#Tumblr ads being wild again

[sillygoofyart]

tumblr. What is this tumblr.

[llitchilitchi]

been reading the Alexander Trilogy and kept making fun of Hephaistion for being so thoroughly whipped for Alexander but then actually decided to draw him all bright and a little sweaty after exercise and yeah, yeah I see the vision

(referenced these ivory sculptures for the face reference, this would be when he's maybe 18-ish, presumably before exile)

[suhsweet]

whatever you want ⟡ kmg

wc: 2007 | pair: bf!mingyu x afab!reader | genre: smut (18+, minors go away), established relationship | tags: somnophilia, half-asleep mingyu, kinda sub!mingyu?, reader happily does all the work, unprotected piv, barely a hint of a size kink, mention of reader having longer hair, pet names: baby, angel

summary: when mingyu’s tired, but you’re needy, he lets you use him however you please

author's note: i didn't realise that i started this blog, and this little drabble on mingyu's birthday cause i forgot about it… what a wonderful coincidence lol. happy birthday to my first kpop bias, and my dream husband <3 please enjoy my first piece of writing on tumblr EVER

It must’ve been around three in the morning when you woke. A thin sliver of moonlight peaked through the windows of your shared bedroom with Mingyu. Beside you, your lover slept peacefully. His light breathing, evenly paced, reached your ears. His lashes fluttered lightly as he slept, and his hair was mussed from the tossing and turning he often does to get comfortable.

Your hand gently came up to cup his cheek— light enough to avoid disturbing him, but heavy enough to not tickle him. You ran your thumb over his cheek while your eyes travelled over his features. The mole on his nose, the sharp slope of it, to his jaw, to his soft lips.

You carefully snuggled closer to him, close enough to kiss said mole, and said lips. Being so close to him, with his breathing caressing your face suddenly had you feeling needy for him. He should be awake, kissing you back, and running his fingers through your hair as he slowly rolls you onto your back as he breathily groans your name, and brings his large hands down your body towards your—

Sleep was keeping him from you. And you, with your wild imagination, now feeling extra needy, couldn’t possibly wait until morning.

You and Mingyu, little freaks, had spoken about fantasies and kinks once you were well into your relationship. Somnophilia was one of his, and you knew he was happy to have you touch him while he was asleep. He said, and I quote, “That is the hottest thing I can ever imagine you doing to me.”

So, with the sheets pushed off of you, and you now upright, you bent down to kiss your boyfriend’s cheek while adjusting him onto his back. The mix of Mingyu’s bodywash and cologne clouded your senses and you found yourself draping a leg on either side of him. He was wearing his ridiculously hypnotizing grey sweatpants again, alongside his oversized white t-shirt that hid the toned body underneath.

For a few moments, your quiet breaths and whimpers filled the air. You felt a hand slide up to cup your ass, which was busy grinding on his cock. The friction of your core pressed against him was both easing and heightening your desire for him.

“Baby?” Mingyu’s words came out as a husky whisper.

You smiled softly, “Gyuu.”

You were a siren, Mingyu decided—a succubus. The way you had whispered one word— his name, with so much sensuality had him aching for you instantly. But a glance at the clock told him that he would have to be up in less than four hours for work. He wasn’t in the right mind to please you; he hadn’t been awake for long enough.

Mingyu’s eyes closed once more, both from pleasure and sleep. You began kissing his neck again, then slowly trailed them up towards his sharp jaw, to his smooth cheek, to reach those lips… A throaty groan came out of him, and he lazily reciprocated your kisses. His hand came to cup your cheek and he slowly pulled away. His words came out slurred. “Gotta get up for work in a few hours.”

You rose and planted your hand on his chest, you hadn’t stopped grinding against him. You added more pressure on the point where your bodies met. Mingyu watched you helplessly, groaning with pleasure.

You smiled sweetly, a gleam in your eye that had Mingyu’s cock twitching. “I’ll be quick. I need you.”

“‘M too tired, baby.”

That was a no, and you immediately stopped. The fog in your mind cleared slightly, and you realized how selfish you were to put your lust over his rest. Thank God for the night’s shadows that veiled your flushed face. You smiled, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” you kissed his cheek gently. “I was-”

His hand was on the back of your head, stopping you from pulling away. Mingyu’s head turned to meet your lips once more. “I didn’t mean that you should stop. You’ll need to do all the work.”

“Are you sure?”

With his eyes on you, you recognized the lust hidden behind the sleep in his eyes. They were still half-lidded and would remain that way while you smiled at each other. He looked so dopey that you couldn’t hide your giggle. You had your answer.

He smiled at the sound and sleepily kissed your jaw. “Do whatever you want with me, baby. I’m all yours.”

Giddy, and buzzing from the idea of using Mingyu like a toy, you resumed kissing his neck and reached your hands under his shirt to feel his warm skin. His eyes, still half open, watched as you lowered yourself to the foot of your bed to face his arousal. You palmed it through the fabric of his pants, eyeing his reaction. He smiled softly, encouraging you.

Pushing down his sweatpants and boxers, his erection rose to greet you. You kept your gaze on him, to watch his face scrunch up with want as you slapped it against your tongue. He hissed as you filled your mouth with him, running your tongue against the texture of the head and veins. As began to bob your head up and down, making the filthiest sounds, Mingyu moaned even louder.

Yes, a succubus indeed. Mingyu watched in fascination as you pleasured him. The sight of you and your siren-like eyes was more than enough to make him explode. He flopped an arm across his face. In his head, he tried his best to recount the entire roster of players of his favorite baseball team—anything to distract himself from the angel between his legs.

“Are you falling asleep on me, Gyu?” Your voice was the definition of innocence. You were well aware of his little trick to lasting longer. Your right hand remained on his length, stroking it with your saliva glistening in between your fingers. The slick, wet sounds filled the room.

“Never,” was his response. His arm stayed over his eyes. “Want to be inside you.”

You weren’t one to deny him. Your right hand kept stroking him as you rose on to your knees and pulled down your panties. Mingyu, now watching you once more, tugged at the shirt you wore. His shirt. The perks of having a giant as a boyfriend: oversized sleep shirts. You looked at him, and he blinked at you drowsily. His fingers ceaselessly tugged at the shirt, and you gave in, taking off the shirt in one swift go.

“Finally.” Mingyu immediately let out a deep breath at the sight of you. His hands lazily traced the sides of your body, ending up the swell of your breasts. “My baby’s so sexy.”

You preened at his words. Back to straddling him, his cock still in your hand, you began to lower yourself onto him. Mingyu dragged out a long groan as you lowered yourself to the base of his cock at an achingly slow pace. You swirled your hips, enjoying the sensation of him literally stirring your insides.

Fatigue had Mingyu’s arms fall back to his sides, and he watched you with bleary eyes. If he wasn’t careful, he would’ve drooled. Every stroke you made on his cock had him panting audibly. “Yes, baby. Use me. Use me.”

The words caused a hot flush of desire to run through your body, top to bottom. You pushed the hem of Mingyu’s shirt upwards to reveal his toned stomach and ran your fingers over every ridge, the sensation making him shiver.

“So deep Gyu, so full,” you whimpered. 

“I told you that this is the hottest thing ever.” Mingyu looked up at you with a toothy grin. “Waking up to the most gorgeous girl in the world, so needy for me that she uses me when I’m sleeping… You’re making my dreams come true, angel.”

His words spurred you on, and you could feel your incoming climax. You fell onto him and buried your face into the crook of his neck, your favorite place. You almost wanted to cry from the pleasure. “I’m so close to coming.”

Mingyu turned his head to kiss your jaw. His hand cradled your head, the fingers carding through your hair. His breath was warm as he groaned right into your ear. Your pussy clenched at the feeling of it. “Please, baby. I want to feel you soak this cock with your pussy. I need you to use me like a toy.”

“My toy,” you mumbled thoughtlessly.

“Yes angel, your toy. All yours.” With your head buried into his neck, you didn’t witness Mingyu’s face scrunching up in pain. His jaw was clenched. He was so close to coming, but he needed you to come first. He wanted to be good for you. “Make that pretty pussy cum with my cock baby. Then I’ll fill you up.”

“Yessss,” you hissed and rode him harder and faster. Your head was spinning, and in your gut that knot that built up with every stroke on Mingyu’s cock started to unravel. You trembled on top of him, and your sweet moans caused Mingyu to start chasing his own release.

He held onto your hips as he planted his feet on the mattress and started thrusting upwards into your heat. Like a madman, he moaned deliriously. They were long, dragged-out raspy groans and pants that matched each thrust. The onslaught of his movements had you moaning desperately, and the sound was music to his ears. Such soft moans that contrasted with the deep bass of his groans.

“Cum with me Mingyu,” you rasped, bouncing on his hips with as much fervor as him.

He nodded like an obedient puppy, so desperate to please you. He pulled you back down towards him to make your foreheads meet. Mingyu loved looking into your eyes, loved being so close that he could melt into you. He loved the way your hair created a curtain around yourselves. It was only the two of you in that moment.

His head tilted back as his lips searched for yours. You met his lips, and allowed your release to take over. Mingyu held your head in place as you moaned into his ear, causing him to tip over the edge with you.

He pistoned himself faster into you as your legs gave out. You heard him babble nonsensical things as his bliss took over. He mumbled something about how much he loved your eyes, and your hair, and how cute you were. He loves you, he loves you, he loves you. His other arm, which was wrapped around your waist, tightened while he gave three final strokes. You felt it, the warmth that filled your core and heard his moans fill the room.

Soon enough the room fell quiet agin, leaving just your heavy breathing. Mingyu looked up at you in wonder. His fingers pushed your hair back to gain a better view of your beautiful, flushed face. “We should do this every night.”

Smiling to yourself at the thought, you cleaned yourself up. Once you returned, Mingyu had already wiped himself down with a tissue, and fixed his clothes. You opened your mouth to say something before noticing the soft snores that came from him. He must’ve been really tired, or you literally sucked the life out of him like an actual succubus.

As you clambered back into bed, and wrapped your body around him like he was a body pillow, you decided you would have to make an extra strong cup of coffee for him in the morning.

[petraforgedyke]

i’m seeing a lot of fear today about Tumblr Shutting Down (Real) (Actually True) today and let peepaw seg tell you a story

i’ve been on this webbed site for fifteen years, believe it or not, since way back in the days of Tumblarity. now i was but a wee lad at the time, so i don’t remember the fine details, but rest assured, it doesn’t matter much for the story i’m about to tell you.

you see, i remember when tumblr was owned by tumblr. folk called its ceo (david karp) “daddy”, and were enthusiastic about his communications, even if on our own blogs, we’d bitch and moan about tumblr making changes to things we were used to. i remember the hubbub when tumblr removed tumblarity, and how this was surely going to be the end of tumblr.

all those fifteen (though it might be sixteen) years ago.

layouts changed, and we’d bitch and moan, and tumblr’d get sold, and we’d know for sure that This Was The End Of Tumblr, For Real This Time. this happened again and again and again, because this webbed site, you see, it makes no money, and companies, greedy things as they are, like money.

the porn ban, under the reign of YaHoo that was, was seen as another death knell. tumblr was going to die, for real, for sure, and i’m not proud to say that i was one of the ones who fell for it. peepaw seg needed to sow hir wild oats on other platforms.

now, i say this happened under yahoo, but it’s important to remember that this ban came in the wake of both the apple app store banning the tumblr app on account of real life csem being hosted on tumblr, and the new usamerican law SESTA-FOSTA being implemented, which made it so that companies such as tumblr would have to moderate the explicit content on them to make sure none of it breached sesta-fosta. tumblr, being a small fish in the grand scheme of thing, didn’t warrant that amount of financial effort on yahoo’s part, as the site was still not making any money, and it’s easier and cheaper to blanket ban than it is to moderate. all this to say, it’s important to vote, because if you don’t, your internet freedom will be curtailed.

and now we’re here, some sixteen years on, and i’ll say automattic has been not all good, but definitely not all bad for the site. they changed stuff we liked to our discontent (layouts), and added stuff we hated (live), but they also gave us stuff we like (polls) and an amount of open communication about tumblr’s inner workings not seen since the days of david “daddy” karp. and now they’re putting just a skeleton crew on the tumblr project.

and that’s going to be The End Of Tumblr For Sure For Real Actually This Time. Really. Promise. Abandon Ship.

and we come to the crux of this story.

which is that this has happened before, and it will happen again, because tumblr is surprisingly immune to making any money.

what we’re likely to see in the coming time is no new features (that’s reserved for projects that make money), and an increase in ads, until one day, and this might be in a few months, and maybe in a few years, there’ll be an announcement that tumblr’s been sold to one direction to a new company.

and we’ll start the whole rigmarole again. and this company might be good for tumblr’s userbase, or it might go against everything the tumblr community holds dear. no way of knowing which way it’ll go.

until one day, some parent company will have had enough, and will pull the plug.

but for now… well, i’m gonna sit here on my porch (blog), and we’ll see what happens. i'm not worried, tumblr’s survived worse things.

[bwabys-scenarios]

A familiar werewolf

Part 1

Werewolf!Kurapika x Witch!Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

A/N: This is supposed to be an AO3 exclusive, but I decided to post the first part here in case y’all like it. I WILL ONLY CONTINUE TO POST THIS SERIES HERE IF THIS PART DOES WELL! If you want me to continue posting this on tumblr, COMMENT, LIKE, REBLOG!

if you’d like to be ADDED to the taglist, please comment a red heart ❤️, make sure you’re able to be tagged/mentioned, and have your age in your bio(IF YOU ARE ALREADY ON THE TAGLIST, YOU DON’T NEED TO ASK TO BE ADDED AGAIN!!)

It was finally spring, a time where flowers bloomed and the snow melted away to reveal all kinds of herbs and plants for the little witch (Name) to gather.

Today she was doing just that, gathering herbs to begin making more potions. Through the winter, her stock of salves and potions had grown smaller and smaller, until she only had a few left.

(Name) had customers that would be coming by any day now to buy her goods, so she was determined to go out and hunt for all the ingredients she would need.

She was a good witch, focusing on healing salves and helping the villagers nearby. It was partially out of the goodness of her heart, and partly because she wanted to keep a good relationship with the townspeople so they didn’t grab their pitchforks and torches to chase her out of town with.

So (Name) grabbed her hat, wearing a thick pair of boots to protect her feet from the thorny vegetation. She was always careful when visiting the forest. After all, there were rumors that many magical beasts made it their home.

Along the path, she spotted small clusters of mint, frowning. “Mint is so invasive, I thought I told the villagers not to plant it in the ground…”

(Name) did her best to dig up and pick what she could, then moved on along the path. Mushrooms, herbs, and pretty rocks all found a new home in her basket. After searching for a while, she wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘Hmm… I should still have some time to go by the lake before I go home… I wonder if anything is growing near the water's edge..?’

(Name) stepped on a branch as she neared the lake, ready to search for aquatic plant life and maybe even find a good spot to go fishing!

But before she could get too close, (Name) heard a loud howl that made her freeze in her tracks. When she turned, she spotted it.

There was a large, golden wolf near the water’s edge, its ears pinned back and snarling. From the water dripping from its furry chin, the witch assumed it had just been drinking from the lake before she interrupted it by making noise.

She was quick to hold up her hands in a sign of surrender, talking in an even voice. “Easy, boy, I’ll go,”

Backing up slowly, (Name) made sure not to meet the wolf’s eyes, though she did notice they were a sparkling shade of scarlet she had never seen before.

The beast huffed, watching her for a moment longer before turning back to drink. Once it did, she broke out in a sprint, her basket held firmly against her chest. (Name) knew the forest wasn’t exactly safe, but she had never encountered a wild animal besides some chipmunks and bunnies.

‘I’ve never seen a wolf with that coloration before…’ (Name) thought, putting away her foraged goods once she arrived home. ‘Maybe it’s an albino or something? But wouldn’t it’s fur be more white then?’

Despite being a little afraid, (Name) couldn’t get her mind off of the wolf she had seen before. It was easily the top predator in the forest, yet it only gave her a warning growl before minding its business again. Was that normal wolf behavior? She had no idea.

‘I’m thinking too much…’ (Name) thought, changing into her pajamas. ‘I need to sleep, or I’ll be late to the coven meeting tomorrow…’

Turning over, (Name) wondered what exactly she would even speak about during the meeting. She wasn’t exactly the most confident witch, often being spoken over or ignored due to her shy nature. No one would think she was the very first apprentice Biscuit Krueger, the head of the very coven (Name) was a part of.

‘I may have been her first apprentice, but I’m definitely not her best. Gon and Killua have me beat for sure…’ she thought, rolling over onto her side to stare out of the window.

Through the gaps in the curtains, she could see the moon shining up above, big and full. It’s light bathed her in a soft glow, and made her feel both rejuvenated and relaxed.

‘It’ll be okay… after all, I have friends there. Everything should… be fine…’

(Name) drifted off to sleep, the last image on her mind before she was taken to slumberland being the golden wolf peering at her with those scarlet eyes.

—————

(Name) packed a small basket full of jams and jellies, humming a tune as she carefully stacked a small jar of syrup on the top. “I know Menchi won’t be there to day, but Bisky loves my jams and jellies. Hopefully I’ll actually have a chance to speak with her…”

Bisky, being the head of the coven, was always busy. She was usually stuck talking with several other witches about various topics, or leaving early to conduct business with other covens. Getting the opportunity to talk to her was rare enough, but being able to sit down and have a conversation was nearly impossible, especially these days.

There had recently been several cases of witches and their familiars disappearing, or even familiars turning in their masters and killing then, so Bisky was especially busy dealing with the aftermath.

Each witch had a familiar bestowed upon them during a ceremony after becoming a full fledged witch. Some even had two or three, and witches with high status and great power possessed up to 10 familiars.

And there was (Name), with no familiar at all. At the ceremony, the wizard conducting it simply turned her away, saying she was not yet ready to become the master of familiar. Every other witch present had received their lifelong friend, while she went home empty handed.

It was lonely, all on her own. Watching the other witches go about their lives with the help and support of their familiars made her feel awfully… jealous. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed harboring, so (Name) tried her best to be positive!

Bisky herself had said that it wasn’t unheard of for a witch to not receive their familiar during the bonding ceremony.

“Some witches just haven’t found their match yet, or perhaps they haven’t really found their true selves,” Bisky had said after the ceremony, in hopes of comforting (Name).

(Name) huffed, loading her basket onto her broom. “So much for being a late bloomer. It’s been nearly five years since I became a full fledged witch, and still nothing! No familiar, not a cat or owl, not even a frog! Hell, I’d settle for a tarantula at this point!”

She flew over the forest, tilting her head when she spotted a spot of gold walking slowly near the lake. (Name) flew a bit lower, her eyes widening when she spotted the same wolf she’d seen the day before.

This time, it seemed to be walking with a bit of a limp, a small trail of blood behind it. Her heart ached to see an animal in such pain, so she landed a safe distance away from it.

“Hey there, pup.”

The wolf stiffened, quickly turning its head to growl lowly at her. (Name) held up her hands, her broom floating behind her in case she needed a quick escape.

“Woah, easy. You’re hurt, and I can help you if you’ll let me.”

She didn’t know why she was talking to it, but she kept it up. “There’s no need to be afraid, sweetheart. Shh…”

The wolf’s ears flattened against its head, and it began to bare its teeth. (Name) yelped when it began to approach her, jumping on her broom just in time to escape its jaws. It snapped at her broom bristles, but she was thankfully in the air by then and bar away enough from its jaws to not get hurt.

But… the wolf didn’t seem to be trying too hard to chase her. (Name) had a feeling it wasn’t actually attacking her, more so just trying to scare her away.

She frowned as the wolf became a small speck, her heart hurting for the poor thing. (Name) hoped that the poachers that her fellow witches had chased out from the forest years ago weren’t back.

‘I’ll have to talk to Bisky about it… if I can talk to her that is.’

—————

(Name) landed in a vast meadow, wild flowers of various kinds softly swaying in the spring breeze. She took a moment to relax, bending down to pick a daily and place it in her basket.

‘Oh, I always forget where the doorway is…’ she thought to herself as she held out the stick end of her broom to feel around. When it bumped off of something solid, she grinned.

“There it is!”

(Name) reached forward and patted the surface until her hand landed on a doorknob. She turned it, and walked forward.

The empty flower field was replaced with a dark forested area, with lampposts leading down a snowy, worn down path. She could see the moon shining down through the canopy, filtered by the thick leaves until only small rays of light were visible.

‘I see the meeting is being hosted in the northern lands this time…’ she thought, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. The northern lands were often cold, even when spring came, snow still covered the land.

Each meeting was hosted in one of the four sectors of the world, North, South, East, and West. The north was her least favorite, due to the cold weather and people. The citizens of the north were often blunt and rude, having to time for warm pleasantries.

(Name) lived in the southern lands, where the weather was always warm and pleasant. Even the most severe winters in the south were not as cold as the northern spring.

She spotted the soft warm glow of a candle shining from a canon window. ‘There it is!’

(Name) opened the cabin door, revealing a bustling meeting hall. Witches all ages and genders walked around, speaking to one another and trading goods.

“(Name)!”

The woman yelped when she was tackled to the floor, knowing instantly who had done it.

“Gon, what did I tell you about jumping on her like some wild animal!?”

“Gon, Killua…” she smiled as she watched Killua drag his friend off of her, pinching his cheek.

“Hi, (Name)! It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to see you!”

She laughed, ruffling their hair. “Yeah, nearly three months. You weren’t able to attend the last few meetings due to Bisky’s training, right?”

The two shuddered. “Uh… we’d rather not talk about that.”

(Name) could remember her own training, which would have been way less intense than theirs due to her weaker body. Even so, she collapsed nearly every day from exhaustion, so she could only imagine the horrors they had endured.

“Ah… okay, how about you show me how your training has been coming along then?”

The three sat in an empty room as the two showed her new, complex spells they had learned. Killua was able to summon lightning and use it as a weapon, while Gon was able to harden his body. Both were spells even she couldn’t do.

“Oh wow, you’ve grown so much! Maybe that training was worth it then?”

Killua groaned. “Barely, I didn’t think we were going to survive another day of it.”

“Aww, it wasn’t that b- no, actually it was that bad. But I’m still grateful Bisky taught us so well!” Gon replied, giving her a smile.

She gave them both a hug. “I’m proud of you both. You should really come visit me sometime. Spring is here, so you can go play in the forest. There a lake~”

This excited the two, who both enjoyed swimming. “We'll definitely be coming by this summer!”

Before they could speak anymore, they heard a bell chiming. “Oh, we’ll talk later. The meeting is about to start!”

(Name) took her seat near Bisky. As her first apprentice, she had to be at Bisky’s side for every meeting. That didn’t mean she got Bisky’s attention, though. She couldn’t blame her mentor, for she was the leader of this coven.

“Hello, my friends. Our monthly meeting has begun, and I will announce any upcoming events before opening the floor for discussion.”

(Name) looked around the room, unsurprised when she saw multiple witches waiting impatiently for the floor to be open.

It was mostly the same elderly witches that always had some mundane problem… but what was surprising was Neon, one of the fledgling witches that hadn’t yet gotten her familiar, anxiously tapping her well manicured nails against the oak table.

“And with that, the floor is open to discussion.” Bisky said after finishing her announcements. Neon was quick to speak up, interrupting an elder.

“Some creature has been lurking in the south, killing my father’s livestock and scaring what it doesn’t eat half to death! It’s some kind of magical beast, I already did the identifying spell and it’s either some type of fae or a…”

She trailed off, her face going pale. Bisky raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “A what, Neon?”

“A… a werewolf.”

The sound of gasps and whispered conversation filled the meeting hall, only silenced when Bisky held up her hand to motion for the noise to cease.

“And you’re sure that’s what the spell said?”

Neon nodded, standing up to offer her grimoire. Bisky’s eyes scanned it, then she sighed heavily. “I see…”

(Name) frowned deeply, glancing from Neon to Bisky. She knew that Neon lived only half a day’s walk from her home, meaning if there was a werewolf causing trouble for her, it could potentially move onto (Name).

“As we all know, magical beasts are drawn to witches due to their magical power. This is good when it comes to making friends or getting a familiar, but leads to some… detrimental outcomes when the wrong creature gets attracted. And with the recent uptick in werewolf based attacks, I wouldn’t doubt this has troubled you, Neon.”

Bisky stood, walking around the table. “But be that as it may, werewolves are not evil in nature. They are simply beings that are different from us, and can be reasoned with and befriended just like most magical beasts.”

One witch scoffed. “Miss Bisky, with all due respect, all witches know werewolves are dangerous beasts that deserve to be put down to keep ourselves safe. I mean, haven’t the last three witch deaths been caused by werewolves?”

Bisky scowled. “That’s the kind of attitude that causes entire species to go extinct. A few werewolves have done wrong, yes, but how many humans have killed each other or other creatures? Do we all deserve to die due to the actions of a few individuals?”

The witch who spoke up immediately shrunk into herself, grumbling under her breath. (Name) noticed that several other witches also looked displeased with Bisky’s words, but said nothing.

“Neon, I’ll send you home with a spell that will ward off any fae or werewolves. It’s easy, and very effective.”

“Thank you, Bisky!”

The woman turned to the rest of the coven. “Now, what else needs to be discussed?”

———————-

“I respect Miss Bisky’s opinion, but werwolves are dangerous beasts!”

“I know, right? My friend’s cousin’s aunt’s stepbrother was killed by a werewolf!”

“And I heard that once a werewolf has seen you, it’ll tell its whole pack to come and eat you!”

“Oh that’s not the half of it! I heard-“

(Name) rolled her eyes as she passed by a group of gossiping witches, ushering Killua and Gon away. “Don’t listen to them, I’m sure not a single one of them have ever even seen a werewolf in person.”

“Have you, (Name)?”

(Name) paused when Gon asked her that innocent question, sighing softly. “Yes, once before. It was only for a moment while Bisky went to meet with one for a trade. It gave her some of its fur for a potion in exchange for a protection spell.”

“So… it didn’t attack you or Bisky?”

“Nope, so don’t listen to those witches. Not one single creature is the exact same as its kin. Some are more peaceful, some are violent, just like with humans. Once people come to accept that, we could possibly form an alliance with the werewolves.”

Killua huffed, digging in her satchel. Once he found what he was looking for, a bag of handmade candy, he swiped it. “Hey, you remembered to bring it!”

“Of course I did, silly. It’s your favorite.”

Killua popped one of the candies into his mouth as they walked, humming in delight. Gon grabbed one too. “Did you get to talk to Bisky, (Name)?”

The woman sighed, handing out her jam and syrup to a few witches she traded with. “Not yet, but I hope I’ll be able to catch her before she leaves. You know Bisky, she’s always busy.”

“You’re not wrong, but today I have a little bit of time to spare.”

The three jumped when they heard Bisky’s voice from behind them. “Bisky!”

(Name) jumped into her arms, easily being held up by the seemingly young looking girl. Everyone in the coven knew that Bisky was much older than she seemed, but little knew of her immense physical strength.

“Oh, (Name) my dear, you’ve gotten a bit bigger haven't you? It feels like just yesterday I was carrying you home from the orphanage and giving you your first wand.”

“B-Bisky! That’s embarrassing…”

The woman laughed, setting (Name) down. “Alright, alright… what is it you wanted to talk about, dear?”

(Name) gave Bisky a shy smile, handing her the jams and jellies she brought for her. “I wanted to give your u these and ask how the situation with the rogue familiars has been going.”

Bisky stiffened, glancing to the two boys before digging. “Come, (Name). Let’s discuss things in private.”

With a wave of her wand, (Name) and Bisky were transported to a vacant room. Bisky made sure the door was closed before beginning to speak in a hushed voice.

“I didn’t want to scare anyone, so I’ve been keeping some of the information private. But…” she sighed, looking out the window, into the snow. “Every single familiar that attacked their witch was a werewolf.”

(Name)’s blood ran cold at the revelation, her eyes widening as Bisky turned to meet her gaze. “Every single one? That’s…”

“Unusual, I know. Werewolves in and of themselves are rare to have as a familiar because they’re reluctant to be bound to a witch… so the fact that each familiar was a werewolf is suspicious.”

“What could be the motive? I find it hard to believe a familiar would just kill its master like that! In all of witch history, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Bisky opened her own grimoire. “I agree with you, it is hard to believe. But the detection spell pointed to each familiar being a werewolf. We have yet to find and question any of the suspects due to them fleeing the scene once the bond to their master was broken…”

(Name) frowned deeply. “And with what Neon said today, if this news got out, the entire coven will be in hysterics. There will be werewolf hunts and-“

“That’s why they can’t find out. You are the only person outside of my trusted inner circle that knows of this, (Name).”

She looked at Bisky, confused. “But why would you tell me, Bisky? I’m not as strong or intelligent as others, so why would you give me this information and not someone more qualified?”

Bisky smiled at that, chuckling. “That, I cannot say my dear. You are destined for great things, and I just want you to be informed so when it’s time for you to make decisions… you’ll have all the information you need to make the right choice.”

“That’s really cryptic, Bisky.”

The older woman only smiled, beckoning her to follow. “Come, I must take my leave. Let’s walk and talk.”

The two continued to chat as they walked towards the entrance of the cabin. “I’ll send you home with a spell, dear. It is quite late in the southerners sector by now, hmm?”

(Name) nodded, grabbing hold of her broom.

“Oh, and (Name)?”

She looked up as Bisky raised her wand. “Yes?”

“Kindness and patience is always key.”

With that, she was sent home. She appeared in her cottage, the fire lighting the second she stepped close.

“I wonder what she meant by that…”

———————

(Name) brushed off her dress, staring out into the forest. She really had to go back into the forest to gather supplies… but she was worried she would encounter that wolf again.

With a sigh, she pocketed her wand and carried her broom. They were just there in case she sensed any danger. Unfortunately, she wasn’t great with defensive or attack spells, it was why she took to healing magic and concoctions instead.

But she knew a few illusion spells that may buy her some time to escape… hopefully those would work.

(Name) walked along the work down path, much more alert than usual. She listened for the sounds of the forest, making sure to listen for any branches snapping or leaves rustling.

She was able to make it back to the lake with no problems, sighing in relief. There, she unloaded her jars from her basket and began placing shells, underwater plantlife, and some of the nutrient rich soil to add to her garden.

Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched from a distance, a pair of scarlet eyes following her as she walked along the lake’s edge.

Once she finished, (Name) was surprised to see the wolf with the golden coat standing only a few meters away from her. Although it growled when she moved, it made no other signs of aggression, only watching her… as if it was curious.

“Hello, again…” (Name) said softly, staying still as it approached. She kept her hand in her pocket on her wand, but began to relax. It only circled her, chuffing when it moved behind her.

She tensed, but relaxed again when it appeared on her left side. It was inspecting her, sniffing her… was that normal behavior for a wild animal?

Its scarlet eyes focused on her, and she noticed it still had that slight limp when it walked. “Are you… injured?”

As if it could understand her, the creature tensed, the fur on its back rising. “Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Taking a chance, she slowly reached out her hand to place it on its head. She had a connection with animals, having rehabilitated many woodland creatures. A wolf couldn’t be that different, right?

Well, she was wrong. The beast growled before snapping its jaws at her hand, barely missing her fingers. It then ran away, slower than it usually would be due to its injured paw.

Her heart hurt from the sight. Had it been trying to ask her for help? It was possible the poor thing was someone’s pet that had been let go after learning how hard it was to take care of a wolf. Maybe that’s why it was both comfortable around humans and also weary of them?

(Name) made a decision that day. She would gain that wolf’s trust, and maybe… even make it her familiar.

———————

As the days turned into weeks, (Name) visited the forest every day she could. She saw the wolf often, sometimes from the corner of her eye, and sometimes it came in direct contact with her.

She always sat patiently, letting it come to her. (Name) had learned her lesson, and eventually she was able to sit in silence with the wolf by her side as she did mundane tasks like cleaning out her jars or sewing by the lake.

It had yet to let her touch it, but she didn’t mind. She would get it to trust her… it needed medical attention, more than she thought. It was scrawny, hungry looking, as if it was having trouble hunting by itself.

She started bringing out raw meat from the market and leaving it by the lake for it, and when its condition started to improve slowly, she knew that it was eating.

Once she started feeding it, the wolf began trusting her a great deal more. It now followed her down the pathway when she walked home, a slight sway in its tail.

She was making great progress, and the two seemed to have a mutual trust that neither would hurt the other. Every time she came to the lake, it was waiting there for her. It would eat, then sit nearby as she did what she needed to do, then walked her home. It had become her routine.

That’s why it surprised her when it wasn’t there when she came.

“Pup?”

(Name) called for it, patting her thigh and whistling. Usually it would have come to greet her by now…

The silence in the forest was almost eerie, as if everything was holding its breath. There was no birdsong, no squirrels skittering from tree to tree… just silence.

“Something is wrong…”

It was growing dark, and she was hurrying back as quickly as she could. (Name) had heard from some other forest dwelling witches that when the sounds of the forest stopped, that meant there was a large predator around, something that made the squirrels and birds hide in fear.

Had the wolf gone into hiding too?

She didn’t have to wonder for long. As she neared her cottage, her eyes widened in horror. There were bloodied paw prints leading down the stone path to her front door, and laying on her doorstep was the golden wolf.

It panted loudly, its fur matted with blood. (Name) immediately kneeled at its side, trying to hold back tears. The injured paw was trapped in a bear trap, and it had gashed on its belly and back… as it had been attacked with a knife…

When it growled at her touch, she simply shushed it. “Shh, shh, I’m here. You came to my home for a reason, right? I can help you…”

Although it still snarled and yelped as she hoisted it into her home with great effort, it made no attempts to sink its teeth into her flesh.

As soon as it was inside, she summoned as many bandages as she could, along with a metal bar to help her pry the bear trap off.

“This is going to hurt, pup. Don’t bite me…”

The wolf laid its head down, as if telling her it trusted her to help. It growled and snarled in pain as she pried open the bear trap. Once its paw was free, she examined the damage.

His paw was barely hanging on… thankfully she focused on healing magic. She was able to reattach his paw and clean the wound, bandaging it before moving onto the gashed on his body.

(Name) collapsed in exhaustion after hours of working on the wolf. Her efforts had paid off, as it was now sleeping peacefully by the fire.

‘At least one of us is able to sleep…’ she thought, rising from the couch to wash the blood from her hands. She’s exhausted all of her magic saving the wolf’s life, which worried her slightly. That meant if it were to attack for any reason, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

After much thought, she realized that even if it wanted to hurt her, it would be unable. The thing couldn’t stand, much less leap out and attack her, so she decided to sleep next to it… just to watch over it, of course… the fact that it was so soft and warm had nothing to do with it…

———————-

(Name) woke up in the early hours of the morning, the sun not even up yet. She could have only been asleep for a few hours, as the fire was still going…

She sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes… but paused when she took a second look at the fire.

She hasn’t remembered putting that second log in the fireplace… before she slept, she had even cursed herself for not doing so.

(Name) felt a chill run up her spine and immediately turned to see if the wolf was okay… but instead of seeing its beautiful golden fur and large form m, she was met with something much smaller hidden under the blanket…

Smaller, but still bigger than her, whatever it was wriggled the second she spoke. “U-um…”

She expected the wolf to perhaps be some kind of magical beast that turned into something smaller when injured to conserve power… and she wasn’t that far off.

When she pulled back the blanket, instead of a furred creature, she came face to face with a handsome… man?

“… hello…”

For finding a man in the place of the injured wolf she saved, (Name) took the situation well. And by well, she screamed and scooted away, wielding her wand.

“W-who are you and what did you do to that wolf!? Are you some kind of poacher? A pervert? A poaching pervert!?”

The person squinted at her, sighing. “No… I’m neither of those… I-“

He winced in pain, whimpering as the blanket fell around him. (Name)’s eyes went wide as she saw the bandages decorating his form, the same ones she had applied to the wolf last night…

The things that finally clued her in were the wolf ears perched atop of his blonde head, and tail limp on his back.

“Y-you’re…”

“A werewolf…” he muttered, his ears flattening against his head. “You… helped me, and… I understand if you no longer want to help now that you know what I am. I simply ask that… you let me recover until I am able to move…”

She swallowed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what you are. You’re hurt, and I won’t let you suffer.”

The man looked on in mild shock as she helped him onto the couch. “This should be more comfortable… I’ll need to redo your bandages soon…”

The man watched her work silently. She redressed his wounds with a skill that was uncommon for women in their era. Once she was done, it was only then that her eyes trailed down his torso to look for anything else that she may have missed when his thick fur was in the way…

“Oh.”

Her face warmed, her eyes going wide.

He was completely and utterly nude, barely covering his groin with the blanket. His wolf ear twitched as she turned away, flustered.

‘I forgot, werewolves lose their clothing when they turn…’

For now, she simply covered him with a blanket, too tired to do anything else. With that, she left him to sleep on the couch and headed to bed.

‘What am I going to do? There’s a werewolf on my couch, right after Neon mentioned one eating her livestock. Is it the same one..? Could it… be connected to the familiars going rogue?’

She sighed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. ‘Well, whatever the case is, it’s my responsibility now. I decided to save its life, and I don’t regret it. Once it’s back to full health, I’ll think of what to do…’

With that decided, she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from her long day.

———————

In the living room, the werewolf stared up at the ceiling, his head filled with the images of the events he had been through.

‘I thought they lost my trail… those damn poachers will do anything to complete their collection…’

His heart ached to think of his clan, their coats skinned from their bodies after they were forced to transform and fight each other for their captors’ amusement. It made his blood boil to think of how scared the pups must have been, how the elders must have died comforting them with their final breaths, just for all of their words to mean nothing in the end.

He hated humans and their endless lust for money and power. For years he had avoided human contact, stued in his wolf form and attacked anyone that came near in fear of being hurt again…

That was until he met her.

Even before they officially met, he had been stalking her through the woods for months. At first, he had planned on killing her and taking over her cabin for himself. In his mind, it was only fair. Humans killed and stole from nature every single day, honestly he thought he was doing the world a favor taking one of them out.

But (Name) wasn’t like other humans. Every day, he watched her take only what she needed, and left behind gifts for the fairies and animals. She tended to the wounded creatures and made sure she never over stayed her welcome.

It would be dishonest to say he likes her, but she was the closest thing to tolerable a human could get in his eyes. So when he met her, he found himself unable to hurt her.

Though at first he kept his distance and attempted to bite her if she strayed too close, he never intended to actually hurt her. If he wanted to, he could have easily tore into her throat and feasted on her flesh… but he didn’t.

This human, this girl had become something akin to a friend to him. Despite his hatred for her kind, he couldn’t help following after her and staying by her side. It felt soothing, safe… almost familiar in a way. It reminded him of when he was just a pup and would follow behind his mother while she hunted or gathered ingredients for dinner.

So when he was attacked by the very poachers that killed his family, he escaped with only one thing in mind.

‘I have to find her!’

He followed her scent, barely dragging his wounded hide to her home and collapsing on the front step. He never would have thought that he would trust a human to help him, not after what he had been put through.

Even now, as he laid there powerless and unable to move, his mind was still conflicted. Was this really okay? Could he truly rely on this human to tend to him when he was utterly defenseless?

‘It doesn’t really look like I have much of a choice…’

Winning his trust would not be easy, but if she could… (Name) would gain a loyal companion.

Only time could tell what would become of these two…

[slythereen]

Hello there!

I’m new to f1 and Lestappen.

Is there a Charles and Max master post somewhere with their history? I keep hearing about the social media unfollowing and podium walk off and want all the tea and timelines.

Basically all I know about is the inchident.

Many thanks!

hello and welcome!! my scholarship (read: obsessively reblogging things or bookmarking them thinking i'll actually find them again later) tends to be VERY chaotic, but i know there are definitely compilations out there. i've read some great ones.

nini (@scuderiafemboy) has a LOT of lore content on tumblr and twitter & does a lot of translating of dutch interviews/manages to unearth old interviews all the time. the twitter thread of threads covers 2018 through june 2023! she also compiled some of the database on tumblr here.

@chibrary archives interviews, articles, etc., in glorious fashion. this is charles centric but naturally charles' history intersects with max's so there are some good pieces in there, like this 2015 article on the lestappen rivalry in karting. the #driver:max tag provides a lot of golden content (such as extended lore on the inchident!).

moments™

marginally related, but dani (lecstappens on twitter) once posted the video of max and charles being scolded and warned to behave themselves during the race following the inchident. one of my favorite pieces of lestappen info frankly... demon children. (also on posted by @il-predestinato on tumblr here. who, btw, is a gold mine of lestappen content.)

well, as long as i'm adding some favorite gems while i try to find the specific post i'm looking for... the lestappen singapore flag moment is my roman empire. i am also haunted by the awkward weather convo video. which i know is out there, but i am going crazy trying to find it.

i decided to just commit to the moments list, so here is charles drinking red bull gate 2023 (courtesy of @countingstars-17)

charles asking the tifosi to stop booing max at monza this year (@il-predestinato seriously has so much content)

this excerpt of max's manager talking about charles (@blueballsracing)

if i don't stop myself i will be here all year

more mini compilations !!

@hyacinthsdiamonds once produced a nice list of the ridiculous lore around lestappen that sounds made up

some 2021 specific "best moments" compiled by @coconutshygame

there is one post i am thinking of that touched on their wild lore/destined f1 rivalry etc. but i can't find it now so stay tuned 🫡

also, for some theorizing on the most recent lestappen debacles and what it all means with ferrari/rbr and a potential charles to rbr (ot charles to more power at ferrari) move:

@tsarinablogs is a Scholar™ with lovely essays

@valyrfia has an addition to the marketing mayhem

i recently compiled my unhinged #rbr-ferrari sticker war content to advocate for rbr charles here, which was added to by this anon with banger points

personally i use #rbr charles for the theorizing and delulu hours, but i think #lestappen rbr and #lestappen gate 2023 are also prime hunting ground for rbr specific lore

anyone who has info to share pls do ❤️ i know i'm missing loads of scholarship that is lost in the pits of my unorganized blog

[muffinrecord]

Current Plans + Musings

I don't plan on playing Exedra to the degree I did for Magia Record, or playing it at all. Because of that, I won't be taking an active role in the community and archiving anything for it. Of course, if Exedra has like amazing gameplay and stories then this is all subject to change, but for now I think I'm done with phone games.

The two youtube channels will stay up and I'll check em periodically to make sure there aren't copyright strikes against the content. I've saved all my raw files, especially for the battle animations, so I can remake them in the future if the music ever becomes a problem for some reason.

Google Drive will stay up until Google rots away. I haven't recorded footage in a long time (as in stories, I do for the character doppels and such), but I'll upload things if they're sent to me.

Magia Union Translations still plans on translating things and making videos, especially leading up to the end, but also for after the game is over for whatever wasn't made in time. I'm not sure what form this will take in the future-- if it'll be manual captions added to the videos or not, but I know it WILL happen.

As for this blog, I'm not going to delete it or anything. However I'm going to be taking a step back. I'd like to say that I'll do liveblogs but I mean... *gestures at blog* I've been saying that for years and the only one I really did successfully was the Oriko one lmao. Ahhh oh well.

I'll have more words later, but it was really fun to be part of a fandom experience like this. I'm excited to work on my own original story projects though and quiet down a bit.

...

When I started this blog, I never expected it to have people actually read it. Or look at it. I just wanted a place to gush about how much fun I was having. I didn't even want to tag the posts with "Magia Record" at first because I was terrified people would be mean at me, haha.

But I'm glad I did. I made so many good friends through this game. I'm glad it existed. And it made me happy to have a place where people cared about what I had to say. Some folks actually got their news from here, can you imagine that? They had notifications turned on for this blog. My god.

Anyways, I'm going to be here for the next two months, and tomorrow I'll start reblogging fan projects and initiatives, plus general news. Maybe this blog will turn into a dumping site for art and fanfic reblogs, who knows. I might watch the remaining stuff and add various thoughts here and there.

Otherwise, you can find me on my main blog @malignmuffin, which only reblogs stuff (I don't talk much if at all there). I have another tumblr blog for my comic, but I think I'll reshare the name once I actually have content you can look at on it. It's pretty bare bones for the moment.

Actually it'll be funny if the end of this game is what makes me finally work on it again. I was in the process of working on it when NA came out, and it totally derailed me. Stopped writing, drawing, just focused on this silly little phone game. Now it's like those five years have gone by and I'm going back to where I started, except I think my lil comic is going to be a bit better than it was before. If I actually make it, that is.

If I ever do actually make my comic and start posting it, I'll be sure to update y'all here. hah

Anyways, thanks for being on this wild ride with me. The memories have been great, and I'm glad I had this experience, even if it had to end.

[unnamedpebble]

Someone tried to climb up to the launch pad to see the new ship but didnt get very far </3

Ramblings + closeups vvv

This is once again a submission to @outerwilds-events even tho tumblr is hellbent on making me SAD and not letting me post there- For day 3 I choose the "Gossan" prompt but ig its also "hurt/comfort" if you squint, even tho its more a "little ouch/big hug" situation. Idk Gossan is one of my fav and them taking care of baby Hatchling is the cutest thing ever imo. I didn't think I'd do more than one post for the fest because I found out about it like 3 days before it's start, but I just couldn't pass the opportunity to draw Gossan again- Also like... Chewing drywall at the idea that everyone would admire Feldspar bc they're the more exuberant type while Gossan would be the one silently taking care of the future of Outer Wilds Ventures, getting the hatchlings interested in piloting, teaching them how to be safe in space and stuff- And like literally every single fanart of a member of the OWV being depicted as a parental figure makes me cry so I'm adding this to the pile- Also ??? Baby Hatchy. Need I say more ?

[bookstantrash]

A/N: okay so it’s been a good while since I’ve posted anything here on tumblr but the last year has been kinda insane as I’m nearing graduation, and my new internship is keeping me very busy.

I have two more one shots written and one half written, but after that I don’t know how long till I’m able to write again and post. Either way, I hope you enjoy this one shot!

But this love is brave and wild

Nesta had not intended to snoop through Cassian’s papers. He was — if she was honest with herself — the most organised out of them. Nesta Archeron being a messy person was something that had come as a surprise to Cassian and he teased her endlessly about it.

“I can find everything I need with no problem,” she had argued once when they were laying in bed, “therefore I am not messy. My organisation method is just different from yours General ‘I Colour Code My Folders’ Archeron”

“Whatever you say Nes,” Cassian had laughed, tightening his arms around her. Her mate, she had discovered, was an incorrigible cuddler “I still love you even if you don’t believe in the practicality of keeping things in one place”

She was always leaving books and hairpins all over the House, discarding her boots after training somewhere and forgetting to take them to their room, her notes about the Valkyries, military and Mind Stilling techniques forgotten and scattered in any surface available. The House was constantly gathering and leaving them on her desk, but it usually took her two to three days until she got the courage to sort and put them away properly.  Cassian’s tidy and neatly arranged papers — sorted by importance and filled with carefully written notes — made his desk a stark contrast to her mountain of spread out ones in her side of the room they had transformed into their study room.

They had learned early on that they would never be capable of doing any actual work in their own room when their bed was only a few steps away.

Not that they had not fucked in each and every surface of the House, their study included. It just made the temptation of being all over each other slightly smaller.

Nesta had entered the study and was tidying her desk after the House had made the bathtub water cold and dumped on top of her towel the papers she had forgotten at the dining table.

“I was going to get them later,” Nesta had said, and in turn the military book Cassian had lent her had fallen on the little floating table she used when she wanted to read in the bathtub. She had been meaning to return it to him for over a week, the book forgotten amid her pile of romance books on her bedside table.

“Fine,” she had added, “I got the memo, I will put them in the study.”

So Nesta had gotten dressed in a bathrobe — she had every intention of going back to a bubble bath as a reward for tidying up her things — reordered her romance book stack, and set off for the study, grabbing any paper she had forgotten along the way. She was putting his book on the shelf when she noticed that Cassian had a few papers outside his drawer, something unusual to him.

“I better at least put the paperweight on top of them,” she thought to herself. She did not want to mess up her mate’s drawers and folders in her attempt to clean his desk.

Cassian had left in a hurry after lunch to Illyria — Emerie, Balthazar and him were trying to transform an old property into an orphanage and residence for those who had no place to go. For now the plans were to see how things would go in Windhaven, and then replicate the same in other camps. Apparently some problems had arisen concerning the renovations and he had left to sort things out. That explained why his space was uncharacteristically ‘messy’ for his standards.

Nesta lined his pens and was stacking the papers in a pile when one in particular caught her eye. Most of them were reports regarding Illyria or the Valkyries training plans, but the small piece of paper full of bullet points and notes scribbled in a hurry was neither.

“Is this a checklist of some sorts?” she mumbled to herself, reading it. If it was, Nesta could not make sense of it, for there were sometimes only a page number and an acronym in the same bullet point — “pg. 43, UTOT” —  or phrases and even single words thrown around that made no sense — “ smell of rain”, “traditional dances”, “unicorns”, “pudding”, “peppermint”, “braids” and so on.

The list intrigued Nesta. Maybe Cassian was playing scattergories or some other game with Azriel or Gwyn again and had forgotten to throw it away. Nesta and Emerie had since long ago given up on playing with them — their competitive streak when combined was insufferable, and both girls had decided they would rather discuss their latest read than go through a discussion if “ice” could be considered a colour or not — but Cassian kept playing. According to him their bickering was amusing to watch despite the chances of him winning being rare.

Nesta wondered if Cassian had other lists somewhere, if together they could help her make sense of what they were exactly. She would have to ask him when he came back — which she hoped happened soon. It was almost time for dinner, and they always had their meals together. When they had an assignment that did not require them to stay more than a day away — Nesta had accepted the position of emissary, although she chose which places she wanted to go and with who she wanted to work with, not to say that it gave her a chance to travel for free —  they always tried to come back in time to share meals together. And Cassian had also promised to bake a cake for her, nevermind they lived in a magical house who could do it itself.

So Nesta returned to her bubble bath, the hot water making her sigh with pleasure. A book appeared on her floating table moments later.

“Is this your way of saying ‘good job’ for organising my things?” she asked the House, which made a peppermint tea appear too.

“Thank you,” she said with a smile, and the faelight near the sink glowed brighter, as if it was saying ‘you’re welcome’.

Nesta ended up staying in the bath until her fingers resembled an old lady’s and she had finished her book. It was now late afternoon and no sight of Cassian. She debated starting another book, but she knew it would make her miss her mate even more. She always pictured him as the love interest in her novels.

“Pull yourself together,” Nesta said to herself “it has been less than a day. It is not like we have to be attached to each other all the time”

Truth to be told, Nesta had become rather clingy when it came to Cassian — not as much as him, she doubted there existed someone as affectionate and tender as her mate — but after their mate and wedding ceremony she found herself more comfortable expressing her feelings. She enjoyed having lazy days where she and Cassian would stay near the fireplace — either reading or just talking — or when Cassian would try and teach her how to cook — she now managed to not burn bread but that was it. He was always touching her — a hand on the small of her back, a brush of his hand against hers when he was passing her food, intertwining their legs when they were laying down, flicking her nose when she got annoyed at him… it seemed impossible for him to keep his hands to himself. And that did not bother Nesta at all. In fact, she loved it, and she had realised that she had denied herself of love and made herself so touch starved for so long that now that she could bask in it she was becoming greedy.

For her utter annoyance, Cassian did not return in time for dinner. Nesta ended up going to Feyre’s house to have dinner, and the sight of Nyx — who had just begun to walk — cheered her up a little, as did the chocolate cookies Elain had baked, although she could not help but think about the chocolate cake she had been promised.

Cassian ended up arriving at the House very late into the night, finding Nesta on their bed buried beneath furs, even with the fire lowly crackling in the hearth.

“Hello Nes,” Cassian greeted his mate the second he stepped inside their room, leaving a kiss on top of her head to not interrupt her reading.

“You are late,” was all she said, turning a page. She had ended up choosing one of his war texts to keep herself busy, but his scrawled notes on the margins of the pages did not help her longing.

“I am sorry sweetheart,” he kneeled on the floor beside their bed, taking her free hand on his and playing with her wedding band “Things at Windhaven took longer to resolve than I had intended and Emerie and Balthazar wanted to go over some new plans”

“What can I do to make you forgive me?” Cassian kissed her fingers, giving her his best puppy eyes.

“For starters you can take a bath,” Nesta wrinkled her nose at the dried mud on his boots “And dry your hair properly, I would rather not have you winning about feeling sick later”

“As you wish, Lady Death. Even if the idea of being bedridden and having you take care of me is very tempting” he said with a wink “I will leave you to your book in the meantime.”

Cassian came back less than ten minutes later, leathers gone in favour of soft cotton pants and no shirt, drying his hair with a towel.

“Bath taken and dirty boots have been put away,” he declared, placing the towel on a chair — the House vanishing it moments later — and grabbing a comb.

He sat beside Nesta on the  bed, not having to say anything, only extending the brush in her direction. It had become natural to care for each other’s hair. Nesta still remembered the day she had asked her mate for help with the pins keeping her braid in place, Cassian almost falling in his rush to get to her. He had tenderly taken each one out, massaging her scalp later and carefully brushing her hair.

And the next time they had taken a bath together he had grabbed the shampoo to wash her hair before she could even move. Nesta had almost fallen asleep in the tub with the way he gently shampooed and rinsed her hair. Cassian had confessed to her one day that he had an unhealthy obsession with her hair.

“Oh I know,” she had said with a small secretive smile “I see how you look at me when I am braiding it”.

She also remembered the first time he had ever seen her with her hair down and had called it beautiful, making her blush furiously. And since he began taking care of it Nesta could swear that it had gotten stronger and shinier.

Considering how silky and shiny his hair was, it did not surprise her at all.

Nesta, it turned out, also had an unhealthy obsession with her mate’s hair.

She enjoyed washing and combing it, be it after a bath or after he had come back from a flight from somewhere. She enjoyed learning new braids to braid his hair, especially now that Emerie was teaching her traditional Illyrian hairstyles. She had gotten interested after she saw his hair for their wedding-mate ceremony.

“The Illyrans take great pride in their rituals,” Emerie had told her during the party after the ceremony “Back when we were constantly at war, many years ago during Enalius time, the wives of the warriors would braid tokens of good luck and protection for their husbands. Those with long hair also asked them to apply that pattern to their hairstyle, and we integrated in our culture the costume of different braid patterns depending on the occasion: wars, festivals and ceremonies such as burials and weddings”

“The hairstyle Cassian has now is the common braid style used at wedding ceremonies at Windhaven” Emerie had given her a soft smile “Cassian has no living female relatives, so he asked me to do it for him. I’ve never seen him sit so still for so long”

“Could you teach me?” Nesta had asked, feeling shy all of a sudden “I would like to learn them all so I can braid his hair… and our children’s when the time comes.”

“Of course,” her friend had said, and now whenever they had time Emerie would teach her.

Nesta slowly unknotted Cassian’s hair, and by the way he sighed she knew it would not take long for him to fall asleep.

“All done,” she declared, placing the comb near her book on the bedside table.

“Thank you, Nes” he said, slipping under the furs. He intertwined their legs, hugging her close to himself and burying his face on her neck.

Nesta sighed, instantly feeling warmer. Cassian was like a walking furnace, and even without a shirt he was way warmer than her.

“Am I forgiven now, xe nhia?” he asked, nuzzling her neck “I have bathed, dried my hair and am now fulfilling my duties as your personal Illyrian heater.”

“Perhaps.” she ran her fingers over his arm wrapped around her “You do own me a cake, which I was looking very forward to”

“What if I also made you pudding,” he began trailing kisses over her shoulder “would you like that xe r-endy?”

The terms of endearment in Illyrian made her feel so warm and giddy that Nesta almost let slide one word Cassian had said: pudding.

It was one of the words written on that piece of paper, and now she had the perfect opportunity to ask about it.

“Funny of you to ask me about pudding,” she began nonchalantly “I read something about it today”

“You did?” she could hear the surprise in his voice “Please tell me you were not attempting to cook, we all know how it went last time”

“I set fire to the kitchen one time and you never let it go,” she ruffed with annoyance “No, I did not attempt to cook. But I did find a rather interesting and confusing list with the word pudding on it.”

“What,” Cassian raised his head from her shoulder, and Nesta turned around on his arms to look at him.

“I was tidying up my things when I noticed your desk was uncharacteristically messy. I had only planned to put a paper weight on your papers to hold them down but I ended up reading your list,”

“I am sorry if I did not respect your privacy,” Nesta added in a rush, afraid Cassian might get angry “I did not mean to pry but my curiosity got the better of me and I ended up reading it.”

“I am not mad xe nhia,” Cassian said with a soft smile, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear “You are free to read any and all papers I have. I have nothing to hide, especially from my mate.”

“I am just embarrassed. That is all” he added, and she could see a faint blush dusting his light brown skin.

“Why would you be embarrassed?” she asked, furrowing her brows.

“Because,” he took a deep breath “that was one of the lists I made of topics I wanted to talk with you about. Ever since I met you back when you were human and I used to collect the queen’s letters from you, ever since then I would think of fake conversations and scenarios, building entire conversations inside my head so I could impress you with my comebacks.”

“So that time you stayed circling the house for ten minutes…” she inquired.

“I was compiling a list of chosen insults to throw your way, responses to an invented argument” he groaned, hiding his face on her shoulder “Like a complete fool.”

“You did this back when I was human?” Nesta asked, her love for her big kind hearted mate growing impossibly bigger.

“I never stopped, which might make me even a bigger fool than I was back then,” he admitted, face still hidden “Even after that, when you were Made and I used the excuse of exercising my wings to come and see you, and being together with you felt both so close yet so far given the circumstances”

“Cassian…”

“And even later, when we started living at the House and you were going through so much, trying to get better… I kept coming up with them. Topics I wanted to discuss with you, when we were together but not together. When it was just sex, and I was willing to take whatever you gave me because a little of your time, a little of you, was infinitely better than nothing at all.”

“Conversations we could have had, that I wanted us to have. Issues that I wanted to get your opinion on, if only I was not such a coward. It was always so difficult— I was so scared of ruining whatever I had managed to build with you, of losing you forever” he sighed, finally raising his head “I kept all of them. All of the lists. And I keep finding new things I want to talk with you about and since we got together it seems the list never stops growing. As if I am making up for the time lost, because now we do have that time”

Nesta did not know what to say in answer to that. Sometimes, when she had a bad day and felt like the old bitter and angry Nesta — the one who drowned her problems in alcohol and refused to let herself feel anything good at all — she had to remind herself that she was deserving of the love she had now. That she was deserving of her sisters — the old and the new ones — and of her friends and family.

That she was deserving of such a good male like Cassian. Her mate, her husband, her friend and her family.

“You can laugh if you want,” Cassian said, sounding a bit nervous about her reaction “Cauldron knows I must sound like a madman creating make believe arguments” 

“Why would I laugh when my mate loves me so much that he cannot help but think of me literally every single moment?” Nesta arched an eyebrow, letting all of her love and adoration for him shine through their bond.

“What you just said is book love interest level, Cassian” she kissed him, burying her hands in his hair “I would be a fool to laugh.”

Nesta could see the relief in his eyes and she smiled. “You can ask me anything you want to know, anytime. Especially if it means you will cook more sweets for me, xe porang termireco”

Cassian groaned, rolling them so his weight pressed her down deliciously.

“You will be the death of me, Lady Death” he whispered, nipping at her ear.

“I thought you were tired from your flight” she breathed as he started kissing her neck.

“You know what you speaking Illyrian does to me,” he argued, “especially when you call me your handsome husband ”

And Nesta made sure to call him plenty of things in Illyrian in the next hours, both of them falling asleep only when the sun was rising.

•

tag list: @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @arinbelle @letstakethedawn @katekatpattywack @nestaarcheron @imagine-me @sv0430 @starryblueskies7 @live-the-fangirl-life @valkyriewarriors @readskk @wannawriteyouabook @imwritingthesewords @rainbowcheetah512 @moodymelanist @castielspelvis

[Reblogs/likes/comments are always welcomed!!]

[television-overload]

rain

an x-files fic for scully's birthday ♡

Summary: Two agents, caught in the rain again. Mulder does what he's always wanted to do.

Word Count: 727

Tag List (let me know if you want added or removed!): @today-in-fic @agent-troi @baronessblixen @captainsolocide @cutemothman @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosas @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @slippinmickeys @teenie-xf @whovianderson

(fic below the cut if you prefer reading on Tumblr)

-.-.-

It's raining.

They're standing in a forest clearing somewhere in Arkansas, where Mulder swears he just saw some massive creature vanish into thin air, but as usual, Scully saw no such thing. The sky had opened up into a torrential downpour about 30 minutes ago, and that was when she'd officially checked out. It was his fault for telling her she wouldn't need an umbrella, she said. Her boots are covered in mud, and she's standing there looking so indignant that it's adorable. She's gesturing wildly with her hands, her mouth moving a mile a minute, and he's transfixed.

He can't hear a word she's saying, because it's raining and the time feels right.

They've been here before. In Bellefleur, Oregon. In Kroner, Kansas. Something about the rain just strips back that Scully-seriousness he knows and loves, and his mind wanders. Makeup washes away, and he sneaks a peek at the woman beneath the Agent Scully mask: Dana, with a smattering of freckles over her nose and hair that curls at the ends if she doesn't straighten it.

It's raining, the time feels right, and so he kisses her.

She's in the middle of yelling at him for bringing her out here in the middle of February, never mind that he at least took her to a warmer southern state where spring had come early. But she's yelling at him, and he just thinks she's so beautiful when she's yelling at me and he kisses her, springing toward her suddenly and catching her completely off guard.

As soon as she's within arms reach, he's pulling her to him, hands slipping over her drenched raincoat and encircling her back. He dips his head without warning and crashes his lips to hers, and it's a miracle he remains standing. The ground below him may as well be shifting in a landslide brought on by all this rain, for all he's able to steady himself.

Her lips are cold and wet from the downpour, but at the same time they're soft and warm, and he's wanted to do this for so long.

He hopes he hasn't overstepped. They've been dancing closer and closer to this point for years, and he thinks she feels the same. But he doesn't know until he feels her hand travel up his arm and find purchase on his jacket sleeve, gripping the soaked fabric tightly and not letting go.

She makes a noise, adjusting the angle slightly and then she's kissing him back, and the corners of his mouth stretch upward in an irrepressible smile. She feels it, finally pulling back with a matching expression on her lips, and he can't help it—he brings his hands up to her cheeks, brushing away rivulets of water from her skin with the pads of his thumbs. Stringy strands of hair are plastered to her face by the rain, and he brushes each one back with the utmost care and attention, until he can finally see her properly.

In the rain, she looks just as she did seven years ago in a darkened graveyard in Oregon, and it's like no time has passed at all. The thought had crossed his mind, back then. Wild and uninhibited, sprung from his own subconscious regardless of social taboos and other things that made her off-limits. She had laughed at him, and he had thought kiss her, catching even himself off guard with the sentiment.

He didn't kiss her then—he had more self control than that—but he did join in her laughter, the sound bubbling up inside him in a way he hadn't felt in so long. Like a long-dried out spring being brought back to life by the rain, she revived him, gave him new life, and he'd never felt as alive as he did with her. As he did in this moment.

He hears her laugh now, a goofy little giggle he adores so much, and he finds himself grinning, his hand tangling in the hair at the back of her head and pulling her to his shoulder.

His cheek rests against her damp hair, breathing in the scent of rain and lingering notes of her shampoo, and he closes his eyes, feeling his heart leap in his chest.

"Happy birthday, Scully," he says, and he thinks maybe next time, she won't mind the rain so much.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for deleting someone from Facebook?

➕➕➕➕ (< so I know this ask was published and not devoured by Tumblr)

Okay so buckle-up because this was absolutely wild to me and my friends. Full disclaimer first: my friends said I wasn't the asshole. However, I still would like to share this thing here.

Ages and genders ain't important. Heads up for mention of animal abuse and selfharm.

It all started when my partner asked me if it was okay for them to invite a friend to the chatgroup I created for all of our friends in common. I say yes, of course, making friends is always exciting! So their friend, J, joined. J presented themselves and we instantly started to hit it off real good, because we all had a lot in common (specially hobbies and fandoms). It was all good for about a month. J sometimes was absent in the chatgroup, but that was fine, we all had our busy lives and problems.

One day a topic regarding animal abuse was circulating on Facebook and that shit I don't like. I saw people making jokes about it. So I gave a heads up on my Facebook, that if I saw anyone sharing memes about that awful thing, I'd delete them for the time being. I reiterated that in the chatgroup, but my friends told me that wouldn't be a problem because they were also deleting and muting people for that. I ended up deleting like four people I had added, including J.

Now, I didn't consider that a problem, because like J was in the chatgroup. I was (more like I'm) really active in the chatgroup, not that so on Facebook, more of a lurker in there to see things of people I wasn't in direct contact with. I also thought that J wouldn't have a problem because they weren't that active either in their Facebook and was really rare of them to interact with me on Facebook.

After that the chatgroup went silent because we were all busy that day. But like, after one hour or so, J sent a message to the chatgroup tagging me and asking if I deleted them from Facebook. I said "yeah, I did, you shared a meme about this topic and I said both here and on Facebook that I'd delete all people doing that". It all scalated so quickly. J inmediately asked me why only them, and I said that it wasn't only them, I also deleted others... Then they told me why I was comparing them with others, that I was a "piece of shit" (citing their words) for doing so. Then, they left the chatgroup. Me and the others were... perplexed, to say the least.

Short after, a friend who was also a friend of J (not my partner), I'll call them M, said that what I did was wrong because I didn't tell I was going to deleted people. But I did, three times. One on Facebook, the post being the only one I had made for days and it was the first thing people would see if they checked my profile or were in their feed and followed me; and two in the chat, after I posted on Facebook and the clarification to J. Then M said that J was not that much on Facebook, which is exactly why I also said I was going to deleted people on the chat. M stopped responding at that for a couple of minutes. The others and I tried to relax, chaging to topic to something more cheeeful... Then M sent a screenshot of a post J made on Facebook, that said: "A person I considered a friend deleted me and I feel so bad I started cutting myself again". I and the others were like ????? What the fuck dude, why did you sent that. M said it was so that I knew how J was feeling and... Was M trying to fucking guilt-trip me? I'm still not sure.

Apparently I wasn't the only one thinking that because one of my friends asked exactly that. M said that it wasn't with that intention, that they didn't think I'd come cross as it and apologized, and that they'd talk to J to calm them down. We all said "okay, let's know how it goes".

By that time, my partner was absent in the chat, but usually that's because their low spoons to manage social interaction, and so we still chat privately. So I sent them a private message. They didn't respond, but it was fine, probably busy. Three days passes without hearing from them in private and all the others were worried too. So I asked them what was wrong, in hopes they'd answer. They did, almost right away, that they felt so so sad because of J telling them in private how awful I was for deleting them from Facebook. We talked for hours in a call to set all up.

But man, I was fucking pissed. Not at my partner, but at J. Why the fuck did they have to drag my partner into a problem that was between me and them (if we consider deleting someone from Facebook a problem + J calling me a piece of shit for doing that)?

Hours passed and M sent me a private message. First, they asked about my partner, I said they were fine. But then M dropped the real bomb: asked me if I was willing to talk to J to settle up the things between us. I was still pissed and I said no, not at the moment when they did something awful to my partner. (I still find odd that J could have send me a private message since they did block me and could unblock me, but instead sent M to ask me.) M said "okay, let me know when you feel better". I did, the next day, after talking some more with my partner and they convinced to talk with J. M said "great, I'll let them know and they'll contact you".

A week passed. No message from J. I asked M if something was wrong or what, but they said that no, everything was fine and that J probably forgot and they'd remind J to message me. Another week passed. I was at that point tired, and I let M know. The problem by me was pretty much notexistent and I already moved on and J should do the same if they were not willing to message me and if J message me, I wouldn't respond.

Well, surprise! That same day J created a group and added M, my partner and I to it to finally talk. Why the fuck did they add M and my partner? I don't know. The first thing I did after seeing that was sending a message stating what I told M in private, then I left the group. J then unblocked me and send me five paragraphs of text. I'm gonna be quite honest, I didn't read them at the time. I wasn't willing to talk to then anymore, so I repeated myself as a response to J messages and deleted the conversation.

My other friends then asked me about it and I told them all of this, and said I wasn't the asshole at all, but M had a different opinion and said I was indeed the asshole. My partner also said I wasn't the one. So... AITA?

(Postdata: I probably won't respond to any INFO. This is all the story. What thought process M and J followed I don't know. We did not have any other problems between us, all of this happened started because I deleted J from my Facebook.)

What are these acronyms?

[dandelion-wings]

I was thinking about a fic I'll never write at the barn this morning, and a line of dialogue required the name of horse breed, which led me very quickly to contemplating horse breeds of Teyvat. Which I have before! But today I got a little more in depth.

Bear with me on spelling issues, I'm on mobile and my phone can't cope with having Tumblr and Firefox open at the same time.

We are starting in Liyue, home of the Karst Pony, which is almost certainly the predecessor breed of all the others listed here and very certainly the oldest extant breed. "Breed" in fact is a loose term, as a number still live wild in the mountains of Jueyun Karst, and domestic and semi-domestic herds kept by small mountain villages (including Qingce Village) tend to have a range of characteristics as the smaller populations start to diverge--but the mountain stock never goes too far from true, as new wild stock is occasionally added either through capture to supplement others or through wild stallions wandering through. The Karst Pony is small, shaggy, sturdy, agile, and smart to a sometimes frustrating extent; they can be ridden, but not by very heavy, or armored, people, and are more often used as beasts of burden. They tend to be dun in the wild, but blacks and grays occasionally pop up, and in domestication are often bred for.

Karst Ponies are the direct ancestors of the Guili Plains Horse, bred to be larger and more refined and used for agriculture and transport on the plains back when Liyue civilization was centered there. The Archon War devastated their population and the changes in Liyuean lifestyle as they moved off the plains and prioritized trade and mining over the sort of agriculture where you need larger horses. However, they are considered a valuable part of Liyue's cultural heritage, and the last two hundred-ish remaining were seized some centuries ago by the Liyue Qixing and used as the base for a government program to revitalize the breed. Today they are primarily used by Millelith officers and couriers, but private individuals have again begun to be allowed to purchase and breed them for their own use. They are known for being steady and intelligent; the breed standard includes a notable Roman nose, and they are primarily dun, buckskin, bay, or black.

The Chenyu Draught is a bit smaller than the Guili Plains Horse, but much heavier, and was likewise bred directly from the Karst Pony; while the Guili Plains breeders wanted a more multi-purpose horse, the Chenyu breeders were aiming exclusively for a workhorse, and Chenyu Draughts are not customarily trained for riding. They are slow, steady animals known for catching a nap whenever they stop long enough, even in harness; they are primarily dun, grey, or black.

Moving on to other nations: the Fontaine Water Horse is in fact a pony by all reasonable standards, but Focalors forbid you call it that to a Fontainian's face. It may arguably be its own branch off some further-distant horse ancestor rather than a descendant of the Karst Pony, though it may also be just a very ancient offshoot, and is the only other wild breed currently extant in Teyvat. It lives wild along the shores of the many islands in southern Fontaine, and is an extremely adept swimmer, with a unique fifth gait that helps it traverse sandy shores swiftly and easily. It is very light-boned, shy and quick to startle, but, in domestic populations acclimated to humans, known to be very mischievous. All Water Horses are white, by which I mean gray (as most 'white' horses without some specific genetic stuff going on are born gray and have their coats pale over time; Water Horses pale out very quickly, within the first two years of life). Their population is a shadow of what it once was, as vast swathes were wiped out by Elynas, and it was largely preserved by a breeding program mandated by the Iudex and conducted in its later stages by Melusines, who released their end result back into the wild.

(Some say say Water Horses were different before the Melusines got involved, but no one can say how. They match the old records in every characteristic. It's just... a vibe.)

While some Water Horses have been domesticated, their size and light frames mean they can only be ridden by small children and Melusines--they are in fact the only horses who will tolerate Melusine handling--the humans of Fontaine used them as base stock to breed a larger horse called the Fontainian Pacer, so called because the Water Horse's unique fifth gait was bred for ardently and exaggerated into a much showier gait that we will call the danse. As with our gaited horses, some breeders have taken this to ridiculous heights, and thus there are two breed 'types'. the Court Pacer has an extremely exaggerated danse and is further bred for looks, being taller, thinner-boned, with a much higher-set head and tail, and often a blue-eyed cremello (one of those whites-with-genetic-stuff), though pale gray and perlino (cremello-adjacent) are both acceptable colors in show; the Classic Pacer is a bit shorter, heavier (relatively speaking, it's still very light), with a less exaggerated gait, exclusively that quickly-paled-out-grey, and overall much closer to the original Water Horse. Both types are not very bright and very flighty.

Which necessitated another, more practical breed for functional use: the Oractrice Charger was originally bred from Chenyu Draughts crossed with the Fontainian Pacer and the Mondstadt Hunter, with some Water Horse in there to get a more water-comfortable animal, though it doesn't have the unique gait and is mostly used in northern Fontaine, where horses are more useful, and as a police horse. It was in fact bred for Maison use, hence the name, though the combination of Fontaine's mekanization and the growing influx of Melusines in the government mean it's slowly been phased out. It's kept alive by rich nobles and its general popularity for outcrosses. It is a reasonably large and heavy animal, though not draft-sized, noted for its good temperament and stolid calm, though it tends to be quite stubborn. They are typically grey, black, bay, or chestnut.

Mondstadt's ancient pony breed is now extinct, but the Stormcrest Pony was definitely an offshoot of the Karst Pony, larger and with much thicker, shaggier coats to survive the pre-Barbatos wilderness. That adaptation meant they were doomed when Barbatos changed the landscape and climate, but they were the base breed, with some added Guili Plains Horse blood (and, given their coloring, probably some Desheret Red), for the Mondstadt Hunter, a medium-weight animal with a good temperament and a lot of energy. They were generally bay, brown, or chestnut, with the 'prototypical' Hunter being liver chestnut, and were bred primarily for hunting, though they were considered good all-purpose riding horses. Unfortunately, they were originally bred and primarily used by the Lawrences, and a combination of that association and a cultural shift to hunting on foot (mostly because hunting on horseback was associated with the aristocracy) led largely to their demise. The main remaining population is actually in Fontaine, where a few nobles liked the imports used to breed the Oratrice Charger enough to maintain their own small breeding programs.

Ragvindr, who I will always headcanon as the reason the Knights have a cavalry company, tried to maintain the breed, but for both political and practical reasons the Ragnvinds had to shift tacks early on. They eventually imported Oratrice Chargers and crossed them with Hunter mares, producing Mondstadt's current all-around horse, the Dawntrotter, a medium-sized animal with a steady temperament that is sturdy enough to serve both as a workhorse on the nation's wineries and a cavalry mount for armored knights. There are three breed 'types,' one nearly a draft and primarily used for winery work, one much lighter and considered an ideal riding mount, and in the middle a dedicated cavalry mount bred exclusively by three stables in Mondstadt, one of them the Dawn Winery. They are primarily bay or chestnut, occasionally brown or black.

Modern Sumeru relies upon the Sumpter Beast, which is comfortable in both jungle and desert, carries many times more than a horse does, and is a much, much easier keeper. However, the historical record makes clear that the desert civilizations once bred what's now known as the Desheret Red, a light, fast, smart, highly independent horse highly endurant in heat and desert conditions. It was exclusively chestnut and presumably contributed its blood to the Mondstadt Hunter simply because those red genes had to come from somewhere. Unfortunately, when the great desert civilizations collapsed, it dwindled into extinction. If any local wild ponies preceded them, they're not on the record, but even those would go back to imported Karst Ponies in the end.

(Rumors of blood-red 'rift horses' seen around the Tunigi Hollow are just that. No one has ever verified that they exist.)

Inazuma has imported horses over the centuries, but they've never been popular there--they don't have the terrain or, more importantly, the pasture space. Largely they've served as status symbols, and fallen out of favor amid the conservative influence Ei's policies exert. In any case, no one has made a dedicated effort to create an Inazuman breed.

Depending on their locations, I like the idea of Snezhnaya and Natlan having descendant breeds of the Stormcrest Pony and Desheret Red respectively, but we'll see! XD

[adnauseum11]

SITREP (John Price x Reader)

Dinner continues after you get a hold of your emotions.

3.6 k words

CW: mention of deceased parents.

Hopefully I slalomed through this dinner without adding too many personal details so the reader remains as much of a blank slate as possible while retaining some interesting backstory.

This work is part of the SNAFU series - most of which has been posted here and the Masterlist is pinned to my page. Due to threats from apps like lore.fm and Ai data scraping, I'm feeling less and less secure posting my work to Tumblr. I'm toying with the idea of taking it all down, although that feels a bit like closing the barn doors after the horses got out.

This will be the last chapter I post in its entirety here on Tumblr for the time being. Partial chapter updates only going forward. If you want to continue, please consider asking for an invitation from Ao3 to make an account. It's free, and then you can read anything, even the locked fics, like mine. It's worth the little bit of a wait.

link to the chapter over on Ao3

feedback welcome, let me know if you primarily read here on Tumblr or over on Ao3. I asked earlier and the responses seemed to favour Ao3. Not the case? Let me know!

sorry for folks on the taglist - let me know if this upcoming change works for you or if you'd rather not be tagged if it's not the full chapter. I'm trying some stuff out, love to have your thoughts.

You take a few long moments in front of a large gilded mirror to breathe deeply, shaking off the lingering pall of grief, occupying your hands by checking your hair and make-up. John had been out of the country when your parents had been killed, unreachable for long months while you struggled to keep your ship afloat amongst the ensuing chaos. The situation had left you de-stabilized for longer than you cared to admit, John more familiar with the aftermath – the constant fighting with David and wild emotional dysregulation that he had weathered with equanimity. You can’t help but wonder what your parents would think about you dating the man you’d been fast friends with for all these years. Would your mother think it inevitable or inconceivable that you would see John in a new light after everything you had been through? You’re touching up your lipstick when Michelle’s face appears over your shoulder in the reflection. 

“Are you ok? I’m sorry if Kate upset you. She’s prone to prying and forgets herself sometimes.”

“It’s fine, the emotion takes me by surprise every now and then. Needed a minute to get my head on straight, as John would say.”

You answer as you square your shoulders, turning to face the other woman. Michelle nods sympathetically, twisting her fingers together in front of herself.

“I’m sorry for your loss. John is pretty concerned; I think he would have come in after you himself if I hadn’t offered to come check on you.”

You give the other woman a reassuring smile, gently rolling your eyes at the unsurprising news of John’s overprotective streak. She carries on before you can make a weak joke about his hovering.

“You guys are pretty serious, hm? He didn’t call you his girlfriend when he took Kate to task about being too intrusive, he said you were his partner.”

A warmth blooms from the pit of your stomach, and you have to fight to keep your smile from growing into an inappropriately triumphant grin. John was listening after all bouncing around in your mind. Michelle follows you out of the bathroom, chatting easily.

“It’s nice to see him with someone that loosens him up. I can’t remember the last time we did something like this. There was a time where I didn’t think he would ever relax. I swear his shoulders were habitually around his ears most of the time I saw him. I’m rooting for you two.”

“Thank you, we’ve had our challenges so far but have come out the other side stronger I think.”

You squeeze John’s shoulder again as you step around his seat, his hand coming up to rest on your side protectively before you sit, his attention zeroing in on you.

“It’s alright, I was just caught off guard. Everything is fine.”

You reassure him, squeezing his wrist before his hand slips away again. Kate is contrite.

“I apologize, it was tactless to ask such a personal question.”

With a smile and a wave of your hand you try to place her at ease, not wanting dinner to grind to an uncomfortable halt.

“No, no, you couldn’t have known. Quite alright. I’m usually better behaved, I blame the red wine on an empty stomach for making me emotional.”

John huffs, having seen you far worse for wear but satisfied all is well if you still have a sense of humour. Kate’s face also relaxes into one of relief, and they both sag back into their chairs slightly. 

“Are you a cigar aficionado as well, Kate? John’s been wanting to come here since it opened.”

“Only when we’re playing poker. The ‘lil missus doesn’t like the smoke.”

Michelle takes a half-hearted swat at her wife who smiles in return, shrugging slightly as if the truth would come out regardless.

“No more smoking inside if everything works out, sorry John.”

Michelle adds with a small smile in John’s direction. He nods, as if he was expecting the news.

“Fair enough. I’m not smoking as much as I used to these days. Although I am interested to pop downstairs and see what their selection is like. I was gifted a beautiful lighter for Christmas, would be a shame to not use it a little more.”

The look John sends your way makes your skin prickle again. Not just with the desire that’s been simmering between you two all night but backed with the warmth of genuine deep-seated affection. It makes you want to crawl on to his lap and mess up his perfect tie despite all the onlookers. He reads the look on your face and the corner of his mouth quirks up. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he reaches into his inner jacket pocket, finally breaking eye contact to hand over the vintage lighter to Kate’s curious reach.

Your eyes follow it as she turns it over, examining the silver rectangle. It has a unique arm mechanism for lighting, effectively stamping out the flame when shut. It’s all hand wrought, the screws on the bottom for refilling the chambers individually made. There’s a delicate filigree up the corners, leaving the worn space in the middle empty for the engraving you had commissioned with John’s initials. John had been thrilled with your small gift, it had immediately joined his wallet and watch as an essential item he carried around every day.

“It’s a 1928 Kickstarter from Colibri. No idea where she found one in such good shape, it works like a dream.”

Kate tries the lighting arm and it swings upwards easily, a flame springing forth almost instantly. She snaps it shut again with a satisfying click and offers it to Michelle to inspect. You take a sip of your wine to avoid John’s intent gaze on the side of your face, certain that if you look over, you’ll give in to the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. You can practically feel him willing you to turn and he only relents when Michelle hands the lighter back, a knowing smile hovering at the corners of her mouth.    

“Looks like she’s got a homerun here. That’s a lovely piece, John.”

“I had to look for a while to find one in good working order.”

You supply, pleased these women who seem to know John so well are impressed with your gift.

“You know who else would appreciate that? Simon.”

Kate gestures to the lighter in John’s hand, raising her eyebrow at him in an expression you don’t understand. Michelle turns to face her wife immediately, concerned.

“Kate, no. No work stuff.”

“What? John will want to know.”

Kate’s tone is innocent, but her wife’s posture tells another story.

“Know what?”

John is cautious, returning the lighter to his inner pocket slowly, his eyes tracking from Michelle to Kate.

“He’s asked for the paperwork to be discharged; he’s going to retire. Making noise about moving back to this neck of the woods.”

John hums and his hand settles on your forearm, making you glance over at him in surprise. You’re fairly certain he’s unaware he’s reached out and grabbed you, his focus solely on Kate’s face. Kate notices the knee-jerk reaction though, and you watch her face rapidly go through a series of complicated emotions you couldn’t name even if pressed.  

“You’re right, I do want to know.”

John’s tone of voice has a measured calmness to it that belies the grip his hand has on your forearm.

“Well, this is all very cryptic. Who is Simon?”

You don’t dislodge his hand, raising an eyebrow at him when he slowly turns away from Kate to explain.

“Simon was my Lieutenant. He’s had a… rough go lately. Not surprised he’s wanting out but did he say what he plans to do?”

John answers your question broadly before directing another question back towards Kate. Michelle sighs, and you get the impression that this hi-jacking of the conversation happens more often than she condones.  

“No, not to me. Nor anyone else as far as I know. I was hoping maybe you could check in on him.”

“Hm. Yeah, could do – “

John is interrupted by dinner arriving. Everything is laid out still steaming and fragrant, fresh from the kitchen. Michelle shakes her head at the platter that is set before Kate, disbelief written across her face. John’s plate isn’t much better, the thick slab of meat before him making your eyebrows raise.

“Is this a military thing?”

You ask Michelle in a stage whisper, John letting go of your arm to attend to his enormous meal. He’s got a baked potato and lightly roasted green beans to get through as well, never mind the huge cut of meat. Kate’s lobster tail and steak take up most of the plate before her, with a potato of her own nestled beside a garden salad.

“No, it’s an excellent food thing.”

John answers, his eyes crinkling in good humour. Kate makes a sound of agreement before adding with a smile.

“And it’s a John’s paying kind of thing.”

“Kate!”

Michelle’s back to scolding her wife but John just smiles, not offended in the least.

“She’s earned it, Michelle. Don’t worry.”

“Lord help us, don’t encourage her John. I haven’t decided yet how I feel about you two not working together anymore.”

Kate smirks at that and clinks her glass against John’s, and in a flash the depth of their friendship becomes clear. You refocus on your own food, wondering again at this part of John’s life you’ve heretofore been excluded from. You soothe your slightly wounded ego by reminding yourself that John’s trying at least to bridge the formidable gap between his work life and what you consider to be his ‘real’ life. His enjoyment of the company across the table is evident to you though, giving you pause. Michelle picks up on your thoughtful turn and catches your eye as you cut into the tender side of the filet mignon in front of you.

“They’re always having side conversations, it’s insanely annoying. It was worth putting up with it to know someone out there had her back when they were working. Now, it’s just taking the piss, as you say over here.”

She narrows her eyes at John who has the good grace to look slightly chastised. Kate ignores her wife, digging into the lobster with gusto.  

“John doesn’t talk to me about his work much. It’s all classified, apparently. I just found out that you two existed the other day.”

You try to gently joke with her, brushing off the fact that you know next to nothing about John’s work other than the broadest strokes. Michelle sends you a kind look and nods in understanding while Kate stares down John over her buttered lobster.

“Field work is difficult - Kate you know that. It’s safer for everyone if there’s nothing to leverage. As recently proved.”

You barely understand the context of John’s words, leverage striking you as an odd phrase when talking about relationships. You gather he’s talking about the break-in and subsequent shit show only just recently put behind you. Kate understands his meaning straight away though and shrugs, arching a brow across the table at John who’s paused in eating his meal.

“God love ya John, you always pick the hardest possible path forward. I get where you’re coming from, just not sure on the execution in reality.”

“Could you two speak English, please?”

Michelle interjects, her eyes on your face as you quietly puzzle over the layered conversation going on. If you knew her better you would say the look on her face was sympathetic. Kate explains herself for your benefit, her eyes flicking between you and John.

“I worked with John for years and if it makes you feel any better, he didn’t tell me that you existed until recently either. He seemed to be under the impression that keeping the spheres of his life from overlapping was the safest way to operate. The idea being that it would keep you from becoming a target. I’d say forewarned is forearmed, myself. But I understand his logic. His work was dangerous.”

John’s face is suddenly serious, his hands still, waiting for your reaction. You’re trying to piece together what little you know of his work and the events of the last few months. The idea that he’d been living what amounts to a dual life is jarring for some reason. You like to think you know John well, and this night is reminding you there’s a lot you are unaware of. Kate’s revelation that she didn’t know him as well as she thought either is cold consolation.

“So, keeping everyone separate in their own little box was about safety?”

“It’s always about your safety.”

John answers and you get the impression there’s more to be said but he’s holding his tongue. You decide to leverage it out of him later. What possible danger could there be in meeting these women now that wasn’t there when he was working? You exchange a long, silent look with him that must convey your skepticism because he only physically relaxes when you eat another bite of dinner, seemingly letting it go for the moment. Kate watches the tense exchange between you with rapt interest as she polishes off the rest of her lobster and salad.

“I don’t know about anyone else, but my dinner is simply delicious.”

Michelle breaks the silence, reaching across her wife’s arm to snag her gin and tonic and take a delicate sip. You smile in appreciation at her attempt to break the newest layer of tension, Kate’s chagrined face only making your grin wider. You exchange an amused look with Michelle as she hands the gin and tonic back to her annoyed wife.

“The food is really delectable. I’m getting full but it tastes so good! I’m going to risk popping my dress.”

Michelle laughs and Kate smiles over a bite of steak.

“I know John can put away a lot of food, but these portions are massive you guys. I’m impressed.”

You continue, a hint of awe entering your tone as you watch Kate’s methodical approach to her plate.

“I suspect they don’t half-ass things around here.”

Kate supplies, looking pointedly at the rich appointments around the big dining room. From the chandeliers to the floor length window dressings, the restaurant screams sumptuousness. John is just as regimented about his food as Kate, most of his steak gone and half of the side dishes remaining. He huffs in acknowledgment of Kate’s words, amused.

“They haven’t half-assed their prices so I would hope not.”

You smile into your last bite of filet mignon, relaxing into the gentle banter again. You take a moment while finishing what you can of your dinner to observe the way the group easily pivots from topic to topic, and the familiarity of it is striking to you. John is himself with them, there is no pretence in his conduct and you puzzle over his insistence on keeping you separated from people he gets along with so well. If what he says is to be believed, John spent his career being concerned about your safety such that he went to extreme lengths to keep you protected from its dangers. That’s not the behavior of a man who has only recently decided he wanted more from your friendship. His admission about the dress you're wearing turning him on years before he asked you out rattles around in your brain like a marble you can’t stop rolling around. His hand on your forearm draws you back to the present, and you look at him, his vibrant blue eyes taking in your dazed expression.

“Do you want more wine? I’m having coffee. Kate’s having another gin and Michelle is going to have a decaf.”

He asks, filling you in quickly once he clocks that you were lost in thought.

“Yes, that would be lovely. Please.”

The return of your manners earns you a warm smile and John turns to the waiter to relay your order. The dishes are cleared and you spend the next three quarters of an hour forcing yourself to stay present in the moment and not withdraw to puzzle over all you’ve learned. You find yourself naturally drawn to Michelle, her dry wit cutting and more than a match for her formidable and straightforward wife. Kate and John seem to be able to have a conversation within a conversation, and you quickly learn what Michelle means about it being annoying. It especially grates on your nerves as it’s typically you and John with a litany of inside jokes scattered through any conversation. Having the shoe on the other foot is less fun than you imagined. John excuses himself to the bathroom, which you know is code for paying the bill and you steel yourself to spend the next few moments alone with his friends.

“You’ve had a lot of change over the last few months, what with starting to date John and then moving in so quickly after the break in. How are you finding living with him?”

Kate’s got the question out as soon as John’s big frame leaves the general vicinity of the table.

“It’s like anything, a bit of an adjustment but it’s been good. He’s far neater than me, maybe you should ask him what living with me is like instead.”

You laugh before you continue, mentally acknowledging your vastly different decorating styles. John’s a minimalist where you love fun and funky tchotchkes. Your flat had been crammed to the rafters with knick-knacks. Moving in with John had necessitated parting ways with a lot of your less sentimental pieces. The lowkey dispute about the Christmas decorations had hardly been a solitary event.

“So far it's been lovely, he lets me have my way most of the time and pairs the most delicious wines with dinner. I have no complaints or salacious details, sorry ladies.”

You keep your most recent fight to yourself, unwilling to expose John or yourself to the scrutiny of these women, even if they mean well. In the end, you had gotten what you wanted there too, which was to be heard and considered in matters that concerned you. Which by all accounts, seems to have landed for John.

“He plays it pretty close to the vest too, as previously established. Was hoping you would be a bit more forthcoming.”

Kate smiles, not unkindly, but her rampant curiosity might as well be a neon sign flashing over her face. Her wife elbows her arm with all the subtlety of a gunshot and the dirty blonde schools her face back into something more restrained. You offer a smile and swirl the dregs of your wine, unsure what the other woman was hoping to learn.

“He snores when he’s been drinking?”

Kate gives a startled laugh and shakes her head quickly.

“No, that’s not what I meant.”

“I suspect the John you know and the John I know are the same, we just see him in different scenarios.”

“True enough to a point. He doesn’t let me have my way as often, I'm going to guess.”

You can feel heat creeping over your cheeks at the suggestive tone and she carries on before you can speak.

“I’m more interested in you, than how he behaves when he’s with you, to clarify what I meant. You went to university?”

You nod dumbly, the wine doing nothing to help your mind focus. Kate rolls along with more questions, to her wife’s open annoyance.

“Kate, leave her alone. Seriously.”

“Where do you work? Have you been there long?”

“Uh, I quit, before Christmas. After the break-in John and I talked and I’m going to find something else. I wasn’t happy there. So, technically working nowhere right now.”

“Were you using your degree?”

“No, it was customer service essentially with some data entry. Soul sucking. Awful.”

“What would you prefer to do?”

“I’m not sure. I think being a docent would be fun but those positions can be quite hard to get.”

Michelle’s distracted from trying to back Kate off this line of questioning by this tidbit of information, and her attention swings to you.

“Oh! Like at the Tower of London? They were phenomenal! That would be a fun job.”

“Yes, exactly. Having new faces to chat to every day and all that history around would be – “

“What does John think?”

Kate interrupts, the curiosity on her face in full force. The wine answers before you can corral your thoughts into something more even-tempered.

“I haven't mentioned it yet, besides, why would he care? He won’t be the one working there.”

Michelle tilts her head backs and laughs, John’s quizzical face popping into view at the end of the table eventually subduing her mirth.

“Hate to interrupt but everyone ready?”

You exchange a smile with Michelle and nod at John, standing and linking you hand with his outstretched one. He leads you back through the restaurant to collect your coats from the coat check. Afterwards you stand on the chilly sidewalk to exchange hugs and goodbyes, a whispered good luck sent in to Michelle’s ear that she acknowledges with an extra squeeze before letting you go. Kate bundles her wife into a waiting cab with a final wave out the window, and John convinces you to go peruse the cigars downstairs before heading home yourselves. If things work out for the two women, he reasons Kate will need a celebratory cigar to herald in their newest adventure. You can’t say no to his sentimental reasoning and find yourself an hour later, back in the same place on the sidewalk, John’s newest purchases tucked into your clutch to protect against the damp while you wait for the valet.   

Taglist: @beebeechaos @cadotoast @syoddeye @writeforfandoms

@itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch @magsmagic @h0n3y-l3m0n05

@chickennn-soupp @fruitymoonbeams-blog @redwites @glitterypirateduck

@tf141gloryhole @bespectacledhuman

[bluheaven-adw]

WATCH THE WHOLE THING! Trust me 😏

It's here!!!!!!! I hope this was worth the wait :)

Images and information on a DTIYS below the jump!

This first bit of this might be familiar as it's been posted before. New stuff added at end!

Dark Excalibur Au

Everything happens exactly the same up to then very end of Wizards. The only difference being Jim is able to pull Excalibur then, on his own, making him Nimue's champion. Nimue grants him his crown and restores the trollhunter amulet to him. (Sorry Douxie and Krel, you'll get your time to shine later).. this is when Excalibur's aesthetic changes.

While Jim is 100% human now, he's not without after effects from being a troll. Not much physically (a bit stronger and faster), but personality wise... he's a bit more feral, confident, not really any trace of his former anxieties (except when it comes to Claire). He's not without fear (we don't need gritshaka Jim here...) but has mastery over it. Sometimes he can get a bit more... chaotic and temperamental... than before, but despite that, he's still Jim to his core. Despite all that he's been through, he's still ultimately kind, pure of heart, always tries to do the right thing, fiercely protective of those he loves.... as Blinky put it, a man of honor, courage and valor.

He's stopped fighting his destiny and stepped into it fully instead.

To quote Sakon...

Jim's problem has always been that he cares too much, and the anger inside him burns against the injustice of the world. It's Jim against the world, and the world /will move.

He still has way to much in the self sacrificial department…... but usually remembers that he has a team... literally the roundtable... a wizard, a sorceress... and a literal goddess….. backing him up.

START OF NEW:

You'll notice the blade is whole, not just repaired. Nimue, who for obvious reasons, is not a fan of merlin or arthur... originally only repaired Excalibur's blade instead of healing it. The fractures remained as a check on its power.. kind of like a short circuit. Jim gets no such hobbling. He's entrusted with Excalibur's full power. And if Sakon will allow me to borrow again, his check is in the gem in his crown, but it's only temporary as he learns to control Excalibur's power, and his newfound station and abilities... just a bit of a reminder, but one he rarely, if ever, needs.

There is no incantation on the amulet. It's not needed anymore. All Jim needs to do is think it, and it's there. Excalibur is not tied to the amulet like Daylight was. He can use it without the armor, or dematerialize it if wanted. The armor has two forms, much like Daylight and Eclipse, the 2nd is only a thought away. Normally a steely blue grey, it can shift to black, and if Jim really leans into the power of Excalibur then the whole thing, from crown to blade, turns pitch and lights up. There's so much magic running through him from the sword that his eyes glow with it.

Someone on IG asked if the Dark/Feral bits denoted corruption or Jim gone rogue. The Dark just denotes the color change for Excalibur. No corruption! It's just rockin the black instead of gold. As for feral.... in the sense that he's a tad more aggressive, more willing to finish the fight so to speak. He's got a little wildness, a little otherworldly magic, to him (not in the sense that he's a wizard, just that he's got the magic of Excalibur and being goddess touched).

Now, for the DTIYS!

Rules are

Draw it in your style!

Please no tracing, I want to see what you come up with

Use #DarkExcaliburDTIYS when you post!

Tag me and I will share

Please out a copy of my original art in your post

This will run until June 1

I will pick my top 3 across all platforms

There will be prizes, I just have no clue what lol.

I will link a folder filled with references for you to use! From the armor, to color keys (whenever tumblr lets me paste the stupid link 😡

Have fun!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[rrxnjun]

how to self-sabotage: a bulletproof guide by zhong chenle

pairing: rival! zhong chenle x fem! reader genre: college au | humor, fluff wc: 10.8k warnings: swearing, a mention of alcohol and weed, this is written like a bad disney channel sitcom. i really channeled my inner business graduate with this fic i am so sorry a/n: this is a repost from yesterday bc tumblr was shitty and turned my text black!! playlist: self-sabotage - waterparks ; are you gonna be my girl - jet ; countdown (1, 2, 3) - nct dream ; teenager in love - neon trees ; maniac - conan gray ; drama - txt

one would say it's ungraceful to turn a charity fundraiser into a competition, but you and zhong chenle have no boundaries when it comes to beating each other in a fight. crashing each other's plans, making irresponsible decisions, all just for the sake of winning a competiton you two made yourself; zhong chenle finds a turn of events when the whole thing turns into a self-sabotage.

❥ hello! this is y/n and welcome to my new youtube video! to celebrate my 600 followers milestone, I prepared something special: let's look at all the boys I've ever had a crush on and interrogate them with a fun questionare! for today's part, we have the boy that tried to sabotage me, but ended up doing quite the opposite: zhong chenle himself! ❥

this fic is a part of my collab! find the rest of the works from the dream chronicles collab here! [tba]

Sitting at the table, fingers drumming against the light wood, you stare into the unknown and make your dear friend Jisung a little afraid of what’s about to come. Being your best friend is always a challenging fact, considering your over-the-top ideas and drive that makes your clueless friend a little taken aback, but with the premise of a challenge– the charity event that’s going to take place at your university, he already knows he’s up for something wild.

Maybe taking a step back from your master plan would be a better idea. Jisung would save his sanity and also, most likely, a lot of trouble; but that’s not who Park Jisung is. If anything, he’s a loyal friend. No one will take that title away from him. And that’s exactly why he’s sitting opposite of you right now, listening to the hum of the cafeteria, waiting for what you have to say.

“How many people are joining?” you ask, voice stone cold and focused. You don’t meet Jisung’s eye, focusing on the people flowing in and out of the cafeteria instead, the gears in your brain turning faster than on your midterms.

“I don’t know exactly, but I’d say around ten teams of people, each one consisting of at least two to three people, so… at least 30..?” Jisung hums, quickly calculating the numbers in his brain.

“30…. so that means we have at least a 20% chance of winning,” you mutter, chewing on your bottom lip and furrowing your brows, seemingly lost in thought.

“That- that’s not adding up, Y/N…” Jisung mumbles, running the numbers through his brain once again, trying to see if he’s made a mistake or if it was you. See, Jisung is not a straight A student– that’s what you’re here for, after all– but when it comes to Maths, he’s pretty confident. He’s not quite sure why it’s the only subject he’s good at, considering it might be the hardest of the course, but for some reason, logical things are easy for him to grasp.

“I ruled out the freshmen girls, they’re absolutely not winning this. Also, Renjun and Jeno are out as well, because they will underestimate everything and not try hard enough. That leaves us with Yangyang and Hyuck, since I know damn well that each and every girl that’s ever hooked up with either of them will hop on their dicks and buy anything they’re selling,” Jisung chuckles at the seriousness of your voice as you talk, finding the fact that you’re taking this whole thing as your main mission of the semester amusing, “and then… Him. He’s the professor’s favorite. And he’s super good at persuading people. And I know damn well he’s gonna try hard, so actually, the chances of winning are split into three teams, so we have an approximately 30% chance of winning the prize.”

Jisung blinks at you a few times, trying to clear his head. Right now, you look like you’ve been programmed– a robot with no emotions, only set on the task it’s been told to do. You’re not even blinking, he notes and immediately gets freaked out– because what if they switched his best friend for a robot while he was sleeping? What if this is some sick experiment? What if he’s in the Truman show? You may never know these days…

“Y/N, that’s not-”

“It’s 50/50, actually,” you cut him off, nodding.

“How can it be-”

“Simple. It’s me or him. And I will do anything in my power to win, Jisung, so be prepared for a fight,” you order, taking a sip of your water, still not meeting eyes with your companion. Jisung’s kind of glad for that, though– what if you turned into a siren and eye contact with you will turn him into stone? He really doesn’t need that, he hasn’t even had his first girlfriend yet. He’s too young to die!

“It’s for charity, for fuck’s sake, don’t be so competitive…” Jisung sighs, taking another bite of his sandwich that he forgot he was eating for a second as you started with your business meeting, shaking his head in disbelief at your antics. Is anyone even taking this whole thing so seriously?

The business department at your university is having a charity event the upcoming month. The goal is to sell things and raise the most money you can– it’s all for a good cause, of course. The only thing is that your university already realized that your generation, although it loves to help people in need, won’t do anything without having enough motivation. And so, the head of the business department– professor Lee– promised that the team that raises the most money for charity (or the winning team, as you like to call it), will get an iPad pro for their efforts.

Jisung would understand if you were doing it for the iPad. Hell, even he wants one. But the reality is completely different– you just really, really need to be the best at everything. It’s your main purpose in life and when you fail, you fall into weeks long depression, mourning every single aspect that made you fail at your task and getting angry at every person in your sight. That is even scarier than your weird transe that you’re in right now, Jisung admits, and so he usually does his best to help you with your efforts, because he doesn’t like to get screamed at for multiple weeks if you come second.

That, and he also really doesn’t like to see you sad.

“Yeah, so I’m having the right intentions, aren’t I, Jisung?” you finally meet eyes with Jisung, your devoted business partner, as you smile with that kind of curve to your lips that doesn’t really meet your eye.

A shiver runs down the poor boy’s spine at that, pupils widening with terror. Standing up from your position at the table, completely ignoring Jisung’s half-eaten sandwich left at the red tray on the table, you move towards the exit of the cafeteria, expecting him to follow along. “Let’s go, Jisung. We have work to do.”

“I’m so so surprised at everyone’s interest in the charity event! Thank you so much for coming here today to discuss the details,” Ms Lee chirps from her spot at the top of the table, swinging her arms around like a Disney princess when she sings to all the animals that gathered around her in the backyard of her palace.

Your eyes scan the figures gathered around the room. You’re sitting at one of the big, rounded tables settled in the middle of the conference room, two of the same, mahogany ones to your left and right side, all filled with business students. Some of the faces are familiar to you– like your classmate’s Renjun and Jeno’s, but some of the other ones are foreign to your eyes. You doubt you’ve ever seen those people in your whole, entire life, and you were in the student council last semester, so you were pretty much friends with everyone back then. Maybe it’s the freshmen, you think, as you look at your overly-excited professor and try to listen to what she has to say.

“Only if she knew that half of these people are here for the iPad,” Jisung murmurs into your ear, making you chuckle. He’s right– almost everyone’s here for that. But not you– you could never make your interest in charity so surface-level like everyone else does. You care about much more than getting an iPad, your interests are deeper than that. You don’t need the iPad– although you wouldn’t hesitate to take it if you win, you’re not stupid, after all– you need to win and beat your longest academic rival.

You need to win against Zhong Chenle himself, the top of the business class– he owns the title mainly because his parents own one and he’s had enough time to learn about all the wonders of the business world long before the rest of the people in your class– because you need the satisfaction of being the absolute best. See, you were used to that your whole life. In high school, you were the model student. The one that was set as an example. The best student, the most praised one, the most talented one, the gifted one, even.

You may already know why all of this was more damaging to you than it was good. Getting into university– into the sea of people that were told just that while growing up– was a feeling that made you fall down from the tallest heights of talent to the very middle of it all. The shift from being the best to being mediocre was perhaps the most painful experience of your whole life, but after you managed to get your shit together– and studied your ass off, because it won’t work any other way anymore, it seems– you set your mind on being the best one again, because in your whole childhood, you didn’t know any better. And if you were raised to be the picture perfect child, it’s hard to outgrow these habits.

So if Zhong Chenle was the top of the class in most of your courses, you had to be better than him eventually. The charity event is just another part of the whole process.

“I know this is all for a good thing, but I feel like we still need to set some rules for this whole thing. The main thing is to sell something– anything you want, really– and raise the most money you can for charity. I think everyone already got that, since you’re all sitting here, but I know that the vision of the iPad can blind some of you and get you to be a little too competitive, and while I encourage you to try hard, I also want all of you to play fair. So, here’s the thing,” your professor announces, making you shift a little in your chair and whisper to Jisung to get his notepad out so he can scribble the important info down, preventing you from forgetting it.

“Rule number one. No bad mouthing the others, no anti-campagne. I want all of you to be nice to each other and play it fair, got it?”

A few of you nod, humming in agreement, when a disappointed sigh comes from somewhere behind you, a low mumble reaching your ears and making you chuckle. “I had so much dirt on Donghyuck…”

“Rule number two. I don’t want you selling alcohol, cigarettes, or pretty much anything that’s against the university rules. God forbid if you bring drugs. I won’t hesitate to call the police on you if you do,” your professor continues, earning herself another set of bored hums and nods, cut off only by a pair of your classmates sitting right next to you at the big, rounded table.

A disappointed sigh leaves Yangyang’s mouth at this one, shaking his head in disapproval. You won’t say anything, because you don’t really want your classmate to get in trouble, but the last time you were on a party where Liu Yangyang was present, you couldn’t shake off the smell of weed for weeks, so you’re pretty sure his plan was to sneak in a little something to get more money for the charity. His friend and business partner in one– Lee Donghyuck from your Economy class– grins as his hand shoots up into the air, waiting to be called to ask a question.

“Yes, Donghyuck?”

“Are condoms allowed?” he asks, the innocent grin on his face making the freshmen girls in the back of the room chuckle and hide their face behind their hands.

“Why are you asking that?”

“No reason,” he shrugs, the innocent smile not leaving his face for a second as his childish friend only giggles at the encounter.

“Please don’t sell condoms at the charity event, Donghyuck,” professor Lee pleads, her eyes already full of misery as she realizes just what she’s gotten herself into when agreeing to lead the whole event.

Another disappointed sigh leaves his lips at that, shaking his head. “That’s our whole business plan gone, then…”

Taking exactly three seconds to calm herself down, your professor takes a deep breath in as she runs her hand through her long black hair and then clasps her palms together at her waist, regaining her composure. “Back to what I was saying, we have one more rule you have to follow. You can’t lie about your product. No false advertisement, no made-up stuff to make what you’re selling be more interesting than it already is. We want this to be a serious event, so please, take all of these rules to heart and try your hardest to follow them. Got it?”

Scanning the room, waiting for each and every single one of you to nod, the gathering falls silent. “If none of you have any questions, I consider this meeting to be over.”

The room is instantly filled with the shrieking of chairs on the linoleum ground, making your hair stand up as you arch like an angry cat, hating the sound. Waiting for everyone to get out of the room, you find a pair of men sitting still opposite of you, a cocky smirk plastered on the face of your moral enemy, his friend Jaemin sitting next to him with a well rehearsed poker face. They already look like they run a company, you realize, the thought making your blood boil just at the thought of Zhong Chenle looking more professional than you do– in your baggy sweatpants and a cropped top you grabbed from the top of the pile of half-dirty clothes in your room this morning.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” Chenle asks, grinning to himself as your eyebrows furrow and you reveal an annoyed face to him. It makes him happy to see you like this– it gives him more satisfaction than anything in his life, to be exact.

“The game’s on, Zhong.”

Walking towards your table in the cafeteria, a pair of young boys looking very engaged in their conversation lands in your rear point of vision. Eyes squinting, as if it was supposed to make you see better, you watch your best friend Jisung walk side by side with the accomplice of your moral enemy, Na Jaemin. One of them looks cool, dressed in all black, flashing a charming smile, and the other one is truly bubbly– jumping up and down, almost, as he giggles like a boy and adjusts the straps of his backpack. I won’t tell you which one’s which. Figure it out by yourself.

“We have a visitor today?” you ask as the two of them sit down at your usual table in the cafeteria, both of them smiling to themselves like two teenagers in love. The sight is an unusual one, to say the least, and you don’t know what it is about it that makes shivers down your spine. You just know that you kind of despise it.

“Yeah, Jaemin will be sitting with us today, if that’s okay,” Jisung smiles, looking at you with wide eyes full of excitement.

“Great, great,” you mumble, eyeing the boy with suspicion. Is this how he chose to execute your plan? You did tell him to be nice to Na Jaemin– you did even tell him to try to befriend him, if that was what he needed to do to get under his skin– but at the same time, you didn’t think that sitting together at lunch exactly two days after you told him to try to get some information from Jaemin was the right way to go around this.

See, you’d call it intuition. You know something’s wrong, you just don’t know what it is yet.

“So, what’s up, Jaemin?” you ask, poking the food on your table around with your fork, avoiding eye contact. You despise even sitting at the same table with one of Chenle’s friends– you feel like you’re suddenly in his circle, and that makes you gag a little into your mouth. While you need to be better at everything than this young businessman, you also need to stay away from everything that includes him– and yes, that means his friend circle as well. Who knows, Na Jaemin might even be a nice guy. You just don’t care enough to find out.

“Oh, a lot of exciting things are happening! Aren’t they, Jisung?” he smiles, kicking the clueless boy into his shin under the table in excitement, “the charity event, for example! We are preparing a lot of stuff with Chenle, and I think it’s gonna be a lot of fun. What about you two?”

Humming, you try to take the opportunity by its reached-out hands, smiling a little on the inside. “You’re doing a lot of things? What things exactly, may I ask?” you lock eyes with Jaemin, seeing his cunning smile.

“That’s a surprise, dear Y/N,” Jaemin mutters, the combination of his low voice and glimmering eyes making your stomach twist in anger and frustration. Of course he’s not that stupid– he won’t reveal what him and Chenle have planned for the event. He knows who you are. He knows how far you’re willing to go to completely destroy whatever the two of them have planned, just so you could win. And he won’t even dare to give you a single hint on his plans, because he’s intelligent and cunning.

“Is it…” you mutter under your breath, matching his competitive energy.

“Yeah,” he nods, turning to Jisung, “but maybe if you tell me first, I can share. Maybe we can brainstorm together, you know, that would be so much fun. Wouldn’t it, Jisung?” he asks your best friend, smiling sweetly at him.

You know damn well about the effect Na Jaemin has on people. He’s charming and sweet, magically alluring. He pulls everyone towards him, and he does it oh so easily. You’ve heard enough about how this man worked his magic spells on the girls in your grade, getting them on dates and then deciding he’s bored of them a few weeks later.

Now, you didn’t know that your best friend Park Jisung wasn’t immune to this effect. He was, in fact, very much not immune to it– he was just like every other girl in your class, just like all the poor freshmen girls that giggle at his stupid jokes in the cafeteria.

It was a saddening fact and an even more devastating sight to see your best friend fold under the eyes of the local charmer. You should’ve expected it, though– maybe this was the intuition you were supposed to listen to the very moment Na Jaemin showed up at your table in the cafeteria.

“I mean, I think that’s a good idea, maybe we can work together on it as well,” Jisung hums, eyes big never leaving the man as he nods to his manipulation tactics.

“See? Amazing! That’s exactly what I love to hear. So, what are you two planning?”

“Me and Y/N wanted to-”

“Jisung, shut up,” you coldly say, taking a hold of the situation and trying to save the day. Your poor best friend looks at you all lost, the furrow in his brows breaking your heart as you had to be rude to him for no reason at all– well, there is one, he just doesn’t know it yet.

“Why-”

“Why are you shutting your friend down like that? That’s not really nice of you, Y/N,” Jaemin says, locking eyes with you. The look in his orbs is knowing, your wavelength matching as he knows that you finally see right through his plan, that you know exactly what he’s trying to do– because you and Zhong Chenle are more alike than you both think, it seems. At least with your business tactics, after all.

“How about we work on our stuff alone, Na Jaemin? I don’t need Chenle’s help with anything,” you snap back, watching as the boy grins to himself and takes the red tray into his hands as he stands up from his place at your cafeteria table.

“Okay then,” he mutters, “have a nice day, you two.”

With his departure comes a loud whine from Park Jisung himself, earning himself a kick into the shin as you start your scolding session.

“What was that? Why were you so rude to him all of a sudden?”

“Jisung,” you coldly stare at him, making him silence, “I told you to befriend Na Jaemin to get out some information from him. I didn’t tell you to do the exact opposite and get exploited of all our plans instead!” you finish your little rant, breathing heavily as you notice the boy’s face clearing into understatement, smiling to himself a little in shame.

“Oh. I didn’t notice that…”

Park Jisung’s good at Math. Social interaction? Not so much… Maybe you should take things into your own hands and get some information yourself, instead of sending your most gullible friend on a mission that requires interaction with Na Jaemin…

“I still don’t understand what we are doing here. I thought you didn’t like parties!” Jisung mourns as you two step your feet inside of a big mansion (or at least that’s how the house looks in your eyes), the loud music of the event that’s going on inside making your eardrums bubble along with the beat.

“Jisung,  you have so much to learn about this world…” you sigh, smiling at some of the girls you encounter on your way to the big kitchen, aiming straight for one of the red cups waiting for you on the kitchen island, all filled to the brim with various alcohol.

Turning around in your spot, two solo red cups in the palms of your hands, you offer one to your companion and grin at him. “Here, have this,” you smile, “I know you’re not a fan of vodka, but they don’t have anything else… Try not to die while I’m gone,” you note, earning yourself a confused look from the tall boy standing in front of you, listening to your commands.

“And where are you going? What’s going on-”

Sighing, you take the boy by his hand and drag him into the half-empty hall, the dim lightning making the whole encounter feel more secretive than it already was.

“Jisung, this is Zhong Chenle’s party,” you say, the sentence alone enough for the boy to instantly widen his eyes and part his lips agape in understatement, nodding at you. There’s a slight glint in his eyes that’s telling you that he doesn’t like where this is going, but you don’t really care about what he has to say right now. Your mind is set on one thing– winning, and that’s why you’re not afraid to do even the most desperate things of them all.

“Try to enjoy yourself,” you say, “but please don’t talk to Na Jaemin while we’re here, okay?”

“But Jaemin is nice-”

“Okay then, just don’t talk to him about the event, alright? They’ll use it against us if they know anything,” you mumble, downing the entirety of the red cup, scowling at the taste of your most hated alcohol. It’s like Zhong Chenle knew you were gonna appear– it’s like he wants to kill you. You wouldn’t even have to drink the poison that vodka is, but having some liquid courage in you could be useful in the crime you’re about to do right now.

“Try not to die,” Jisung resonates with the same words you’ve said to him just a few minutes prior, making you smile at him with a tense smile, hugging him goodbye before you go. Who knows, if Zhong Chenle catches you, you might not even make it out alive and see Jisung ever again. You might as well embrace your best friend for the last time.

Taking a deep breath in and out, you march up the stairs. The second floor of the house is not as crowded as the first one– the stairs are too steep to walk up if you’ve had too much to drink already, so it’s quite understandable. Looking around like a spy, you try hard to stay as natural as possible, not wanting to make anyone suspect you. Walking casually through the halls, you figure this is the best way to make everyone believe that you’re supposed to be here, that you were invited, and that you’re not just about to do a very, very bad thing.

Opening the first door to one of the rooms, you notice a king’s bed and flowery wallpaper. Closing it again, deciding that this isn’t the room you’re looking for, you continue your search on the second floor– opening the room to one of the bathrooms, and then what you presume is a guest room occupied with someone moaning loudly on the bed, making you shut the door behind you with disturbance.

Finally finding the right one– you assume so by the obnoxious Gucci hoodie sprawled on the chair right opposite of the door– you silently walk inside and close the door after you, making sure you’re alone and not watched by anyone. Trying the hardest to not make any sound, you walk through Zhong Chenle’s room and let your eyes roam across the furniture, looking for the thing you broke into his room for in the first place.

When you don’t find what you’re looking for anywhere at sight, you choose to walk over to his desk and open the first drawer. It’s full of textbooks and other notebooks, making you sigh and close it in disappointment, moving over to the one under it that surprises you with a stash of snacks and a single sock laying on the very top. Disgusted by the state of everything, you result in looking through the last drawer, wanting nothing more than to find the materials you saw Chenle write on the last meeting your charity event group had.

You needed to know what he had planned, so you could plan something bigger, better.

A stash of white paper appears in your eyes, the handwriting of none other than the owner of this house recognizable to you for various reasons (no, you never look at his exam papers over his shoulder just to make sure you did better than him. Never…), the title “charity” in a wobbly, light blue pen making your eyes light up. Bingo.

Excitement flowing through your veins, you scan over the paper and try to find any clues about the boy’s plan. The handwriting is a little hard to read, though, and so you squint your eyes, slowing down your breathing as you try to focus all of your attention to decoding the content in front of you–

–when the paper is swiftly pulled away from your grasp, making you gasp in shock and surprise. Turning your head around, you see the owner of the handwriting looking at you with a glare, making your body instinctively shoot to your feet and taking a step back.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, although he knows damn well what your previous actions were already.

“I’m- I was- I-” you stutter, your brain not allowing you to form coherent sentences.

He takes one step towards you, which leads in you taking another one back, repeating enough times for you to be pressed against the wall, shivers running down your spine either at the contact of the cold against your shoulders, or the look that Chenle gives you as he towers over you both physically and mentally, scoffing.

“Are you really that low? That desperate?” he spits, making your blood boil. You feel red in your face as the hint of his cologne makes its way up your nose, feeling both embarrassed and flustered by the whole encounter.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you peep, seeing the boy shake his head in disbelief, putting his hand up against the wall, close to where your head is resting.

“So what were you doing with this, then, huh?” he asks, showing you the paper in his other hand, waiting for you to answer, but not stepping away from you.

The truth is, you have no words in you to defend yourself. Suddenly, you’re left unarmed, empty and humiliated– but what’s worse, you’re left with no new information about the charity event, which means you’ve done all of this for absolutely nothing.

Seeing that you’re making no effort in answering the boy, he leans even closer to you, which makes your whole body tingle with what you presume is uncomfort, biting at your lower lip as your eyes lock with his mouth as he speaks to you. “Play fair, Y/N.”

Focusing on his plump, pink lips, you wonder if he uses a lip scrub or a lip balm– because there’s no way his lips are this luscious and beautiful, and so inviting…

“Get out of my room,” he orders, making your body unfreeze, feeling sweat drip down your back as you run out of the place, suddenly not having enough oxygen.

Maybe this wasn’t your best idea.

“Jisung, we gotta do something,” you mourn, head in your hands as you sit at the table in your room, papers scattered all around you and a half-made banner laying on the carpet in the middle of the floor.

“We are doing something right now, Y/N,” Jisung mumbles with the paintbrush in his hand, leaning over the white sheet of paper, trying his hardest to not go over the lines you’ve scribbled onto the banner just a few minutes prior, ordering him to paint in the bubble letters of your banner.

Grunting, you turn around in your office chair, looking at the boy. He doesn’t seem as stressed as you feel right now– it’s only a week until the charity event is supposed to take place and you really, really don’t want to be thinking about how badly it will go if you don’t think of something big at this exact moment. You feel defenseless. You have zero information about what Chenle’s about to do, so you can’t get prepared to do something better. Jisung didn’t manage to get any information out of Jaemin, and while you were able to find Chenle’s plans in his room, he took the paper out of your hands and cornered you against the wall before you even managed to read a single sentence.

You’re selling cupcakes. Jisung said his mum will help and chip in more baked goods, since she’s a good cook, but you doubt that cookies and pastry will help you win the first place. This sounds like something Renjun and Jeno would do– and you hate to put yourself onto their level, because they’re not the greatest when it comes to business. You doubt you’ll beat Hyuck and Yangyang’s condom stand either. There’s a lot of guys at your university that will rather go for a condom than a cupcake.

“No, Jisung, you don’t understand. Cupcakes won’t win. We won’t win. Zhong Chenle and his big head will win, and that will be absolutely fucking infuriating. I won’t let that happen,” you exclaim, huffing.

“But you don’t even know what they’re going to sell! What if it’s really bad? We still have a chance to win,” Jisung smiles at you, trying to encourage you.

Bless him. Even when seeing you so annoyed and having to deal with your snappy attitude every day, since the nerves always get the worst of you, he still tries to be your rock and help you through it all. His words might not help you win and they for sure do not help you calm down, but he’s trying– and that’s the important part.

“Chenle’s the son of the wealthiest business man in this country, Jisung. He has winning in his fucking genes,” you roll your eyes, “and that’s why I need to think of something right now or else I’ll physically combust.”

Jisung just sighs at you, not really knowing how else to help you. He’s trying his hardest– and you appreciate it, despite the fact that your actions suggest otherwise– and this is not even his battle. He’s okay with being mediocre– he’s just cursed with the burden of his friend always trying their hardest to be an overachiever. It’s not healthy, but he doesn’t feel like he can do anything about it, really.

“Maybe I can… Maybe I can tell everyone that if I win, I’ll do a giveaway with the iPad. I’m sure that will lure some people in,” you mumble, fixing your eyes onto the poster of Ross Lynch stuck on your bedroom door, lost in thought.

Jisung looks at you with squinted eyes, trying to decipher what’s going on inside of that brain of yours. The scheming look on your face doesn’t look the nicest, but he won’t tell you that in fear of being beaten up on the ground.

“That’s…”

“An amazing idea? I know, right?” you grin, looking at your friend with euphoria running through your veins.

“Y/N, I don’t think-”

“Bingo!” you yelp, eyes glimmering with joy and excitement, “We are about to give everyone who buys two cupcakes a lottery ticket and then, if we win, we randomly pick someone and give them the iPad! This is a brilliant idea!!”

No amount of effort can make you stop now. Jisung won’t even try anymore.

“I’m going to work on it right now. This is perfect!” you grin.

Jisung sighs.

He kind of wanted that iPad…

Sitting in the library, your laptop open as you try hard to focus on studying after the frantic preparations for the charity event, your eyes are stuck to the screen, starting to hurt a little from how hard you’re concentrating. The world around you is a mere blur, the background noises being no distraction to your brain as you type away on your keyboard from time to time, taking notes.

You like to study alone. You never really got the magic of studying in groups, since every time you tried it with Jisung, you two just grew distracted and didn’t know how to focus on your studies, too busy gossiping and talking about anything and everything. So to go here like this, in the evening, the university library has become your safe haven.

When suddenly, there are footsteps landing into your ear, the noise making you lose your focus for a moment when the owner of them decides to sit in the space next to you, making you swiftly look around and see who dared to pay you a visit when you’re studying.

Met with the gaze of none other than Zhong Chenle himself, you suddenly shrink in size and bashfully look away from the male. You’re not used to the feeling of embarrassment in your veins, not used to how you feel pathetic in his eyes and how you really want to disappear from the face of the earth every time you notice him registering your existence. It’s all your fault anyway, for snooping around in his room and being caught, but you’re not ready to admit that to yourself just yet, even though the reality is slowly catching up on you.

“Hi,” he greets, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. A conversation between you and Chenle is a rare sight– you just like to jab at each other and scream curses each other’s way– and starting one with a greeting is even more unusual for the two of you. It’s like both of you lose all sense of formality whenever you’re around each other– only the hatred remains.

“Hello,” you mutter, nervously scratching your forearm. Not daring to meet his eyes, you suddenly feel like he has something above you– the reality of catching you red handed, the very moment at his party. You won’t admit it out loud, but it’s the most defeating thing you’ve ever felt in your whole entire life, and you don’t think you’ll ever be able to recover from it. Never in a thousand years did you expect to be met with the fact that Zhong Chenle is above you in something, but it came down to it, and you don’t know what to do with this information.

Your posture screams hesitance. Not knowing how to act around him, you refrain from acting at all– you don’t think you’re in the position to be rude to him anymore, for it would make you seem even more petty. His presence makes you nervous, the tingling sensation in your whole body and the heat you feel rising to your cheeks making you the most uncomfortable you’ve felt ever since you were cornered up against the wall of Chenle’s room last weekend.

“What’s up?” he asks, the casual tone of his voice confusing you even further. Taking one short look at him, you try to scan his features and somehow find out his true intentions. The boy has an inviting smile on his face– making your heartbeat quicken with a detail you choose not to pay any attention to– and his eyes are soft, opposed to the stone cold look he usually has reserved for you.

“Um… not much, ‘m just studying, I guess…” you mumble, too confused to pay attention to just how lost and puppy-like you must look right in this moment. Kicking your foot up and down under the table, a nervous fixation to ground yourself, you await his next steps.

The boy hums in acknowledgement. If he noticed your state, at least he didn’t mention it– a fact you were grateful for. Cracking your knuckles in the silence of the library, you forget how to keep up a conversation– or you just never learned how to keep up a conversation with Zhong Chenle, of all people. He doesn’t seem to mind, though, when he just takes out his stuff from his backpack and starts working on his homework.

Watching him for a while, you clear your throat and just decide to get it over with. You don’t like the quiet tension in the air, wanting it to disappear, so you just face it with a confident face (well, the most confident you can master up right now). “What are you doing here?”

Your rival looks up at you from his textbook with furrowed brows, shrugging. “Studying.”

“Yeah,” you blink, “but… why are you studying next to me?”

“Is this spot not free?” he asks, obviously teasing you with how the very well-known shiteating grin slowly starts to appear on his face.

“I- I mean it- it’s free, but-”

“Then I don’t see a reason why I shouldn’t study here,” he shrugs, momentarily pointing his look back to his textbook, driving you absolutely insane. Did he lose his mind? Was he having a fever?

“Chenle-”

“Look,” he says, looking up from the textbook again, turning to you with his full body– while also bumping into your knee with his for a second, making you jolt in a weird sense of electricity, “I know we’re not really on the best terms, but I think I’m done with being petty and acting like a child. Seeing that we’re kind of similar, in a way, I think we could even make good friends, so that’s what I’m trying to do here,” he says, smiling at you with that friendly expression he only reserves for his closest friends, making you feel light-headed. Are you having a fever?

“I- I don’t think I understand,” you mutter out, your expression lost. What was going on? Why did your rival suddenly want to be friends with you? After you searched through his room at one of his parties? You felt like you were having a weird dream.

“Let’s just… focus on our own projects for the charity event and forget about the rivalry. What do you say?” he asks, the glint in his eyes taking you off-guard.

What does one even say to that? You’ve spent your whole university years hating this boy, all for being too good at things you always wanted to be exceptional at. The rivalry made you so crazy you didn’t even recognise yourself anymore in the actions you were taking, and while it all felt worth it at the time, to see Chenle himself not even taking it that seriously made you feel even more embarrassed. Was this all just a one-sided battle?

Blinking a few times, you notice the boy out-stretching his hand for you to grip, the handshake a silent seal of the war between the two of you ending. “Friends?”

Gasping for air, you hesitantly reach for his hand, too lost in your own brain and thought spirals to even register what was going on around you. The contact of his skin on your burned, but you shook it nonetheless. “I- I wouldn’t say friends, exactly…”

“Acquaintances on good terms, then, got it,” he grins, seeing your empty eyes and the mess in your brain at the very moment. Suddenly, you feel a hand ruffle your hair, making you jump up in shock. “I’m sure you’ll do great, Y/N,” he grins, making you turn back to your homework and– although to no use– try to focus on the assignment again.

Feeling heat rising to your cheeks and your hands shake with nerves, the rest of the afternoon comes by like a blur.

Mixing the batter in one of the big bowls Jisung’s mum provided you with in their spacious kitchen, you are too lost in thought to even sing along to your favorite baking playlist your best friend put on to make the atmosphere lighter, despite the tension of the upcoming charity event rising. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the boy, when he cautiously approaches the matter.

“What’s gotten you so weird?” he asks, opening the oven and taking out the cupcake tray that’s been sitting in there, prepared for your baking session, since yesterday evening.

“I’m not weird,” you mumble, but don’t even meet his eyes. That’s an instant hint.

“Y/N, you’re not even singing along to One Direction right now, of course something’s up,” he says to prove his point, seeing you sigh and look up to the ceiling for a moment, seemingly debating on finally talking about what’s bugging you the most these days.

“Chenle approached me the other day… to make amends? I guess?” you mumble, shrugging.

Your best friend takes the information in, analyzing what you just uttered out of your lips. Are you sure you weren't dreaming? He wants to ask you if you’re sure it wasn’t all an image of your imagination, but he choses against it as he steps closer to you, scanning your face for any signs of mania.

“He did that after catching you looking through his stuff?” he clarifies, seeing you nod.

“That’s strange.”

“Isn’t it?” you ask, still not believing what you saw at the library the other day.

Jisung hums, furrowing his eyebrows to get his brain cells to work better, chewing on the inside of his cheek. “Well, maybe he was sincere, however strange it might sound… He realized the little war you two have is childish and wanted both of you to have fun,” he shrugs, mirroring the exact words Chenle said at the library. Is this really so easy? Is this the final conclusion? The end of everything? You couldn’t just believe that.

“I don’t know…” you hum, moving to drape the cupcake batter into the tray, ready to bake it for tomorrow's event. Jisung helps you with the cleaning-up process, not wanting the burnt batter stuck on the tray to make the whole house smell like forest fire, wiping the excess away with tissues. After you’re done, he plops the tray into the oven and sets a timer for 15 minutes, resting his tall figure against the kitchen counter.

“Maybe you can… quit with the iPad giveaway thing? I mean, now that you don’t have to win, you can forget about that part. I think it’s kind of against the rules as well, since it’s a hint of false advertising? You’re supposed to win by selling the goods, and not by bribing them with an iPad, so I don’t think professor Lee will like that,” he mutters hesitantly, seeing your mouth open agape, shaking your head in disapproval.

“Absolutely not. Just because Zhong Chenle hit his head or something, I won’t back away from this fight,” you sternly say.

“Y/N, I promise you it’s not a good idea. You’re just going to get in trouble-”

“I’m not! It’s totally legal, and if I really win, I’m ready to give the iPad away, if that’s what I’m gonna have to do, Jisung.”

A heavy sigh escapes his lips at this, shaking his head. Yeah, maybe he is petty– maybe he just wants the iPad for himself, but at the same time, what he said was right. This wasn’t a fair game and he doesn’t think it will get approved by your business professor, no matter how hard you try to back it up.

“Life would be so much easier if you constantly didn’t try to impress Zhong Chenle,” Jisung mutters, making blood boil in you, anger felt at the tips of your fingertips.

“Take that back. I am not trying to impress him,” you coldly say, snapping.

“Yeah, sure,” Jisung rolls his eyes, “every single time, it’s all I have to be better than Chenle, I have to win against Chenle, I have to beat him in this and this and that… to me, it just seems like you want him to be impressed with your abilities, because you like him.”

Gasping, you catch the edge of the kitchen counter to steady yourself. “I do not like him. I absolutely despise him, that is,” you grit your teeth, trying to convince your best friend…. and maybe yourself as well.

Jisung just hums, mocking you. The look on your face is enough of a confirmation to him, he doesn’t have to fight you anymore. Besides, the looks you give the boy are surely not you trying to get his business strategy. Not in the gym class, when your rival is a little sweaty and overly-enthusiastic about basketball, at least.

“I still think you should stop with the iPad thing, though,” he says, crouching down to the oven to check up on the cupcakes.

Angrily stomping, you reach towards your backpack on the ground, taking out your papers for the charity event so you can quickly calculate how many batches of the batter you’re going to have to make to fill your goal. Looking through the stack of papers, seeing worksheets from English class and old exam papers that you should’ve thrown out long ago, you disagree with your partner. “Absolutely not, I think-” you stop in your tracks, looking through the papers, still not finding the ones you’re looking for.

Leaning back towards your bag, you stumble through it, still not finding your charity event plans and documents. Stress rising inside of you, knowing too well that you always have the papers with you and there’s no way you left it at home, the reality dawns on you, making you scream in despair. Of course Zhong Chenle’s sudden amends were a little weird.

“That motherfucker stole my charity event plans while I was too busy freaking out over his charming smile!” you yelp out.

Jisung snickers at the state of you. He called it.

When you’re 6 years old, you go to school for the first time. You manage to make every single teacher in your elementary school gasp in amazement as you tell them that you already know how to read and that you don’t need help with signing your textbooks– you know how to write your name as well. As you grow, you only get more intellectual; being put into special level classes, being told you were the best pupil out of the whole school, being constantly praised and made to believe that you are, simply put, much better than everyone else your age.

When you’re 19 years old, you get to university. The gifted child in you starts slowly dying out with the pressure of assignments and the realization that maybe, your whole life, you’ve been lied to and you’re not as extraordinary as everyone told you you were. At 19, you meet Zhong Chenle– the model student, the social butterfly, the teacher’s pet– and suddenly, he’s your enemy. You promise yourself to always be better than him. That itself was your only goal.

When you’re almost 20, standing in the enormous gym of your university, looking over at Zhong Chenle’s stand with fast food and the giveaway tickets for a brand new iPad being given with every purchase above 5 dollars, the flood of people gladly giving money to the man dressed in a neat black suit, looking like the businessman he, at heart, truly is, you finally admit that you’re losing.

The cupcakes stay abandoned at the trays, no one paying attention to all the effort you and Jisung gave into the charity event. If you really think about it, it’s kind of unfair– you did play fair, despite your previous antics, and you did everything in your power to raise as much money as you could. Looking at the lonely pastries, you feel defeated.

“Want one?” you ask Jisung, pointing towards the ones covered with pink icing– the exact ones he wanted to eat yesterday evening instead of dinner, after several hours of baking– seeing the boy furrow his brows in confusion.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to eat them until the event ends,” he says, watching over your dull look.

“Yeah, well,” you shrug, “it’s over for us anyways, so I don’t really care anymore,” you proclaim as you take a bite of the cupcake, not even paying attention to the icing smearing all over your face.

The boy next to you only pouts at your argument, not used to seeing you so discouraged. He can’t say you’re not right– hell, he does have eyes and common sense, he can see the row of people waiting for Zhong Chenle’s fries from McDonald’s and pizza from Papa John’s– but still, he expected more determination from your ambitious persona.

“Y/N,” he whines, “it’s okay. Maybe we can still win,” he lies through his teeth, trying to cheer you up.

“Jisung, look at Chenle’s stand.”

“I am looking.”

“Do you still think we can win?”

“No,” he says, “but I thought my white lies could make you feel better.”

“Well, they can’t.”

“Okay, just eat your cupcake, will you?” he mutters, sighing at the state of you. Some freshmen girls come by to buy a cute little cupcake, but the few dollars in your basket right now won’t make any difference to the money moves your moral enemy is making.

“I tried so hard, Jisung,” you mourn with a full mouth, letting your emotions run free, “I tried so hard, and I still got nothing. This is so embarrassing, you can’t even imagine. I was supposed to be the winner, I was supposed to have the masterplan,” you complain, seeing Jisung sympathetically, although a little absent-mindedly, nod at all your points and arguments.

“It’s okay, Y/N, you can’t win all the time. It’s not embarrassing,” he encourages you, slyly taking a cupcake off the tray and biting into it, still acting cautious in case you decide to change your mind and revoke your approval to eat your goods.

“It is! You can’t imagine how defeating this feels.”

“I can see it on your face, sweetheart. Maybe if you stop frowning…?” Jisung mumbles, making you glare at him momentarily, his insides loosening up a little from the image of taking your mind off the issue at hand for just a few seconds.

“We have the last few minutes until the charity event is over!” you hear the voice of professor Lee through a megaphone she borrowed from the drama club, making you grunt. “Everyone, the sale is over at 2pm! Count your money after and bring it to me.”

Sighing, you don’t even try to sell any last-minute cupcakes anymore, opting to gather the money you’ve raised today. Quickly counting it and finding a scrap of paper to scribble down the amount (which is a sad, poor 20 dollars, if any of you were interested), you put the money into a zip-lock back and walk over to your professor, handing it in.

“Why did you rush it? Maybe someone would want-”

“Jisung, just… leave it. I’m over this already,” you say, sitting back next to your best friend, seeing him pout– mirroring your saddened expression– suddenly making you feel bad for impacting the mood of your business partner so much. “But hey, we had fun, didn’t we?”

Jisung looks at you in disbelief, breaking out into a grin at your poor attempt at easing the mood. “I guess we did, yeah,” he notes, “I know I did, although my stomach kind of still hurts from eating all the left-over icing from yesterday.”

“I told you there were raw eggs in that, what if you get salmonella, for fuck’s sake?” you sigh, shaking your head at him.

“It’s not salmonella! I just don’t handle sugar well-”

Your conversation is ended soon with a noise of a gong, signaling that the charity fundraiser was now over and every single stand should stop selling their goods. Looking around, you see the gym slowly empty out, leaving behind only the business majors that participated in the event, all counting up their raised money.

“Dude, I think we got around 150,” you hear Yangyang gasp from the stand next to yours, making you sigh with the information that even the condom stand raised more money than your cupcakes that were baked with care and love (and maybe a little bit of spite for Zhong Chenle. You can’t see it on them, though, so you guess it’s fine).

The next events come by in a whim– everyone hands in the money they raised at the fundraiser, one by one, gossipping about how much they’ve earned and how good they’re doing. Throughout the whole process, your eyes are glued to one person in particular– the one you were competing with in the first place.

Zhong Chenle moves through the place like he owns it, like it’s his own prestigious branch of his successful business, dressed formally, now shrugging off the suit jacket, leaving him only in a stylish white button-down and black pants, leaving you gasping for air. Grinning to his companion, Na Jaemin– although dressed similarly, but not leaving the same impact– you can only imagine how much he’s shit talking you right now, laughing maniacally at the fact that he stole your plan and won with it, taking all the credit and being the best yet again. It makes your stomach turn and twist in angry knots, feeling stupid each time your eyes flash down to his toned forearms when he moves away the things from the little stand, cleaning it up; for if you would’ve paid less attention to the man with the name Zhong Chenle, you wouldn’t feel half as defeated as you do right now.

“Stop ogling him,” Jisung teases, making you grunt.

“I’m trying to kill him with my glare.”

“I think you confused it with heart-eyes, sweetie-”

“If you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I’ll choke you with your favorite pink cupcakes,” you smile at him innocently, making the boy shut up instantly, fearing for his own life.

Professor Lee triumphally stands in the middle of the gym, looking around at everyone. The proud smile on her face tells you that the other stands most likely made more money than yours did, earning the charity a solid amount of money that your university doesn’t have to be ashamed of. The only thing is that you are ashamed– of yourself, though. You thought you’d do better than you did, but you guess you have to come to terms with the fact that you can’t always be the winner.

“Everyone,” the professor starts her speech, “I am really grateful for every single one of you standing here right now. I want to thank you all for your effort, and I also will be grading everyone with an A for this event, because I can see that all of you truly worked your hardest. Now, though, is the time to announce the team that earned the most money, and therefore, won the little competition I made to motivate you.”

Looking around at everyone, you suddenly feel like you’re watching Eurovision, waiting for the points to be added up until 2am, slowly losing your motivation to keep watching further. Professor Lee smiles before she turns to the stand expected to win, making everyone’s suspicions correct.

“The team that made the most money, ladies and gentlemen, is Zhong Chenle and Na Jaemin,” she proclaims, making the boys scream in joy, jumping up and down in their places as they rush into a hug. They look like their hard work has paid off after 20 years of effort, however, the only work they did was steal your plan and buy some fast food… pathetic, really. Seeing the wide grin on Chenle’s face, you find yourself rolling your eyes, especially when your make eye contact with him and quickly force yourself to look away. “However,” the professor continues, making the boy’s faces fall.

“I was met with the information that you two violated the rules,” she says, making Chenle furrow his brows in confusion.

“H-how-”

“You worked with false advertisement, which, as I already said, was against the rules of the whole event.”

“How was this false advertisement?” he asks, getting all defensive. Something inside of you lights up at the sight of him all frustrated, but you wouldn’t say it out loud, for you think Jisung would accuse you of being a sadist.

“What you were supposed to be selling was the food, although I don’t agree with it being store-bought either, but I’m willing to ignore that fact,” she explains, “but what you did instead was sell tickets to your iPad giveaway, which was not in the business plan you’ve given me a few days ago.”

“But professor Lee, it’s not like that-”

“Therefore, you will not get the iPad, and the price goes to the second place, which is Lee Yangyang and Lee Donghyuck. Congratulations, boys.”

The duo on your right fist bumps and screams at the top of their lungs, making everyone in the university gym scowl with the sharp pain in their ears. Now, this wasn’t exactly the outcome you were expecting… you can’t say you hate it, though. Turning to Jisung, ignoring the yells of despair uttered out of the mouth of Zhong Chenle, complaining that condoms weren’t technically allowed as the product for sale, you hug your best friend with stars in your eyes, tugging him closer. He was right with his previous arguments, after all. Not that you'd admit it to him, since you're still super petty, but you're glad you didn't proceed with your innitial plan nonetheless.

“Woah, there,” Jisung gasps as he hugs you back, “we didn’t win, Y/N, though…”

“I know,” you hum into his chest, satisfied.

“So…”

“I’m just happy Zhong Chenle isn’t the winner,” you grin, pulling away from the boy, ready to celebrate the win of the two dumbasses in your business class. You never thought you’d see the day when Chenle is beaten by a duo that rarely attends the class, but you’re more happy than ever to let them indulge in the joy right now.

Hearing someone clear their throat behind you, you turn around. Surprised to see Chenle there, your smile freezes at your face, making you look like you’ve just been paralysed, earning yourself a kick into your shin from Park Jisung sitting at the chair next to you before he excuses himself and leaves for a bathroom break.

“Hi,” you greet as you see Chenle sheepishly look at you, his hands in the pockets of his pants.

“You got me there, Y/N,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief, “I didn’t take you for such a mastermind,” he adds, making you confused.

“What?”

“The plan in your bag… you had it there because you knew I’d take it, didn’t you? You were trying to make me lose all along,” Chenle adds, finally bringing clarity into your brain. He’s not right– you were just too stupid to realise the consequences of your future actions in that moment, but now you’re glad the universe worked in your favor and you were too gullible to trust your moral enemy in the moment. You may have been weak back then, but now, you’re the winner out of the two of you– and you can’t say it doesn’t make your ego rise to enormous heights.

“Y-yeah…” you hum, not realizing your expression gives it away almost immediately, bringing Chenle the last hint of confidence he needs before he takes his next step towards you. The knowledge that you didn’t plan to sabotage him, and that this was self-sabotage all along, makes the boy content– you may hate him, but not as much.  The fact that you were so out of your mind to let him take your plans right under your nose must be a hint of something.

“So…” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck, “what I said back then in the library still stands, though,” he says, chuckling. “I know I kind of lied back then, but now I mean it. I don’t… I don’t really want us to fight anymore, and I actually think the two of us would make a great pair- I mean, friends, so…”

Blinking at him a few times, feeling heat rising to your cheeks, you feel like you’re having another fever dream. There’s no competition right now, no business strategies, no exams to be taken. So… the intentions behind his words must be truthful, right?

“Um, I…” you start, but end up gasping like fish on sand, at a loss for words. Flickering your eyes from his to your feet and back to his shy smile, you feel like your brain is overheating. Curse hormones, really… it can’t be anything other than that. There’s no other reason why your brain keeps contemplating if this is him asking you out, and no reason why you so desperately want that accusation to be true.

“We can hang out after this, if you want,” Chenle suggests, rocking a little in his place, “with- with Jaemin and Jisung as well, since they seemed to get along…” he adds, the hint of blush creeping onto his cheeks making you want to scream into your pillow with overwhelmingness.

“That would be great,” you say, seeing the boy nod at your words, relief visibly flashing behind his eyes.

“Okay, great,” he smiles, “I’ll just get my things and I’ll find you later?”

“Sounds good,” you nod, your brain turning into a foggy mess.

Watching him turn on his heels and walk towards Jaemin standing on the other side of the gym, grinning at his friend with a suggestive wiggle to his eyebrows, you zone out. Is this your reality? Did you shift into another universe where the two of you don’t want to kill each other? How did you even move on from those emotions?

“You okay?” Jisung suddenly emerges from behind you, feeling shocked at the sight of you completely unfocused and still in your movements.

“Mhmm,” you peep, taking deep breaths.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nod, turning to your friend. “Do you wanna hang out with Jaemin later?”

You meet Zhong Chenle at 19, hating everything about him with burning passion, despising the way he always made you feel challenged and on your toes. He shakes with your word, turning you into a competitive mess, always trying your best to be better than him at everything, just so you could see the defeated look on his face and get acknowledgement.

When you’re almost 20, you realize that a hint of what you always wanted was acknowledgement from Zhong Chenle.

It might not solve all your problems, but maybe turning less competitive is a start.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Have You No Idea That You’re In Deep? [Chapter 4: Under The Heart Tree]

Aemond is a fearless, enigmatic prince and the most renowned dragonrider of the Greens. You are a daughter of House Mormont and a lady-in-waiting to Princess Helaena. You can’t ignore each other, even though you probably should. In fact, you might have found a love worth killing for.

A/N: I wanted to take a moment to give a heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who has fallen in love with this series!!! I read (and go back to reread) every single comment, reblog, tag, and message I receive, and they mean the absolute world to me. I truly don’t have words to express how appreciative I am of you all. With the end of Chapter 4, this series is officially halfway over; there will be 8 chapters total. I hope you continue to enjoy it. 💜

Song inspiration: “Do I Wanna Know?” by Arctic Monkeys.

Chapter warnings: Language, witchcraft, a wild Aegon appears, drama, pregnancy, a tiny bit of sexual content, mentions of death and violence (per usual), cryptic Helaena prophesies, Sir Criston being a supportive stepdad, found family feels, one (1) still jealous boi, more drama, lots of shouting, this fic is for readers 18+!!!

Word count: 6.5k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @crispmarshmallow @tclegane @daddysfavoritesexkitten @poohxlove @imagine-all-the-imagines @nsainmoonchild @skythighs @bratfleck @thesadvampire @yor72 @xcharlottemikaelsonx @mochimommy2002 @loverandqueenofdragons @omgsuperstarg​ @endless-ineffabilities @devynsshitposts @vencuyot @ladylannisterxo @ariesbabycitlaly @itzwhatever123 @cranberryjulce @abcdefghi-lmnopqrstuvwxyz @liathelioness @mirandastuckinthe80s @haezen @fairaardirascenarios @penteknati @darkened-writer @weepingfashionwritingplaid @signyvenetia @abrielleholland @crossingallmine @burningcoffeetimetravel @itzwhatever123 @yummycastiel @lol-im-done @lovemissyhoneybee @nomugglesallowed @witchmoon @yoshiplushie @404slayer404 @sunafterthethunder @torchbearerkyle​ @sweetashoneyhoney​ @quartzs-posts​ @lauraneedstochill​ @nctma15​ @queenofshinigamis​ @rapoficeandfire​ @hinata7346​ @curiouser-an-curiouser​ @eleganttravelercloud

💜 Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! (Also I’m sincerely sorry if Tumblr refuses to tag you!!!) 💜

“What do you need?” Aemond asks—his voice tender, the back of his hand testing the heat of your cheeks—and you tell him. He gathers everything: foxglove, sorrel, mint leaves, sticks of cinnamon, snakeskin, bloodstone, clear quartz, a blue candle, black tar rum, blood from a living bull. He does this swiftly and without any hesitation. He knows that only you have the power necessary for a cure.

In the dead of night, the prince half-carries you to the heart tree in the godswood of the Red Keep. You try to grind the dry ingredients into dust with the mortar and pestle, but your hands are weak and trembling. Aemond takes the tools from you and finishes himself. He sets the candle on a gnarled, ancient root and sparks it to life with the dagger and flint your mother gave you before you left Bear Island. Then he pours the dust into a pitcher and slowly mixes in the rum and the bull’s blood. The candlelight dances on his face: shadow, light, shadow again. All the while, here where the Old Gods can hear you, you chant this over and over: “Mend the bones, fill the veins, stitch the flesh until it’s whole again.”

Aemond grimaces as he stirs the contents of the pitcher with the dagger blade. “You don’t have to drink this or paint it on your bedroom walls or something, do you?”

You smirk wanly. “Not quite.” And that’s fortunate, because you haven’t been able to drink anything in days.

Back in the Red Keep, the servants to fill your bathtub with water so hot it clouds the room with steam. Once they’re gone, Aemond helps you into the tub and then adds the pitcher’s crimson brew. You steep in a shimmering, blood-red sea and feel the sickness sweat out of you: the nausea, the tremors, the pain, the repulsive bone-deep weakness. Aemond perches on the rim of the tub and braids your hair to keep it tucked neatly away, singing softly in High Valyrian, words you haven’t learned yet.

“I don’t deserve you,” you murmur in the dreamlike haze of blood and heat and relief, nearly asleep. Your cramped muscles have unraveled like loose threads. The anxious, scratching demons that live in your skull are blessedly chained at the moment.

“You do,” he replies. When he leans down to kiss the crown of your head, you can hear the smile in his voice. “You always will.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Sleep recedes from you like a waning crescent moon. Sounds of the morning breathe in through the open windows: birdsong, faraway voices, clops of horse hooves, wind in the leaves. You stretch, tentatively measuring the strength of your body; there is no aching, no fragility, no absence of strength like smothered embers. Your spell worked. You are cured. The triumph swells through you, a dazzling sort of fever. And then when you open your eyes, you see him.

You yelp like a startled animal. “What—?!”

“Good morning,” Aegon says brightly. He’s cross-legged on top of your writing desk and brandishing a cup of wine in his right hand.

You sit upright with a groan. “You need to stop doing this.”

“I have things to say that you should hear.”

“What?” you reply crossly.

Aegon sips his wine. “My mother has formally invited Borros Baratheon and his daughters to court. She did it a while ago, actually, but she’s been keeping it quiet. She didn’t want to give Aemond too much time to brood, I think. They are arriving in one week. There is going to be a feast. Lots of dancing, lots of diplomacy, and—my personal favorite—lots of drinking.” He raises his cup in a mock toast.

“Fantastic,” you say flatly.

“The thing is, Jason Lannister heard about this little development all the way out in Casterly Rock, so now he’s sending his daughters to court too. And so are the Arryns, and the Starks, and the Tullys and Tyrells, and Greyjoys too, if they can find anyone who counts as a lady. Maybe even the Westerlings and Swyfts and Swanns, you know…just in case they can pull an upset.” He takes another swig of wine. “It’ll be just like a horse market, except that all the horses walk on two legs and wear dresses.”

“One week…” Everything in you sinks. I knew this was coming, of course I did…but does it have to happen so fucking soon? Then again, maybe any time would feel too soon, months or years or decades. Maybe eternity with Aemond wouldn’t be long enough.

“No matter which horse wins, the result will be the same,” Aegon continues. “An engagement will be announced and my brother will soon wed in the Great Hall and set about the glorious task of producing heirs.”

“Okay. What do you want me to do about it?”

“I thought you might benefit from having the opportunity to prepare yourself. To devise an exit strategy. To…” He considers this next word carefully. “Cope.”

“Oh,” you realize, staring at him. You’ve never been able to get a handle on Aegon Targaryen. He’s not attentive to Helaena—she gets companionship from Aemond, from Alicent, from Otto, from you, but not from her husband—yet to your knowledge he’s never been cruel to her either. He does not ridicule her many peculiarities. He does not criticize her. On the rare occasion that he shares her bed, you overhear no sounds of mistreatment, no weeping or shouting or coercion. Aegon never leaves marks of violence on his wife, which is more than you can say for your own father. He neglects his duties, but he does not rebel against them. He’s done horrible things, surely, blatantly; and yet somehow he does not strike you as a particularly horrible person. “You’re not here to torment me. You’re trying to be helpful.”

Aegon smiles, but there’s very little humor in it. “You can keep that to yourself. No one would believe you anyway.”

He hops down to the floor, guzzles the last of his wine, and leaves the empty cup on your dresser before vanishing through the doorway like a ghost.

~~~~~~~~~~

The gardens are buzzing with bees and gossip. You sit in the midst of a stiflingly mundane tea party and try to remain present enough to smile and nod at the correct moments. You wring your pendent—moonstone gem, silver chain—as Helaena eats lemon cakes beside you, humming contently. She is technically the host of this gathering. It’s meant as a welcome to the noblewomen who have already begun to arrive at court, an opportunity for them to mingle and sample the luxuries of King’s Landing and prove themselves as future wives and mothers. So far, all they’ve proven themselves as is vapid and shallow and frustrating; although perhaps you only feel that way because one of them might be destined to marry the man you love. Aemond hasn’t mentioned the feast to you yet. He never mentions anything related to his impending marriage to some other woman. You’re afraid to bring it up. You’re afraid to break the euphoria you’ve been living in with him like a spell.

As your attention wanders, you notice a spot of blood on the sleeve of your dress. Before the tea party, you and Helaena had been watching Aemond and Sir Criston spar in the courtyard. That particular exchange had been bloodless, but then Ivar Kellington had broken the nose of some hulking Arryn man deluded enough to challenge him. The droplets had sprayed into the crowd like burgundy rain. The match lasted about twelve seconds.

Look at me, having some illustrious gilded blood after all. Ha ha ha.

Across the table, several noblewomen have veered into a covert discussion of one of King’s Landing’s greatest scandals: the indiscretions of Prince Aegon. You can’t catch every word, but you can catch enough of them. Which means Helaena can too.

“A handmaiden…that’s what I heard…yes, I know…what an embarrassment…well you can’t give them all moon tea, now can you?”

You glare at them—a Tyrell girl, you observe now, and a Lannister and a Tully—but they continue their prattling. Helaena rises from her chair and hurries off into the foliage with tears sparkling in her eyes.

“Hey,” you begin, but still the ladies take no notice.

“Little blond children all over the city…more brothels than you could…and the fighting pits…”

“Hey,” you say again, leaning over the table. Now they look at you. “Shut the fuck up.”

“Excuse me?!” cries the Tyrell.

“How dare you!” says the Lannister.

The Tully blubbers: “It’s not like she understands anyway—”

“She does understand.” Your voice is fierce and black and low. “She understands everything. She is your future queen and you’ve upset her with your stupidity. She’s too kind to tell you that to your faces, to make you pay for it. Her kindness is chronic and all-consuming. But I suffer from no such affliction.”

“You seem to suddenly think very highly of your station,” the Tyrell notes. “I wonder what has instilled such confidence in you, Lady Mormont.”

“Yes,” says the Lannister. “Has your family recently acquired some new lands…or titles…or armies…or anything?’

“No.” The Tyrell grins viciously. “They still just have poor little Bear Island. I wouldn’t even be able to find it on a map.”

“Perhaps that isn’t something to brag about,” you say, and storm away from the tea party before she can puzzle out what you mean. You can feel their narrowed eyes following you, cold and conspiratorial.

You find Helaena by a towering butterfly bush. Winged insects in a hundred different colors swoop around her like snowflakes. Silent tears stream down her ruddy face.

“Helaena…” You move to comfort her, then think better of it. She can be very particular about being touched. “I’m so sorry,” you offer, not knowing what else to say. It’s not like the girls were lying. Their words were terrible, and they should not have been said in earshot of Helaena; but they were true.

“Dragons do not speak our language,” Helaena says haltingly, deliberately. A sapphire-blue butterfly lands on her outstretched hand. “But still, they understand. To think they don’t is a mistake.”

“Yes,” you agree.

“They are not stone. They feel as deeply as we do.”

“Yes,” you say again. She means herself, of course; woven in the womb to speak differently, to think differently, to be so irretrievably different. And yet you find every thread of her wonderous.

She opens her arms wide. For a moment, you don’t understand what she wants; and then you embrace her. She clutches you tightly, digging her fingernails into your shoulder blades, burying her face in your neck. You can feel her tears there, hot and flowing freely.

“It’s alright,” you soothe. “Everything’s okay. You are so loved. You are so blameless.”

“I want to help you,” she says softly between sobs.

“Help me…? Help me with what, Helaena…?”

“I want to help you,” she repeats; and then she plods off, swiping tears from her eyes with both hands, still surrounded by a blizzard of butterflies.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have to talk to you about something,” Aemond says.

You are sitting together under a juniper tree on Bearstone with a picnic you’ve assembled: breads, cheeses, cherry and apricot jams, glossy red apples, honey cakes, wine for him, pomegranate juice for you. The kitchen staff had shot you sideways glances as you plucked each item from their cupboards. They know you’re Helaena’s lady-in-waiting, but they also know that you’ve been spotted socializing with the royal family with increasing frequency. There are whispers, and there are rumors, but if Alicent and Otto Hightower are aware of them they haven’t mentioned anything to you. Perhaps they feel it’s not even worth mentioning. Perhaps they expect the problem to be imminently remedied by one of those gorgeous, wealthy, well-connected women sauntering around the Red Keep.

“Okay.” You steel yourself for what comes next. You’ve known this was coming since the very beginning, since your arrival in King’s Landing, since before he ever touched you; Aemond Targaryen must marry, and he must marry well. Your hand settles protectively, instinctively over your belly, where your child lives unbeknownst to the rest of the world. You will be showing within a few months. What happens next will not only affect you. The prince’s affection for you is such that you now trust him not to leave you abandoned, adrift…but which path will he choose for you? He could give some lord a generous reward in exchange for marrying and providing for you…although given his territorial nature, this seems unlikely. He could send you back to Bear Island. He could send you to Dorne, where he counts the maesters among his few true friends. He could send you anywhere. He could set up a small household in the Crownlands somewhere, visit you a few times a year, know his child only as a passing thought. Regardless, you will lose him, whether in part or in whole; regardless, he will drain away from you like spilled blood.

Aemond says: “I think we should marry as soon as possible.”

Your mouth falls open. The apple you’ve been holding rolls out of your grasp. “You can’t marry me.”

“Why? You don’t consent?”

“No, I…” You shake your head, staring at him, stunned. You can’t find your words. “I…I’m a Mormont.”

He smiles. “I am aware of this, Moonstone.”

“Then surely you are also aware that there are currently about fifty highly-esteemed noblewomen in King’s Landing prepared to fight to the death for a chance to marry you. And that Otto Hightower and your mother are expecting a prompt betrothal to one of them.”

“I won’t do it,” he says calmly.

“You have to.” It pains you to say it, it flays you alive to say it, but it’s true. “I know that. I’ve always known it.”

“I have met my match in you. I will have no other. And my child must be legitimate.”

“They won’t allow it, they’ve planned this for years, they need this marriage—”

“Then Daeron can do it,” Aemond says. “There is one more son of King Viserys, is there not?” Daeron is younger than Aemond. He’s been serving Lord Ormund Hightower as a squire in Oldtown since he was twelve. You’ve heard that he’s a sweet boy, a compliant boy, more humble than either of his brothers. But he won’t be ready to marry for another few years. Aemond peers out over the ocean, meditative, melancholy. “I have already given enough to this family.” His eye, he means; his eye and his dragon and his swordsmanship and his fierce, efficient loyalty. “They will not take you from me too.”

You watch him, the wheels in your mind whirling. Is it possible? Is it really? When he turns back to you, he is at once himself again, or at least the way he is with you: kind, gentle, alight.

“What do you think, Moonstone?” Perhaps he’s nervous, but he’s hiding it well.

“I think that there is nothing I want more than to be bound to you in every way possible.”

“You must truly consider it,” he warns. “If you are my wife, you are inextricably linked to our side in what comes after. You must fully understand what you are entering into. Nothing can stop me from having you except your own will. If you have rethought your allegiances, or if you cannot bear to face the bloodshed…I can send you somewhere safe. I can make you disappear.”

What comes after. War, he means; the war of succession that will almost certainly follow the ailing King Viserys’ death, whether in a week or a month or a year. On one side will be Rhaenyra and Daemon. On the other will be Alicent’s children. You know exactly where you’ll be standing. “I understand, and I consent. I will shy away from no battles.”

Aemond closes the space between you. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you roughly, deeply, sending dragonfire heat spiraling down to every piece of you: nerves, arteries, bones, heart.

“So you aren’t bored of me yet,” you tease, climbing into his lap, your fingers tangling in his silver hair. Your freshly renewed body fits with his perfectly, effortlessly, like the black of night around the stars.

“Regrettably, I am not even the least bit bored of you.”

“I hope I don’t get you killed.”

“I’m sure you’d have a spell to fix that.”

You laugh, and he kisses you again, grinning, greedy. You respond eagerly, melding into his rhythm. Blood rushes to your cheeks. Your heartbeat races. The ocean wind is strong and tearing, the grass beneath your knees soft.

“Hm. I’m glad you’re feeling better,” your betrothed murmurs, his palms pressed into the small of your back, pulling you in closer.

“Me too.”

“And you’re hungry again.”

“Starving,” you amend, grinding your hips against his, turning his face away with your hand so you can bite the soft white skin of his throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasps. His right eye is dazed, rapt, lost in you like a labyrinth; his sapphire glistens like sunbeams reflected off the crests of waves. You guide his hands beneath your dress so he can feel how wet you are. And he whispers slyly as he helps free you from all those cumbersome layers of fabric: “I told you you’d always be mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Aemond has studied the marriage rituals of the North. He knows them almost as well as you do. And so what must happen next is clear.

He comes to collect you from your room when the moon is high and the rest of the Red Keep dreaming. He looks the same as he always does—dressed in black, hair long and flowing, stoic and unsmiling until he sees you—and there are no special ornaments for you either. Weddings witnessed by the Old Gods are not strewn with guests or festivities or music or gold. They are vestiges of long, dark, cold winters when survival itself was a triumph. They are bare; they require only the meeting of two honest souls. And a heart tree.

Aemond grazes a thumb across your cheekbone, marveling at you. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” And you are: completely, absolutely, with every drop of blood in your veins.

He takes your hand in his. He leads you from the room. And then, on the other side of the door, you discover Helaena. Both you and Aemond halt mid-step.

“Can I come too?” Helaena asks timidly. Moonlight glows on her angelic face. “I would like to be there. I would like to see you happy. Someone should be happy…if not me and Aegon, if not Mother and Sir Criston, if not the king…then at the very least you two should be.”

“Helaena…” Your words cut off, choked by emotion. You reach for her. She burrows into your arms with no reluctance at all. “Of course, my love,” you say, holding her. Aemond gazes at you, smiling faintly, immeasurably proud. “Of course. You are always, always welcome.”

In the godswood, under the cold fire of infinite constellations, the three of you arrive at the heart tree. You carry no torches to attract the attention of others. In the darkness, there is no discerning the color of the grass or the bark or the leaves. All the world is a murky, placid indigo; all the world is blind to arbitrary mortal designations of good and evil.

“There’s one thing I should mention,” Aemond says. “I have arranged for us to have a witness. I know they aren’t necessary in the North—the Old Gods themselves are the witnesses, seeing through the heart tree like a window—but I thought it would be wise for us to have someone of widely-regarded integrity to confirm that this marriage occurred. There can be no disputing it later.”

This is sensible. Your palm skates over your belly before you remember to stop yourself; you must get into the habit of giving away no clues of your pregnancy…until your marriage is public, at least. “But who…?”

Sir Criston Cole trudges into the godswood in full armor. “Alright Aemond, you better not be forcing me to help you catch and cut open a bull again, I’ve still got the bruises from last time, good gods…” He stops dead when he sees you. “Oh. So this has been the cause of your distraction.”

“Sir Criston, Lady Mormont and I are to marry.”

Sir Criston’s eyes are wide and blinking. “…Marry…?”

“Yes,” Aemond says. “Immediately.”

“What? Where…?”

“Here.” He turns to the heart tree in explanation.

Sir Criston stares blankly at the three of you, then shakes off his paralysis. “Oh no. No no no. Your mother would murder me.”

“I think we both know that’s not true.”

“Aemond…” Sir Criston begins, petrified.

“I am asking you to serve as a witness because of the love you bear for me and my family,” the prince says. “And I am asking you to keep this from my mother and grandfather. Not for long, mind you. Just until the feast has passed and the nobles have returned home to their own castles. Then I will inform my family in private, and they can soften the blow by offering Daeron’s hand in marriage to whichever house they decide they like best. This is not treason, Sir Criston. It is a mark of the profound trust I have in you.”

“Oh gods. Gods help me.” Sir Criston covers his face with his hands and stays that way for what feels like a very long time. Fireflies illuminate the cool night air like stars. Several land on the sleeves of Helaena’s gown and shine there like jewels. “Okay,” Sir Criston agrees at last. “I’ll do it, Aemond. I’ll do it for you.”

The prince embraces the lowborn knight, perhaps the best swordsman in the realm. “You’re the closest thing I have to a father.”

“I know.” Sir Criston’s mouth quivers. His dark eyes are slick. “Now let’s do this before I lose my nerve.”

You and Aemond join hands under the rustling leaves of the heart tree. Sir Criston stands beside the prince; Helaena stays near you. There is a distant rumbling of thunder. Sparce raindrops begin to fall. Aemond doesn’t know the vows used in a Northern wedding, you realize, and you can’t remember them well from the marriage ceremonies you attended as a child; from what you can recall, they are generic, plain, ‘who comes to take this woman?’ and that sort of thing.

“What should we say, wife?” the prince asks you, smiling, starlight in his eye. Suddenly, you are alone with him here in the godswood. You are the last people in Westeros, in the entire world. Winter has come and gone and left nothing but two ghosts doomed to dwell together here for eternity.

You speak without first thinking of what to say. The words flow through you like a river. “In the sight of gods and men, I bind myself to you. I will run from no battles, I will crave no flesh but yours, I will put no cause before your own. I pledge to you any strengths that I possess and I vow to slay my weaknesses. I am yours, body and soul. Use me as you will, but only out of love.”

Aemond repeats these words, and then he kisses you. Helaena claps; Sir Criston bows his head to hide a small, sincere smile. Rain falls as you all hurry back inside the Red Keep.

For the very first time, Aemond takes you to his own bed, to the room where you cast the spell of protection that saved him in the joust. There are still remnants of dust on the floor; he could not bring himself to erase you. As your clothes fall away, flashes of lightning reveal every line and birthmark and scar. There is no shyness. You know every stitch of each other already. You make love with gentle, exquisite slowness as the storm builds outside: his fingers woven through yours, his thrusts deep, his whispered promises heavy with truth.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I have something for you,” your husband says as you stand together by the fireplace in the privacy of Helaena’s chambers. In the flames, dry wood pops and crackles. “For the feast.”

“We are so well matched you will not believe it,” you reply. “I have something for you too.”

Helaena brings it over: a tunic that you have been embroidering together for days. It is black—Aemond’s preferred color—but decorated with a dragon of silver thread. The beast winds around the wearer’s back and waist and arms, breathing cool glistening fire.

“It’s supposed to look like Vhagar,” you explain. “But…well…I’m not quite as good at embroidery as Helaena is, so the face is a little…and the wings…”

“It’s perfect,” Aemond says, beaming. And then again: “It’s perfect!” He yanks off his plain black tunic and replaces it with the one you’ve gifted him. “Now I will appear especially dashing for all my prospective wives.”

Helaena giggles, blushing a cheerful pink. She is elated to be in on a joke, to have been trusted with information of such consequence. She points at the silver dragon. “Be cautious with her. She will not always listen.”

“Who, Vhagar?” Aemond asks. “She listens well enough. I’ve tamed her. I’m good at taming all manner of beasts…dragons…bulls…bears…” He grabs you by the waist and draws you to him, kissing the side of your face over and over until you squeal and push him away, laughing. “As for my gift…” He calls for the servants and they enter with a gown. They hand it to the prince, casting you a wary glance, and then disappear again. The gown is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The color is subtle, shimmering, opalescent, almost…

“It’s…it’s…”

“Moonstone,” Aemond says. He gives it to you. The fabric flows like water. “I commissioned it the day after the joust. No one else will have anything like it. I’ll be able to spot you anywhere in the room.”

“I doubt you’ll have time to notice me. There will be a plethora of views to enjoy.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But you’ll be the best.”

He leaves to accompany Alicent as she enters the feast while you and Helaena finish getting ready. Helaena’s gown is a vivid greenish-blue, and the stones in her jewelry are turquoise. There are teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from your ears and a string of them around your left wrist, gifts from the princess. As always, your moonstone pendant hangs from your neck. You are dressed ostentatiously for a mere lady-in-waiting, particularly one from as modest a house as your own. People may wonder about that. You smile to yourself. They won’t have to wonder long.

The Great Hall is radiant with music and conversation and candlelight. The most celebrated houses of Westeros mingle: the men boasting about their lands and their swords (which hang at their belts in scabbards of leather or metal), the women boasting about their wombs, the children boasting about their enviable betrothals. Those who don’t yet have betrothals to boast about are hoping to procure one tonight. No one pays much attention to you—the daughter of an important house, the widow of an unimportant man—unless it is to compliment your gown. You and Helaena dance together with flushed faces, giggling and twirling until you trip and fall into each other’s waiting arms. Meanwhile, Aemond—who, contrary to you, is having a great deal of attention paid to him—dutifully navigates the hall to pay his respects to the Baratheons, the Lannisters, the Tyrells, the Arryns, the Starks, on and on down the ladder. He speaks to each of the families, nodding politely to the clamoring, bejeweled daughters, before moving on to the next. He does this as quickly as he can so he can get it over with. He has never been at ease with strangers. He has never found it simple to trust them. A part of him will always be that overlooked, scorned second son, reserved by nature, suspicious by necessity; it’s just that he sometimes forgets this when he’s with you. No matter where he goes in the room, he keeps you on his good side. He watches you, he covets you.

There is one guest, and only one, who notices you and asks for a dance. Cregan Stark is young and handsome next to the other lords, nearly your same age, and you had met years before as children. He has a natural, kind charisma. He asks you about your family back on Bear Island as he carries you around the floor like a strong wind, tells you about Winterfell, offers his condolences for the loss of your mother. He doesn’t even think to mention your late husband. It is a commiseration between two Northerners in a distant land; it is a comfort to you both. As soon as Cregan Stark drops your hand and departs to awe some other lady, Aemond appears.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks good-naturedly as he circles you, gliding his palm nonchalantly over your waist, your wrists, the small of your back. Your skin responds to him, goosebumps rising, lust kicking up like embers in a stirred fire.

“Diplomacy,” you reply primly.

“Hm. Perhaps we should send you to negotiate treaties.”

“I am very persuasive.”

“Yes, I know.” And he takes your hand to spin you around just once before leaving to pretend to consider marrying some other woman.

When Helaena is whisked away to dance with Otto Hightower, you pour yourself a cup of pomegranate juice and nurse it as you stand by the wall, alone. The noblewomen from the tea party toss you venomous sneers. You ignore them. You have everything they could ever want and more. Your hand settles briefly, forgetfully on your belly, and then you snatch it away.

Aegon, very intoxicated, wobbles over to you and props his back against the wall so he can keep his balance. “Hello,” he slurs.

“Hello.”

“I thought you might like to disparage the candidates with me,” he says, then gestures with his wine cup. “Look at that Floris Baratheon. Ears like a fucking donkey.”

You chuckle, hiding your face guiltily behind your own cup. “Shh. She’s not so bad.”

“You seem to be handling this remarkably well. Perhaps my brother has bored you, perhaps you have had your fill of him. Or perhaps you aren’t so heartbroken because he’s planning to keep you around as his mistress. I wouldn’t have guessed that to be his style, but upon second thought, you have thoroughly corrupted him. In that case, he should choose the donkey for sure. Someone stupid and docile. You can have rooms on opposite ends of the Red Keep and there will be no need for you to claw each other’s eyes out.”

“I’m not an animal, Prince Aegon.”

“You’re a Mormont. That’s hardly better.”

You smile. He smiles back.

Aegon leans into you, unsteady but not purposefully intrusive. “You’re worth more than all of them put together. I’m sorry that’s not what matters.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?”

“We are natural allies,” he says, and clinks his cup against yours in a toast. Fortunately, he is too drunk to notice that you’re avoiding wine this evening. That would certainly raise some suspicions. “I know your secret, and you know mine.”

“What…?” And then you understand. Your secret is your relationship with Aemond, that part is easy. Aegon’s secret is a bit more obscure. What perhaps no one else knows is that there is more to him than brash words and wicked deeds and flippant, lazy recklessness. That he loves his family. That—somewhere way down deep, unspoken but alive—he cares.

Aegon shoves himself away from the wall and gives you a parting bow, clumsy and lurching. “Enjoy your evening as best you can. I’m going to go piss on the floor.”

“Cheers,” you reply. He staggers away, leaving you alone again.

As the Great Hall whirls around you like a galaxy, you bask in the warm glow of this moment, this liminal space like a doorway. There will be grumbles, surely, but what you and Aemond have forged cannot be undone. No one can take away your marriage. No one can take away your child. You knew unconditional love once, long ago on Bear Island, safe in your mother’s arms; now you have it again. You belong somewhere again. You took one hell of a detour, but now you are home.

You don’t feel him enter the hall, because he’s not Aemond Targaryen. He doesn’t change the room at all. You only turn because you hear rising chatter, and then elated shouts, and then the thunder of men’s handshakes and pounds on the back. You wonder who is being congratulated, who is being cheered like a soldier returning from war. When you see him, your cup drops out of your hand. Pomegranate juice floods across the floor like blood. He sees you, rushes to you; and it's the strangest thing, because it all seems to be happening very slowly, but not slowly enough for you to flee. It’s like one of those dreams where you’re trying to run but you can’t. You can’t even speak. You can’t even scream.

He is battered and bruised and thinner—harsher—than you remember, but it’s him. His name rings through the hall in a hundred different voices.

“Axel Hightower, back from the dead!”

“He survived the shipwreck! Praise the gods!”

“And now he’s come to surprise his wife!”

You are powerless to stop his approach. You are chained in place by horror. All around you, the life you thought you’d have is crumbling into dust. It’s running out of your fingers like sand in an hourglass.

“Aww, look, the poor thing is in shock! She can’t believe it!” some idiot sighs romantically. There are applause and whistles. On the periphery of your vision, you see Aegon backing away as far as he can from the dance floor. His head whips around, searching for someone.

Axel grips your arm, pulls you into him, and kisses you. It feels like being invaded. It feels like that very first night with him when he—not cruelly, no, but with a dreadful, willing ignorance—forced his way inside you until it felt like you were being sawed in half. You flinch violently; every muscle, every nerve screams to be away from him. You try to push Axel off of you, but he doesn’t budge. Why would he? He owns you, like a castle or a horse. He can do whatever he likes to you. The notion of you having desires to the contrary would never even cross his mind. There are tears bleeding down your cheeks: for you, for your child, for the future whose throat has just been slit in this room. It feels like you’re dying. You wish you were.

There is the shrill whisper of a blade being torn from its scabbard. All the guests fall silent. Axel takes a step back from you, his fingers still clamped around your forearm. Aemond holds the point of his sword to Axel’s throat. Several crimson beads drip from where the steel has pierced the paper-thin surface layer of skin. Aemond’s voice is dark, like nightfall, like onyx. His eye is blazing blue, cold fire. “Remove your hands from her, or you will lose them.”

Axel is too mystified to be outraged. He releases you. You can breathe again. “She is my wife by law.”

“She carries my child!” Aemond’s words ricochet off the walls like shattered glass. The Great Hall boils over with gasps and scandalized jabbering. “And we married under the heart tree. She is mine.”

“You what?!” Aegon blurts out.

“You what?!” Otto Hightower roars.

“Sir Criston?” Aemond calls, summoning him.

Sir Criston Cole steps out of the rabble. “It’s true,” he says. He hides his reddening face from Queen Alicent. “I witnessed it. They are wed.”

“This is an outrage!” Axel bellows, then looks to the crowd for their verdict.

“Bigamy!” someone cries out. A chorus joins them, a sea of jilted noble families who can only benefit from Axel carting you back to Oldtown.

“Whore! Whore!”

“Poor Axel Hightower escapes from the jaws of death to find this?!”

“A mortal sin!”

“Go back to your true husband!”

“Take her to the dungeons!”

Aemond steps in front of you, twirling his sword once, twice, again. “And who would like to be the first to try?”

No one moves to detain you, but the crowd’s sentiment is unmistakable, rabid. The jeers continue to rain down on you: bigamist, sinner, whore. And you can’t even decry them as slander, because they’re true. Otto Hightower is clutching the back of a chair like he might fall over without it. Alicent’s eyes are pooling with stunned, furious tears. Helaena sinks to the floor, covering her ears with both hands. After taking a moment to consider it, Sir Criston moves to stand beside Aemond and draws his own sword.

Ideas flit through Aemond’s mind like arrows. He catches one of them. As Sir Criston watches the crowd, Aemond turns back to you and touches your face with his free hand. “Say you want a trial by combat.”

“Are you sure—?”

“I can beat any man here besides Sir Criston and he wouldn’t fight me, just say it.”

“I demand a trial by combat!” you announce for all the court to witness.

“No she doesn’t!” Otto shouts, trying to drown you out.

“She does,” Aemond insists, grinning madly. “And I will be her champion.”

“Then I shall name my own!” Axel says. Already the court is chattering that there is no great cowardice in this; he is still recovering from his ordeal, far from his physical peak, and Prince Aemond is one of the best swordsmen in King’s Landing. Axel scans the Great Hall for someone, anyone, who could challenge him. Sir Criston could probably best Aemond, but he would never agree to try. His allegiances to both Alicent and Aemond are too great. Who else could there be? Who else could there possibly be?

And then Axel’s gaze lands on him. When Aemond said he could beat any man here, he wasn’t wrong. The giant the court calls Killington hardly counts as a man at all. He’s not a man; he’s a monster. And he’s been thirsty for Aemond’s blood for years. He towers over anyone else in the room; he outweighs them by double. He steps forward, answering a question that has not yet been asked.

Axel’s face splits into a grin. His eyes glint like mirrors, like blades. “I choose Ivar Kellington.”