#V. Tell The Wolves I'm Home

[ichorai]

i'm not made by design ; part two ; jaime lannister.

part one.

pairing ; jaime lannister x stark!reader (she/her pronouns)

synopsis ; wolves and lions tend not to be friends, much less lovers.

words ; 9.0k

themes ; heavy angst, action, fluff, (actual) enemies to lovers, slowburn

warnings / includes ; war/murder/injury, this part covers a few events from a feast for crows, politicking, mentions of incest/rape, foul language, animal cruelty, a lot of generally terrible things going on but what else can you expect from asoiaf, lots of dreams, jaime is a morally grey delight in this part yes, they are being HAUNTED by each other!

a/n ; wow, it's been a long time coming! ok i know this part is quite short and doesn't yet get to where you guys probably want to be, but tumblr has a max limit of 1k text blocks per post now (boo everyone throw tomatoes) so i'll be posting the rest of the story in smaller chunks! expect the third part to be coming soon, and i promise part three will start off exactly where you guys want it to be :) also if any of you can spot any sort of parallels in this part i will kiss you on the Mouth .

main masterlist. read on ao3!

The wintry breeze tousled the two young Stark girls’ hair, whispering frost into their ears. The horse the two were riding whickered as it galloped through the snow. Lyanna was exclaiming something, something lost to the wind, and you only held all the tighter to her from behind. 

“Lyanna, I want to get off!” you yelled, tugging at the furs draped over her. “Lyanna, let me off!”

Your older sister laughed some more. Not wickedly, but more out of fond amusement. She slowed the horse down to a languid canter, then to a trot, and led the stallion towards the shade of a tree. There was snow blanketing the branches and the grass which crunched beneath her weight as she swung down. She looked up at you with her large grey eyes, crinkled at the corners as she grinned boyishly. “Were you frightened?” 

You held your arms out for your sister to help you down. Only at eight years of age, you were still of short stature, and Lyanna had picked a rather tall horse. She had always been a voracious rider, even more so than all your brothers.

“I wasn’t frightened,” you indignantly replied as she wrapped her arms about your waist and pulled you down onto the ground. 

“Right.” She began to stroke the stallion’s mane, his hooves pawing at the snow. “Do you not trust me, then? Did you think I would ride us right off the edge of a cliff?”

“No,” you replied, scuffing your boots against the snow. “I don’t like riding from behind. I can’t see anything from back there.”

There was a moment of silence before Lyanna reached over to ruffle your hair—an action that both she and Benjen often did. Eddard and Brandon often spared you from such irritations, but being the youngest of the family, you were always doted on and hovered over and babied.

“I don’t trust you riding a horse as big as this, so I suppose we can walk back. It’s not too far.”

“Why can’t I just sit in front of you?”

Your sister stuck her tongue out at you. “We’ve got something in common, you know. What makes you think I like sitting behind?” When you glowered at her, she went on, “Let’s get a move on. Ned will complain that I’m stealing you away—especially since he’s just returned. He misses you. Your letters grow briefer and briefer, he tells me.”

You were none too happy about trudging through the snow, but you voiced no complaint and walked alongside your sister, who tugged at the horse’s reins to follow along. 

“He’s always going back and forth,” you said, a small frown marring your features. “I wish he would just stay home. The Eyrie couldn’t possibly compare to Winterfell.”

“You know him.” Lyanna’s dark hair was speckled with snowflakes as she turned to you. “Studious and dutiful as ever.” Her voice went an octave deeper and she pulled a mockingly somber expression in a startling resemblance to Ned. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Last time he visited, you were betrothed,” you said, your voice shrinking to a whisper.

The amusement died away from her eyes, turning stony. “Yes. Though I doubt it will be a fruitful union.”

There were a few more seconds of silence as you considered her words, not entirely sure why she would think so. Robert was loud and robust the few times you’ve met him, but you knew little else of Ned’s friend. 

“Do you think he’ll bring a wedding proposal for me this time?”

Lyanna’s features contorted with surprise. “Why? Do you want to be married?”

Your cheeks flushed with heat, despite the frost settling over your skin. “Well—if Father says I have to, then I will.”

“I didn’t ask about Father,” replied Lyanna. It was hard for her to believe that you were only eight sometimes. You always tried to act older than you actually were. “I asked about you.”

Winterfell grew larger and larger as the two of you drew nearer to the castle gates. Home.

“I don’t think I’d mind getting married,” you told your sister, eyes downcast and brows pulled together in thought. “As long as I get to stay in Winterfell. I never want to leave.”

Lyanna smiled, all teeth and cheek. “Wouldn’t that be a dream?” she sighed. 

The rest of the short journey was made in relative silence, and you left your sister and the tall stallion by the stables (not without her ruffling your hair one last time), and you dashed up to the castle chambers where you knew Ned would be.

He carried no proposals, only a few books he thought you would enjoy and a warm hug.

You awoke with a startled gasp, kicking at the thin blanket that laid over your form. It took you several moments to realize where you were. A boat. Rocking steadily, back and forth and back and forth. You rubbed at your sleepy eyes whilst drawing your knees up to your chest, still blinking away remnants of your dream.

Lyanna. Ned. Still young, still practically children. 

One of the tongueless little birds stood in the doorway. It was an ominous sight. Her eyes were large and unblinking, glinting like glass balls within her small head. In her hands was a wooden bowl, full of what looked to be a poultice of sorts. She drew nearer, and the heavy scent of honey and flowers reached your nose. 

“What is it?” you asked the child, a coil of pity winding in the pit of your stomach. You knew they couldn’t respond—Varys had stolen not only their youth, but their voices, too. “Is this food?”

A foreign delicacy of sorts, maybe? An Essosi dessert you weren’t familiar with, perhaps. It looked quite unappetizing, though you knew you had no room to complain.

The girl shook her head, then pointed to your hair, which was pulled back into a braid. You understood from just that, and nodded your thanks while accepting the bowl from her. This was hair dye, made from a blend of flowers and other substances you couldn’t name. You supposed it was a necessary precaution—you had an unmistakable Northern look to you, and would surely stick out like a sore thumb here down South. Dyeing your hair and cutting it short would help to somewhat conceal your identity. Short enough, and perhaps you could even be mistaken for a man, at least at a first quick glance. 

The little girl left a dagger and a small, rusty, hand-held mirror by your legs and disappeared from your cabin in complete silence, as if she was never there in the first place. They were like ghosts, this crew of children. Everything was so quiet all the time, with only your thoughts and the ocean waves to accompany you.

You unbraided your hair and shook it loose. Hair carried memories. Memories of Catelyn showing you how hair was done in the Riverlands, memories of Benjen tugging at your hair to tease you, memories of Jaime commenting on how your hair was a lovely shade of animal waste. That had been grumpily remarked earlier on, when you and Brienne were escorting him to King’s Landing. Before Locke and Roose Bolton and… Robb. 

You propped up the rust-spotted mirror against the wall and scooped up the dagger. The reflection that met you was only barely recognizable. You looked so tired. With a resigned sigh, you began to slice off your hair with the sharp blade. Handfuls fell to the ground. You sliced and sliced until your head felt light and your neck was bare. It’s never been this short before. If Benjen were here, you knew he would surely laugh at you. Brandon would comment that he never knew he had another brother. 

Yes, you thought. I can surely pass as a man if I wanted to. Though you certainly shared many features with your sister, you hadn’t the wild beauty Lyanna had. No, you were far plainer than her, colder and sharper than she was. Nothing worthy to note—though your father, quiet as a man he was, once told you that you looked the most like your mother out of all your siblings. That had made you feel more beautiful than anything. 

Plain was good, though. Plain meant no eyes would be drawn to you. 

You weren’t too sure what color your hair would turn with this dye. You lathered the thick paste over your newly-cut strands, massaging it into your scalp. Your nose twitched from the strong odor—not entirely unpleasant, but also wasn’t a delight breathing in.

As you rinsed your hands of the dye, your skin was left with a slight copperish stain. You stared at the color with sad eyes—would your hair turn out red like Cat’s? Like all your nephews and Sansa?

And, like a fool, you wondered if Jaime would like short, red hair. He wouldn’t care much, you found yourself thinking, perhaps wishfully so. Did you want him to care?

Two children brought you food—rations of dried meat and crusty bread. You wolfed half of it down and handed them the other half. Though they couldn’t speak, the children made for pleasant company. Or perhaps you were just lonely. It was hard to tell.

After eating, you rinsed out the hair dye and wrung the water out with a cloth over the edge of the ship. The cloth came away stained bright red. You retreated back into the cabin to look at the mirror. 

It was a shock to see your hair resemble Catelyn’s. It was darker than hers had been, but the auburn, orange-red sheen to your head was unmistakable. You looked like a Tully! You nearly laughed with amazement, but any sort of joy was short-lived, and you lapsed into more silence.

You laid on the rickety bed, thinking of Winterfell and your now-scattered family. Robb and Ned and Cat and the younglings Bran and Rickon might have been taken from you, but… you still had family left. Sansa and Arya could very well be scattered somewhere in the Seven Kingdoms, alive and breathing. Jon, at the Wall, as well. At least, you hoped. It’d been so long since your time sending letters to the young boy. Was he hurt that you stopped sending them so suddenly?

Tears pricked the corner of your eyes, and you drew your knees to your chest, willing yourself into a restless slumber.

Days came and went. The little children were growing more agitated, fluttering about the boat with wide eyes and quick feet. They tossed nets overboard into the water—masquerading the boat as a fishing vessel, you assumed. There were many ships out and about Blackwater Bay. Some carried banners of houses loyal to the crown, and others were bannerless. Pirates or fishermen, you couldn’t tell. 

So far, all other ships have passed by quietly. But the risk grew with each day. You knew Tywin and Cersei would likely order more fleets to be sent after you, Sansa, and Tyrion. The chances of you being found on water would grow each day—and you couldn’t risk becoming a prisoner again. Jaime wouldn’t be able to help you escape a second time, not with Cersei around.

At least on foot… you had somewhere to run. Being on sea left you nothing but water for miles on end. 

And so you told the silent children to let you off at the nearest fishing port. Some part of you wondered if they would object, but they stared at you with round, moon eyes and nodded. You didn’t know whether to thank or damn Varys. 

The ship docked in the dead of night, half a mile from Duskendale. One of the little children handed you a map and tapped at where they’d leave you. A pouch full of food rations, more dye, and other necessities was left on your cot. You thanked the child endlessly, who seemed not to hear your gratitude and scuttled away. You grabbed the pouch, the dagger, the bow and quiver full of arrows Varys had presumably left you, and slipped into a large cloak. 

Land felt like it was lurching beneath your feet once you stepped onto the pier. Your body was used to the swaying motions of the waters, and would take some time to adjust. You gingerly shook one of your booted feet. The children watched you disembark on wobbly legs, but you dared not wave back at them. 

Despite it being nighttime, the docks were busier than ever. Fishermen and merchants littered all over the shore, some selling products and entertainment and others working hard to gather more to sell before day broke. You steeled yourself with a deep breath, and made your way through the busy crowd. 

You began trekking your way North towards the Eyrie, the hood of your cloak pulled over your short, red hair.

It took nearly three weeks for you to reach the Crossroads. Nightfall was nearing when you strode in front of the inn, the sky a mirage of bleeding reds from the setting sun and moody greys from the rainclouds. The air smelled of mud and rusted metal. It was certainly no grand castle, but a modest bed was better than sleeping on the cold dirt you’ve been curled up on the past several days. There was a young girl and a dark-haired boy by the front that looked somewhat like your memory of Robert Baratheon twenty-some years ago. At first, the boy denied your request for shelter, but reluctantly clammed up once you offered him some gold, worth more than it ever could in times of war. The two let you pass with not a word more.

Greeting you inside was a ruckus of loud children. Parentless, you realized, as there were none to be seen within the inn’s walls. An inn full of orphans, you thought with a touch of sadness. In that regard you supposed you shared a similarity with all of them. 

Just as you slipped onto one of the creaking wooden stools to momentarily rest your weary feet, you overheard a voice. A familiar voice. Low and raspy and unmistakably—

Brienne, you thought, wide-eyed. But she wasn’t alone. A young boy was by her side, yes, that was Podrick, and an older man—a knight, by the looks of his armor, and an even older septon with grey hair and a hunched back. What a queer party Brienne was leading. She was supping on porridge and salted cod. 

The impulsive part of you wanted to call out for her and rush to her side, ask if she had found any sign of Sansa, or if she had made any progress on her quest. Instead, you drew in a deep breath, and stood from your stool to take a seat across from Podrick whilst Brienne was busy speaking to the knight. The young squire made a half-gasping, half-choking noise once his eyes raised from the cup he was draining to your cold eyes, recognizing you immediately. You discreetly lifted a finger to your lips to silence him. His eyes went moon-round and he nodded once. 

Brienne ignored the knight’s constant jabbering about lips and marriage and castles full of children, and turned to look at her squire in mild concern of him choking on a fish bone. But her eyes landed on you, and her mouth dropped open.

She was very near to bowing her head and saying, “My lady.” But she didn’t, knowing it would draw far too much attention, and stared at you with utter confusion plain over her features.

“Hello,” you said to her. “It has been a while, Brienne.”

“Do you know each other?” the knight bumped in. He spooned some porridge into his mouth.

“Brienne and I were childhood friends on Tarth,” you lied. “I was the son of a cook. A nobody in truth, but Brienne was kind enough to befriend me.”

Brienne was no good at lying, you knew this, but she nodded along to your story. 

The knight looked you over. “A little runt boy and a grand beast of a girl. The two of you must have been a sight.”

You could only offer him half a shrug at that.

“What brings you here?” Brienne carefully asked you. 

“Someone helped me leave,” you responded with equal caution. Avoiding the knight’s curious eyes, you leaned closer to Brienne. “Is there a place for us to speak with fewer naked children milling about?”

Being around Varys’ little birds for long enough taught you that children were oft smarter than they looked. Somewhere to your right, you saw one of the little orphan boys stick a nut inside his nostril. 

Brienne nodded and led you just outside, away from prying ears and eyes. There, you told her everything. From Tyrion’s trial, to Oberyn’s death, to Cersei demanding you to be locked up or killed (whichever suited her taste that day), to Jaime helping you escape, to the birds on the boat, to your journey here. In turn, Brienne told you of her lengthy journey and what she had found on the way. Mostly nothing, lots of war and skirmishes. Sandor Clegane was dead, but Arya had been with him soon before that… not Sansa. The thought of Arya somewhere out there alive, sparked dangerous hope within your chest.

“Varys says Sansa is in the Eyrie, masquerading as Baelish’s bastard daughter.” The thought revolted you. “But I do wonder if the Eyrie is a trap of sorts. I cannot trust Varys. He certainly is no friend of the Lannisters, but neither is he their enemy. For all I know, he may be conspiring with dragons and grumpkins.”

“Sansa would be safe with her Aunt Lysa there, right?” Brienne asked, though even she sounded doubtful of her own question.

“I can’t quite say,” you said, brows furrowed. “Lysa is an unpredictable woman. Frightened and secluded is never a good combination of characteristics. Even so, I doubt Sansa would make her way home up North without being intercepted. It wouldn’t hurt to check the Vale first.”

Brienne nodded solemnly. “We can make our way first thing in the morning. For now, you must rest, my lady. You must be exhausted.”

The sudden reminder of the limitations of your body made your knees wobble. The past few days had you running on little else than adrenaline, fear, and meager portions of salted foods. 

“I missed you, Brienne,” you whispered, looking up at her. “I fear trusted friends are few and far in between in these times.” Not that you ever had many friends to begin with. Everyone had always been so afraid of you—something Brienne could relate to.

 The term friend dusted pink over Brienne’s large, crooked nose and broad, freckled cheekbones. She was certainly not pretty, not by a long shot, but that was of no matter to you. She was the most beautiful blessing you could have possibly encountered—your chances of survival and finding Sansa were far better with Brienne by your side.

“I missed you, as well,” Brienne managed to choke out after many moments of stunned silence. She had never been good with niceties. “Podrick has been company enough, but the boy is young and easily frightened.”

“I’m frightened, too,” you admitted. “One would be a fool not to be, with enemies at every turn. Young, however, is a trait I have long outgrown.”

Brienne looked up at the night sky. “Youth was a curse on me. I always looked older than I was.”

“Me, as well,” you mused with a thoughtful hum. Memories of the lords and ladies living at Winterfell’s court whispering behind your back… sending you strange looks of distant pity… veering far out of your way in fear of you… it weighed heavy on you, especially in your younger years. “My anger has aged me a decade, I think.”

Before Brienne could respond, there came a commotion of noise. Men on horses, their hooves schlocking through mud and puddles. Instinctively, you drew the cowl of your hood up over your head. They are armed, these men, you thought with grim unease. And there were many of them, just above half a dozen. Far too many for you and Brienne to take alone.

Brienne drew in a sharp breath at the sight of them and unsheathed Oathkeeper. She stepped in front of you before you could even begin to react. The biggest man of the party was so hefty that his beaten horse buckled and shook beneath the sheer force of his weight. His pale face was torn and wept with pus and blood. But Brienne’s eyes were drawn to his snarling helm—with its dull metal nose and sharp teeth of steel. It was the Hound’s property but the man wearing it was certainly no Hound.

The sky grew darker and the storm clouds thundered up above. The young girl that had greeted you into the inn had slammed the door open, now holding a crossbow. Whatever she was screaming was lost to the rain and thunder. 

“Loose a quarrel at me and I’ll shove that crossbow up your cunt and fuck you with it. Then I’ll pop your fucking eyes out and make you eat them,” raged the man, his voice nearly as loud as the booming in the sky. Your chest rose and fell in silence as you slowly reached behind you to unsling your bow. 

“Leave her be,” called out Brienne, drawing their attention. “If you want to rape someone, try me.”

The outlaws laughed and chortled at that. One japed about fucking horses before fucking her. The rest of their words were unintelligible to you as you focused on drawing an arrow without pulling too much attention to yourself. It proved to be a difficult task when there were seven pairs of eyes trained on Brienne, and, consequently, you, as well.

Brienne said something you couldn’t catch, leaving the man with the helm fuming. He charged forward through the mud. Brienne shuffled away from you—she needed the man to come to her, but not to get too close to you. You were her priority now.

A song of steel screeched through the rain-torn wind as their swords clashed. Brienne managed to cut through the rags of his tunic and slash a gaping hole in his cheap chainmail just before she just barely evaded his swinging axe. The man was screaming expletives at her—whore, bitch, freak. 

You nocked the arrow with not a second thought.

Then the drawstring was split in two and you were left with a useless bow. One of the outlaws had made his way to you whilst you were concentrating on the man with the helm—and broke your favored weapon. 

“Shhh,” he crooned as he laid the cold, wet blade of the knife he used to cut your bow against your throat. “Enjoy and watch the show, boy.” He must have thought you were one of the orphans that lived here—and not much of a threat, considering he pulled the knife away from you and made a show of pointing it towards Brienne and her attacker. “It’s not every day you see a woman like her battle a man like him.”

You nodded, playing along. You still had the dagger you used to cut your hair tucked against your hip. It was a touch too dull for your liking, but it would have to do for now. You had no other choice. With the man’s eyes drawn back to their messy duel, you drew its blade and drove it forth, straight into throat. His arms flailed for a second before clawing at your face and chest. Pain bloomed over your skin. If you were bleeding, you couldn’t feel it—not with all the rain pouring over you. You savagely tore the dagger out from his throat and drove it through his chest again and again and again. From your peripheral vision, you could see Brienne parry over and over, stab this way and that—and finally skewer her longsword straight through him until its pointy end protruded out his back.

You continued stabbing the man until he fell to the ground in a limp, bloodied heap. Even then you didn’t stop—straddling his waist and bringing the dagger down in furious strokes. It occurred to you that the other men would be upon Brienne a second too late—when you swung around, she was swarmed by the rest of them. 

“Eddard!” she called, immediately halting you in your assault on the long-dead outlaw. It took you a moment to realize that she was addressing you, not wanting to call out your actual name. “Run! Run, now!”

Two of the outlaws were coming towards you.

“Brienne!” you yelled just as one of them sliced a cut through her shoulder she couldn’t properly roll away from. The rest of your protests caught in your throat when you watched one of them—one with wild eyes that had irises too small and teeth filed sharp—dive forward onto Brienne, sending her crashing to the ground. He bit a chunk of her face right off. 

More men surrounded her. Punching, kicking, and slicing at your friend. No, you couldn’t see her anymore, where is she? Get up, Brienne, get up…

“GO!” you could hear her muffled voice scream. “NED, GO!”

No, no, no…

But if you stayed, you would be dead, as well. One of the outlaws made a grab for you, but you danced back. If not for the two slipping on the watery mud the very next second, you would have been dead.

With your heart beating in your throat, you turned on your heel and fled.

What was a kingsguard without his king? Jaime hadn’t been happy to be sent off to the Riverlands again—his place was beside Tommen. The boy-king with a golden crown sitting atop his golden curls. Cersei had insisted on him leaving, however. She’d grown more restless, more paranoid, more snappy since their father’s death. Lancel, his fool of a cousin, was now a religious fanatic who seemed to be intent on fasting until he passed from starvation, and had confessed his sins of lying with Cersei. Apparently he was not the only one. The Kettleblack brothers, the court fools, and hells, even serving girls, if word of mouth was to be trusted. 

He felt a fool for ever loving her. And now she had kicked him out of the castle and away from his duty like one would a dirty mongrel.

Let her run the kingdom to ruin. See if I care.

Jaime wearily pulled at his face. That was the problem—he did care, and he knew he did. Cersei on the throne would mean little good for anybody. Not for his little brother, not for Brienne, not for you. He hoped you were safe, wherever you were.

The knight with one hand had had a long day, even though it was not yet nightfall. He had spoken to the Blackfish, Brynden Tully, in hopes of making some sort of negotiation. Perhaps goad him into a duel of single-combat and spare everyone of the grueling boredom that came with a slow siege. Expectedly, the wind-beaten lord took none of the bait and retreated back into his castle. Then, he had a short, but explosive council meeting with a few of the riverlords. They squabbled over each other like mindless birds over a piece of half-baked bread. Jaime couldn’t help but wonder what his father would do in his shoes, but was quick to relinquish such a thought. Tywin Lannister would never be in this position in the first place. And he was dead, which was perhaps the more important bit. After the council, he paid a visit to Ryman Frey, who was preoccupied fucking some whore who called herself a Queen. He had the big oaf dismissed for wasting so much time and resources, then named his son, Edwyn, command of the siege. He ordered young Edwyn to tell his great-grandsire, Walder Frey, to release all the prisoners for the crown. There was no undoing the Red Wedding, but he could, at the very least, attempt to rectify the troubles it left in its wake.

And now—now Jaime had one more person to visit.

It was his aunt, Genna Lannister, who had urged Jaime to do something about the sullen man with the noose loosely wrapped around his throat. In his state, he posed no danger physically. As a symbol, however, Edmure Tully, was a great danger to the cause. His cause? Jaime wasn’t entirely sure what he was fighting for anymore. It certainly didn’t feel like he was protecting Tommen from all these leagues away from him. His golden hand felt so very heavy strapped onto his stump—why did he still bother carrying it around?

Ilyn Payne made quick work of cutting Edmure Tully down from the wooden gallows he was perched upon. His hair, scraggly and red, hung in limp clumps over his dirtied, bloody face. Eyes deep blue, heavy with exhaustion. Jaime couldn’t help but think of Robb Stark at the sight of him. Gods, they looked alike.

Jaime had Edmure pulled through the tents and mass of Freys and other rivermen alike. One japed about a fish on a leash. A young man holding an instrument was amongst the throng of stares, and he ordered the singer to follow, and the lad obediently did. Onto a ferry they went, where the vessel would carry them to Tumblestone.

“Why?” Edmure has croaked, gripping weakly onto Jaime’s arm. 

“Consider it a wedding gift,” Jaime replied. 

The Tully eyed him warily. “A wedding gift?”

“I’ve heard your wife is pretty. She’d have to be, for the two of you to be abed whilst your sister and king were being murdered.” Jaime gave him a wry look. 

“I never knew. There were musicians outside the bedchamber, I couldn’t…”

“I’m sure Lady Roslin made for a grand distraction, as well.”

At the crass insinuation, however truthful, Edmure frowned and pulled away from the knight. “They made her do it. She had little say in the matter. Roslin never wanted any of it to happen. She wept the entire night, but I thought…”

“You thought it was your rampant manhood that swayed her to tears? It’s a sight any woman would weep to, I’m sure.”

Edmure hung his head. “She is carrying my child.”

Your child or your death? Jaime thought, but tastefully decided not to say it out loud. Not yet. Instead, he asked, “Your king-nephew, Robb. Did he ever speak of his aunt before his end?”

Edmure lifted his gaze to the kingslayer at that. “The Bitter Wolf?” He thought for a moment, eyes distant. “No. She was hardly ever brought up. Robb didn’t like to speak of her. Not after her betrayal with your freedom. If he did speak of her, it would’ve been with Catelyn.”

“Who is now dead,” Jaime dryly said.

“Yes,” Edmured replied, letting his gaze drift down to the waters. 

“Much help you are.”

“Where is she now? The Bitter Wolf.” 

Jaime saw no point in lying to him. “I don’t know.”

The rest of the ferry trip was spent in silence.

Once at his pavilion, Jaime dismissed Ilyn, but kept the singer around. He ordered the servants there to boil bathwater for the honored guest, and had clean garments brought to him, along with warm food and sweet wine. Edmure still couldn’t quite comprehend why exactly Jaime Lannister was being so courteous, but couldn’t deny himself the pleasure of cleanliness. He clambered into the tub and started scrubbing the grime off his skin.

Jaime pulled up a chair to sit beside him. “After you’re clean and your belly is full, you will be escorted to Riverrun. What happens after that is up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t,” said Jaime. “Your uncle is old. Valiant, admittedly, but his best years are behind him. He has no wife to grieve for him, nor children to succeed him. A good death is the most the Blackfish can wish for. You, however, have many years remaining to you. You are the rightful heir to House Tully, not him. Your uncle serves you, by law. Riverrun’s fate is in your hands.”

Edmure blinked at him. “I don’t…”

“Understand, I presume? All that time with a rope around your neck must have strangled you of all your wits.” Jaime was growing impatient. “You must yield the castle. Yield, and nobody dies. The smallfolk will be allowed to leave in peace, or they may serve Lord Emmon and his lady-wife, my aunt. Ser Brynden will be allowed to take the black and join the Night’s Watch, with as many of the garrison that choose to join. You, as well. The Wall is in dire need of more hands, I’ve heard. If that is not to your tastes, you may go to Casterly Rock as my captive and enjoy all the comforts and courtesy that befits a hostage of your rank. Your wife may join you. If your sire is a boy, he will serve House Lannister as a squire. Once he comes of age, he is welcome to earn his knighthood, along with some lands I will bestow upon him. If Roslin bears you a daughter, she will be well dowered until she is old enough to wed a fitting lord. You may be granted parole, even, once the war is done. All this only if you yield the castle.”

The water steamed and sloshed in the tub as Edmure gingerly shifted about. “And if I will not yield?”

The servants and squires were all listening. The singer watched the two speak with wide eyes. No matter. Let them all hear it.

“You’ve seen our numbers, Edmure. The ladders, the towers, the trebuchets, the rams. If I speak the command, my cousin will bridge your moat and break your gate. Blood will spill. Hundreds will die, most being your own people. Your former bannermen will be the first wave of attackers, so you will start your day by killing fathers, brothers, and sons of men who died for you at the Twins. The second wave will be Freys, and there are plenty of them to spare. My westermen will be the third once your archers are exhausted of arrows and your knights so weary their blades will no longer lift from the ground. The castle will fall, and all inside will be put to the sword. Your livestock will be butchered. Your river will rot with corpses. Your godswood will fall. Your keeps and inventories will burn.” Jaime swallowed as he said the next words. It was true that he did not actually mean to do it, but a threat was a threat, and words are wind. “Your wife may have the child before any of this. You’ll want the babe, I presume. I can send him to you once he’s born. With a trebuchet.”

There came a lengthy silence. Edmure was still in the bath. All the servants and squires stared in horror. 

Genna had told him earlier that he was not his father’s son. Tyrion was more Tywin’s than he could ever dream to be. Would her mind change if she had heard his speech? Was this what Tywin would have done? 

“I could climb out of this tub and kill you right as you are, Kingslayer,” said Edmure, once he finally regained his wits about him.

“You could try,” Jaime calmly replied. The man made no move, so Jaime pushed himself back to his feet. “Enjoy your food. Singer, play for our guest while he eats. You know the song, I trust.”

“The one about rain? Yes, my lord, I know it.”

Edmure’s head swiveled between the singer and Jaime. “No. I don’t want him. Get him away from me.” The tub water sloshed some more. 

“Why, it’s just a song, Lord Tully,” said Jaime, feigning innocence. “His voice couldn’t be that bad.”

The knight left his pavilion with the beginnings of Rains of Castamere playing faintly behind him.

The inns you came across the road were growing sparse. Many had been torched, ransacked, abandoned, or torn down. War left much of the Riverlands in ruins. Though you were none too happy about the state of the lands, pillaged, empty villages meant there would be fewer people loitering about, which was all the better for you.

You had managed to outrun the outlaws through the cover of the storm and ruins. It was only when the rain cleared away did you let yourself sit down and silently cry for Brienne. None deserved a fate like that. She was so undeniably good, more honorable than any other man you’ve ever met—and yet her face was torn apart and now she was dead.

Eventually, you made it out of the Riverlands and began to travel along the high road up to the Eyrie. It was the safest option to get there—the mountains were hardly on the table to walk through on your own, considering it was likely running amok with clansmen and thieves of all sorts. Even on the high road, the terrain was far more mountainous than the relatively-level grounds of the riverlands, and the incline noticeably steeper. You were traveling at a much slower pace than before, growing ragged and tired with shorter distances. 

On the third day on the narrow pathway towards the Bloody Gate, you came across two men on a cart. Merchants, perhaps. You spied the stacked wine casks in the back of the cart, wondering if they were empty. Surely they must be, you thought. The Vale is not likely to make any wine of their own, not with mountains as sheer as theirs. 

As their cart slowly rolled by, being pulled by braying donkeys, you overheard one of the men say, “A singer, it’s said!”

“A singer?” the other merchant echoed.

“Yes, a singer! They say he shoved Lady Arryn right off a mountain.” 

Lady Arryn? Your ears perked up at that. Did they mean Lysa?

He glanced at his companion dubiously. “I heard she threw herself out the door once she confessed her love to him.”

“That’s nonsense, have you seen the way she grips that sickly whelp of hers? She would never throw herself to her death whilst little Robin lives.”

That confirmed it. Lysa is dead?

“If I had a son like that, I’d do the very same,” he grumbled.

“Wait! Good sers!” you exclaimed, turning back to hurry after the cart. The donkeys whined protest as they were pulled to a slow stop. They both glanced back at you with wide, curious eyes.

“Sers?” The one with mousy brown hair piped up with a laugh lodged in his throat. “We are no knights.”

“Apologies, it’s a habit now, I fear. I simply wanted to know—” You stopped in your tracks. “What were you saying about Lady Arryn?”

“She’s dead, she is,” the older of the two merchants told you. His nose was crooked in three different places. “Out the Moon Door—or off the mountain—she flew.”

You stared at them for a moment, trying to gauge whether they were being serious or not. Tall tales such as this were not uncommon amongst the lowborn. “And who now rules in her stead?”

“Little Lord Robin is young still—”

“And far too sickly!”

“—Until he comes of age, Lord Petyr Baelish is Lord of the Vale.”

Littlefinger. The realization dawned on you with great unease as you recalled his infatuation with your good-sister and his alliances with the crown. Lannister crowns. This was no good… no good at all…

“Thank you,” you told the merchants. “That’s good to know.”

“Where are you off to?” said the younger one.

“Runestone,” you lied. “I have family there.” 

That seemed to appease them well enough. The one with brown hair waved farewell as he set the donkeys back into motion. You silently thanked the Gods for coming across decent men. You watched the cart of wine caskets descend down the path.

Now what? You could hardly stroll straight into the Vale now—not with the threat of Littlefinger handing you right back into Cersei’s mad hands. Should you even trust these rumors, though? Perhaps the septon at the Bloody Gate could clarify the situation for you. Surely he would tell you the truth. But getting there would take weeks, and you certainly didn’t have that sort of time. If word of Littlefinger’s rule in the Eyrie was true, you would be wasting even more time doubling back to escape. And if he heard of your presence in the Vale there was no telling what he would do… have you locked up and sent to Cersei in a cage? 

But what about Sansa? Your heart shattered at the thought of leaving her alone at the Eyrie with Baelish. You had to be smart about this. Even if Sansa was in the Vale, and if you managed to get to her, and if you could whisk her out of the castle undetected, there was nowhere for the two of you to go that would be safe. Sansa wouldn’t last a fortnight out in the wilderness. Gods forbid, but perhaps it was best for her to stay in the Eyrie until you managed to find a stronghold that would keep her safe and protected. 

Then again, she could just as likely be elsewhere in Westeros. Arya, too. Gods, you wished Brienne was with you. You could still see the blood spurting from her face, her screams cracking through the thunderous air. 

Damn you, Jaime. You should have come with me, you said to yourself, knowing it was a foolish chain of thought. He wouldn’t be much help, anyway. All he did when we traveled together was complain and find new ways to irritate me. 

You lingered on the path for a few more moments. Then, you frustratedly gestured to nobody, made a noise of displeasure, and turned to follow after the wine merchants. 

Back to the Riverlands you went.

Riverrun was now taken, but at a great cost. Brynden the Blackfish had escaped. All thanks to Jaime’s carelessness and Edmure’s wit. This would never have happened if Tywin was around, Jaime couldn’t help but lament. It was no wonder his aunt Genna told him he was nothing like his father. 

He was a fool, and his father knew it.

After a series of threats to both Edmure and his wife, the Tully lord managed to sullenly tell him what he knew of the Blackfish’s whereabouts. Which, to Jaime’s dismay, was very little. 

“He swam away,” Edmure had told him. He had the very same blue eyes as Catelyn did, as well as Robb. The very same look of loathing in them, as well. There was a time when you looked at him like that. “The Water Gate’s portcullis was raised. Not enough to be noticed, only three feet or so. My uncle is a strong swimmer. He pulled himself beneath the spikes and I can only assume the current helped him from there.”

Damn it all.

Jaime had hounds and hunters on the prowl for the Blackfish, but he had little hope of catching him. And Edmure was to be heading west the following morning. Jaime was glad to be rid of him, though he worried that the man would slip through the guards he would be traveling with. The knight wasn’t too keen on hunting for the Tully a third time.

News of Ryman Frey’s death was brought to him by young Edwyn, the former’s son. Hanged, apparently, by a band of outlaws nearby Fairmarket, which was boldly close by. Thoros, or Dondarrion, or this mysterious Stoneheart woman. There was little to do about the matter now—Jaime ordered more guards posted and that was that. 

That night, he practiced his shoddy, left-handed swordsmanship with the silent Ilyn Payne. He managed to last a grand total of three hours before giving into his cramping muscles’ begs for a rest. Afterwards, he poured the both of them cups full of Hoster Tully’s wine, and told Payne of how he used to kiss his sister when they were children. It was innocent at first, until it wasn’t. It felt nice being able to freely tell someone of everything knowing he couldn’t possibly relay such information to anybody else—Payne’s lack of a tongue ironically made Jaime chattier than ever. 

“Tyrion once told me that whores oft avoid kissing their patrons. They’ll fuck you until your legs fall off, he said, but they keep their lips far from yours. It’s what separates work from real romance. I wonder if my sister ever kissed Kettleblack.” Jaime thought for a long moment. “I kissed the Bitter Wolf.”

Payne spared him no reaction.

“She was crying.” Jaime took a sip of wine, leaving out the fact that he had shed a tear or two. “Not because of the kiss, though. I hope not, at least. I’m not that bad of a kisser. Cersei never cried when we kissed.” Though, after he said that, he realized basing his assumptions around Cersei wasn’t a particularly smart thing to do. You and Cersei were many leagues apart from one another.

Payne drained his cup and gestured for Jaime to refill it.

As he did, Jaime went on. “If not for Tyrion’s reckless call for a trial by combat, I would have married her. The Bitter Wolf. We would be at Casterly Rock, and Tyrion would be at the Wall, and my father would still be alive, and my son would sit the Iron Throne, and all would be well. Or not. Cersei would make matters difficult. I doubt Y/N would be pleased about her predicament, either, come to think of it.”

He decided to change the subject back to Kettleblack when Payne’s silence stretched for a little while longer.

“It would be ill-fitting to slay mine own Sworn Brother. I should geld him and send him to the Wall—make up for Tyrion’s loss in some way. He’s been to the Wall, perhaps he had no taste for returning. It’s bloody cold there, I’ve heard. Of course, if I were to lay a hand on Osmund, there would be his brothers to consider, as well. Brothers can be dangerous. Aegon the Unworthy had Ser Terrence Toyne dismembered into pieces after finding him abed with his mistress, and forced her to watch. Toyne’s brothers tried to kill the King for it, though their plans were ultimately foiled by the Dragonknight. It’s written in the White Book. All of it, including every knightly deed and chivalrous act. It doesn’t tell me what to do with Cersei, though.”

Ilyn dragged a finger across his scarred throat.

“No,” Jaime said. “Tommen has already lost a brother, and the man he thinks is his father. If his mother were to die by my hand, he would hate me for it. I’m sure his sweet little wife would use that hatred to her benefit, as well.”

An ugly smile stretched at Ilyn’s thin lips. Jaime misliked the crude gleam in his eye. 

“You talk too much,” Jaime told the mute.

The next night, Jaime found himself in Hoster Tully’s solar, looking over a map, wondering where the Blackfish could have gone. Many of his hunters had returned that morning, torn and bleeding. Direwolves, they had told him. A monstrous pack with a large she-wolf leading them. He wondered if that could have been the wolf that had mauled Joffrey what had felt like a lifetime ago. 

In consequence, Jaime couldn’t help but wonder about you. Did the direwolves like you at all? He strained his mind to remember, but couldn’t seem to recall. It confused him when his chest constricted at the thought of forgetting you.

The war was practically won. Dragonstone was taken, and Storm’s End would be very soon. Stannis was welcome to the cold fruits of the Wall—if Roose Bolton hadn’t already destroyed him. And the Riverlands were successfully taken without Jaime ever having to raise a sword against neither Stark nor Tully. All in all, he was to be content.

But where did that place you? Once everything calmed down, what would happen to you? To Sansa, who surely deserved no harm that would come to her? She was just a young girl and you… you were far from the paragon of innocence, to be certain, but surely he could have Tommen pardon you for any of your crimes. Your crimes being allegiance to your own nephew, which Jaime could hardly fault you for.

Then again, Cersei was the problem. There was no chance she would sit idly by and let you live. Once he returned to King’s Landing, he had to find a way to whisk Tommen from her crutches before he would turn as corrupt as Joffrey. A new council full of abled men would be in order, as well. 

More and more days passed. Jaime had the entire Tully garrison safely released from their keep, which displeased his Aunt Genna greatly, but Jaime was intent on letting them go. There was little harm they could do when they were scattered, weaponless, and hungry.

 He dreamed of Cersei most nights. Of her golden hair, which then molded into golden hands. In his dreams, he always had two hands. Sometimes touching her, stroking her, holding her—dreamy memories of old. Sometimes he was strangling her, which he certainly had never done before.

Other nights he dreamed of Brienne. Her big, brutish face red with rage and exhaustion. She would swing Oathkeeper at his neck and he awoke just before his head rolled off his shoulders.

Some of the nights, however scarce they were, were far more precious. He dreamt of you, your hair freckled with snow, your eyes alight as you watched children play beneath you. He was in Winterfell, he realized, and with a shocked start looked back down at the children. His? No. They were your nieces and nephews, of course. Their faces were a blur, but their red hair was unmistakable. Save for the littlest girl and the bastard boy. Snow, Jaime remembered. 

“We should have one,” your dream-self said to him, so serious that Jaime wondered if it was actually you standing there in front of him. “A little wolf-lion.”

Did Jaime want that? Would they have golden hair like his? Like Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen? But how could he have another child when he was never a father to the ones he already had? It felt wrong to even consider it. Dishonorable. Any romantic notion of a normal life with you was quickly dashed.

“I know we can’t,” you continued on before he could respond. “They’re all dead.” You gestured down to the Starklings. “And I’ll be joining them soon. But it’s a nice thought, isn’t it?”

“No—” he said, reaching out to you, but you had already faded into a blur.

Not all of his dreams with you were as bleak. Once he was abed with you, and another time he was bound by rope as you pointed an arrow at his forehead while he cackled maniacally. 

A week after releasing the last of the garrison, Jaime woke up with a start after dreaming about a cloaked figure that looked eerily similar to Cersei, though he knew it wasn’t her. His mother spoke soft riddles, where Cersei would bark harsh insults. He couldn’t quite tell which he favored. He threw the covers off him with his stump.

The room was frigid. The hearth’s warmth had waned away and the windows had been left pushed open when he fell asleep. In the darkness, Jaime made his way to close the shutters, but his foot touched against a wetness on the ground. Blood had been his first thought, but blood would not be so cold. Rain, perhaps, but he would have heard the sound of pattering coming from outside.

Jaime drew the damp curtains apart, letting the moonlight stream through. Moonlight and snow. Down below, the yard was spotting with white, growing thicker and thicker in the minutes he watched. After a moment, he even began to see his breath misting in front of him.

Winter is here, he thought. Marching south, and our granaries are half empty.

He watched the snow fall, and stood there thinking of you. It irked him that you haunted his every thought. Nonetheless, he hoped you were warm, wherever you were. If he was as fanatically religious as his dear coz Lancel, he would have even prayed for your safety.

When morning dawned, Riverrun’s maester came to pay him a visit. He was pallid-faced and shaking.

“I know,” Jaime said, glancing at the bound letter in the old man’s quivering hands. “The Citadel has sent a white raven. Winter has come.”

“No, my lord,” said Maester Vyman. “The bird came from King’s Landing. Forgive me, I took the liberty to open it, I did not know it was meant for your eyes…”

Jaime took the letter and sat by the window to read. It was Qyburn’s hurried hand, but he knew it to be Cersei’s fevered words. 

Come at once. Help me. Save me. I need you now as I have never needed you before. I love you. I love you. I love you. Come at once.

“Does my lord wish to answer?” asked Vyman, hovering by the door.

A snowflake landed on the letter. He was reminded of the snowflakes in your hair, in his dream. It was quick to melt, blurring the inked words and streaking down the paper. 

Jaime rolled the paper back as tight as he could with his one hand, and handed it back to the maester. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

So I'm already working on a different Beauty and the Beast au with the gremlins, but I wanted to share this batshit idea since I probably won't use it.

Remus is traveling for some reason and he has to go through the forest. And he gets lost. And it's snowing. And he sprains his ankle. There's wolves and bears in these woods.

He thinks he's going to die when this big 8 foot tall, fluffy, humanoid creature with 4 extra limbs finds him limping along a path. He's surprised when this monster scoops him up like a baby and takes him to a warm castle and tends to his wounds.

Remus learns that this monster is a guy named Virgil and he's been cursed to be ungodly hot (a monster) until he finds true love. He also learns that Virgil is really bad at being patient and that he's keeping Remus at the castle until he's healed.

Cue Remus stupidly attempting to escape over and over. Only he wants to get caught. He wants to hear this beast man growl and he wants to be carried around in those strong arms. Virgil just wants him to get better and leave before an angry mob shows up.

About a week later, Virgil is frustrated with his guest. And then Roman shows up, demanding the foul beast release his brother. And Virgil just snaps. That little brat is not fucking leaving.

And obviously that doesn't go over so well. Roman draws his sword and points it at Virgil's neck. Right when Remus limps out the front door and heads for the main gate where all the action is.

And this little bastard tells Roman to lay off. That is his big beefy scary sweet monster boyfriend!

Virgil is extremely confused. But Roman lowers his sword, rolls his eyes, and leaves. He has better things to do than question his brother's taste.

Aaand that's all I got for now

I fucking L O V E that oml XD!!! Ree can and will purposely be a lil shit to a beast that can quite easily eat him (The ball of chaos of course would not have a problem with that in the slightest but Vee just wants them both to stay alive damn it) I'm cackling at the fact that Ro is just full on ready to slice a pissed off Vee and the moment his brother appears telling him to step the fuck away from his sexy beast boyfriend he's just completely done with him like "Yeah I don't know what else I expected keep him I'm going home" XD

[saint-sebastian-coded]

please tell me about the books you’ve read recently i would love some recommendations 👀🤲

okay!!!! im bored so heres my thoughts on all the books ive read (or finished reading) since the start of summer

all of murder most unladylike 5/5 its a middle grade series (9 books) about two girls in the ninteen thirties who go to boarding school together and solve murder. its so funny and i really like the historical perspective in it too. i read it originally when it was coming out but i decided to look at it again (can't remember the exact reason why but anyway). soooo fun and pretty clever too

monk and robot duology by becky chambers about 4.5-4.75/5 very interesting world building im not sure i fully understood it so im going to reread but i think its speculative fiction about a post technological world but a robot decides to visit and becomes friends with a monk

all of the locked tomb series. twice. 5/5. i feel i do not have to explain this everyone read it Now

priory of the orange tree 5/5 this is my fourth read through i'm currently on my second read of a day of fallen night (the prequel) and !!!! the prose !!! the world building !!! the characters. i kinda hate that very few people like niclays i love niclays he's so funny to me and a complete cunt

all of nevermoor. twice 5/5. its 223 days to the fourth book coming out and in the hiatus ive managed to write like 19% i think of all fic for it on ao3. so yk. i like it a normal amount its like its very fun middle grade series (im going into my junior honours year of uni so my summer reading was v self indulgent lmao) about a girl who is rescued from death at the last minute and has to compete to get into a specific society so she won't get deported and the world building is sooo good and i love the characters sooo much

fun home by alison bechdel 5/5 the way the narrative is presented in this like all the negative space where things arent said but we're supposed to understand its very good

the gilded wolves 3.5/5 i feel like its on me for like. starting this in june 2023 and reading little bits over the year bc i was a bit confused so im gonna try reading this again sometime but it was pretty fun ngl

transgender marxism 4/5 i found the ideas in this interesting but im not sure i understood all of it so im gonna read around the subjects a bit so i get it more

black leopard red wolf by malon james 3.5/5. i kinda lost where the plot was going about halfway through so this is another book on my reread list but the prose is soooo good that it kept me going

honey girl by morgan rogers 4.25/5 this is about an astrophysicist who has a vegas wedding after she goes out right after getting her phd and is kinda lost in what she wants to do so she strikes up a sort of friendship sort of relationship with her wife from the opposite side of the usa and i found it to be a really nice read

wolfsong by tj klune 4/5 this book is kinda long for what it needs to be tbh and i dont really like the omegaverse enough (its not omegaverse but like. omegaverse's third cousin basically like werewolves and stuff) but i enjoyed the writing style

he who drowned the world by shelley parker-chan 5/5 its the sequel to she who became the sun and i love that zhu has such a good time in this book the second the narrative turns to her its almost a buddy comedy. amazing prose love the world building love the themes love the characters. banger. cant wait to see what shelley parker-chan does next

kemosha of the caribbean by alex wheatle 3.25/5 its about this girl who's a slave in port royal during the golden age of piracy and wins her freedom in a duel and joins a pirate ship as a cook so she can get the money to buy her brother's freedom. i liked it but i think im kinda past ya ig

the aeneid by vergil (cecil day lewis translation) 4/5 oh my goddddd oh my god. amazing. poem of all time

kyoshi duology by fc yee 4.5/5 on one hand i liked it more the first time i read it but like its still good its just ive read some really amazing books since but i love kyoshi and rangi so much and i really like the povs from jianzhu zoryu and yun also

the silmarillion by jrrt 3/5 i did not understand. i will read again im sorry tolkien fans

the mcga trilogy by rick riordan 4/5 this book series was my personality from the release of sword of summer to like two years ago??? on one hand i forgot how much i liked certain elements on the other hands certain elements did not. age well. or weren't good to start with. i feel like rr should like. get a better handle on his narrative arcs tbh

the histories by herodotus (tom holland. not spiderman translation) 4/5 this was very weird but very interesting

the two ministry of unladylike activity books currently out 5/5 this is the sequel series to murder mosr unladylike but about one of the main character's little sisters and her friends outwith the story (which is excellent) i like that it balances showing that the lives of the original characters are still ongoing without going full nostalgia bait

the kane chronicles by rick riordan 4.5/5 outside of the walt and anubis thing (too old to date a Thirteen Year Old jesus christ) very good honestly rr's best series in terms of worldbuilding, characterisation and narrative arcs

the annals by tacitus (yardley translation) 3.25/5 v good translation but holy shit completely boring im sorry im a tacitus hater i fear. interesting historical source tho

lives of the caesar by suetonius (edwards translation) 3.75/5 every single roman emperor is in hell

the aeneid (aeneid daily) 4.5/5 see above

daughter of the siren queen by tricia levenseller 3.5/5 this could be good but every single romantic scene was punctuated by me saying aloud that i hoped jakey died. i do not remember her boyfriend's name i just do not care. nothing special tbh

the woman of troy by pat barker 4.75/5 this is the sequel to her book the silence of the girls which is a retelling of the iliad from briseis' perspective. this book is still mostly from her perspective but (i believe) a retelling of the troades (i haven't read the troades in english except in summary and i only translated it for like two weeks as a seventeen year old so i forgor but i think it is) i usually hate classical retellings but i like barker's take on things and i just found out (like rn) that theres a third book coming out so im excited about that

the atlas six by olivie blake 2.5/5 this book was written to have out of context parts quoted on tiktok

dictator by robert harris 5/5 this is the finale to his cicero trilogy told through the perspective of tiro whom i love and admire (he probably invented the ampersand and other stuff we use as short hand. everyone say thank you tiro) very good

the eternal ones by namina forna 3.5/5 i really liked the first book in this series and i think i liked the second one too and i think the worldbuilding is compelling but im not interested in any of the characters especially her boyfriend sorry. i liked britta tho. also again i think im kinda past ya rn so

nevermoor graphic novel part two 5/5 i thought the art was beautiful but the story was kinda rushed and one fairly important scene was left out which i was really looking forward too and also messes up some of the relationships which was a shame (unless it got covered in dialogue but i dont speak french i was literally just there for the pictures)

task force z #11 & #12 4/5 nice

tiger tiger by petra erika nordlund 5/5 everyone go read this now its about a girl who steals her brother's identity and his ship to study sea sponges and meets god who is a tits out nonbinary lesbian along the way and also: sea sponge

the lightning thief by rick riordan 4.5/5 the fact that luke didn't say "western civilisation is a disease" in the tv show is a goddamn travesty. also i have many thoughts about the themes of nostos and kleos between luke and percy

a sky beyond the storm by sabaa tahir 4.5/5 i love the world building so much in this book and i had a really good time with the character development too. i want to reread the series at some point all at once bc i finished boom three in december and i think i forgot some parts lmao

cursed crowns by katherine webber and catherine doyle 2.5/5 this book is stupid. some of the dialogue is funny. like twice

the eagle of the ninth by rosemary sutcliff 3.5/5 if aiglemene in tlt isnt inspired by this in some way (eagles, ninth, leg injury) i will be genuinely surprised. good time

the dawn of yangchen by fc yee 4.25/5 not quite as fun as kyoshi but i found the politics very interesting

whale weekly 4/5 i lost the plot like back in 2022 but the prose is immaculate its so fucking tragic and it was so preventable i love the whole cosmic horror of the whale

amari and the night brothers by bb alston 4.75/5 this has the same vibes as nevermoor but like the main character is looking for her brother and accidentally finds out that shes a magician and also this is a bad thing. kinda cliché but very fun and i had a good time

[loserchildhotpants]

Fic Writer Q & A

Tagged by @casdeans-pie :3333 (thank you for tagging me!!)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

on loserchildhotpants I've got 151

on someonetoanyone I've got 30

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

on loserchildhotpants it's 1,614,148

on someonetoanyone it's 370,992

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Oh, so many. Right now, I'm writing strictly for Supernatural bc i have too many ideas to split my time lmao but I still v much enjoy writing for Good Omens, Star Trek, Star Wars and IT : )

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

On loserchildhotpants my top 5 fics by kudos are:

Madman and a Fool (w over 9k kudos y'all are insane ilu)

Seeing Wolves (Where There Are No Wolves)

Just to See You Again

Derek Hale's Possible Heart

The Witching Hour

And honorable mention to surprising me by showing up in 6th place: The 'Do Not Fucking Touch Me' Tour which is my reddie post-canon fic that i wrote an entire, original, actual stand up routine for skjdhf

On someonetoanyone my top 5 fics by kudos are:

Being Lead Home

Threw Stones At The Stars (But The Whole Sky Fell)

Years of Sorrow Wash Away

What Used to Be Mine

Perihelion

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! I try my best to reply to every single comment a person leaves on any and all of my fics, no matter how old! I hope it encourages them to KEEP writing comments, not just to me, but to any authors. Fic authors suffer a huge disparity between kudos/views/bookmarks and actual comments written. The ratio sucks so bad, actually, it's kinda disheartening.

There's a big difference between eating someone's homemade cookies at an event and giving them a thumbs up before walking away, and staying at the table to tell them how the texture and sweetness was PERFECT, and they don't even usually like snickerdoodles, but you made them so well, they want more and more, they're so glad you're at the event and so glad you brought your cookies!! -- like, that really is the difference between leaving a kudos and comment. Comments are my lifeblood.

I've also made great fandom friends in the comments section of my fics lol

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

On loserchildhotpants the angstiest angst I ever wrote is in the Angst November collection for kylux -- none of them have happy endings, and happy endings are sort of my staple! It was fun to write a series of tragedies though. Beyond that, probably my kylux series Not About Angels

On someonetoanyone, probably The Levee Breaking, which is just a specific scene rewrite that offers an alternative to Despair where Cas' body is left behind by The Empty or One And Only, Time And Again which is endverse, so.....

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A curious question! The HAPPIEST? Huh.... uh.

On loserchildhotpants probably Seeing Wolves (Where There Are No Wolves) or Madman and a Fool. The endings for both those fics are gooey and tooth-rotting lmao

On someonetoanyone maybe Being Lead Home or It Won't Be Perfect ? idk this is a hard question lmao what makes a happy ending happier than another?? sdljkfh

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes! I have had to delete several fics in the past because the threats, suicide-baiting, slurs, and absolute vitriol was actually too much for my heart.

One of the reasons I made a new account was to outrun that sort of abuse. There were people that knew and fucking hated loserchildhotpants and among several other reasons, i decided making a new account was a good idea, but the hate i got on fics under loserchildhotpants was definitely a contributing factor.

I've had people be shitty about my fics on someonetoanyone in the bookmarks and on twitter and tumblr but not on the fics themselves.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

i write so much smut sldkjfhsldkjfhksdhj now, i'm generally a p vanilla smut writer; some end-of-fic, on-top-of-the-covers w the lights on missionary stuff, but I've been widening my horizons as of late.

I went outside my typical comfort zone for Red, Red, Red (sterek), and Arrows Made of Desire (sterek), and I've got an unpublished WIP on someonetoanyone rn that's sitting in the drafts and it's... perhaps the most animal, insane, monsterfucking smut i've ever written lmao sdlkjfhsdkfjh but y'know, after writing so many years of original flavor smut, you wanna take up new challenges!

Like, im not into food play, so i would have never thought of it on my own, but someone prompted me w it and i was like '.... you know what, i bet i could write the shit out of that' and i did! lmao (the fic in question is on someonetoanyone; Lost In The Sauce lmao) it's not my usual gig, which made it exciting and new and fun! so, i'm usually v vanilla but i am starting to try new flavors lol

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I have not written any crossovers, but I'm attempting my first one! It's for a dear friend, and I'm trying to make it just right, but this is way harder than i thought it would be lmao

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Several! Oh my god, so many of my fics have been stolen, and I always find out through a reader. Someone always lets me know through a comment like 'hey, head's up, [x] has literally copy and pasted this entire work and replaced the names w their current ship' and every time my shit is stolen or reposted on different sites without credit, i see fuckin red, dude.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Many! I was going to list them here, but it's actually a v long list lol if you look at my top kudos'ed fics on loserchildhotpants, you'll find several translations and podfics of those available, and i think maybe two of my fics on someonetoanyone have been translated as well : )

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Sorta? We haven't published it yet, but once it is published, I'll have officially cowritten a fic lol check back in

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

i have stared at this question for 5 full minutes i have no idea sdkjfhlsdkfjh i can't choose!!!! i love them all so much T A T my top five IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER are probably destiel, bagginshield, kylux, spirk, and johnlock (this list being comprised of who i have read the most fic for - although, sterek also deserves a spot tbh)

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I do not have an unfinished work currently that I have no intention of going back to. A few months ago, I went to loserchildhotpants and deleted all unfinished works that would not be finished, so if it's still up on AO3, it's JUST a hiatus and i WILL be returning to it someday

16. What are your writing strengths?

... uhhhh... huh. Does tangential, narrative metaphor count? Tbh I'm not sure. When folks have told me what they specifically like about my writing, the consensus has been that it 'feels like [i am] ripping [the reader's] heart apart and then tenderly putting it back together' and that my stories on the whole are 'satisfying.'

I have a certain speaking cadence, and I write like a talk, and I talk like I write, so people can usually hear it in their heads as they read. Whenever I am composing what I hope is a deeply emotional crescendo, it appears to land ?

Again, no idea what I'm doing there, idk the technical word for that. Maybe pacing? But it feels tied to diction too... composition ??? idk skdljhfksjdh if anyone's got an answer to this, lemme know

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Exposition and character introduction skdjlfhslkdjhf too many years of writing fic have allowed me to neglect these skills and i'm really bad at them. i just hate exposition!! just let me psychically transfer the information to you!! how do i write out the rules of the universe in a way that doesn't feel like a boring info-dump ??? thiS IS HARD

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Back during my FF dot net days, I'm p sure my first fic was an Inukag fic for Inuyasha. Back in the day, I majorly wrote for Inuyasha, OHSHC, HP, Death Note, Star Trek and South Park. But yeah, I think the first time i was like 'i need these two to kissy kiss right on the LIPS' was when i was 10 and watching Inuyasha for the first time sljkdhfskjdfh

Idk who to tag! If you see this and you want me to tag you in future stuff like this, consider yourself tagged by me! I'll make a mental note!

[raayllum]

what’s your opinion on Soren and Claudius character arcs? they both fall under the same lie given to them by their father Soren has a positive arc from being an antagonist to realising wrong from right and doing the right thing

whereas Claudia falls under the negative character arc where she falls deeper into the lies of her father and Aaravos

by the end of the series do you think Claudia will redeem herself or continue to plummet into the lies she’s been told?

So Soren and Claudia are great precisely because of the contrast they give each other. Soren has a rougher personality, but a more moral heart; Claudia has a sweeter personality, but a sharper edge to her. They both care a lot about the boys, but Soren is a knight - inherently used to taking orders - and Claudia is a dark mage - solution, creatively and independently oriented. This distinction is made clear in their character designs, but also their early choices in S1: moments after Claudia sent smoke wolves after the boys, Soren is saving Callum’s life; while Soren is yawning in the funeral procession because he spent all night defending his king, Claudia burns Harrow's body with dark magic without a second thought, despite it going against traditional funeral rites.

I think Viren's biggest mistake was that he asked Soren - his strong, older son - to be the one to kill the boys, thus leaving Soren open to tell the truth with none of the justification that Viren offered up. Justification she, reluctantly but ultimately does accept and reaffirm in S3.

V: But if we are led by a child king... S: He'll make bad choices? V: He will make weak choices.

V: Claudia, you understand why Prince Ezran had to be removed? C: ... Of course. He couldn't have done the things that needed to be done.

Claudia buys into and predicates a lot on necessity, for both her and others (mostly her father). She needs to take the boys home; she needs to recapture the dragon egg, etc. Part of that is her father in her ear, of course, but Claudia isn't mindlessly obedient either. (Again, that independent thinker.) She is regularly the one coming up with solutions for her and Soren's plans, while Soren most provides distractions (attacking Rayla so his sister can go after the boys) or tools (Claudia already had the tracking spell in mind, Soren finds an ingredient).

Post-S2 meta on Claudia's character here. Post-S3 meta on Soren's arc here.

The main thing, I think, is that because Soren was asked to do something more terrible, he was given more room to have doubts. He also was already leaning more toward seeing elves as people (not entirely, but he didn't dehumanize elves or dragons to the same capacity). Soren also made a lot of mistakes in S2 (trying to kill Ezran, lying about Harrow, his prior treatment of Callum, the dragon debacle) that he was able to recognize as mistakes. Soren pre-emptively striking first was him following through with father's ideology, and everything in that experience humbled him, I think, but mostly made him re-evaluate his life. Most importantly, Soren expresses the desire to be Free: "I'm free to do what I want without expectations from Dad, or - or anyone!"

Claudia never realizes that she's in a cage. If anything, she's bolted the door shut and think it's a good thing, and is in many ways now trapping Viren in there with her, as of S4, rather than being orchestrated into and pulled forward by devotion. She's shifted from repeating Viren's laws and each of them reaffirming each other's cognitive dissonances ("You're doing this to help us, to help everyone!" "Yes! Yes, exactly") to repeating everything Aaravos has told her (and hence why it's beat for beat what Ziard said, too): "All of the elves and dragons except for Aaravos saw humans as nothing more than worthless, stupid, dirty animals. But Aaravos saw we could be better! So he gave us magic." Which, given what Viren almost did to Soren (the heart of cinder spell) under the guise of making him better/stronger... yeah, no wonder that isn't a convincing argument for Soren. And no wonder ("But you're going to be better now, that's all that matters") it's a compelling argument for Claudia, who's always been such a Fixer by nature (something she shares with Callum, although his manifests in a different way, of course).

That said, there's still plenty going on with Claudia. Her hair being literally black and white (with the black nicely representing her humanity), her sympathetic motivations (she just wants to save her family/dad), her sweethearted boyfriend, the fact she still cares about Soren and she gave the coins back in the end. I still do think she'll be redeemed & always have, I just think she has to get worse (hair going either almost fully or entirely full white) before she gets better, and that her family (Soren, Viren, Terry, and possibly Ezran as well) will play the main / initial roles in helping her get there (to either / both ends).

[bustyasianbeautiespod]

Do you guys have podcast recommendations? I'm caught up on everything I listen to, but you guys are my favorite podcast, so I assume we have similar tastes

AWWW i'm so honored that we're your faves! grey is no longer a podcast listener so i (crystal) shall be the only answerer

in terms of people-watching-a-thing podcasts, i've enjoyed:

doctor huh- two brothers, one a former doctor who watcher and one who... only knows about it from social media... watch nuwho eps in a random order

zero to zero- three friends watch dc/marvel properties and respond w fun and funny levels of haterism. i have enjoyed ALL of this despite never once touching something they reviewed. on maybe-permanent hiatus

LMNOP- the only good cbs elementary podcast. also on maybe-permanent hiatus

i've been meaning to watch that- i've listened to less of this one, but it's hosted by manika dulcio, who we had on our s4 wrapped, so if you liked her there check her out on her home base!

as for fiction podcasts, listing my fave subscribeds below! for some of these, the first few eps are kinda rough but i've found them all resoundingly Worth It eventually! also if you, babpod listener, care about this, all of these have queer main characters and i'll bold the ones where the main char is explicitly a poc:

hi nay- "a supernatural horror fictional podcast about Filipina immigrant Mari Datuin, whose babaylan (shaman) family background accidentally gets her involved in stopping dangerous supernatural events in Toronto." v rich lore v good at being creepy! (ongoing)

the silt verses- what if every single folk deity was real and hungry and society ran on ppl being sacrificed on telephone poles? incredibly sexy writing like SO sexy (ongoing)

midnight burger- space diner adventures and friendships! they recently dropped a 3-hour beautifully audio-engineered season finale they've grown so much since the beginning. great cast and fills you w so much wonder about The Universe (ongoing)

greater boston- an expanding cast of chars tell the story of the forming of a new city on the boston red line train cars. makes u wild about community and interconnectedness and local politics and how no one is beyond compassion while also having like. cheese robots (ongoing)

within the wires- what if a world war led to a worldwide cultural shift that decried all tribalism starting at the family unit and babies were separated from their parents at birth? extremely interesting world and formats though i do think it's kinda tired after s4. i think listening to s1 then reading the companion novel might be the Move (ongoing)

unwell, a midwestern gothic mystery- what it says on the tin! lily returns to the fading small town she grew up in to care for her mom. there are ghosts and town history and wolves in the woods. some rlly beautiful and complex family relationships and friendships, great vibe and sound design (complete)

parkdale haunt- p classic haunted house horror (well i say classic. there's also an influencers cult) which i also consider a Top Friendship-Focused Media (complete)

alice isn't dead- usamerican road trip show about the horrors of freedom. spn wishes. love jasika nicole as a VA (complete)

the pasithea powder- epistolary space bisexuals after a war that left them on opposite sides. excellent interpersonal drama and aliens (complete)

wooden overcoats- v funny british funeral home rivalry show antigone funn is the weirdgirl extraordinaire (complete)

monstrous agonies- nice soothing ten-minute segments of a supernatural advice show. i think i've mentioned it as being the anti-spn in terms of the monster rights and monster-human cohabitation background of the world (complete)

midnight radio- ten-episode small town radio show ghost romance. it's an excellent annual fall listen if you have a saturday free (complete)

mabel podcast- ONE OF THE PODCASTS OF ALL TIME. if you care about women you will like this podcast. i've always found anna and mabel so revolutionary and freeing to listen to. horror podcast about fairies and a house that loves (creepy edition?) you (long hiatus)

brimstone valley mall- silly delightful y2k demons in a mall (long hiatus)

the far meridian- magical realism story about a girl living in a teleporting lighthouse. sweet and melancholic (long hiatus)

khôra podcast- greek myths in space. i need to hug all the characters (long hiatus)

ty for this ask i love podcasts i need to catch up on them!

- Crystal :)

[tortoisesshells]

fic title game!

to seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish.

the dogs on main street.

seaward from the heather.

Thank you for the ask, kind friend!

to seek the beauteous eye of heaven to garnish: Vicki's first trip to the beach house in the r/v/b alternate universe. It's certainly not got many of the amenities of home - like electricity or internal plumbing! - but who can beat that view of the sea? modernity couldn't improve a thing about this place, however much Roger and Burke might grumble about it.

the dogs on main street: remember when Burke's monster motif was wolves - the big bad wolf, described even by people who like(d) him as insatiably hungry? pepperidge farm remembers. Willie's been beaten like a dog; Barnabas has that wolf-headed cane, and howling dogs signal that he's on the hunt - I don't think it would have a plot so much as being a compare and contrast about the three men's various kinds of villainy early on in the 200s, when Burke's been partly defanged/domesticated, Willie's been put on a leash, and no one seems to suspect the new Collins in town of having teeth.

seaward from the heather: I think this would be the building out whatever on earth was going on in the House by the Sea/Seaview, and the ghost ship that Vicki saw through the windows - and who on earth F. McA. C. was supposed to be - a Collins, certainly, and one by marriage. Maybe the eccentric Caleb Collins's mother or grandmother? It seemed significant that Liz was one of the first people we see entering Seaview, and she's certainly the most eccentric Collins we've got. I'm sure the Collins family history would have something to say about Seaview and F. McA. C., but at least we know the history book is flat-out wrong about a lot of what happened in 1795, at least - it would be interesting to see Liz facing up to that? Liz, the keeper of the Collins Family Honor - and most of the Collins family secrets? I just need to figure out a way to stick Bill Malloy's ghost in this one and I'd almost certainly write it.

Send me a made-up fic title (or 2 or 3) and I’ll tell you what I would write to go with it.

[pondslime]

hey hi someday when u have like ten minutes would u teach me how to write please??? just cause that itty bitty lil snippet you just shared made me physically ill and altered my brain chemistry permanently. if u could just like........sneeze on me......maybe everything will be okay????

dsjhjdsfhjfdshjdfs MEG HOW DARE U SAY THIS WHEN EVERYTHING U WRITE HAS MY BRAIN ON FIRE

just for u, I dredged out the rest of that absolute horrorshow. it's been gathering dust in my docs for months

it's weird speculative fucknonsense like, oh shit!!! boseph and the reader are stuck in a timeloop!!!! an ouroboros of pain and misery!!! it's all v confusing out of context but I definitely.........wrote it jdsfhjhdfsjhdfsj

1. 

"There has to be something wrong with you." Your mother looks at him across the kitchen table. He brought tulips. You can't tell if she's wearing her face or someone else's. 

"There's something wrong with everybody, mama." You've never called her that. Is that your mother? Is that his? You don't remember her hair being that shade, but your memory isn't what it used to be. 

"I hurt her on purpose." Sometimes it seems like he's grown more teeth and they're crowding into his mouth. They've gone sharp again. Wait, look at the flowers on the table. Carnation now. 

"So, you got a brother?"

He has two. Two and you've kissed both of them. You'll do it again. They know what your cunt tastes like. He doesn’t, he tells you. He never will. Because that's a place of rot, of death. But you wake up with a tongue inside you because he's between your legs again, practicing penance.

He must not mind blood. He must not mind decay on his tongue. He must taste his brothers. Maybe he misses them. 

“Where have you been, my love? My sweet girl. You left one day and you never came back.”

And you say 

Mama, I'm sorry, I've just been real busy. 

Busy doing what? Getting hurt? You're growing up, baby. I can't stop you from getting big. No matter what I do, I can’t. 

And you know, you know, because suddenly you're sitting on her side of the table wearing her skin and your son is holding some girl's hand. And she's looking at you and telling you that she hurts him on purpose sometimes. Because he asked her to, he begged her like a slut, and he’s so pretty when he takes himself apart in front of her. She knows what his blood tastes like. She wants more. 

Do you love my baby? Do you have any siblings? Will he leave one day and never come back? 

Do you love me on purpose sometimes or is it always an accident?

2. 

His cum tastes like mercury from a broken thermometer. Oranges with sugar sprinkled over them. Home. Wait. Wrong boy, same face. You got a little confused. It's understandable. You can't help yourself. You want to scoop out your insides and give them to him to eat. He'd do it nicely, if you ask politely. 

There are rules here, gorgeous. We weren’t raised by wolves.

3.

You’re leaning on the pool cue. You look like you did the first day, in your pretty little clothes, the flush of health in your cheeks. In this dream, you reached Baton Rouge. He meets you here. He’ll always meet you here. This is his favorite bar. He’s always here, he’s a regular.

“Need a partner?”

“Don’t know.” You wink at him. “Are you okay with losing?”

“Feisty.”

“This time, yeah.” You smile at him. You’ve got lipstick on. He wants to smear it down your chin. 

4.

“Why did you do that?” Your voice is small, gurgled around the blood on your teeth. He likes the way the crown of your head is wet with blood. 

“Why you think?” He stands in the doorway to the basement. You’re in the chair and you’re dead, but so is he. 

“Tell me, please. Tell me.” You hiss. “I love your voice.”

“I missed ya’.” He hears the words echo in his head, fifty feet high in neon. 

“I thought I would give it a try again, you know.” Your voice is a dirty croak. “Just to see.”

“And whatchu find out?”

“We always end up back here.” You smile at him. “You took a different road this time. I haven’t been there in a while.”

“Didn’t notice.”

“You know, we got a hotel room up in the city once. I made you buy me wine.”

“Sounds nice.”

“I was hoping this was the one where we walked on the boardwalk. Before.” His initials trickle down your arm. “I don’t know why.”

“How many times we been down here?”

“Couple times." You hiccup out a laugh. "I like your shirt. You look good.”

“Night, baby.”

5.

He's fucked you or you've fucked him. He's not sure where the ache is coming from or where it's all supposed to go but someone can't sit down. There's a bag of peas in the fridge. 

6.

You’re a tableau of gore, blood soaked through your nightgown. Your head sloshes unevenly on your shoulders. He can see the window through the shotgun blast in your eye. It’s dark out there. You clasp your hands and hum, busying yourself with the stove. You leave muddy footprints on the floor, the bottom of your nightgown sodden. 

He sinks to his knees in the kitchen. You thread a hand through his hair, tugging his head up to look at you. Dripping with murky water, leaving parts of you everywhere. 

“Where are we?”

“Heaven.” You smile at him. Blood drips onto his face. 

“How long we been here?”

“I’m not sure.”

Are you cooking tonight, baby? Are we having peas, am I having you, down my throat and inside me and in my blood? Are we going to bed again or are we going to church? There’s a hole in your head and I’ll fuck it. I’ll fill you up because you love me. Because we’re having a baby, mama. We’re having a baby! I’m gonna be a daddy. You’re sitting in the waiting room and you’ve had the baby and I’m showing you pictures of him at baseball practice. What are you making? Let me help. Please. 

“You ain’t never gonna get tired of this?”

“Of course not. Never. I love you.”

7. 

You sit in an apartment living room. There’s Halloween decorations still up—it’s May, isn’t it? and a collection of half-eaten takeout boxes on the coffee table. Lazy fucks. You can hear the city outside the window. Where are you again? Does it matter? You look into the bedroom. They’re playing a card game. 

“Lick your partner's boot, yay or nay?” 

“Gross. Nay.” The version of you on the bed wrinkles her nose. “Question time. Where did we meet?”

“Uh. Huh…uh.” The him on the bed screws up his brow, sticks his tongue out in mock-confusion. He looks out at the living room, grinning. “Ya’ know this one?”

“House party.” The Him you know leans into the bedroom, resting his head on the frame. He’s bleeding from the back of his head. You shot him. There’s no exit wound. That’s your blood. “It’s a fuckin’ dump in here.”

“Bingo!” The boy on the bed folds his fingers into the shape of a gun. Taps them on the girl’s forehead. She’s wearing a t-shirt they bought in some backwater town last year. 

“You can’t do that! I don’t have a phone-a-friend! She won’t even talk to me.” The you that sits on the bed has chipped nail polish. She’s pouting. And suddenly he’s kissing her, and the cards are slipping off the bed. 

“Are you ever one of them?” You ask Him. 

He shakes his head. 

“I’m always out here watchin’. I dunno who the fuck that is.”

And he asks you “Which one do you want?” while you’re reaching for the knife in the kitchen and you want to say him, because you can hear them fucking in the other room and she’s giggling. They went on vacation and he drove. He had his keys, you guess. She’s giggling and there are flies buzzing around the takeout and suddenly you guess that this might just be a dump anyway. He’s right. He’s always right, except when he’s turning down the back roads. Then he’s left. 

If you could find your fucking keys, we could get out of here. You stupid fuck. Please kiss me again. 

So you tell him “Her.” and he presses himself against your back and you ache because you aren’t full, you aren’t hurt. He hasn’t actually fucked you yet. It might be another thousand years until he does again. 

Where were you at the party? Which room did we meet in? Did you fuck me in the bathroom? Did we ever go on that trip? I’ve got questions, please, please, daddy. Haven’t I been good? Don’t I deserve to know? Why don’t we ever wake up as them? Why do I have to listen to him fuck her? Why is she laughing? 

“Don’t make us wait all fuckin’ day!” The him in the other room calls out. “The next card is voyeurism!”

“Yay or nay?” 

You eat the rest of the chow mein. The maggots taste like love. 

8.

Your son calls you by your name. You haven’t heard it in years. 

Daddy’s a photographer, baby. He takes pictures of weddings. He takes pictures of the sky.

“I found more in Pa’s drawer.” He chokes around air, his words coming out in watery gulps. He stares at you through your eyes. You see him without seeing him. You see yourself.

“What were you doing in there, baby?” You hear your voice behind you, curled beside your ear. It comes from the door and the window and the wallpaper—and then deeper still, in the core of the house, bleeding.  

“I was lookin’ for a gun.” 

The floor underneath you splinters and you bottom out. You’re in the caverns snaking under the town and the church pews. You’re not in any of those places, either. The fuzz of television static is back, crowding around you and pushing you between the jagged hopping of the lines as they jitter around your skull. 

“Baby.” You gather him into your arms, pulling him into the crook of your neck. He sobs. His grip is too tight. You’ve been here before, but never like this. The static hisses into glittering points of light. The front of your dress is soaked with tears, with the blubber of drool from his mouth as he babbles that 

he didn’t know why he did that, because daddy always keeps his guns in the living room, and he knows that, but he went in anyway because maybe he’d forgotten this time—

Your lightning bug boy with baby fat still in his cheeks, skimmed off the edges to make room for a face that began and ended with you. Half-man already, limbs too big for the space he occupied. The remnants of the boy on the roof, a bruise blooming on his cheek. Your heart walking around and growing teeth. 

—and maybe maybe mama, I could. I could. 

I know how. 

“Baby. You gotta go put all that back.” Your voice is a whisper of smoke above the treeline.

“How long you been here, mama?”

You can see yourself on the set of drawers over the top of his head. She smiles at you.

9. 

You're at the top of the ferris wheel and you ask him if you can stay here. He tells you that you're stupid, that if you stayed here you would die. You're too high up. Eventually all the air would go out of your lungs and the amusement park would fall out from underneath your feet. You stupid slut, take it, choke on it, choke on it for daddy. Keep calling me that, I'm gonna come. Fair season is ending. Everything's gotta end eventually. Except for this, right? You celebrate the harvest, you tuck a cigarette in his back pocket. For luck, for love. If you stayed here, maybe you could see past the top of the trees. Maybe you could see the smoke.

Are you trying to fucking LEAVE me, baby? 

Don't leave yet. 

Hold your breath. I like being up here with you. 

10. 

So many gods, but only one church. An old western plays on the theater screen. It's the idea of a different world. This town ain't big enough for the both of us. It never was.

[fauxcoral]

Guess what I didn't completely forget about this (lie) so here's all of them cause I can't make 30 consecutive posts and remember apparently: 1. what type of dirt would your kintype eat? Muddy dirt full of roots and worms and little crunchy rocks that have the same effect as eating sand

2. warm or cold ocean water Cold

3. describe a pie made from three ingredients your kintype would eat, crust included, go Berries, eggs, and way too much butter

4. if your kintype suddenly opened their eyes, what would they be looking at? A computer, specifically one that has way too many tabs open, half of those are tumblr tabs I keep forgetting to close.

5. do you like sticks yes they both crunch and stab

5. 5 again. do you like leaves

yes. very tasty.

7. does your kintype migrate

maybe?

8. sleepy or awakey

awakey. Awakey with much caffeine and enough energy overpower Zeus himself

9. are you smaller or larger than a breadbox

misread this as are you smarter or larger than a bread box, I'd say larger, I have like 1 working braincell in this head of mine.

10. describe the vegetation around your kintype's feet

Clovers, grass with little grasshoppers and spiders crawling over it, ferns everywhere, and lots of little twigs. Or short grass covered in dry pineneedles.

11. what's the most specific or unusual shift (if you experience them) you've experienced Once had a cameo beta fish phantom fin while sitting in my kitchen one day. Dont know where that came from but it was cool.

12. what website is your kintype most like FireFox (Browser? Website? Same thing.)

13. hey, how's it going (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

14. if given a cellphone, what would your kintype do with it

*Chomp*

15. how do you make your room/home/surroundings more suited to your kintype Blankets shaped into a little den, like a pillow fort almost. Also a little horde of shinnies for harpykin.

16. tell me about your favorite kind of fabric…like, just in general, unrelated to your kintype(s)

Anything thats not velvet

17. are you bitey

Yes.

18. how does your kintype feel about chia seeds

Eh too small

19. can your kintype knit? if not, could your kintype knit if given instructions

No thumbs :(

20. describe your kintype's skin texture in great detail

Skin. With lots of fur.

21. glossy or matte

Glossy

22. wildcard, I'm getting tired of writing these

╰（‵□′）╯

(ヘ･_･)ヘ┳━┳

(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

┻━┻ ︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻

23. you hear a scratching noise around the corner, what does your kintype do

:O

24. what's your kintype's most acute sense

Scent or sound

25. alone in a forest with no provisions, how long does your kintype survive

Whole life I guess? I mean that's my kintypes' home, but if it was me probably would die of eating a poisonous mushroom or getting mauled by a pack of wolves.

26. describe your kintype as a canned vegetable

Canned carrots, but like ye olden day carrots that were weird colors and bitter mixed in.

27. it's getting dark out, does your kintype sleep, wake up, or PANIC

Kin wakes

28. how many fingers do you have and why

10, so far. Surprised I still have them all tbh.

29. what's a really nice smell

petricore. Or some kinds of trees that are just ^v^

30. has 30 days of this unhinged you further?

Yes I feel myself slipping into insanity.

[creation-is-chaos]

[ @lavishbylaw liked for a werewolf start ]

"Do you know how beautiful the moon shines upon you? My fairest of witch kind?"

The final words he spoke to her last he was in her presence rang true. They were a profession. A confession of the fearsome wolf king bled with the twilight of the full moon. It now bled from the wound on his shoulder. Blood black, viscous and draining from a precision blow crippled him for the moment.

Corvus suspected a betrayal. The witches would make great allies or troublesome enemies. It would appear this warlock chose to assert authority. It comes as no surprise there is someone who does not approve of the Wolf King with Genevieve. However, he hardly expected this male witch to be so bold. Attacking him means war.

In the ensuing chaos, their traveling caravan dispersed. Several other wolves accompanying him were met with grim ends. This warlock is fr more powerful than expected. Corvus did manage a blow to him in return but he was forced away by North. Her job is to protect at all cost. Corvus found his way to the familiar haven in the aftermath. "Genevieve!" he called, rapping on the door, clasping a hand to his shoulder. He leaned near the door, nostrils flaring with the familiar scent of his marked mate. He chose her despite it all. His lost love...

[asilverforgcd]

@mindsmade​

        SHE’D  COMPLETELY  FORGOTTEN.  or  she  hadn’t  really  taken  him  seriously  when  he  told  her  that  he’d  stop  by.  not  that  she  didn’t  trust  it.  he’s  really  been  making  good  on  his  word,  but  it  doesn’t  change  the  fact  that  there  was  no  solid  plan  for  today.  it  truly  doesn’t  matter.  audience  or  not,  she  doubts  she  could’ve  prevented  this  from  happening  ;  it  always  happens  when  it’s  quiet.  it  starts  mellow,  ringing  in  her  ears,  ominous  but  not  yet  concerning.  not  until  the  voices  begin,  so  close  to  her  eardrums  that  they  shake  up  her  entire  body.  &  it’s  okay.  she’s  been  here  before.  so  she  squeezes  her  eyes  closed,  wincing  as  she  slides  her  back  against  the  kitchen  island,  the  solid  surfaces  used  as  an  anchor  as  she  waits  for  the  worst  of  it  to  pass.  she  hears  battle  cries  &  whispered  warnings  all  at  once,  her  very  own  in-built  danger  detector.  her  fists  stay  clenched  on  top  of  her  knees,  nails  digging  inside  her  palms  just  as  the  door  is  pushed  open  --------  A  WELCOMED  INTERRUPTION,  though  she’s  suddenly  mortified  &  still  unable  to  focus  on  anything  other  than  holding  herself  together.  “  d-don’t  freak  out.  ”  another  wince,  chin  dropped  enough  to  hide  her  face.  she  might  have  some  explaining  to  do.

[accidentalharrie]

.

[necros-writing-stuff]

How would remy, wren, Bailey, Leighton, Eden and Avery react in a scenario where theyre the protective (read, yandere) father and they find their daughter sneaking around with some boy?

Feel free to add Sirris and Morgan or whoever else >v>

I won't do Wren/Sirris in this one (can't write their characters confidently) or Remy (simply hate his guts), but the rest I certainly can. I'll try out Wren and Sirris later, though.

Warnings for implied/overt incest and non-con mentions, as well as some violence. Leighton is Leighton, Morgan is Morgan, Eden do be Eden, Bailey is indeed Bailey, Avery- you get the point. They're nasty.

Avery: Avery knows plenty of shady people. Knows people who can hack things and find blackmail. He'd likely hire someone to scare off every person who ever gets close to you via incriminating them. You want to stay out of jail or avoid lawsuits? You leave his daughter alone. As for his dearest? Well, Avery has you go and take virginity tests. Even if they're scientifically invalid, he won't listen to you. Won't back off when you tell him about how invasive it feels. And if you keep fighting him off? Well, Avery isn't afraid to put you over his lap when you're at home.

Bailey: Bailey has kept you safe and pure all of these years despite everything. Has ensured that you've been allowed a job at his side, unable to leave his sight for more than a few minutes as he works. You'll leave this town one day. You both will, he's determined to make it so.

So now why then did he have to find you giggling with Robin, the boy's head in your lap? You should know better than to get friendly with the orphans. How many times has he told you that they're only nice to you so that you'll give up information on him. Robin isn't like that? You poor, naïve baby. Looks like he'll have keep you at home for a few weeks until he can make you see things his way.

Eden: You're his pride and joy. His everything. He'd be so so scared of fucking you up when he'd been left to raise you alone, but you'd grown into a wonderful young woman. A loyal, caring, capable young woman who shouldn't be running around with those feral wolf boys.

You're a human, he'd yell at you, you'll only be hurt by those filthy animals. But you insist on ignoring him. You keep meeting up with this one mutt that looks like a younger version of the big black wolf, running around and screaming in delight as you'd play.

So Eden has to fire a warning shot to scare it off. Has to grasp your wrist and drag you home. Has to put that collar around your neck. The same one your mother had worn... And he'll let you out when you realise the danger of wolves and how daddy is a much better option.

Leighton: Lets be real, this sack of bones would likely encourage it. He wants to control who you see and use it for his own damn pleasure. He wants videos, photos and items of clothing you'd have worn. When you ask why, he'll tell you that he just wants to know his baby is being treated right. Uh-huh. Sure. He's totally not watching the videos over and over again with a stiffy in his office.

Morgan: Unless it's Charles, Morgan won't ever ever let you touch someone that isn't him. He'd encourage you and Charles to be close and bond, says that siblings should love each other just as much as they love their parents. But if you show interest in anyone else, Morgan will become absolutely hysterical.

And I'm talking about nearly killing you hysterical. He really doesn't mean to, but he doesn't realise how strong the grip he has on your neck is until your eyes roll back, with Charles pulling at his wrists to let go. Morgan sinks to the floor, pulling you in close and cradling you as you gasp for breath. He won't do it again, he promises. Just a mistake. Just Daddy's little mistake.

[ruinaa-a-blog]

‘i didn’t think it’d be a big deal.’

stranger things.

          ( accepting – mutuals / @tenccs )

          in the grand scheme of things, it’s not. if sam knows someone who ought to be here –– well, she’s had others invite people before. maybe it’s his own hesitation that makes this seem strange, out of the blue, but it doesn’t deserve half the trepidation she’s treating it with. she forces the hard lines of her face to soften, though she can’t quite manage a smile. “it’s not. sorry, i didn’t mean to –– sorry.”

[asilverforgcd]

@pugionem​  [ azrael ]   |   💬

        “  what’s  in  the  bag  &  why  are  you  hiding  it  here  ?  “

[marvelousmagicalaura]

(Yonko Rewrite) How I Would Write Big Mom - Character Design

Big Mom's garb

While Big Mom's character design isn't atrocious, it feels boring. It's boring compared to the other Yonko and it feels worsened by her lack of impact. The other Yonko have something in their designs that hooks you in immediately, and they benefit from impactful appearances. They give off a sense of intimidation.

Pre-timeskip Blackbeard looked like a "stereotypical" pirate for lack of a better word, and now he's starting to look like a true pirate captain, like his real life counterpart. Whitebeard was the epitome of awesome. He had the mustache, the captain's coat, the bisento, and the Devil Fruit powers to back it all up. Shanks has the simplest Yonko design but his sparse appearances impress me more than Big Mom's entire arc. And while I'm disappointed in Kaido's personality and even the fruit, he does have a great character design. The horns, the hair, the dragon tattoo, the scar, and the loincloth give Kaido the stature of a battle hardened monster.

But most importantly, each of the male Yonko's designs tell us about their character. Big Mom's design only tells us she's an old woman, not about her past or personality. That's why I would revamp her character design to reflect her known original home: Elbaf. She lived in Elbaf, Ikoku is inspired by Elbaf swordsmanship, and we know for a fact she respects the Giants' strength. Due to all these factors I want her design to reflect Viking garb, with the addition of a captain's coat. I want Linlin's design to reflect both her heritage and status as an Emperor and Queen. But she can still wear the canon dress when she's asleep.

The combat boots' general design would look like this: https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71DjzxvhbCL._AC_UX679_.jpg

The boot's color and additional features would be inspired by this: https://cdn.shopify.com/s/files/1/1569/1655/products/red-suede-military-style-lace-up-high-heel-over-knee-boots_2_y_1800x1800.jpg?v=1587932588

The aesthetic of Big Mom's normal garb would more or less resemble this: https://armstreet.com/catalogue/full/viking-coat-kaftan-with-wolves-embroidery-gudrun-the-wolfdottir-1.jpg

The captain's coat would like this: https://i.etsystatic.com/5533372/r/il/7aa86c/1172567159/il_1588xN.1172567159_aehs.jpg

Under normal circumstances for weddings, Big Mom would wear a more formal dress like the one in the last image. But since this is her first major arc - and because she doesn't want to put in the effort for an assassination - she's in her normal garb for the Vinsmoke assassination.

Buff Big Mom

I would make her a buff character. We have only a few buff female characters and it would make sense for her reputation as a Yonko. I want rookie Linlin to be a natural born destroyer who still wanted to improve herself. I don't have much to say for this section lol.