it was attached to. You grumbled in frustration, taking a step back to think. Did you have anything in your car to help you get it out… yes. Yes you did. 

You scrambled down off the dilapidated playset and took the fastest route to your car, tossing the few things you had gathered into your trunk before grabbing a tarp, a crowbar, and a shovel. 

Don’t ask why those things are in your car, they just are.

Tools in hand you headed back to the hand and got to work, removing what you could without the tools first. You were able to get about a third of its body uncovered, and what you saw was incredible.

It was the old daycare animatronic, only slightly broken and melted in a few places, as well as covered in soot. With some cleaning and a few minor repairs, it would look almost good as new, so you kept going, removing the rest of the rubble piled on top of it with only a little difficulty. 

You sat down for a moment, squinting at the setting sun before loking back at the unburied animatronic. Various hues of red and gold were cast across the sunny facade of the robot, almost like the celestial body were wishing the animatronic goodnight as it sunk behind the horizon. 

You sat for a few minutes longer before getting upp, preparing to move the robot onto the tarp so you could take it home. As you went to lift it by the torso, you were pleasantly surprised to find it was lighter than you expected. You maneuvered it onto the tarp and carefully carried it to your vehicle, setting it on the ground to get a better look and figure out how you were going to fit it in. 

The animatronic was tall and lanky, the jester attire singed and reeking of smoke. You hummed, going through a few various methods in your head before you just decided to cram it into your backseat, sticking it in a rather uncomfortable looking position. 

Its legs were bent at odd angles, and the arms were pinned beneath its surprisingly flexible torso. The slightly creepy, grinning face peeked out at you from under the tarp when you looked back at it from the driver’s seat, and you shuddered as you stuck the key in the ignition. 

You had a great haul. 

Your eyes felt incredibly heavy by the time you got back to your house, but there were more important things to take care of before you could even think about before going to bed, such as getting the cool ass robot out of your car and into your garage. 

It took a bit of maneuvering and finagling to get the robot out of your car, but eventually you managed to do it and drag it into your garage, propping it up against the wall in a sitting position. You yawned as you closed your garage door, not bothering to lock your car as nobody in your neighborhood really cared about your junk. Plus it was a nice neighborhood, nobody really stole anything. 

You stood in front of the slumped over animatronic with your arms crossed, mulling over how long it was going to take to get it cleaned up. You decided it would take far too long to do it that night, so you left it in the garage and headed inside, grabbing a quick snack before hopping into the shower. You cleaned off the soot and grime from your little expedition, despite knowing you were going to get just as dirty tomorrow when you cleaned the robot. 

You got into nightclothes and hopped into bed, falling asleep rather easily as the exhaustion from the physical work you had done that day finally caught up to you. 

-------------------

The next morning you jumped out of bed, grinning ear to ear in excitement. You were practically vibrating as you got dressed in grubby clothes, tying your hair up before grabbing all the cleaning supplies in your home. You snagged a quick breakfast and a cup of (caffeinated beverage of choice) before heading out into the garage. 

You flicked on the lights to reveal the animatronic you had brought home yesterday still sitting where it had been placed, the tarp draped across it awkwardly as gravity had obviously pulled it down. You sauntered over and got to work, first removing the filthy, ruined clothes. You tossed them to the side in a pile, making a mental note to try and wash them later before turning your full attention on the dirty bot in front of you. 

You started off just giving it a quick wipe down, having to grab new towels every few seconds due to the amount of dirt and soot coming off the robot. Seven or eight towels later, you had gotten the front part of the chest cleaned off. 

You sighed, realizing this was going to be an all day project. 

-----------------------

It was dark outside by the time you finished, but the robot was looking almost brand new as you stood back to admire it. You could also see the extent of the damage done to it now that it was clean, and it was worse than you originally thought. 

There were huge cracks in the casing for the left arm, which seemed to be barely hanging on by a few wires. One of the sun rays was broken in half, and another was cracked right down the middle. There were dents in the chest plate, and the ankles were totally busted, as if the robot had gotten them stuck and broke them trying to get out. 

You grimaced, not wanting to imagine what the insides must have looked like. Probably a mess of melted wire casings and fried circuits, if you had to venture a guess. 

But that wasn’t your problem, you never planned on fixing it up anyway. No, you just wanted to make it look nice so you could sell it back to Fazbear Entertainment for a good amount of cash. 

With a nod of satisfaction you packed up the unused cleaning supplies and gathered the dirty laundry, including the jester attire. You knew the laundry would take a couple cycles to actually come clean, so after starting the washer and taking a really quick shower you flopped yourself on your couch, turning on the TV and surfing through the channels. There was really nothing interesting on, and your mind kept on going back to the robot currently sitting naked in your garage. 

What if you did fix it up? That would probably get you more money than a broken bot would, and it shouldn’t be too hard to fix.

…..right?