#You see things clearer again and you had forgotten that your eyes were bad

[mrfoox]

Uh. Like month... 4... Without an big breakdown and im 😳 what.... Wha

[corruptedcaps]

Bad Blonde

This is a repost of as story I made on Wordpress when I migrated over there briefly. Will repost the next parts over the next few days

Lucy and her girlfriend Dora were enjoying a lovely Saturday searching for some unique finds at a variety of thrift stores. Being poor college students this was more of a necessity than anything else but they did get a thrill from finding long forgotten fashions. This didn't get them many friends on campus however as their tastes were mocked for being outdated and weird but they didn't care because they had each other's like minded company.

It was getting late and Lucy was getting tired but Dora wanted to check out one more store she spotted down an alley off the main street. Lucy didn't like the look of the dark empty alley but didn't want to admit she was scared.

"Don't you have work soon? Do we really have time for another store?" Lucy said to Dora trying to dissuade her.

"I have time as long as I go straight there from here. Come on we might discover a real find!" Dora said excitedly already walking into the alley. Lucy begrudgingly followed her.

The little bell above the shop door clanged as they entered the store finding it to be somehow even darker inside than it was outside. A heavily tattooed woman sat behind the counter not acknowledging their presence. The shelves were filled with odd knick knacks and items and most of the clothes were dark and tight looking. Lucy couldn't see a single thing that fit her style. However something did catch her eye.

In the back amongst a line of black wigs on mannequin heads sat a lone blonde wig. It was incredibly straight and smooth like it was made out of spun gold. The blonde colour was like a beacon to Lucy in the sea of dark shades and she felt drawn over to it. Picking it up it felt somehow even softer than she thought it would be and incredibly real.

As a lifelong brunette she had always been curious what she would look like with a different colour although strangely never wondered what blonde would look like. She always associated blonde with the mean girls who bullied her in high school or the spoilt sorority girls in college. Even the mannequin head that the wig had been sitting on looked bitchy. Lucy being the kind and gentle woman that she was, never entertained what being blonde could look like but as she held the wig in her hands she suddenly had a great desire to find out.

Slipping it on felt like putting on a snug glove. With a little tuck here and there the seams of the wig completed disappeared along with any visible signs of her brown locks. Finding a mirror she was almost taken aback by how different she looked. It may have been because the mirror was dirty and it was dark in the store but Lucy could have sworn her skin looked clearer and her lips looked fuller. Her postured shifted slightly the more she looked at her reflection.

With a hand on her hips and her chest sticking out she was suddenly reminded of all the mean blondes she had ever met and it sent a shiver down her spine. Although not out fear but out of pride. She was liking the way she looked.

"You look so good." Said an unfamiliar voice that sounded almost like it was in her head.

"What?" Lucy replied confused.

"I said you look good as a blonde." Dora said, Lucy having failed to realise she had been beside her the whole time. She put the mysterious voice down to Dora and focused on her reflection again.

"I do don't I?" Lucy said stroking the hair as if it were a part of her.

"Go on give me a go." Dora said reaching up to take the wig from her but Lucy reflexively slapped her hand away. A sudden flood of anger surged up in her.

"As if, you'd only ruin it with your big fat head." Lucy hissed at Dora as she looked her up and down like she was disgusted by her very existence. Tears welled up in Dora's eyes and she ran out of the shop. For a fleeting moment Lucy felt triumphant, even pleasure of what she did but then her conscience got the better of her. Ripping off the wig and stuffing it unconsciously into her bag she ran out of the store after Dora. She finally caught up with her girlfriend who was sitting on a bench gently sobbing.

"Honey I'm so sorry, I don't know what came over me. You know I didn't mean it right?" Lucy said sitting down beside her. Dora looked up at her wiping her tears from her eyes.

"Yeah, I guess. Sorry you know I am just a little sensitive about my weight. I probably over reacted, I shouldn't have tried to take the wig from your head." Dora said.

"You don't need to apologise, I was the one being a bitch. Look to make it up to you I'll buy tonights dinner and we can have it when you get back from work." Lucy said putting her arm around her but Dora quickly broke from the embrace and stood.

"Oh shoot I had forgot about work, I better go otherwise they'll dock my pay. I'll see you at home later. Love you." Dora said quickly hurrying away. Lucy blew her a kiss and headed home herself.

Arriving back a little while later Lucy tiredly went into her bedroom. Throwing her backpack on the bed she slumped beside it exhausted. Closing her eyes she knew she could almost fall asleep there and then but knew she should keep to her promise and get food for when Dora would be back. Opening her eyes she was surprised to see the blonde wig from the shop staring right at her. Sitting up she saw the zipper of her bag open and suddenly she remebered.

"Oh damn I must have stuffed it into my bag during all the drama with Dora. The store will be closed by now so I'll have to drop it back tomorrow. Hopefully they don't think I'm some thief." She said taking the wig in her hands and walking over to her mirror.

"It is such a wonderful wig though. Now that it's here it would be a shame if I didn't try it on again." She said to herself as her hands were already guiding it onto her head. Once again she marvelled at how fast it slipped snuggly onto her head and how her own hair seemed to vanish.

"God it does look fantastic on me doesn't it. I look kind of sexy as a blonde. Kind of naughty too." She said letting her hand slip into her panties to touch her increasingly wet pussy. Closing her eyes she started to picture how she would look to be a blonde all the time. Doing so turning herself on more. That's where she heard the voice again.

"You know what would be even hotter? If you opened your eyes, took off those glasses of yours and watched yourself finger yourself." The voice whispered. This time Lucy didn't question where the voice was coming from, instead she did as it suggested. Opening her eyes she removed her glasses and watched as she slid her fingers in and out of her pussy slowly. She didn't have to imagine what it would be like to be blonde, she could just watch herself.

"Oh fuck why is this so much hotter?" Lucy said increasing her pace slightly unable to take her eyes off herself.

“Because it’s so dirty! You love how slutty you look with me on your head.” The wig replied clueing Lucy into where the voice was coming from. Lucy nodded in agreement. She should have been concerned that she was hearing an inanimate object suddenly speak to her but its suggestions were hitting all the right spots too much to care. This was something she would never normally do but with the blonde wig on she felt empowered and mischievous. She felt sexually charged knowing how so unlike her this was.

“Oh fuck you’re right! I look so gorgeous and hawt as a blonde! Almost as good as those sorority bitches.” Lucy said, her voice taking on a bratty whine.

“It’s a good start but let’s make some improvements. When I’m done with you those girls won’t even be in your league.” The wig said.

Immediately Lucy felt her body start to twist, shift & change. All the while she continued to pleasure herself.

First to change was her extra flab around her midsection. She watched in awe as it sunk into her belly. Not only that but she felt little pulses rhythmically hit her stomach. Each new pulse tightened her abdomen making it perfectly toned like that of a gym bunny. This extended out to her legs and arms too giving her a peak physique.

She felt instantly arrogant about her new athletic form as she observed it in the mirror and knew other girls would be jealous of her. She loved the thought of others green with envy about her.

“I feel so strong and flexible. God it’s so intoxicating!” Lucy moaned her hands soaking wet with pleasure.

“We’re only getting started my dear.” The wig said with mischief in its tone. No sooner had it said those words that Lucy felt her body start to lightly vibrate. As it did she felt all hair below her neck start to fall off her body giving her a perfectly smooth form. She felt it most immediately around her pussy. She was so distracted by it that she almost failed to register her skin take on a light tan head to toe.

“Mmmm I’m beach ready looking like this. I can see it now, me sitting looking like a million bucks lounging on a deck chair in designer sunglasses. Guys and girls flocking to my side. Oh god I want it now!” Lucy cried out imagining the tight animal print bikini she would wear while continuing to massage her clit.

“That will be your reality soon just a few more tweaks… oh this one may interrupt you for just a moment.” The wig continued and it certainly did as Lucy felt her nails double in length. She gasped as the fingers inside her suddenly caused extra sensitivity. The gasp quickly turned into a deep cackle. She loved how the new nails felt in and outside of her.

By now her mind was swimming with dirty and bad thoughts. How could it not when she looked every bit the bratty bitch she used to hate. She now knew why hot girls always looked down on her. She felt superior now. She felt herself recoil remembering how she used to look only minutes ago.

There was one thing missing though and somehow Lucy knew the wig wouldn’t give it to her unless she explicitly asked for it.

“I feel like such a hawt little slut now but if I’m to become queen bitch I need one more upgrade and I need it to be big. Make my boobs grow! Give me big perfect tits!” Lucy demanded and the wig obliged.

Lucy moaned as her chest heaved as her two petit breasts grew substantially bigger. The previous slight sag she had completely erased, replaced by gravity defying perfection. She took a moment from touching herself to massage her new tits lovingly.

“Fuck yes! I am perfection! Pathetic Lucy is gone! The mean uber bitch Lucia has been born.” She moaned sticking her fingers back in her pussy, inching towards climax. She looked upon her new body with vain satisfaction. Smirking she thought about how as Lucy she would shrink into the shadows in the presence of such beauty but as Lucia she would never be in dark anymore. Others would shrink from her.

“When you cum you’ll release enough endorphins to allow me to burrow deep into your head. You’ll make the bitch queen Lucia permanent. No one will stand in your way. You’ll become the meanest, hottest bully in town and your first victim can be that pitiful girlfriend of yours.” The wig said with a long cold laugh inside Lucia’s mind. However something didn’t feel right. She wanted this power so much but could she sacrifice her relationship to have it?

“No Dora can be left out of this, she is weak & ugly but meaningless. I won’t bully her.” Lucia said ever slightly slowing her pace as her conscience started to intrude.

“Don’t you see? She’s holding you back from achieving greatness! No one is above your power and you must embrace that! You have to destroy everything Lucy had if you are to become Lucia. Perhaps a little more incentive is needed.” The wig hissed and Lucia felt her tits grow even more, her waist further clenched and her butt grew out. Lucia moaned as the pleasure became unbelievable.

“Mmm maybe you’re right, that loser is standing in my way of achieving what I deserve! I need to drop her like the heavy weight that she is. No! What am I saying? She’s the love of my life and you’re evil! You’ve turned me into a cruel and egotistical narcissistic. I have to stop this now!” Lucia yelled reaching up to remove the wig.

The wig increased the changes, her face became steely cold, her nails even longer, it even mustered enough dark magic to change Lucia’s clothes into something tight and form fitting. Lucia smirked at how gorgeous she was, how powerful she had become but it was all in vain as she used all her willpower to rip the wig off.

Once the wig was off her body reverted back to her normal unremarkable form. Lucy had returned. However she instantly felt like she was in withdrawal. The thoughts of being Lucia lingered in her mind like an itch she couldn’t scratch. She needed to get the wig out of there.

Carefully rolling it up in a garbage bag she stuffed it into their freezer for the time being. As much as she wanted to get rid of it she just couldn’t compel herself to do it. Heading to bed she hoped that by the morning the hunger to wear it would subside…

To be continued…

[arcaneauthor]

Tattoos Tell A Story part 2

Part 1 here, Part 3 here

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Summary: You decide to give Ghost a taste of his own medicine

Warnings: None?, Some kissing??, FLUFF, Ghost being bby gurl

A/n: This was requested by @v1naco . I hope I did your wonderful idea justice! Also how the heck did this end up so long??

You would like to make one thing clear.

You love watching Simon get tattoos.

Not only is his deliciously huge arm on full display, but the way his muscles flex when the needle hit a particularly sensitive part of his arm?

Oh you were down bad.

Yes you know he’s technically in pain but come onnn-

He had wanted to get the date of one of his most recent victorious mission tattooed on the inside of his bicep.

What kind of mission was it? You weren’t sure, you know, with it being “classified” and all.

He told you in secret at home

Once told of his plans, you had immediately accepted to tag along and boy are you glad you did. Originally it was for the purpose of just spending as much time with your boyfriend as possible, but you didn’t realize it’d be such a sight.

“Enjoying the view there sweetheart?”

You startle slightly, flicking your eyes away from his arm to Ghost’s masked face. You know there’s a smirk hiding under there somewhere.

Cocky bastard

You clear your throat, repositioning in your seat slightly ,”Uh, no I-I was just….. admiring Jackson’s handiwork.” You claim.

Simon looks you up and down,“Mhm, whatever you say love.”

Jackson, the tattoo artist, just chuckles at the couples antics, eyes never leaving his work.

Ghost knew Jackson pretty well due to him having worked on most of his arm sleeve. He was the only artist in the area that would agree to the service of a scarily large man in a sketchy skull mask and hood, the others immediately declined as soon as he stepped through the door, some even reaching for their phone in a concealed panic. Not that they could really be blamed for their hesitance. He is pretty intimidating if you didn’t know him.

Your eyes now purposefully wander anywhere around the parlor except Simon. You would not be giving him the pleasure of catching you gawking again.

Your gaze skims over a variety of stencils hung on the walls. You never minded the idea of getting a tattoo yourself, you were just too indecisive to ever settle on one.

But maybe one of Jackson’s will stick out to me, you think as you exam the references pinned to the wall

Maybe a bird?

Or a moon?

Possibly a flower?

Oo, that bunny’s pretty cute.

Maybe a-

Wait

Is that-

You squint your eyes to see it clearer, before they quickly widen again

It is

You can’t help the slight maniacal smirk that overtakes your face

That one’s perfect

-+-

It had been about a week since the tattoo parlor and honestly? You had almost forgotten about the whole thing. Simon had still yet to notice your skins new…..addition. You’d think a military man would be more observant.

Although, in your boyfriends defense, it was so small and in such a hidden place that even you yourself had a hard time seeing it.

You and Ghost were in the kitchen together, him in charge of the noodles while you made the sauce. Normally y’all would just order some take-out, but you both decided to try something new. Neither you or him were five star chefs by any means, only able to follow along to a recipe. A very detailed recipe.

You were leaning over the stove just trying to stir the ingredients though your hair obviously did not get the memo. No matter what you did, tucking it behind your ear, blowing it back with your mouth, it just would not get out of your face.

You pull a strand in front of you, eyes almost crossing from it being so close, and glared at it as if it had personally offended you.

I swear to gosh, one day I’m just gonna freaking shave all of it off-

“Here,” comes a distinctly deep, British voice from behind. When had he gotten over here?,”Let me.”

You feel the strands of hair get pulled gently from your grasp as he gradually gathers it all into one extremely large hand. He gingerly rakes his fingers through your locks, eliminating any knots or lumps. Using the hair band from his wrist, where did he get that from?, he joins all of it into a ponytail.

You’re kinda sad to feel his fingers retreat from your scalp.

You run a hand over your head, examining his work. You’re fairly surprised to feel that there’s only a small hump or two.

“Hm, not bad for a man with sandpaper hands.” You jest with a smile.

You don’t get a response

The sound of breathing coming from behind tells you he hasn’t moved either.

“Simon?” You question, turning to look over your shoulder.

The man in question was standing stock still, you’d think he was a mannequin if not for his chest moving up and down. His gaze zeroed in on your ear.

You instinctively raise a hand to the spot in question, and that’s when it finally dawns on you.

He’s not looking at your ear.

No, he’s looking behind it.

You smile

So your little game of spot the difference was finally over.

“You like it?” You ask smugly

Simon doesn’t know what to say, just eye’s the nape of your neck in bewilderment. This was absolutely not here before. Where your skin was previously unblemished, now contains a tattoo about the size of his thumb.

A skull tattoo.

“When did you get this?” He asks instead, finger coming up to rub over it, almost as if he thinks it’s fake, thinks that the ink will smudge under his thumb.

“‘Bout a week ago.” You admit with a shrug, trying to be nonchalant about it.

His eyes finally shift to your face,”And you didn’t tell me?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, grabbing his arm that contains the tattoo of your name and pushing it in his face,”Hypocritical much?”

He looks from his arm, to your tattoo, then to your face, as if he was putting together a puzzle.

“Is the tattoo an expression of love or a ploy of revenge?” He asks with suspicion.

You shrug, a smile gracing the corner of your mouth,”Can’t it be both?”

He eyes you for a moment, shaking his head in exasperation, but you could of swore his eyes lit in amusement.

Oh!

You about forgot something!

“Did you notice any details about it, a letter perhaps?” You question coyly.

No he hadn’t

He gently grips your chin to turn it to the side, dipping his head a little to get a closer look.

Oh.

He can see it now.

There’s a few cracks on the side of the skull and , if he looks close enough, he can see that they join to make a letter.

S

“Does tha-does that stand for-“

“Simon? Yeah, yeah it does.”

He stands there, just silently rubbing your tattoo again for a moment. You’re not complaining though, you’re just soaking in his touch. His fingers feel good.

You clear your throat, gently taking a hold of the hand rubbing your neck,”So? You like i-“

You’re cut off by him surging forward, capturing you in a kiss.

Definitely worth the pain of the needle.

-*-

You were both laying in bed after supper, your stomachs full. Full of take-out, not home cooked pasta because you may or may not have gotten distracted and singed the noodles and turned the toast to basically charcoal.

You were in a spooning position, his large arms wrapped around your waist, mask finally taken off in the darkness of your room.

“You know,” He breaks the silence,”I really do appreciate it, the tattoo.”

“Thought it was only fair. You know, with you getting one for me and all.” Your voices are soft, just whispers in the night.

“You know you didn’t have to do it, right? Not just cause I did.” Anyone that didn’t know Simon would judge from his gruff voice that he was bored or uninterested, maybe even irritated. But you did know him, which means you easily pick up on even the slightest hint of hesitation in his voice.

Your brows furrow,”That’s not the only reason I got it.”

When you receive only silence you look over your shoulder at him, “You know that, right?” You ask as if it was obvious. You thought it was.

Once again, you receive only silence. You really wish it wasn’t so dark so you could read his expressions.

You shift your body so that you’re fully facing him.

“Hey,” you reach for the hand around you’re waist and hold it to your chest,”You know I love you right?”

“Yeah?” You don’t like that he sounds so hesitant.

“Simon,” you make sure he knows you’re serious,”I love you. You’re the only person I ever want to love, and I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon, and I sure as heck ain’t planning going anywhere anytime soon. So why wouldn’t I want evidence of you on my body?” You use your other hand to cup his cheek.

The breath he lets out sounds shaky, letting you know your little speech hit him right in the way you wanted it to. You can’t see anything but the outline of his figure, though you swear you can feel his gaze piercing you.

He brings the hand you’re not holding to rub the spot behind your ear where you know his initial lies.

“I love you too,” He confesses on a quivering exhale.

You slowly lean in for a kiss, not quite sure where his lips are in the dark but somehow hitting them almost perfectly the first try, almost as if it was second nature to you now. That’s something you never really felt before Simon. Sure you had locked lips with other guys but you never knew there could be such emotion in just a kiss. With him, it’s almost like your minds, as well as your lips, are closely connected for that moment. You can feel the love, the passion, the joy, all of it with just a touch of mouths.

Ghost is the one to break it first, breath fanning over your face as he speaks,”I just have one question.”

“Hm?” Your mind is still frazzled by that short intense make out session.

“Was it when I went to the bar with Johnny that Friday?”

Your mind slowly catches on to what he’s saying, letting out a small giggle. That’s confirmation enough for him.

“And you said you were just gonna have a lazy night in?” His fake anger makes your giggles worse.

“You went to the stinking parlor instead didn’t you?”

You don’t even know why this has tickled you so badly, but soon Simon’s own deep chuckles join yours.

He pulls you into his chest, “Sneaky girl.”

You two just laugh harder

[dp-marvel94]

Graveyard of Identities- Chapter 3

Summary:

Danny should feel lucky to be alive. After a month held captive by Vlad, barely remembering his life before, and nearly dying in his escape, he is finally safe, with friends in the Far Frozen. And yet, dread gnaws at him- a massive revelation at the edge of his consciousness, forgotten until the dead of night. It was a lie. All a lie. His past, his memories: all false. Amity Park, his friends and family: all real but… not his. The secret locks in his throat, unthinkable. He stays silent while the yetis welcome him as one of their own. But they do not know. And he can not tell them. He is not the Danny they think he is. He is not Danny at all.

Word Count: 3134

Previous Chapter-> Next Chapter

Also on A03

Danny eventually fell asleep. It was restless, full of tossing and turning but blessedly without dreams. And in the morning, he awoke to gentle commotion. 

“Great One, you are awake.” The yeti smiled at him softly, pausing in adjusting one of the tubes connected to him. 

“Frostbite?” The boy blinked sleepily. Then his mind caught up with what he was seeing. “You’re not Frostbite.” 

This yeti was shorter than the chief with stubby horns and oddly warm brown eyes. “No.” Their brow furrowed. “I am Nurse Snowflake. You do not remember me?”

“No.” Danny asked, suddenly meek. “Should I?” 

“I tended you the last time you used our medical facility. When your ice powers first activated.” 

“Oh uh.” He looked down, avoiding the kind eyes. “I don’t remember that. Everything’s been really fuzzy since…” 

The nurse’s expression softened, understanding. “Of course. You suffered serious trauma.” A paw, smaller than Frostbite’s but still dwarfing his own hand, rested on his shoulder. “Do not worry. I am sure things will become clearer.” 

“Uh… sure.” He shrugged away from the comforting touch.. 

The nurse nodded, worry audible. “I will call the chief. Now you are awake, we need to assess your healing progress. Are you in need of anything for now?”

Danny’s stomach grumbled. “Maybe some food?” He shrugged listlessly.

A nod. “Right away.” 

With that, the nurse left and Danny was alone. He breathed out, eyes fixed on the foot of his bed. His insides churned, queasily uneasy but… he was so tired. He… just wanted to fall asleep again and not wake up. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be anywhere.

Sometime later, Snowflake returned with a plate. The boy barely registered what the meal was, mind hazy and far away. He mindlessly picked at the food, taking tasteless bite after bite. 

He had just pushed the plate away, head turned to sightlessly stare at the foot of his bed again, when Frostbite returned. 

“Good Morning, Great One.” The yeti beamed. 

Danny couldn’t help but flinch. 

“Danny.” The chief gently corrected. “Good Morning.” Then his brow furrowed, motioning to the broken side bar.“What happened here?”

Another wince. “Had a bad dream.” The boy muttered.

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Frostbite asked gently.

Wordlessly, Danny shook his head, averting his eyes. 

For a long moment, heavy silence fell, the yeti’s gaze sharp on the boy’s head. Then, the stool beside him creaked with Frostbite’s weight as he sat. 

When the chief spoke, the words were gravely concerned. “I know your heart is heavy. But you must care for yourself.” His gaze flickered to the half-finished meal. “It pleases me to see you attempted to eat. You must keep your strength up to heal.”

Danny nodded silently. Part of him wanted to agree, to want to get strong and heal. But… his stomach knotted, core whispering he was guilty, unworthy. 

Frostbite continued. “As Snowflake already mentioned to you, we need to begin assessing your healing. Your core stability, your abilities, the state of your human half. That is my proposal for today.”

“Oh. Okay. That does that… involve?” The boy asked. 

“A series of easy, non-invasive tests, which I will conduct. Nurse Snowflake will assist.” 

Danny’s stomach churned anxiously, cautious eyes flickering to the nurse who gave an encouraging smile. 

Frostbite turned to look at the other yeti, offering his own encouraging smile. “Snowflake is an excellent nurse. She is an expert in caring for patients. There is no one I would trust more highly to attend you. You will be in excellent paws.”

“And, if the results are favorable,” The nurse added. “You will be able to move to your quarters. I am sure you will enjoy sleeping in a proper bed.”

His quarters? What did that mean? Danny’s brow furrowed with the question. But he did not ask, guilt and shame locking his lips.

Instead, the boy breathed out, his muscles loosening, even if only slightly. “Okay. That sounds… good.” He shuffled awkwardly. With great effort, he forced himself to look up at Frostbite. “What do you… uh… need me to do?”

The chief patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Just remain seated here and we will take it one step at a time.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of the day was spent running the tests. Listlessly, Danny obeyed instructions. He let himself be moved, changed into a soft white robe that offered more coverage than the gown. Various scans were taken, small samples of ectoplasm. Tests of his reflexes, simple demonstrations of his powers. Frostbite and Snowflake explained each part simply. 

But none of the explanations stuck. His numb, watery brain failed to grasp. Not that he really tried. It was easier to… just not think. To just do what he was told and exist. 

At lunch, he ate slowly, barely tasting the food. During the slower parts, while they waited for results or rested between power demonstrations, the two yeti tried to engage him in conversation. But the boy just blinked, uncomprehending. Or shrugged wordlessly. Or muttered that he didn’t know, he didn’t remember, he didn’t care. 

Frostbite and Snowflake periodically traded worried looks and the boy barely registered. He just wanted this to be over so he could go back to sleep.

“In summary…” The yeti chief finally began, after they wrapped up the tests. “Your core and form appear stable. Your basic powers are in working order. I advise allowing a few more days before you attempt your human form but with the amount of material world matter in your body increasing, the prognosis there appears favorable as well.”

Danny, picking at his dinner, listlessly, he glanced up from his plate. “That’s good, I guess.” He shrugged. 

Again, concern wrinkled the yeti’s brow. He continued gently. “You appear to be healing well. And, I believe you can be moved to the human quarters, if nurse Snowflake agrees.”

“Yes.” The other yeti’s eyes crinkled with warmth. “You are doing remarkably well. With the progress you’ve made, I believe a stay in a less clinical setting is not only possible but will do you a lot of good.” Her voice gentled. “Assuming you wish to move, of course.”

The boy shrugged again. “Sure. Why not?”

Again, the two yetis shared a concerned look. But neither said anything. Instead, Frostbite smiled graciously. “Very good then. Allow us a few moments to arrange things while you complete your meal.”

With that, Danny finished half-heartedly eating his dinner. All the while, his ears twitched at the quiet, worried conversation he couldn’t quite make out on the other side of the door. Despite the heavy fuzziness of his brain, he couldn’t help but notice the guilty prick in his gut.

After, Snowflake helped him into a wheelchair. “Just as a precaution.” She soothed. “The human quarters are a substantial walk away.”

She and Frostbite wheeled him out of the medical room and down several non-descript halls. Twists and turns Danny didn’t care to count passed, and after several minutes, the three paused in front of a surprisingly mundane wooden door.

“Here we are.” Frostbite motioned with a flourish. 

The yetis opened the door and…. Danny blinked, sluggish mind spurred into action by the surprise. 

In front of him was an unfamiliar room, not made of blocky carved ice nor full of shining medical equipment but… a cozy dwelling. Wooden furniture lined the walls: several bookshelves, a set of drawers, a desk, an end table. Thick rugs in red, yellow, and green lined the floor. Quilted tapestries hung on the walls, wooden planks visible behind them. And the bed… four posters stretched to the ceiling, white bed curtains hanging from them. A beautiful quilt in shades of blue and purple with half a dozen fluffy pillows completed the cozy atmosphere.

“Wow.” Danny breathed quietly, awe for once dimming the sorrow.

“We added the bed curtains since your last stay here, for extra warmth while you sleep.” Frostbite motioned proudly. “And we completed the bathroom attachment.”

Sure enough, a door sat opposite the bed, the side of a tube just visible through the doorway. 

“We procured hygiene products, clothes and shoes, blankets. All suitable for your human half. If you lack anything, you only need ask.” The chief also motioned to a metal box affixed to the wall to the right of the bed. “There is an intercom to call for assistance.” 

The boy nodded in understanding, eyes still wide with amazement.

Snowflake helped the boy out of the wheelchair, waiting as he slowly investigated the room.

“Pace yourself, Great One.” She encouraged. “If you wish to go somewhere else, please call for assistance. Or at the least use the chair until you’ve recovered more of your strength.” 

Danny looked up from the bed and his admiration of the quilt’s pattern, and nodded in agreement. “I will.”

“Then I bid you goodbye for now. Sleep well.” Snowflake left with that. 

But Frostbite lingered in the closed doorway. 

For a long moment, the half ghost didn’t acknowledge him, eyes hungrily taking in the room. Amazement quivered in his heart. His finger trailed over the soft quilt, the smooth grain of the desk. The yetis had made all this, a room perfectly suited to a human. There were even a few books on the shelves, a notebook and pencil on the desk, a cloth book bag slung on the chair, a glass-paneled lamp on the nightshade. All the time, care, and study making this must have taken….

Danny’s head tilted, eyes flitting to something out of place. A frosty blue statute of a plane. Why would there be a tiny plane made of ghost ice in this room? Or… no, it wasn’t a plane….

Familiarity tugged at the back of his mind. The boy reached for the object, lifting to between two hands slowly, reverently.

No, it was…

“Frostbite! Look!” He beamed with pride, holding up the newly made model. “I did it!”

“Excellent work, Great One.” The yeti tilted his head. “What is it?”

“It’s the space shuttle! People use them to go to space. This one is Discovery. I saw it at Air and Space. It was cool! They had this video-call thing set up so you could talk to an actual NASA scientist and ask questions and I asked…”

“-nny? Danny? Danny?”

His name being called brought him out of the moment. The boy blinked. “What?” He looked at Frostbite’s worry-wrinkled face and blushed. “Sorry.” He placed down the model. “I just got lost, thinking about…” He motioned vaguely, his stomach churning as the distinct, yet fuzzy memory.

“It is alright.” The yeti nodded understandingly. “Seeing that does remind me.” He motioned to the icy figure. “Your ice powers likely need some exercise. Snowflake and I elected to not test them today, as they are more energy taxing. How does a visit tomorrow to the practice arena sound?” 

“Sure.” Danny shrugged, this time not tiredly indifferent, but at least moderately interested. Then he blushed. “Uh.. I don’t remember where that is though.” 

“Ah, yes. You have mentioned memory problems.” The yeti nodded seriously. “The earlier tests showed no problems in speech, cognition, or short term memory. Are you having long-term memory recall troubles?”

“Something like that.” A hand rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Earlier, I said Vlad did something to my memories… I actually don’t remember much about this place… or you…” The yeti’s expression flashed with disappointment, much like Snowflake’s had earlier. And Danny’s stomach twisted guiltily. “When I woke up, I did remember we’re allies. I know you’ve helped me before but… details are fuzzy.”

“Like the village’s layout?” Frostbite lifted a brow. 

“Yeah.” Danny looked down, shoulders lifted sheepishly.

“Then, I will collect you before first meal.” A comforting paw lowered to his tense shoulder. “And after, we will have a tour, yes?”

The boy looked up again, offering an awkward chuckle. “Yeah. We can do that.”

“Very good. Perhaps we can hold a celebratory feast after the tour and a bit of ice practice.” Frostbite started, eyes brightening into something approaching boisterousness. 

But the excitement stabbed at Danny’s heart, a painful reminder of another towering, enthusiastic figure in his memory.

The chief quickly picked up on the boy’s flinch. “No. Not a feast.” He quickly corrected. “Sadly, your presence with us is not a cause for celebrations, not given the circumstances.”

And just like that, weighty sorrow fell over Danny again. Heavily, he stumbled to the bed. “I… guess it’s not.”

He closed his eyes, cursing the yeti inside his head. He’d finally for five minutes forgotten his crushing predicament and now Frostbite had to remind him. And the yeti’s reminder, the supposed reason for heaviness…. it wasn’t even the truth. 

“Danny?” The chief knelt in front of him, a paw on his knee.

The boy shook his head. “Sorry. I…I’m fine. It’s just… a lot.” 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” Frostbite asked, blue eyes just short of pleading.

He shivered, insides twisting in a sickening feeling. “Not really.” The yeti opened his mouth to reply but Danny interrupted. “I know. You’re here to talk whenever I’m ready.” Just anticipating the words hurt, an echoed reflection of what Jazz would say. “But… I can’t. I just can’t…”

The boy avoided the concerned gaze, eyes fixed on the checkered carpet. The color unfaded, threads still fluffy and unmatted. Brand new, just for him… He closed his eyes, guilt a thick mass in his throat.

Finally, Frostbite spoke. “I will not press you. But… I will suggest, an event should be held to honor your… your loved ones. A memorial to remember, a celebration of their place in your life.” The long digits gently squeezed his knee, surprisingly comforting despite the icy claws. “You can not simply forget, young one. You need… a method to process, the support of a community to… grieve.”

The word parted Frostbite’s lips and the icy stone around the boy’s heart began to crack. A tear ran down his cheek. “I… okay.” His insides ached. It was a lie, the idea that his family was dead. But… if the love he felt for Mom and Dad, Jazz, Sam and Tucker was real, then maybe this grief was too. “I’m… I’m not ready to talk about everything but… something like that would be good. Something to remember what I… who I lost would be a good idea.”

“I am glad to hear.” The yeti patted his knee comfortingly, just relief crossing his features. “I will begin making preparations.”

“I… Thanks for… for everything today.” The boy stuttered out, looking up gratefully. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Slowly Frostbite stood. “Good night then, Danny.” 

“Good night.” The half ghost offered a weak smile.

With that, Frostbite left. The door closed, the room falling quiet. And the guilt rushed back in.

“What am I doing?” The boy hissed out, hands on his head. “Agreeing to… to that….” 

A memorial, to honor his loved ones. He was… was diving deeper in the lies, making the falsehoods worse. He’d have to come up with a story about how everyone died but he survived, pretend to mourn them. Not that mourning them was hard….

He shook his head. They weren’t dead. And what if he wanted to go home someday? Or Sam, Tucker, and Jazz showed up here? Or…. or the other Danny?

His stomach knotted with fear. Why was he doing any of this? Why hadn’t he just told the truth as soon as he realized? 

Maybe he still could.

“Okay.” He breathed out. “Okay. What if I practice and tomorrow….” Something like this… “Frostbite. I… I’m sorry. I haven’t been telling you the truth. But I… I was scared of what you would think. You’re… you’re so nice and I know that’s ridiculous but…” No, he just needed to come out and say it. “Frostbite, I’m… I’m a…” 

Clone. He couldn’t say the word, could barely think it. How could he tell Frostbite that?

“I’m… I’m still Danny.” He furiously rubbed at his watering eyes. “I’m��� I’m still me.” But…

His heart twisted, sickly uneasy. The statue of the space shuttle…

He had… the other him had made it. And the memory… that version of him had been so proud, so excited to show off to Frostbite and ramble about it.  

This Danny wracked his brain, brow wrinkled, trying to remember. The Space Shuttle, seeing the Shuttle at Air and Space. That… that memory was important. Some kind of museum? He glanced at the figure, trying to bring up the full color image. Silver and green? All black? Red, white, and blue? Was it in a huge warehouse? A glass paneled building? An open field? And the video call, asking someone about the shuttle.  What was the question? What had he… the other Danny asked?

The memory… just isn’t there. He breathed out, defeated. The memory just was not there. No misty shape of it, no obvious hole where it should be. He could imagine something- silver and green under a sweltering summer sun. But it tasted false, like a lie. It wasn’t real.

And… dread sank like a stone in his gut. No excitement. There was no excitement, no hunger to know the answer to that question. He wanted to know what the question was, to remember it. But the actual answer…  The thought of seeing the ship in real life didn’t send his heart racing with excitement, his mind buzzing with questions, core filling with wonder. 

Something like bitterness welled on his tongue. Why did he remember this now? All the space books in his room in Vlad’s mansion. The space documentaries. The telescope. Back then, he’d thought it odd at best, annoying at worst. Vlad thought he enjoyed space for some reason. He was supposed to like space. But it had never captured his imagination like in that memory. 

But… people’s interests changed all the time, didn’t they? This change didn’t mean anything. It didn’t have to mean anything. He’d still thought the books were decently interesting. And he liked a lot of things. Like looking at the plants and bugs in the garden, playing video games, swimming in the pool. This difference didn’t mean anything. 

But the words felt hollow, almost like a lie. Another lie. Maybe that served him right, if he was going to keep lying to Frostbite when the yeti was being so nice to him.

Danny shook his head. He… he needed to stop doing this, stop going in circles. He stood. Those books… those books on the shelf, anything to distract him.

The boy read, forcing his gaze on the page, his mind on the words until he could keep his eyes open no longer. He fell asleep.

[zangyo]

@deathleads said (inbox):

she's gotten risky amongst the celebrations; reverting back to her teens, laughing while screaming, twirling and kicking her feet out with the students - an unbecoming sight for a teacher. and yet, and yet, it is ever so perfect to experience. every familiar person you set your eyes on has become childish and happy; the kind of thrilling one may experience when sat in a rollercoaster. they've won, they've all won. she's finally skipping over to you, all fretful imaginations forgotten! she finally kisses you as the students bounce around you like a flock of birds to seed. " I love you, Kento! " she finally cries out! Everyone is happy. Everyone is safe. There are no more curses to hurt them anymore. it really is too bad it's all just a dream.

     NANAMI OPENED HIS EYES, lying upon his bed and peering up at the ceiling with the most confused expression he could muster. His lamp was still on, the light illuminating everything around him, and the book that he had been reading, casually resting upon his chest – still open in the page he had accidentally left off on when he had closed his eyes. What the hell was that dream? There were many things that came to him when he was asleep; however, it had been a while since he had anything so…nonsensical. Sometimes things from your waking moments mixed in with memories, and so he was wondering if perhaps somewhere during the week, he had reminisced over his time back at Jujutsu High with his brain deciding out of the blue, to run wild with it. Lifting his hand, he pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing once again and a long sigh passing his lips.

     Well, for as odd as it all was, he had to admit that despite how perplexed he was left feeling, it wasn’t unpleasant. Truthfully, Nanami wasn’t really sure how to feel about it all. ❝What was Qistina even doing there…?❞ A question for another night, maybe. Reaching over to turn off his lamp, he huffed and shook his head. Actually, nevermind. That was not a question for another night. Nanami was going to forget all about this to the best of his ability, and go about his day as he normally did – an easy enough process for someone who was used to doing just that when it came to his various routines. Book soon placed on the stand, he turned on his head and attempted to see if he could at least drift off again, this time, hopefully, with a clearer mind.

[verratensduo]

“And what do you mean by that Death?” The words slowly escaped my mouth. Never before had I heard something that made my blood run so cold. The rule of gods, something I had always doubted appeared to be real. They also seemed to have just as terrifying of ways as looking at us mortals as the legends said they did based on that one sentence.

“Nothing bad child. I assure you of that.” Death Rose. They didn’t look like the old myths or legends. Nothing particularly evil about their appearance, no skeleton face or sinister clothing. If anything, the black material they had on, unidentifiable to me, seemed quite pretty, and calming.

“I always forget how iffy you mortals get around us. Our ability to take any form, even that which most comforts you would be disconcerting to most. As do vague statements like that.” Death motioned for me to follow, and without hesitation I did.

“Take a look outside this window.” Death instructed and pointed out and down below.

I took a look out side, to be surprised by what I saw. People, hundreds, maybe even thousands, and that was only what seemed to be a tiny portion of the realm below, and they all seemed so happy, care free, as if nothing bad could happen.

“You see, this realm is the Utopia your society searches for so desperately. The fears and anger and hatred of mortals will always prevent you quite from reaching it, but for me, I just take away the limits on resources that lead to such conflict and strife. Instead everyone here focused on what is good and right, and enjoying a peaceful after life.” Death then started to lead the way again.

“One soul, you would be surprised how one soul can change the world. Make it a better place. Not even through major acts of good, but even through small good deeds. Those add up, more souls are born. More souls suffer unfortunately, but more always set out to make the world a better place than what it was when they arrived.” Death explained as we headed for what seemed to be a door.

“When you are immortal, you define things by how you achieve your goals, my goal is to give as many souls a good afterlife as I can. The more souls that are born the more I can do that. I can already see them now. And I can already see some of the deeds you do to make their mortal lives better and lead to even more souls.” Death paused and then turned to me.

“Do not ask what you do. I cannot tell you if they are too be truly done. You don’t have much time left. Only a few more minutes to step back through that door and return to the mortal plane. If you do not, you will have to remain here forever.” Death instructed.

I walked past, but paused as my hand touched the door knob. I then turned around and looked Death in the eyes. “Might I ask one more question before I go?”

“What is it?” Death seemed genuinely curious.

“Just how can you see all these future events pertaining to the living?” It seemed odd for the god of death to have such a power.

“I don’t think I have ever been asked that before, you seem the smart sort, but I suppose in fear it would be hard to see. Look closely.” Death seemed to wave their hand, likely pausing time for me.

I did just that, and what I saw surprised me. Death’s face became clearer, though not quite identifiable, the black garb had become white, the room was suddenly much brighter. The god of death, well they were also the god of life.

“I see, well, I suppose I will see you later Death, it has been very nice meeting you.” With that, I opened the door and stepped out.

My eyes opened and refocused. The EMTs where still checking on me. I tried to remember what just happened. I felt as if I had forgotten something important. I just could not remember what.

Several months passed and a pregnant woman was walking before me into the intersection with the walk sign indicating pedestrians had the right of way on.

However, a car was driving right at her, intent on running the light.

“Ma’am look out!” I shouted as I pulled her back.

When she turned to me, I was a little nervous, until I saw the look of gratitude on her face.

“Thank you, might I ask your name?”

“But of course.” I gave her my name and shook her hand.

“Thank you once again, not just for saving me, but for giving me my baby’s name.” With that, she crossed.

I felt as if I finally understood something important. Something someone had told me, if only I could remember what and who told me.

During a near-death experience, you came face-to-face with the God of Death, and pleaded to be returned to the world of the living. He granted your request, and sent you away with the chilling parting words: “Why should I regret letting one soul go, when I stand to gain so many more in return?”

[ganggangscenarios]

No Such Thing | Ch 4

01 | 02| 03| 04| 05| 06 |07| 08| 09

Drabbles:

I can & I will

Disconnect

Neighbours know my name

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Summary: After a messy breakup and an even messier night out , you find an unlikely friend in your coworker’s ex boyfriend. A messy beginning and an even messier middle, who knows about the end.

Genre: Romance, comedy, smut, angst

Warnings: This chapter heavily features the topic of pregnancy.

Writers note: I understand that it is a sensitive topic. Especially now with the devastating turn out of Roe V Wade. My heart goes out to all those effected.

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

The journey home was short but excruciating. You couldn’t stop crying. Your phone kept buzzing. You knew it was him. You’d just ignore it. Not even bothering to decline the call. It kept buzzing at the bottom of your bag when you got out. All the way to your apartment. 

With a deep breath, you take the phone out of your bag and look at the screen. 

2 messages and 15 missed calls. 

You didn’t want to hear whatever excuse he was going to give. Angrily, you pressed the message notification. 

You see the three words you had thought about hearing from him for the past 2 months. But you couldn’t believe a word from his lying, cheating mouth. 

You turn off all notifications off and head into the bathroom. You needed to shower, get him off your body, brush your teeth, get his taste out of your mouth. 

With small sobs escaping your mouth, you strip and get into the warm shower. Your tears and the water from the shower head mixed together perfectly. You would’ve forgotten you were crying, if not the taste if the salty tears on your tongue. 

How could you be so stupid to sleep with him again? Both times without contraception. You knew he was talking to Hyejin again, they were probably intimate with each other. You were a home wrecker. You shudder at the thought of Hyejin sitting at the breakfast bar. Her bag resting on where your partially naked body sat, where her boyfriend entered you. You scrub your skin until it felt clean enough, until you could no longer feel the kisses on your skin. Until you could no longer feel his hands on your waist. 

——

You got on with your life as much as you could. It had been a month since you had seen Jungkook, since you had talked to him. He called for weeks, until he just came to terms with the fact that you weren’t going answer him. He thought about going to your place, but he was scared about how you’d treat him. Like you hate him. Or even worse, like a stranger. He knew you needed space, but all he wanted to do was to explain. He couldn’t bare with the fact you thought he was a liar or untrustworthy. When he closed his eyes, he saw your face very clearly, the heartbreak in your eyes before you left his apartment. 

___ 

You had been feeling dizzy all morning, at first you thought it was because you skipped breakfast. You were running late so you thought you could grab something on the way. But the bus came late and you had to run into your 9o’clock meeting straight away. Usually you didn’t feel too bad if you didn’t have time for breakfast, but as you sat in the meeting, your vision became blurry. Focusing in and out. When the meeting ended, you went back to your desk. You felt a little better when you closed your eyes, but you had so much to do. 

It was when you were walking to the copier your colleague stopped you to ask you a question. His voice sounded like you were underwater, the room started spinning and then the room faded to black. 

The next thing you knew, you were in an empty office with an EMT by your side. An oxygen mask strapped tightly to your face.

“Hello miss, how are you feeling?” She asks, gently removing the oxygen mask. 

The room becomes clearer and you try to sit up, but she stops you. 

“Your blood sugar was severely low, so you fainted. How long have you been feeling dizzy?” She asks you. 

All because you skipped breakfast this morning? You knew it was the most important meal of the day but not that important. 

“Since this morning.” You tell her, taking a sip of water from the bottle that was placed beside you. 

“Did you eat anything?” 

You shake your head. 

She conducts a few tests, making sure that you’re okay. She doesn’t leave until she watches you eat a whole sandwich. You thank her before she leaves. 

Your manager tells you to go home and rest. She clears you to work at home for the rest of the week. 

Then, the following day, the dizziness is replaced by nausea the next day. You could hardly walk two steps without feeling like you were going to throw up. Luckily, Sarah was also working home from work. She bought some soup for lunch and made sure that you ate. She told you that you were feeling so unwell because you were heartbroken. That could’ve been a possibility but you knew something wasn’t right. 

The next day, you’re awoken by a splitting migraine. All lights were too bright, including your phone screen. Thats why you answered that call by mistake. You weren’t thinking and you couldn’t stand to look at the screen. 

You groan into the phone. 

“Hello.” 

Then you heard his voice. Jungkook. 

“Finally. I-“ 

You hang up and fling your phone to the other side of your bed. 

You spend the whole day in bed. Only snacking on crackers. Anything with a strong smell or taste would bring back the nausea.

Over the weekend you felt slightly better, still not able to eat anything, but better. 

Sarah convinced you to visit the doctors office first thing on Monday morning. You stared at the posters on the wall, anxiously waiting to be called. You see a poster that makes you stop breathing. A mother cuddling her newborn baby. It got you thinking, you haven’t had a period in a while. The thought crossed your mind a month prior, but it was a flickering thought. You must’ve put down to stress at work or something. But the nausea? Hell, even the mood swings. Your mind was starting to put all the pieces together. But you didn’t know for sure that you were… you couldn’t even say the word. You refused to say it. 

The doctor calls you into her office. 

You sit down, wringing your hands as you do. You were feeling very anxious. The doctor asks you about your symptoms. You answer to the best of your ability, trying to stabilise your trembling voice. And you sit nervously, as she types furiously on her keyboard. She stops briefly to continue questioning you.

“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?” She offers you a small smile, taking in your nervous posture. 

“Just this past week. The dizziness started at the beginning of last week. Its gotten better but I still feel nauseated.”

The doctor makes noises of acknowledgement as she starts typing again. 

“Are you sexually active?” 

The question always made you blush no matter how old you got. You mumble out a small ‘yes’.

“When was your last sexual experience?” She probes you further. 

You knew what she was implying. Any idiot would. 

You thought back, it must’ve been over month ago, with Jungkook. Unprotected. 

As you thought, you put your face in your hands and lean forward. As if you were hiding.

“Over a month ago.” You say through your fingers. 

“Are you any birth control?” She asks.

You sit up and focus on her fast moving fingers.

You quietly mutter a ‘no’.

The situation was becoming more daunting with every question.

“When was your last period?” The last question.

You tell her you didn’t know, everything after that was a blur. Next thing you knew, she was handing you a pregnancy test. You were  directed to the bathroom by a nurse. You sat on the toilet and peed on the stick. Shaking, you put it into the zip lock bag they had given you. Balancing the test on the tissue dispenser, you clean yourself and pull your trousers up. Flushing the toilet, you grab the test, wash your hands and hand the test to the nurse who was waiting outside, greeting you with a warm smile. 

You wait the allocated time.

“You are pregnant.” It sounded warped, like you were underwater. 

She tells you all the options, how far along you were. 

Still on autopilot, you thank her for her work and head home. You cry yourself to sleep. For days you build up the courage to call your mother and tell her the news. She tells you that she supports your decision whatever it may be. She asks if you know who the father is. You tell her you do but it’s complicated. 

You had accepted your fate and started to plan your life around having a baby. You tried your best to handle it alone. You pretty much kept it a secret as long as you could. Sarah had invited you to her place for a sip and paint. You refused the alcohol and when she asked why you tried to lie but she caught on. Sarah was a stickler for body language. As you tired to lie, you subconsciously place your hands on stomach. Her eyes narrowed. Placing her hand on your stomach. A bump had already started to form. She asked who the father was, you told her. As your best friend, she threatened to drive to Jungkook’s place and beat him up for you.

You laughed and told her that he wasn’t a bad guy, he just wasn’t good for you. He wasn’t the fuckboy that you wanted him to be. That would make it easier to ignore him. Every time your phone rung you wanted to pick it up. But you couldn’t trust him.

————

You hid your pregnancy from everyone at work as long as you could. You were doing a good job, even though your stomach had begun to swell, your clothes still hid your stomach. Until one day they didn’t. 

It was an average Thursday morning. You woke up, did your morning routine and started to get ready for work. Your usually over sized sweater was stretched tightly over your swollen belly. You frantically pulled out another item of clothing, the same thing happened. Again and again. Had your stomach ballooned overnight?

You sigh, feeling all flustered, you lay back on your bed. 

You weren’t ready to tell anyone yet, yet alone, turning up to work pregnant. Well, obviously pregnant. 

You call your manager and tell her that you were going to be working from home for the foreseeable future. She doesn’t really question you, just grumbles ‘we have a meeting at 1:30’ before hanging up. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you get back into your pjs and set up your work station on the couch.

—— 

Pregnancy made you ravenous. You always seemed to have an insatiable appetite. 

You order some tacos for lunch. 

You decide take a break from work and watch some Netflix. 

—

Your binge watching session is interrupted by your doorbell, followed by some knocking. Usually the delivery person just rang the doorbell and left the food on your doorstep. Slightly confused, you pause the movie and get up, groaning as you do. You move quickly to the kitchen counter to pick up your card. 

“I’m coming!” You holler, grabbing the card and opening the door. 

It wasn’t the Mexican food you had been thinking about for the past couple of hours. It was Jungkook. Your heart drops and you hide behind the door, only cracking it open so your voice could be heard. 

“What are you doing here?” You say, shaking. 

Jungkook hadn’t heard from you in over a month. You had dodged his phone calls and ignored all his texts. He thought you needed some space, then a week went by. Then two, then three. Three weeks turned into two months with no sign from you. Out of desperation, he even asked Hyejin about you. She informed him that she hadn’t seen you at work, and that you opted to work form home the majority of the week. That’s when he got worried. Did he hurt your feelings that badly? He knew seeing Hyejin would’ve confused you and break your heart. But he hadn’t seen you in over two months? 

Sarah had found Jungkook’s Instagram and dogged him for making you cry. He explained everything to her but she didn’t have much sympathy. She told him you had been busy and had no time for him. He knew she was doing her job as your best friend. Jungkook didn’t know how many sleepless nights he had thinking about you. And the lack of response after reading his proclamation of love for you. Maybe you just didn’t feel the same and you didn’t know how to reject him, so you had just been avoiding him. Or maybe you did feel the same, but he fucked up so royally and you didn’t want to know him anymore. 

“I just came here to check on you. I get that you’re upset with me, and you need space… But I haven’t seen you in a while. I just wanted to see you in person. Make sure you’re alive.”

You take a deep breath.

“I’m fine. I just need some alone time.” You say from behind the door, letting go, it begins to close slowly. 

He starts speaking again, you stop the door.

“I’m sorry for what happened. But you didn’t give me a chance to explain. I wasn’t with-.”

You didn’t want to hear it. Another lie from another man you decided to trust. 

“You don’t need to explain anything to me. I understand, you just wanted to have some fun, to see what the single life would be like. It’s my fault for thinking it was more than what is was.” You’ve said these words to yourself over and over for the past few months, it hurt a little less every time you thought about it. 

He sighs, he was so upset with himself for letting you feel like this. He should’ve come earlier, squashed all your negative thoughts. He should’ve gone after you when you left his apartment that day. Told you how he felt and that he wanted to be with you, not Hyejin.

“That’s not true at all. Just let me come in. Let me look you in the eye and you will know I’m not lying to you.”

You hear a second voice from the hall. It was your elderly neighbour. She stops in her tracks and stares at Jungkook talking to you through a small gap in your door.

“Love, do you need me to call the police?” She asks, clutching her bag, moving closer to her door.

You poke you head out, coming face to face with Jungkook for the first time. His deep brown eyes meet yours and you melt.

“N-No, its okay Mrs Choi, you don’t need to call the police. We’re just talking.” You tell her, ripping your gaze from Jungkook.

She makes sounds of acknowledgement before entering her own apartment, shielding her  keypad from view.

Well now you had no choice but to let him in. 

You open your door wider and he walks in. The sound of the door slamming was followed by a gasp. You were in full view. You were dressed in a matching pj set, a crop top and a pair of shorts. 

Jungkook’s jaw drops. His eyes land on your rounded belly, a very visible small bump. 

It was as if you forgot you were pregnant, the way you opened the door.

Feeling uncomfortable under his gaze, you grab your sweater from the couch and throw it on. It did nothing to hide your body, the fabric stretching tightly over your stomach.

Slowly kicking off his shoes, he begins to walk towards you. You nervously keep eye contact with him.

“A-are you?” He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

His large hands reach out towards your rounded stomach. He stops and looks up at your for approval. You silently nod. He carefully places his hands on your stomach. You begin to tear up. 

“Before you ask, it's yours. I haven’t been with anyone else. And don’t worry I w-.”

Jungkook took no time and pulled you into a tight embrace. You were having his baby. He never thought that anything like this would happen. Even though he should’ve, when you two slept together, you made no attempt to use any contraceptives. Just pure love and passion.

Pulling away from the hug, you wipe your tears. You notice that he has got tears in his eyes, seemingly happy tears.

“You don’t need to worry about anything. I don’t expect for you to be involved or anything. You could walk away now and Hyejin doesn’t have to know anything.” Even though, it was painful to say, you genuinely meant it. You didn’t want him to feel pressured to help you. 

Jungkook’s mouth hangs open in disbelief at your words. 

“I know this won’t help the current situation, but Hyejin and I are not together. We haven’t been for months. I asked her over to end it for real. That’s what you saw. But that doesn’t matter I am going to be the best father to our baby. If that’s what you want, unless…” He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I want to keep the baby.”

He breaths a sigh of relief.

“Have you been to the doctor? Do we need to book an appointment?” The fact that he included himself made your heart swell. Was it silly of you to believe him? Because you wanted to. But you needed to protect yourself. A baby was now involved.

“I went to the doctor as soon as I felt sick, I thought I had the flu. She asked some questions and ran some tests. And here I am.” You gesture to your stomach.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He whispers.

You didn’t want to bother him. You were also in a state of shock for the longest time. You wanted the baby, but it didn’t feel real. Until you couldn’t, you still tried to fit into your normal clothes. 

“I didn’t know how. I thought you were with Hyejin, and I didn’t want to ruin anything for you.” You confess, choosing to stare at your floor, instead of him.

Jungkook gestures to the couch and encourages you to sit down. 

He fluffs a pillow and places it behind you. He sits beside you, grabbing your hand.

“I know its completely inappropriate, but I’m going to say it, because I’ve been dying to. I love you, I am in love with you. I know that this isn’t the way we thought this was gonna go. I didn’t expect to fall for you like this” 

He truly didn’t, when he started hanging out with you, he was stoked to have a new friend. You were patient, smart, funny and beautiful. He saw you were attractive when he first met you. In the colourful light of the bowling alley. You were stuck to Mark, only detaching to give Jungkook a quick hug hello. 

Then he saved you that fateful Friday night, and his life changed. He felt bad at first when he developed a crush on you, as he had just ended his relationship with Hyejin, he thought he was just transferring his feelings from Hyejin on to you. But months went by and his feelings got stronger. He knew what he felt was real and then you had sex. It was rushed but passionate. The way you looked at him, touched him.  He wanted to be with you.

If this situation had happened with anyone else, he would be beyond terrified. Even if this happened with Hyejin, he would be beside himself. 

But it was with you and he was happy. He was ready to tackle anything, with you and for you.

“Lets focus on one thing at time.” You say, removing your hand from his.

“We need to make sure that our scan is booked and I need to buy more clothes. I am the size of a small island.” You joke, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lack of reciprocation does not go unnoticed, but it was not the time to talk about it now. You clearly didn’t want to.

You look beautiful. “ He always thought so, but your beauty multiplied now that you were carrying his child.

“Of course you’d say that. You’re in love with me.” You snicker.

It wasn’t that you did feel strongly about him. You did, but being in love with him was at the bottom of your list. Hell, you didn’t even have a list, your mind was like a wall decorated with a bunch of random post it notes. 

It stings slightly to hear you brush of his confession. But he was glad to be with you, for now.

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi :) I was wondering if you’d be open to writing something about Tommy and baby Shelby going to see Alfie. With season 5 Alfie trying to hide his scars because he thinks she’d be scared but she just cuddles into him. I get if this is weird or too specific😅

Protected

“Remember what we talked about eh?” Tommy says to his youngest sibling as he tugs open the door on her side of the car. (y/n) Shelby takes her brothers outstretched hand to help her jump down out of the car that was a little too high up for her to manage to climb out by herself. “Yes Tommy.” She responds, skipping off in front of him to the big heavy front door of the building they were going into. The little girl leans against the door to very little avail as it barely even budges until Tommy reaches the door too and pushes it open with one strong arm.

He steps very firmly in front of (y/n) in the lobby of the building to prevent her running off again, and crouches down to her height with both hands placed firmly on her small upper arms to hold her still. “You stay right next to me okay?” He repeats, “And stay quiet yeah? I’ll try and be as quick as i can.” (y/n) smiles in response, “And then we can go to the sweet shop?”

Tommy nods and gives his little sister a soft smile before he stands up straight and takes her hand tightly in his. His littlest sister is so fearless and unaware of the dangers of the life she was dropped into that it always gives Tommy a sense of relief in some ways. It was almost like a form of escapism. Bouncing between Polly, John, Arthur, Charlie, and Tommy had made her life very different from most, even from Tommy’s young son. It would be incredibly safe to say that it was a shock when Polly Gray had entered into the betting shop in Watery Lane holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. They were all incredibly confused and very soon learned that Arthur Shelby Senior had shown up on the doorstep with another child he wasn’t interested in raising. She was an accidental one who’s mother died in childbirth and the deadbeat father had been gifted with yet another little life to let down.

Of course it became very important for Tommy that the baby girl did not experience the same kind of sheer let down that their father had given to all of them. He named sweet little (y/n) on that evening 6 and a half years ago. He felt like he was completely aimless and useless at that time. He had decided not to go after Grace and that lost love was weird for him after finally having it. Then that beautiful, quiet, warm and sweet little girl was placed into his arms and held tightly onto his finger and suddenly, his world and his love seemed to hold new meaning.

She was his muse, his greatest love and his favourite little sidekick.

“Tommy fuckin’ Shelby.” Alfie rumbles out, his back to the door as he faces out his balcony. “That’s a bad word, Tommy.” (y/n) chides in a whisper as she looks up cautiously at her elder brother. Tommy offers her small hand a gentle squeeze and nods his head, but promptly turns his head back to the man holding a gun at the window. “And you’ve brought your mini protégé, i see.”

Alfie turns half of his face, only his good half, to see the sweet little wave from the youngest Shelby sibling. “Alfie, this is my sister; (y/n).” Tommy introduces, hoping his willingness to divulge his sisters name would move Alfie away from the subject as quickly as possible so that they could talk about what he was really there to talk about and then he could take his sister and go quickly. He didn’t like her having to be involved in these things, he always feared it would bring her into the line of fire. “Mhm,” Alfie grumbles, “Last time i saw you, you was only about this big-” He gestures with his hand only a few feet off the floor, “Couldn’t speak much, either.” The Londoner adds, eyes slightly narrowed. The 6 year old tilts her head to the side.

“I can speak a lot now, Mister Solomons.” She says, somewhat proudly. The burly man laughs, not his usual sinister or mocking way. “I can see that.” He hums in response, eyes moving from the little girl to Tommy when he clears his throat heavily to draw attention back to him. “If we could, Alfie, I’d like to talk business.” Alfie nods his head in response, gesturing with his hand to the couch across the room. Tommy let’s go of his sisters hand to sit down on the couch, the little girl doing her best to climb up beside him with only a little help from her brother. Alfie sits on the chair across from them. Tommy knows there had to be significant damage to the side of the man’s face after the injury he sustained from the bullet fired out of Thomas’s gun. There was almost no way he escaped that unscathed.

“I’m going to kill a facist, Alfie. And i need some men.”

The words from Tommy prompt Alfie to rather abruptly turn his head, somewhat shocked by the words, but more shocked by the fact the 6 year old little girl was completely unbothered by the words her brother had spoken. The pre-school aged girl simply continues fiddling with the pocket watch Tommy gave to her. She looks to be dismantling it with a very distinctive focus that reminds Alfie she is a Shelby, and she might fully be aware of how to kill him already.

“A facist ey?” Alfie repeats, his eyebrows raised. “Politics got to you, Thomas?” Tommy rolls his eyes and lights a cigarette. “I need some men.” Tommy adds, making Alfie scoff. “Oh you do, do you? And you want mine?”

Tommy merely nods his head.

In his discussion with the head of the Peaky Blinders, Alfie had not forgotten the presence of the 6 year old on the couch, but it had fallen away from the forefront focus of his mind as he debated the thought of lending men to a Shelby’s cause. In doing so, he turned his head in thought and a little noise of awe left the youngest Shelby. Tommy and Alfie both direct their attention straight to her.

The little girl scoots herself off the couch and Tommy reaches for her arm, but just misses. She trods right up to the huge London gangster and tilts her head. “What happened?” She asks softly. Alfie shifts uncomfortably on the couch he sits on, running his finger absentmindedly over the scarring of his face. “Got shot.” Alfie responds, Tommy clears his throat heavily and almost awkwardly in knowing he was the one who had given Alfie Solomons his facial scarring. (y/n) tilts her little head in awe as she clambers up onto the couch next to him.

“Looks cool.” She mutters in awe.

Most look at him in some kind of shock or horror even. Some with sympathy thinking it had come from the war and some with fear knowing where it had really come from. But few with the kindness and curiosity of the 6 year old standing on his good couch.

“Does it hurt?” She asks quietly. Alfie shrugs.

“Depends.”

That’s when her little hand reaches forward to trace over the scarring with an almost feather light child’s touch as she stands there on the couch, her hands are cold and gentle over the markings that no one has touched since his last hospital appointment.

“Her mother’s daughter.”

Alfie flicks his eyes back over to a now standing Thomas as he reaches forward to lift his sister up into his arms where she sits on his hip with little furrowed eyebrows and a purse on her lips. Alfie’s residual aching cheekbone pain has faded to nearly non-existent for the first time he can soberly remember. He knows that Tommy knows this by the look in his eyes and the way in which he notes his prior statement before he gathered his sister.

“She’s sweet.” Alfie nods, standing to his feet. As softened as both men may be by the child in the room, Alfie does not like sitting as Tommy Shelby towers over him whether the man is an ally or not. “Polly says i get it from Tommy.” (y/n) chimes. Alfie raises his eyebrows with a grin that makes Tommy roll his eyes at the retired gangster. “Oh do you now?” Alfie hums, opening his mouth to speak again when Tommy cuts him off. “You go ahead to the car (y/n), eh? I’ll meet you down there in just a minute okay?”

The six year old nods and runs off the moment her feet hit the ground. Tommy turns to Alfie immediately.

“If you ever-“

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Mister Mom.” Alfie rumbles, crossing his arms over his chest with a beaming grin. “Little miss Shelby has you whipped, mate. Tell me, what’s your favourite apron you wear at home eh Thomas?” He chuckles heartily, making Tommy glower in rage at his teasing. “I’m fucking serious, Alfie.” He growls. Alfie straightens up and stops laughing immediately.

His eyes narrow for a split second and he tilts his head, his eyes searching the depth of Tommy’s cerulean blues and immediately noticing the sheer panic and worry that lies deep within them, attempting to hide under brotherly protective instinct and rage at the prospect of harm falling on his little sister. Alfie inhales deeply. He would truly never dream of harming a child. It’s not in his nature, nor does it sit well with him. And though he had been quick to give the head of the Peaky Blinders a reality check in the past regarding the safety of his son, in the end he had no idea Charlie Shelby had been taken and he never would have arranged for that to happen.

Alfie nods his head and leans forward. “She’s special to you, yeah?” Tommy doesn’t know why Alfie asks. He’s sure it’s clearer than he wants it to be, but alas the Londoner asks anyway and Tommy doesn’t know exactly how to answer, so he simply makes a motion something akin to a nod though looks more like a twitch of his chin. “Mhm, I can tell. You can have the men. I’m sure you know the price.” Alfie turns away. Tommy doesn’t know what it was in Alfie’s eyes that reassured him more than words ever could that he wouldn’t lay harm on the 6 year old little girl who treated him with more respect and kindness in the ten minutes she spoke to him that anyone had in years. There was an element of brotherly protectiveness that Alfie felt only after knowing her a short time.

“And Tommy?”

“Yes, Alfie?” The Birmingham MP turns back as he leaves the doorway of Alfie’s sitting room.

“Anything ever happens to the kid, you fuckin’ let me know yeah?”

Tommy nods his head, the ghost of a smile somewhat on his face. His little sister is just about as protected as they come, and there was a distinct feeling of certainty that Alfie Solomons was there, lurking in the shadows of existence with a familial fondness of the little Shelby girl who carries the glow of an angel above her head that would ensure no men, from Birmingham or further afield would have to go through every Solomons and Shelby loyal man up and down the country before a hair on (y/n) Shelby’s head was messed. Tommy holds hope somewhere deep in his heart that his little sister will never have to see violence aimed at her, and that for as long as she lives she knows that she is instantaneously loved, dearly held in every heart and ferociously protected by some of Britain’s most dangerous men.

[wigglingpandaboi]

Music, softly and laughing :)

Dancing Queen

AN: My first dhmis drabble and it was very fun too do, please feel free to send me more >:)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was music playing downstairs. 

Red’s eyes snapped open on instinct, sitting upright in his bed. The faint melody of a song playing downstairs made his heart thump in his chest and his fur fluff up on instinct. 

Because music meant a lesson was happening, and lessons always meant something bad. 

Cursing under his breath he was quick to scramble out of bed, he was stupid to think he could take a quick nap to rid himself of the seemingly constant  pounding behind his eyes. He had left Crow and Manny alone, assured that they would be safe. 

“It’ll be fine, Red,” Crow had said. “Go take a nap, I can watch the kid.”

And now Crow and Manny were alone with whatever sort of….thing that had crawled out of hell to teach them its twisted version of an educational lesson, 

The closer he got to the stairs the clearer the music became, and when it did he stopped. Pausing, almost freezing, standing in the middle of the stairs when the words and proper melody of the song suddenly became clear to him. 

“You are the Dancing Queen! Young and Sweet! Only seventeeeeeen!”

“What…..” He muttered to himself, fear replacing itself with confusion as the words of the song registered in his head. 

He….knew this song. God knows he hadn't heard it in….how many months or years  it's been since they got stuck in this nightmare. But he had no idea how or why it was playing here and now, it certainly didn't seem like the kind of song one of the teachers would use in their lessons. 

“Dancing queen, Feel the beat from the tambouriiiiiine, oh yeah!”

Curiosity now more than piqued he allowed himself to continue back down the stairs, getting about another third of the way when he was suddenly stopped dead in his tracks again. 

Laughter. 

High pitched childish giggles accompanied by deeper chortles. 

He knew that laughter, and it had been so long since he’s heard it so genuinely that hearing it again right then and there caught him off guard. Getting a hold of himself he quickly covered the last bit of the stairs before coming to stand at the bottom, looking upon the scene that greeted him. 

“You can dance! You can jive! Having the time of your liiiiiife!”

Crow held Manny's smaller hands in his own feathered ones, the two of them spun around the room, swaying this way and that in some sort of uncoordinated dance, Crow belting out the lyrics to the song playing on some old forgotten radio nearby, horribly out of tune. Manny chimed in with his own singing whenever he wasn't overcome by his own laughter. 

“Ooh, see that girl, Watch that scene, Digging the dancing queeeeeeen!”

Red stood at the bottom of the stairs, the puppet monster did not need to pull his fur apart to know that he was smiling wide beneath it. Watching the two of them dance around the room, laughing and smiling freely, looking actually happy in god knows how long, made his heart swell up to the point he feared it would burst. 

His silent observation was quickly put to an end when Manny caught his eye, the boy's bright eyes, crinkled with mirth, lit up like stars. 

“Red!” He called. “Come dance with us!”

Crow finally noticed the puppet monster as well, feathers fluffing up slightly in what Red recognized as embarrassment at being caught doing something so silly, but instead of pulling away like Red thought he would, he released one of Manny's little hands to reach out towards Red in offering. 

The Monster held up his paws. “Ah…I don't…really dance..” 

Manny’s expression dimmed slightly at his response and Red felt his heart ache in his chest, quietly cursing himself for being soft he sighed, reaching out with his paw to take Crow's offered hand. 

“Alright…fine….” 

Manny cheered and Crow smirked before tugging Red into the fray, together they swayed back and forth, spinning around and stepping on each other's toes.

“You are the dancing queeeeeen! Young and sweeeeet! Only seventeen!”

Laughter of his own bubbling out of his throat, Red joined in on loudly belting out the lyrics to the song. 

“You can daaaaance! You can jiiiiive!”

Manny giggled and then squealed when Crow twirled him around, yelling out the lyrics to the song through his laughter. 

“Having the time of your life!!”

Together the three of them joined in and practically screamed out the final lyrics to the song. 

“Ooh, see that girl, Watch that scene! Digging the dancing queen! Digging the dancing queeeeeeen!”

As the song's final notes rang out Red scooped up both his friends into his arms, ignoring their startled shouts he began to spin them around. His own deep laughter mixing in with Mannys giggles and Crows snorts. 

As the song came to an end all that spinning suddenly caught up to him, and Red found himself tripping over his own feet and crashing to the ground with a grunt, Manny and Crow landing on top of him. 

The silence that followed after the song's completion was filled with the three puppets' laughter, laying together on the ground together in their shared mirth. 

Red didn't know how long this laughter would last, how long until they were thrown  back into the gloomy monotonous routine they had gotten so used to. But for now Red cherished in his and his friends' joy. 

And for the moment he was reminded that maybe not everything had to be so bad. 

[mostly-marvel-musings]

Woke up married

Summary: Pounding headache, blurry details from the night before, awkward glances at brunch. All the right ingredients for the world’s worst hangover.

Warnings: 18+ stuff, drinking, talks of sex, humour & fluff.

Pairing: Tony Stark x Reader

Square Filled: Woke up married

Word count: About 1100.

A/N: Written for @avengersbingo Have I taken inspo from that Friends episode where Ross and Rachel get married? Yes I have. Enjoy ;))

Avengers Bingo Masterlist

Tony Stark Taglist - @raspberrymama @ladyeliot @boop-le-snoot @make-a-memory-drink-it-up @loveisallyouneed1125 @ownsmyheart @anthonyjanthony666 @downeyreads @the-secret-thief @getlostsquidward @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @elemephstudies

Everything Taglist – @godofplumsandthunder @ladyacrasia @agustdowney @swaggysposts @littlegasps @little-baby-vixen @another-stark-sub @supraveng @kahlanmars @disappointmentofthefam @pandaxnienke @tom-hlover @just-the-hiddles @fyreball66 @asmigurub @avantgardium-leviosa @imerdwarf @gladiosamicitias @fanofalltheficsx @ladyburberry

Taglists are open! Send me an ask or DM if you wish to be included!

.

Sunlight streamed in through the glass wall and on your face in a way that had you groaning and kicking the sheets, which in turn resulted in a muffled ‘ow’ being heard from somewhere down below.

The ruthless hammering inside your head became prominent and you knew it would only get worse if you opened your eyes. There was some shuffling and moving beside you, enough to mumble a curse word before peeking an eye open to locate the source.

A big lump of pristine white sheets and Tony’s bare legs poking out through the other end right next to your face. The need for rest hung heavy on your lids as the surroundings became clearer, still eluding the events from last night.

Apart from the sheets that were tangled around your body, you realised to your horror that you were sans clothing as well. There was popcorn littered on the nightstand along with some liquid splashed across the surface and confetti?

“Oh God…”

The movement caused Tony to pull your legs closer and rest his face on your feet. The pounding headache grew as you rest yourself on your elbows to take notice of the state of the bedroom you were in.

Clothes strewn about on the floor, your bra hanging off the open bedroom door proudly, empty champagne bottles and more confetti.

“Tony. Wake up!” You hissed, blinding tapping the lump of sheets that wouldn’t move. Another kick and he was up.

“Did you just kick my face? Ugh. What time is it?”

“Time to regret drinking a river that we did last night.”

Slowly unveiling his face from the sheets, Tony emerged looking as terrible as you imagined you were too. He rubbed a hand down his face before sitting up, his bare torso littered with your lipstick stains up for display, adding to your worries.

“Do you have your boxers on?” You asked, praying he did as you spotted your panties on the foot of the bed. Tony reached underneath the sheets to check, his expression revealing everything you needed to know as he gulped and shook his head.

“We couldn’t have had sex though, could we?”

“Given how badly I want to throw up and go back to sleep right now, I’m gonna say we were too hammered to do much else.”

Tony’s reassurance did nothing to pacify your panic as the cottonmouth you had screamed for water.

“I’m never gonna drink again.”

“Tony, you and I both know it’s a lie.”

“Do you remember what we did last night?”

“I think so? Couldn’t have been too bad.”

Little did you two know that all your worst fears were about to be revealed.

.

You shrugged on one of Tony’s old T-shirts and a pair of shorts you had stashed in his closet long back when you’d first started dating, rubbing your temples in circles as you waddled downstairs for sustenance.

Expecting it to be empty, you were surprised to find the team gathered around the living room, chatting animatedly before their heads turned in your direction watching the two of you enter the land of the living.

Spotting some food kept on the table you made your way over and plopped yourself on the couch with Tony yawning shamelessly following suit.

You downed the glass of orange juice in one go as Nat exchanged suspicious looks with Clint, Bruce looking uncomfortably between the two of you while Steve acted indifferent.

Tony reached for the cup of coffee before you slapped his hand away and handed him a fruit instead, mumbling something about how drinking coffee makes the hangover worse, causing the Russian assassin to chuckle.

“Okay what is it?” You asked, glaring at everyone.

“Are we going to talk about what you guys did last night?”

The Captain crossed his arms over his chest, displeasure prominent on his face.

That previously forgotten fear showed up again as you met Tony’s eyes, your expressions matching.

Just as you were about to answer, the God of Thunder burst in the room smiling at the two of you holding a vase containing massive long stemmed roses.

“Good morning! How is the happy couple?”

“What?”

You lost your appetite as memories from the night before came back to you in pieces. There had to have been Thor’s Asgardian liquor involved since you’d never had blackout incidents before this.

Your left hand housed a ‘ring’ fashioned out of copper wires, something you definitely knew was Tony’s doing.

“What did you do Tony?” You glared at the man who gulped as last night’s events flashed before his eyes.

“Honey I wasn’t the only one drinking yesterday.”

“Explain this!!” You flashed your hand in front of his face.

Bruce cleared his throat to interrupt the possible spat that was about to commence.

“Uh. Tony sent one of his suits to get a minister to marry you guys. And he wrote this on my hand.”

He rolled up the shirt sleeves to reveal what you hoped was a temporary tattoo that read, ‘Best Man Bruce Banner’.

You held your head in your hands, unable to face any of them while Tony tried his best but failed to hide a snigger.

“It’s not funny Tony.”

“Kinda is. Look, we can take care of it, don’t worry Banner.”

You stood up suddenly, making all heads turn your way, struggling to get the ring off of your finger.

“Wait why’re you removing it?” Tony followed you, leaving the group to stare after the two of you.

“Are you suggesting I keep this god awful thing? And this was an accident, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah it was. But what if we don’t get an annulment?”

Tony’s words made you stop in your tracks. The man didn’t seem to be joking as you faced him.

“What are you saying Tony?”

“I’m saying what if we stay married? It seems like we already had the ceremony.”

“No. Not a chance.”

You shook your head and began storming towards your room. Maybe it was the lack of sleep and headache making you this irritable and react the way you were, you wondered if the circumstances had been different your answer would change.

“But why? Do you not want to marry me?”

“Not like this I don’t! We were hammered.”

The ring finally came off which you threw in Tony’s general direction, not turning to see if he’d caught it.

“I’ll get you a proper ring (Y/N) come on!”

“Get me a proper wedding Stark!”

The others laughed as you slammed the door on Tony’s face before Steve removed his phone, scrolling through hundreds of pictures which he was forced to take capturing the world’s worst hangover.

[duskamethyst]

after party. (ft. keigo)

a/n: at this point i hope someone reads and enjoys it (i dont have any influence in this app lol). this is my longest fic yet.

word count: 6k

genre: quirkless AU, nsfw, smut, angst

warnings: fucked up– noncon/dubcon, tw physical abuse, tw emotional abuse, possessiveness, abusive relationships, cheating, intoxication (voluntarily), slight suicidal thoughts, yandere behavior

the behavior displayed by dabi is not love. no one deserves to be treated like shit in a relationship. if you are being abused, please find help.

pairing: dabi x f!reader (x keigo)

summary: keigo takes a liking on you but what does your ex boyfriend, dabi has to do say about it?

you walk out of the uber in your tight little dress with your friend and line in front of the club before the bouncers can check your IDs. your friend was the one who initiated the idea to go party since she had a rough day at work today and you would do anything to make her feel better so you agreed. besides, you were convinced that you were also in need of plenty of doses of serotonin and you haven’t gotten stupidly drunk for a while.

the echoes of the music that you heard from outside has become much louder and clearer as you walk inside the room. a throng of people are already wildly grinding against each other on the dance floor, some are making out and some just watch by their table, sipping on their expensive alcohol. your friend grabs you over by the bar to buy you some drink. one glass quickly turns to two, to three, four and five. you’ve finally reached your high and your body itches to join the crowd so you pull your friend towards the floor and squeeze in between bodies before you start to sway the night away – oblivious to the prying eyes that have been staring at you from one of the vip tables. 

you’re mouthing the lyrics as you shake your hips voluptuously with your hands snaking up and down from your hair to your body in a sultry manner, slightly aware of some of the males’ gazes around you but none even dare to make a move. you love how you manage to make their heads turn towards you while you’re doing the least and now you’re just drowning in euphoria and confidence. you know you’re stunning and you made damn sure that the dress you chose for tonight would show off your curves at the right places, not forgetting the hem barely covering your ass. you know you’re a fucking tease to those idiots.  

a pair of arms suddenly wraps around your waist and pulls you back, enveloping you into a warm and muscular hold – but loose enough for you to continue dancing. you turn your head back to the person and he raises his eyebrows invitingly as he locks his golden eyes with yours with a devilish smirk that graces his lips and instantly makes your heart leap. 

you feel like you’ve hit the jackpot. 

you keep on dancing and he slowly follows you from the back. when you boldly tease him by grinding your ass on his mid hard on, you can feel the grip on your hips hardens. with a proud smug tugging on your lips, you confidently turn your head to see him watching you down with his lip already between his teeth. you both know very well the effect you have on him right now.

“if you’re gonna do that, why don’t you come to my table?” he says loud enough in your ear to suppress the banging music. 

you pretend to think a little, though you know you can’t (and don’t want to)  turn down his offer – not when he’s this attractive because usually you’d easily reject any sleazy and scrawny guys without a second thought whenever they invite you for a drink with them. “i don’t know... should i?” you start to flirt.

“you like being a tease?” his hot breath lingers around your ear as he chuckles, sending a tingling sensation down to your core. “well, you’re damn good at it. come on.” 

from the look in your eyes, he already knows your game. he doesn’t give you a moment to answer and only smiles before pulling your hand as he walks you through the crowd. the fact that he is tall and built easily causes people to step away from him, making him look like moses parting the sea. you look around as you follow the man and spot your friend who is long forgotten, dancing with a random guy and giving you a thumbs up before shooing you away, most likely to tell you to just go with him.

by the time you reach his table, another guy that you assume as his friend is already seated and making out with a girl leaning next to him. you don’t have a clue of who they are and the dim lights aren’t really helping so you choose just to ignore it. 

“come here, baby.” the blonde pats on his lap as he sits down on the opposite side of the table, directly in front of his friend. there’s something about him that is mesmerizing as a whole and certainly, this man can easily get anyone that he wants. though you initially wanted to play hard to get, you find yourself to obey him, already straddling his laps as asked. you face him, wanting to give yourself a much clearer view of his features. his brows are thick and his lids are a little hooded, not sure if it’s from the alcohol or it’s naturally like that and he has some stubble on his chin. his eyes are dark – is he wearing eyeliner? but his golden irises make them bright at the same time. he’s too handsome for his own good and you’re pretty sure he knows it well. 

“such a pretty little thing.” he mumbles as his hand caresses your cheek and you’re hoping he doesn’t notice how your skin warms up to his touch.

you move your hips closer to his, your core grinding tauntingly through the fabric close to his groin. he rests his hands low on your back – too low and guides your hips as you continue to grind and roll against him, all while maintaining eye contact with you. 

“keigo. you can say it.” he suddenly says as he notices how you bite your lip from escaping any shameful noises as he bucks his hips closer to your needy cunt. you blankly stare at him before realizing that he just told you his name, most probably hear you to moan out. embarrassed, you lean and hide your face on the crook of his nape, involuntarily sniffing his cologne as you inhale. fuck, he also smells amazing. 

he laughs, “thought you were cheeky, but you’re also shy, huh?” 

the fact that he knows that he has the power of making you feel flustered gets on your nerves. as a retaliation, you bite the soft skin on his neck and successfully feel his body tenses up a little as a response. you grin victoriously against his skin and decide to deliberately try to get more reaction from him as you begin to suck and nibble on the same spot and it’s already making him shudder.

“already marking me, babe?” keigo looks at you as you pull away. “i’ll be sure to put ‘rough’ on the list then.” he grabs and squeezes your ass before pulling you into a hungry kiss, taking you off guard but you’re more than happy to return. you can feel that your dress is moving up almost revealing half of your ass from the way he keeps on clutching it along with the fabric and his friend can probably see a bit of your panties but you couldn’t care less, not when you feel so needy right now.

“get a room.” a deep voice from the other side suddenly interrupts.

keigo pulls away and glares at his friend past your shoulder. the remark alone suddenly makes you feel bad and ashamed so you think it’s best if you don’t turn around, no matter how much you want to tell him to piss off-- but he also probably paid for the table so you have no place to say that at all. 

“shut up, dabi.” 

dabi?

sure, you’re tipsy but you’re sober enough (and not deaf) to clearly hear what keigo said and it’s a name that you never want to come across again, let alone the person himself. you don’t want to be reminded of the person that hurt you so many times before. the person who threw out a year long relationship for his own desires and constantly making you feel bad about yourself, like you’re not enough and blamed you for the reason of why he cheated on you. the thoughts and memories of him haunted you for so long and you were grateful when you finally managed to get over it but now... guess you thought wrong.

the feeling of embarrassment you had is replaced by fear. you don’t have to see it but you know that dabi is wearing that ugly smirk when he sees how your body freezes and quick to pull down your dress properly. in a second, your brilliant portrayal of femme fatale suddenly vanishes into thin air. the bass from the music suddenly feels so loud and it makes your head dizzy. god, it’s all too awful. keigo notices your uneasiness that his jackass friend caused and he immediately pulls you into a hug. he apologizes to you but you can only manage a meek nod of your head. 

“let’s go somewhere else.” he comforts you before you get off his lap and stand up with him to leave. your head is hanging low, staring at nothing but the floor. you can’t comprehend what you’re feeling right now. is it embarrassment? horror? anger? are you being set up? you can’t bring yourself to look at dabi in the eyes and you don’t want to be in his presence any longer. you’re already wishing for the ground to swallow you whole. you just want to leave. somewhere. anywhere. 

“leaving already? don’t want to introduce me to your friend?” keigo stops in his tracks before turning around to his friend with an eye roll. you, on the other hand, aren’t sure whether the question is directed at you or keigo but you can feel that dabi is intensely burning holes through you and it makes you want to puke. 

keigo wraps his arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer, “sorry. i don’t think she wants to know you, dude.” he sneers and walks away with you before dabi gets the chance to say anything. the last thing keigo wants is a fight with his friend right now. he’s the worst when he’s drunk, after all. 

“i’m sorry about my friend,” keigo apologizes again as he leads you to his car and opens the passenger’s door for you before walking around it and getting in the driver’s seat. “but that’s dabi for you. annoying fella.” he laughs and starts the engine. 

“it’s fine.” it isn’t – but you force a smile and you don’t want him to think that you’re weird-- you have to keep up and act normal. keigo sighs in relief and puts his hand on your thigh, rubbing it gently as he drives the whole way. from your understanding and the way he talks about him, keigo probably doesn’t know that you and dabi used to be a thing and you don’t plan on telling him much about your life either. it’s not a surprise since dabi was the one that wanted the relationship to be discreet – or in his book it’s called “lowkey” or “private”. it felt like he was hiding you from a part of his world.

thus, he barely (or most likely never, if he didn’t hold your hand on dates) showed you off and you had never met his family and friends. you were so in love with him so you tolerated, but the moment you started to bother him by asking why (or when you asked him to post your pictures together on his stories at least), he’d lose his shit. he said that he was not into those kind of stuffs and he hated and cringed when people showed off their partners excessively, so putting himself on the same level as them was the last thing he wanted-- until you found out the real reason: he was fucking around behind your back. 

and it didn’t happen once. it was hard but you forgave him the first time when he apologized. he said he was so sorry, he’d change and he couldn’t live without you, all those things you wanted to hear. you knew you had and wanted to give him a chance. you loved him but trust wasn’t something that was easy to build and you were always wary of him a couple of months after that. he found it ridiculous when you tried to check his phone so much, said that you were overreacting and it often broke into a fight. deep inside, you knew he was doing it again. you’d yell at each other and one of you would end up bruised after. later he’d say he was sorry for what he did, make up with hot sex, whisper sweet nothings to you and you would forgive him again – and the cycle repeated itself. in the end, there was never a proper closure but the day he took away all his belongings from your place, you both knew it was already over and none of you ever said anything since then. it was devastating but so liberating.

right now, you’re not sure where keigo is taking you and you don’t care because you’re just glad that you and him didn’t have to deal with your ex for too long back there. keigo tries to crack some jokes as he drives and keeps on recommending to you the songs that he currently likes by playing it on the radio. your mood lifts up gradually as you hear him sing and the thought of dabi slowly becomes a blur.

he brings you to his house (or mansion, by the size of it) and offers you a drink. he’s regretful that he couldn’t buy you a drink earlier since he ended up just making out with you before the whole dabi fiasco happened. so he brings out one of his expensive liquors for both of you before nuzzling on his sofa. after a light hearted conversation and a few sips of the alcohol, you’re quick to get drunk and giddy again. keigo softly caresses his hand up and down your thigh as you mumble nonsense but the lack of response from the male makes you turn your head to him and he’s already staring at you. it’s quiet for a few moments before both of your reddened faces inch closer and you impatiently crash your lips onto his. he hums into the kiss while his hands rub gently on your sides.

“not here.” he bites your lower lip and picks you up bridal style. you giggle as he brings you upstairs to his room before throwing you on his bed. keigo gets on top of you and kisses you hungrily, only pulling away to take off his shirt to reveal his toned body and goes back to kiss you again. his hands roam greedily all over your body as if you’ll be gone if he lets go before slipping one of his hands under your dress, feeling the wet pool already formed against the thin fabric. 

“oh?” he smirks, rubbing your wet slits with his fingers and watches you as you squirm under him. keigo immediately leans down between your legs and licks a wet strip through your panties. “i wanted to give payback for what you did, but i can’t wait anymore.” 

keigo pulls your panties to the side and starts to lap off your juices like a starved man, the aftertaste of the liquor he had earlier replaced by your flavor. your legs begin to tremble as his tongue expertly licks your clit and through your folds. keigo watches you between your thighs, your mouth gaping as you chant his name repetitively like a prayer while your hands clench on his soft pillow. 

“cum on my face, baby.” he soothes his erection against the mattress, grinding through the sheets as he focuses on making you orgasm. 

“oh, fuck – keigo!” you squeal as he slides in two fingers inside your sloppy cunt and the lewd sloshing sounds do nothing but make you and keigo even more aroused. you press your thighs together as you feel the coil inside you tighten up but his free hand pushes them apart from crushing his head. with a suck on the clit, he eventually pushes you over the edge and he grins proudly as you cum. he licks your juices off and hovers back up to you and kisses you again, making you taste yourself. 

“you taste so fucking good,” he whispers as he pulls the straps of your dress down to reveal your breasts before getting up to his knees to take off your panties and anything he has left, freeing his hard cock. “i’m gonna leave you with that on because you look so –” he smacks your thigh, “fucking hot in it. pretty sure you thought hard about wearing that dress.” he chuckles.

“happy to know it’s doing its job.” you giggle as you eagerly spread your legs again before him. god, alcohol really makes you forget every ounce of shame you’re supposed to have, doesn’t it? 

keigo gives his cock a few pumps with his hand before he leans forward to slide inside your soppy cunt and he hisses as the warmth engulfs him while you feel every vein against your tight walls. he slowly starts to move his hips when he hears you moan his name again before building up the pace. you wrap your legs around his waist and he leans closer to you, enabling you to hold him while he fucks harder. 

“fuck,” he groans. “you feel so good.” 

your nails are clawing his bare back, making him want to thrust into you faster. the quiet room now filled with moans, squelching sounds and skins slapping against each other. keigo nibbles on your neck while his hand reaches down to press and circle your neglected clit, quickly causing you to reach your climax.

“wanna cum!” you cry, the aftermath of your previous orgasm making you sensitive even more. 

“yeah? baby wants to cum on my cock?” 

“please, please, keigo!” you beg as your toe curls and the legs you have wrapped around him pushes him down and deeper into you. you can feel your walls tightening as he thrusts harder through the spongy walls and with a couple more circles on your clit, your eyes roll back as you come undone. keigo continues to fuck you and you can feel that he’s close by the way his cock twitches inside you before he shoots ropes of thick cum inside you. 

the both of you are left in a daze as you pant and keigo slowly pulls out his cock before laying next to you and pulls you close into his warm embrace. 

“you did so great, baby. oh, god.” he says between breaths as he caresses your hair and kisses your head. the silent ambience and the fact that the both of you are dead tired from the whole night eventually causes the both of you to fall asleep in each others’ arms instantly. 

you wake up suddenly and see that it’s still dark outside. you can only assume that it’s currently four to five in the morning and you turn to your side to see keigo is still sleeping peacefully next to you. you know it’s best to not stay around any longer, you’re not looking for a relationship though it’s a shame because telling by the way he treated you, this man is just amazing.

then again, you only know his name. worse, he’s a friend of your ex boyfriend and that’s just kind of fucked up in a lot of ways.

quietly getting off his bed, you put back on your panties and carefully open the door before walking back downstairs. the place is so huge but you manage to find your handbag from the sofa earlier and head straight outside before you can call the uber back to your apartment. surely you hope keigo doesn’t mind that you’re leaving him so suddenly. heck, you might even be doing him a favor. he was nice and thoughtful to you throughout the night but it’s really hard to put someone that’s been around dabi in your good graces now.

the elevator stops on your floor and you walk through the same, familiar hall while rummaging through your handbag to look for your keys through the receipts that you always reminded yourself to but forgot to throw out from your bag. the minute you lift up your head to watch where you’re going, you stop in your tracks as you see a man leaning against your door. a man that you thought you’re not going to see so soon and now you’re thinking that staying with keigo until the morning probably was the best idea. 

but it’s too late for that. he already notices you.

you can feel your blood boiling and your hands clenching into a fist. he’s wearing that stupid smirk that you’ve always used to adore – the same one that made you swoon once but now it only makes you want to punch him hard and break a tooth or two – if only you’re brave enough.

“the fuck you’re doing here?” you snarl at him with every ounce of bravery you still have inside you. you’re grateful that you don’t sound as meek as you expected to but seeing you like this amuses him even more. he had always liked it when you were all riled up until he thought that it was annoying and ‘had’ to get physical to shut you up.

dabi whistles, “mm, feisty.” 

you roll your eyes and ignore him as he steps away for you to open your door. you try to remain calm and stop your hand from shaking as you insert and twist the key through the keyhole so he won’t even get the hint that you’re shitting inside your pants right now. you quickly get inside your house once it’s unlocked and instantly push the door close, but to only have his foot to stop it from closing. you begin to panic and try to push the door harder while he tries to push the door back from the other side. 

“let me in.” he slurs as he leans down to meet you on eye level. the azure eyes that used to be captivating and mesmerizing are now dark and horrifying-- like when he used to look down at you condescendingly while your body was trembling on the floor.

“no! dabi! you’re drunk!” you scream as tears begin to prickle your eyes.

“don’t be like that. come on, i just wanna talk.” he says calmly with a smile, in an attempt to calm you down, though the smile doesn’t really reach his eyes and only scares you even more. you’re certain that he can see fear running through your eyes.

“fuck off!” you push the door with all the strength you have left. you’re not naive, you know that dabi is far stronger than you and you can only hope for a miracle to happen right now – for someone up there to suddenly grant you superhuman strength so you could shove the door right in his face or to just make dabi give up from pursuing you.

but you can only hope. there’s no such thing as super powers and you know damn well your ex boyfriend is not the type to easily give up on the things he wants. 

“let. me. in.” he threatens under his breath. “you don’t want to make me angry.” 

a wave of bitter flashbacks creeps into your mind again, as if seeing his face isn’t enough to remind you of the past you desperately want to forget. you feel your body tremble and grow weaker as you look at the monster outside your door again and when he feels the force from your side drops, dabi takes the opportunity to easily push back the door and invites himself in and makes sure to lock the door before turning to you.

your shaky legs weren’t enough to support you and caused you to tumble back when the door swung open. you look down to the floor as you shake and sob while dabi walks slowly towards you before kneeling down in front of you.

“baby, look at me.” he coos. 

your body stays frozen in place, your head suddenly weighs too heavy to lift itself up. you’re a sobbing mess and you don’t want him to see that. judging from the experience you’ve had with him, you know it’s wise to not make him repeat things twice so you slowly force yourself to look up at him to see his blue eyes already taunting you. dabi shushes you as you cry even harder when you face him and he gently strokes your hair to soothe you. his touch is far from comforting and it’s nothing like how keigo played with your hair earlier. 

“you missed me that much?” he chuckles as he wipes away your tears with his calloused thumbs. you’re too afraid, you can’t even muster any reaction no matter how much you want to, you can only weep in his hold. 

“i know i was happy when i saw you,” his lips curl into a grin before it swiftly turns into an unpleasant scowl as he replays the scene inside his head. “until you decided to whore out for my friend. right. in. my. fucking. face.”  

you quickly shake your head to deny his accusation. well, it’s true that he’s friends with keigo but how could you have known? you couldn’t even see him when a girl was literally sucking off his face when you came up to their table! let alone the fact he never introduced you to his friends while you were together!

“n-no– i didn’t know–” 

an abrupt loud pang echoes throughout the room. it was so quick but now, somehow, you suddenly feel a stinging pain on your cheek. your eyes widen as your palm reaches for the burn on your skin, as if to reaffirm yourself that yes, you just got slapped by dabi. again.

“you don’t get to talk back.” he scoffs as he looks at you in irritation. 

your fear turns to anger and it suddenly gives you courage to defend yourself. you start to wail again and push his body away from you, to make an effort for him to walk out the door – to go away. you keep on pushing his chest and his hands whenever he tries to grab a hold of you. you’re aware that you look and sound hysteric but you just want him out. out of your house, out of your life forever. 

of course, it’s a pathetic display to dabi. he went through this with you before, you’d never win against him and it would never make the slightest change. he’s two times your size, a little push won’t budge him. it only annoys him more. 

dabi easily grabs your wrists with one of his hands while his other free hand grabs you by the hair from the back of your head, yanking your head to tilt upwards. understanding that this is your utter defeat, you can only manage to sob helplessly again. 

“you didn’t know?” he growls. “you did it just to spite me, didn’t you?” 

you try to shake your head no, but the stinging pain from your scalp won’t allow you. 

“did you fuck him?” 

you don’t answer, not even a nod or a shake of your head as you only continue crying. 

“did you,” he clutches harder and causes you to wail louder, “or did you not?” 

you’re convinced anyone can hear you through the wall but what are the chances for your neighbors to actually want to get involved this early in the morning? especially when they’re the type to only mind their own business.

“fuck. you did.” he sees the distinctive bruise on your neck and finally pushes you free from his grasps – as if the sight of it makes him feel disgusted that another man had already fucked you. but it’s okay! he can turn that around and make it right. “you’re gonna make up for me, yeah?” 

you swallow hard as you look at him, unsure if you can speak so you carefully manage a timid whisper, “wh-what do you mean?” 

dabi's lips tug into a smirk. he’s glad you asked. 

“i’m gonna fuck you and you’re gonna take it. i’m gonna make you forget about that asshole.” 

you shake your head no and start to crawl away but dabi is quick to grab and pull you back to him. if you had a book about yourself, he already finished reading it. he knows you like the back of his hand by now and you both know that.

dabi positions you on your knees, cheek rests on the hard, wooden floor so you can directly stare at the wall and pushes your back down into a desirable arch that gives the best view of your ass for him. when you try to wriggle out from his rough grasps on your hips, he gives a hard slap on your ass.

“doll, it won’t hurt if you behave.” he chuckles darkly as he pulls his pants along with his briefs down to his knees before pushing the hem of your dress up to your waist, revealing the panties that were peeking in front of him earlier.

“dabi, please. don’t do this.” you glance back towards him pleadingly but he only snickers in amusement.

“shh, i’ll be gentle this time.” he takes off the flimsy fabric down to your knees before rubbing your clit in circles with his thumb and he continues doing so until he feels a wet slick slowly starting to drool from your cunt. with a stroke of his tongue, he laps off your juices and hums at the taste that fills his buds. oh how he missed it, how he always adored how you tasted in his mouth. 

you bite your lip to suppress any whimpers when his warm tongue glides on your throbbing clit ravenously. it shouldn’t feel good, but it does. you keep reminding how much you hate him and the millions of reasons why but god, he’s so good, it’s leaving your mind in a haze. he still remembers where and how to make you ache for him. unlike him with other girls, he memorized every inch of your body because you’re just that special to him.

dabi glances at you to see how your brows are already knitted together as you close your eyes shut and your lips pressing into a thin line to try not to entertain him with any sort of reaction. it’s so endearing. 

dabi pulls away and slaps your ass, “you like that, doll?” 

you keep quiet and refuse to look at him but he is quick to draw your attention to him as he rubs the tip of his cock along your sloppy folds, coating his cock with your slick and nudges on your clit with his tip while your body trembles underneath him. he spits on your cunt before he presses the tip of his cock in, causing you to gasp at his thick girth. 

“so fucking –” he grunts as he pushes inside through your walls, “tight.” 

you whimper as you feel him stretch you out but once you quickly get used to it, you subconsciously buck your hips closer to him to take him more. dabi chuckles in amusement when he sees how you easily give in and stroke his ego by submitting yourself to him. he knows he could never be replaced. he knows how your tight cunt still remembers how his cock felt inside you.

he groans in deeply as he starts to thrust his cock in and out of you before picking up into a much brutal pace and your nails start to claw and dig the plain floor, “t-too much, dabi!” 

your cries fall into deaf ears as he drowns himself into his own pleasure while you try your best to take him in until you’re quick to acclimatize to his rhythm and you start to mindlessly slip out moans after moans from your lips in a sinful chant. 

dabi smirks arrogantly as he watches you becoming a mess for him and he leans down closer, causing the tip of his cock to hit your cervix each time he rams inside. “bet he didn’t fuck you this good, hmm? bet you were– fuck– thinking of my cock instead.” 

your mind is hazy as you’re succumbed into your carnal desire, already fucked dumb by his thick cock to even build coherent sentences so a few single ‘yes’ are the only thing you can manage to say. 

“you’re clamping down on me baby,” he laughs. “gonna cum in this tight cunt, yeah?” 

his words send a jolt of electricity down to your core and your breath begins to hitch as you’re able to feel your third orgasm for the night begin to wash over your body. dabi realizes this as he feels your body shaking under him and your walls contracting around his cock. he takes this chance to slow down his pace so he can hear you beg for him. he wants to be reminded that only he can make you feel this good. not his friend keigo, no one. 

“w-wanna cum!” you whine in desperation as your hips buck to meet his thrusts. 

“yeah? say my name.” he taunts. to be calling for his name in a situation like this is humiliating enough and he lives for this moment. he loves how he’s able to turn you into a dumb, drooling mess for his cock and itching for a release.

“d-dabi, please.”

“whose fucking pussy is this?” he gives a deep thrust as he emphasizes the word, making you yelp in surprise. 

“y-yours!” 

“you’re goddamn right.” he continues to pound into your tight cunt relentlessly before his hand reaches to press down and rub your clit with his thumb, just enough to make you see stars and lips part in a silent scream as you finally come undone. 

dabi groans as he feels your walls clamping around his cock, his nails already forming red, crescent shapes as he continues to chase after his own orgasm. 

“fuck– i’m gonna fill up this pussy.” his thrusts begin to stutter as he feels his climax washes through him and his cock twitches inside you before he releases hot cum inside you. 

dabi’s grins proudly as he watches your limp body slumped down against the floor as he pulls out his cock. he makes sure to put back the dripping cum inside your cunt with his finger, making you shriek weakly from overstimulation. 

the both of you say nothing as he picks you up and takes you to your room. both are too drained for any further arguments and he’s glad that you’re not trying to make a fuss anymore. he puts you on your bed and you swiftly turn to your side before feeling the bed dips behind you as he puts his weight down on it. 

dabi wraps his arm around you and presses your back to his chest. you went through so much tonight, you can’t even bother to cry anymore and you’re too numb to process all your feelings right now. you don’t know what will happen tomorrow instead you wish it won’t come at all. 

“we’ll start over.” a faint voice suddenly cracks the silent room.

you want to laugh. with your clouded mind, you can’t make up whether it’s dabi who just said it or is it only a voice in your mind that subconsciously replays the same damn sentences that you heard way too often after each time you were laid bruised and limp on the bed, in the exact same position as you and dabi are now. nonetheless, you remain still and ignore it as your eyelids start to feel too heavy to keep your eyes open and your vision fades into darkness, despite the warm orange morning glow looming in the corner of the room as the sun begins to rise. 

duskamethyst © 2020 • do not modify, translate or repost anywhere.

[theusurpersdog]

A Bird in a Cage

Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is all about boxing her in. Not only is she a hostage in King’s Landing, she’s also expected to pretend she’s not; she has to attend Court with a smile on her face, playing the role of Joffrey’s betrothed every day. Showing any honest emotion is punished by verbal and physical beatings. Her entire life becomes a performance she must put on to keep the monsters at bay. Everything about her world is meant to be stifling; from the physical restrictions to the emotional ones, it all makes her retreat deeper and deeper within herself.

But the real magic of this book is the moments where she finds a way to push back or escape her bounds . . . 

Captive

In more ways than one, Sansa is a captive in King’s Landing.

The first kind of abuse she’s subjected to is physical. Beatings are a part of her everyday life. Because Robb was crowned king, or because she was happy Janos Slynt was sent to the Wall, or because Joffrey decided to be especially cruel one day. Sometimes for no reason at all.

She has to take care to dress carefully to hide the bruises:

The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey’s gifts as well.

This should go without saying, but domestic abuse is not rational; nothing Sansa does could stop Joffrey from abusing her – no clever words or tricks she could do to keep him happy. Half the time he has her beaten, it’s because of something Robb did.

Because she could be beaten at any moment, Sansa always keeps one eye on Joffrey, terrified that his mood could turn:

So the king had decided to play the gallant today. Sansa was relieved.

. . .

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

Not only is she afraid of being hit, she’s genuinely afraid he could kill her:

When she doubled over, the knight grabbed her hair and drew his sword, and for one hideous instant she was certain he meant to open her throat.

Sansa knows her life balances on an incredibly delicate string. Jaime being Robb’s prisoner gives the Lannisters a reason to keep her alive, but Joffrey had reasons to keep Ned alive, too. If anything were to set him off, he would kill Sansa without hesitation. That’s why Sansa feels safer with Cersei around to watch her son, because she’s the only thing that remains to keep Joffrey in check. And Sansa knows that if Robb were to do anything to Jaime, her life would be over:

Gods be good, don’t let it be the Kingslayer. If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

The beating she endures after Robb wins the battle at Oxcross is so bad that she can barely walk afterward; and as I already mention above, she has to be careful to wear dresses to hide her bruises.

And not only does she have to endure the abuse, she also has to carry on the farce for the rest of the court. Everyone knows she’s a prisoner, and everyone knows that Joffrey is having the Kingsguard beat her, but she’s not allowed to show it; all of her pain has to be kept hidden, pushed deep down inside herself.

Which leads me to the other kind of abuse Sansa experiences in King’s Landing. Everything about her time there is meant to emotionally destroy her. Joffrey intentionally tries to taunt her with threats to murder her family:

“It’s almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I’ll feed him to wolves after I’ve caught him.

. . .

“I’d sooner have Robb Stark’s head,” Joff said with a sly glance toward Sansa.

. . .

“I’ll deal with your brother after I’m done with my traitor uncle. I’ll gut him with Hearteater, you’ll see.”

He loves to play mind games with her, like when he promised to show Ned mercy and then cut off his head and said that was mercy. The constant way that he twists reality around messes with her head and leaves her understandably paranoid:

What if it was some cruel jape of Joffrey’s, like the day he had taken her up to the battlements to show her Father’s head? Or perhaps it was some subtle snare to prove she was not loyal. If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she’d come?

The constant cruelty she suffers, and Joffrey and Cersei’s profound betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones, make it hard for her to trust anyone, even when they show kindness:

He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He’s still a Lannister, her brother and Joff’s uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.

How is she supposed to trust anyone, when everything around her is false? When everything is a carefully constructed jape at her expense? Especially because she’s surrounded by enemies; anyone making their home in Joffrey’s court is sworn to kill Sansa’s family.

And Cersei intentionally makes her isolation worse, rotating her bedmaids:

Sansa did not know her. The queen had her servants changed every fortnight, to make certain none of them befriended her.

Sansa truly has no one to talk to, not even friendly servants to keep her company. Her loneliness is so profound that she enjoys being watched over by Arys Oakheart because he’s the only person who will actually talk to her.

She realizes that no one in King’s Landing cares if she lives or dies:

She [Cersei] spared Sansa not so much as a glance. She’s forgotten me. Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won’t even think about it.

And before the Battle of the Blackwater started, Tyrion told her this:

“I ought to have sent you off with Tommen now that I think on it.”

Unlike Joffrey and Cersei, Tyrion doesn’t wish Sansa any harm; he orders Joffrey’s men to stop hitting her, tries to comfort her afterward, and doesn’t want her to be married to Joffrey. But she is not one of his priorities. It didn’t even occur to him to try and get her safely out of the city.

This is dehumanizing. Sansa has no friends or even anyone to talk to, and the people around her treat her life as an afterthought.

Sansa also suffers from the emotional fallout of Joffrey’s abuse. She blames herself when he has men hit her:

She must learn to hide her feelings better, so as not to anger Joffrey.

The fear of being hit by Joffrey is nearly all-consuming for Sansa. It affects everything down to the smallest details of her life, like how she dresses and does her hair:

I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he’s always liked me in this gown, this color.

Instead of getting to live as her own person, doing things to make herself happy, Sansa has to live for Joffrey’s satisfaction. Even when she’s being physically beaten, she thinks of him instead of herself:

Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied.

Everything about her life is a performance for other people. She wears the gowns and jewels Joffrey likes, dressing to hide the bruises his men leave all over, and says the words they tell her to say:

“My father was a traitor,” Sansa said at once. “And my brother and lady mother are traitors as well.” That reflex she had learned quickly. “I am loyal to my beloved Joffrey.”

Sansa repeats that phrase over and over throughout the book, always at once. Almost like a reflex. An actor on stage repeating their lines, rehearsed and performed a thousand times.

The worst part of the act is that everyone knows it’s exactly that: an act. Sansa is required, every day, to declare that her family are traitors who deserve to die, and for no reason at all. The way Joffrey abuses her is an open secret:

“He’s never been able to forget that day on the Trident when you saw her shame him, so he shames you in turn. You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation.”

There is no way anyone could ever believe Sansa actually loves the boy who killed her father and intentionally humiliates her in front of his court. No matter how well Sansa tells the lie, it will always be see-through; especially because everyone knows that she’s a prisoner, being held until Jaime is freed. Sansa has to repeat the lie of believing her family to be traitors to try and please the Lannisters – if she said anything different she would be beaten or killed – but there’s no way they will ever be happy, because even when Sansa says the lies as convincingly as humanly possible, they know they’re lies because there’s no way they could be anything else. Sansa cannot win.

That’s never clearer than during her conversation with Cersei inside Maegar’s Holdfast, while the Battle of the Blackwater rages on:

“I pray for Joffrey,” she insisted nervously.

“Why, because he treats you so sweetly?” The queen took a flagon of sweet plum wine from a passing serving girl and filled Sansa’s cup. “Drink,” she commanded coldly. “Perhaps it will give you the courage to deal with truth for a change.”

If Sansa told Cersei the truth in this moment, she would be severely punished. And Cersei knows that, because she would be the one doing the punishing. Yet she verbally berates Sansa anyway.

The same dynamic plays out between Sansa and the Hound. At the end of A Game of Thrones, he gives her this bit of advice:

“Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

And as one of Joffrey’s Kingsguard, he knows first hand of the abuse Sansa suffers if she says anything that could even be construed as out of line. Yet when Sansa tries to follow the advice he gave her, he throws it back in her face:

“ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you”

Everyone in King’s Landing is always threatening to kill Sansa if she tells them the truth, and then calling her stupid when she repeats back the lies they want to hear. They’re forcefully dehumanizing her, demanding she remove all of her own thoughts and emotions and replace them with hollow lines they’ve given her, and then getting mad when her words are empty.

This plays on one of Sansa’s greatest insecurities about herself, which is her intelligence. Because of her low self-esteem, she already thinks of herself as being less-than. That’s very clear whenever she does an act of kindness – she steadfastly refuses to give herself credit for anything:

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court?

. . .

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

She never thinks to herself You are doing this because you are a good person. She always punishes herself internally, calling herself stupid and childish for believing in good things. Joffrey and Cersei have destroyed her so much that she can only see herself through their eyes, cruel and mocking.

The fear that she’s stupid is one of her greatest anxieties:

“My Jonquil’s a clever girl, isn’t she?”

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

And she doesn’t like to be watched by Ser Preston Greenfield because he treated her like a lackwit child.

Everyone around her is comfortable calling her stupid and emotionally abusing her, and it’s easy for Sansa to start internalizing those messages. Joffrey and Cersei’s betrayal at the end of A Game of Thrones forever changed Sansa; the fear that she could ever be so wrong again, and the fear that she was stupid to believe in them, haunts her. Throughout her time in King’s Landing, her self-worth plummets, and she really starts to believe all the things that Joffrey, Cersei, and everyone is always telling her about herself.

Because she has to endure so much abuse and cruelty every day, it starts to become normal to Sansa. Compared to the way Joffrey treats her, anything would be an improvement; she has a soft spot for Arys Oakheart because he hesitated to hit her once:

Arys Oakheart was courteous, and would talk to her cordially. Once he even objected when Joffrey commanded him to hit her. He did hit her in the end, but not hard as Ser Meryn or Ser Boros might have, and at least he had argued.

At least he had argued is one of the saddest lines in a series of books that has a lot of sad lines. Sansa expects so little of the people around her, and is subjected to so much cruelty, that the mere act of hesitating before hitting a defenseless child is enough to stand out in her memory as an act of kindness.

And Sansa thinks this when Tyrion asks her if she’s flowered yet:

Sansa blushed. It was a rude question, but the shame of being stripped before half the castle made it seem like nothing.

This is a perfect moment to show the small ways in which Joffrey is breaking her down emotionally. Tyrion’s question is embarrassing and impolite, but Sansa doesn’t even care because it is so much less embarrassing than the humiliations Joffrey makes her suffer. Joffrey has set the bar for cruelty so high that Sansa is willing to ignore others mistreating her because it isn’t as bad as Joffrey.

The secret friendship she has with Dontos makes this even worse:

“And if I should seem cruel or mocking or indifferent when men are watching, forgive me, child. I have a role to play, and you must do the same. One misstep and our heads will adorn the walls as did your father’s.”

Dontos is not wrong, but it doesn’t make it any less toxic a message for Sansa to hear: I’m cruel and hit you for your own protection. That’s on display when Joffrey is beating Sansa for Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Let me beat her!” Ser Dontos shoved forward, tin armor clattering. He was armed with a “Morningstar” whose head was a melon. My Florian. She could have kissed him, blotchy skin and broken veins and all.

Sansa is happy that Dontos is the one hitting her, because at least it’s better than Meryn Trant and Boros Blount. Dontos volunteering to hit her is an act of kindness for Sansa; which further reinforces the idea that someone hitting her is okay.

All of this works to lower Sansa’s standards and warp her perception of what is and isn’t okay; and in the case of Dontos, it is outright grooming on the part of Littlefinger. He intentionally paid an older man to win Sansa’s trust and get her used to the dynamic of secrecy and pushing boundaries, all so he can swoop in during A Storm of Swords. Sansa’s stuck in an endless cycle of her abuse conditioning her to accept more abuse.

All of the abuse and isolation Sansa suffers also leaves her incredibly depressed throughout A Clash of Kings. When she gets the note telling her to go to the Godswood, she thinks she will kill herself before she’s caught:

If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself.

After the bread riot, Sansa has panic attacks; so much so that she feels suffocated in small rooms:

Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She crossed over the dry moat with its cruel iron spikes and made her way up the narrow turnpike stair, but when she reached the door of her bedchamber she could not bear to enter. The very walls of the room made her feel trapped; even with the window opened wide it felt as though there was no air to breathe.

She likes to go up to the roof of the tower so she can see the entire city laid before her; it’s the only place where she doesn’t feel so claustrophobic and trapped.

That passage is also so fantastically written to show just how depressed Sansa is. Sansa could go where she would so long as she did not try to leave the castle, but there was nowhere she wanted to go. She's too depressed to go riding around the courtyard; she doesn’t see the point in going around in circles. We know from A Game of Thrones that Sansa has plenty of hobbies: playing the high harp, needlepoint, reading, and sharing gossip with her best friend. In A Clash of Kings, she’s too isolated to have anyone to talk to, but we never see her doing any of her other hobbies either. Nothing brings Sansa happiness in this book.

Especially because she’s constantly surrounded by reminders of her trauma. The way Sansa copes with her grief is by pushing it out of her mind and pretending like it doesn’t exist:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears.

Sansa actively tries to forget about the people who mean the most to her because it hurts too much to think of them.

But she can’t forget about Ned when she’s surrounded by reminders of his death. Joffrey and Cersei intentionally throw it in her face, and she has to walk through the same halls his men died in:

Sansa moved as if in a dream. She thought the Imp’s men would take her back to her bedchamber in Maegor’s Holdfast, but instead they conducted her to the Tower of the Hand. She had not set foot inside that place since the day her father fell from grace, and it made her feel faint to climb those steps again.

The reminder that hurts the most is the presence of Ilyn Payne, a recurring figure in all of Sansa’s nightmares. Just his presence makes Sansa’s skin crawl:

She was climbing the dais when she saw the man standing in the shadows by the back wall. He wore a long hauberk of oiled black mail, and held his sword before him: her father's greatsword, Ice, near as tall as he was. Its point rested on the floor, and his hard bony fingers curled around the crossguard on either side of the grip. Sansa's breath caught in her throat.

. . .

She looked for Ser Ilyn, but the King's Justice was not to be seen. I can feel him, though. He's close

When Sansa’s afraid she’s going to die, it’s always his blade she fears:

I'll not escape him, he'll have my head.

. . .

Ser Ilyn will kill me and she won't even think about it.

. . .

If she went to the godswood, would she find Ser Ilyn Payne waiting for her, sitting silent under the heart tree with Ice in his hand, his pale eyes watching to see if she'd come?

. . .

If Robb had harmed Jaime Lannister, it would mean her life. She thought of Ser Ilyn, and how those terrible pale eyes staring pitilessly out of that gaunt pockmarked face.

Watching Ilyn Payne kill her father is the worst thing that ever happened to Sansa, and she lives in constant fear that the same thing could happen to her.

The only thing that keeps her going is the thought of her family. Sansa is insecure in herself enough to start believing the abuse that Joffrey and Cersei inflict on her; but she loves her family too much to ever believe the lies about them. Even though she’s forced to declare them traitors every single day, her internal monologue is always fighting against it:

Rob will kill you all, she thought, exulting

. . .

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell.

She even finds a way to make Joffrey’s words work in her favor:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

One of the only moments where Sansa is even remotely happy in this book comes when she’s talking to Tommen, because he reminds her of Bran:

Princess Myrcella nodded a shy greeting at the sound of Sansa’s name, but plump little Prince Tommen jumped up eagerly. “Sansa, did you hear? I’m to ride in the tourney today. Mother said I could.” Tommen was all of eight. He reminded her of her own little brother, Bran. They were of an age. Bran was back at Winterfell, a cripple, yet safe.

Sansa would have given anything to be with him. “I fear for the life of your foeman,” she told Tommen solemnly.

That’s a short passage, but it so beautifully captures a small piece of what Sansa is truly like, outside of the abuse and the fearing for her life and the never being able to express her emotions. She loves her family so much and wants nothing more than to be with Bran again. And while Joffrey mocks Tommen for his knightly dreams, Sansa is so nice to him, building up his confidence before he competes. She’s old enough to have grown passed the childishness of Tommen facing the quintain, but because she knows how important it is to Tommen, she gladly plays along with him. We never got to see any scenes in A Game of Thrones of Sansa interacting with Bran and getting to act like a big sister, but this scene does such a good job of showing us that Sansa was a great sister to him.

Sansa also feels a much stronger connection to the Godswood, the ancestral home of her father’s gods:

The air was rich with the smells of earth and leaf. Lady would have liked this place, she thought. There was something wild about a godswood, even here, in the heart of the castle at the heart of the city, you could feel the old gods watching with a thousand unseen eyes.

And even though Lady’s long dead, Sansa still has a strong connection to her wolf. When she believes she’s going to die during the Blackwater, Lady is the first thing she thinks of:

“Lady,” she whimpered softly, wondering if she would meet her wolf again when she was dead.

The more abuse Sansa suffers and the more pressure is put on her to denounce her family as traitors and give up on ever going home, the more Sansa falls back on her family. That’s the only form of comfort she has in King’s Landing; the memory of Winterfell, and the belief that Robb is coming to save her.

The Lannisters have Sansa held captive physically and emotionally in King’s Landing; she has to suffer through beatings and repeat their words to stay alive. But as long as Sansa has her family - has Winterfell - to hold onto, there is a part of her that the Lannisters can never have. Even if it’s only within the walls of her own mind, Sansa has fought herself a small piece of freedom.

Courtesy is a Lady’s Armor

Trapped within the political machinations of King’s Landing, Sansa starts to learn how to play the game in earnest.

Even before she consciously starts to do it, though, Sansa is already in many ways an adept political actor. There’s a reason that all highborn children are taught from a young age how to conduct themselves; Westeros is a society built on the cornerstone of tradition, and knowing how to perform courtly behavior is important. Because Sansa took all of Septa Mordane’s training seriously, she already knows how to walk the dangerous tightrope of courtly speak:

Sansa felt that she ought to say something. What was it that Septa Mordane used to tell her? A lady’s armor is courtesy, that was it. She donned her armor and said, “I’m sorry my lady mother took you captive, my lord.”

This is the same skill we saw in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, when she was proud of herself for telling the Hound that no one could withstand Gregor during the tourney – she managed to say something courteous without telling a lie. Just as she did then, Sansa manages to say an apology to Tyrion that’s true.

It also shows just how good Sansa is at keeping a level head, because just moments before she was thinking this:

Tyrion turned to Sansa. "My lady, I am sorry for your losses. Truly, the gods are cruel."

Sansa could not think of a word to say to him. How could he be sorry for her losses? Was he mocking her? It wasn’t the gods who’d been cruel, it was Joffrey.

Faced with the men responsible for killing her father, she manages to think on her feet and fulfill the role of a Lady.

She also learns how to use that same skill to benefit herself. Whereas at first she was just trying to perform the functions of a Lady, she starts to use her courtesy to talk the people around her into helping her in such a way that they don’t even realize it’s happening:

“I would sooner return to my own bed.” A lie came to her suddenly, but it seemed so right that she blurted it out at once. “This tower was where my father’s men were slain Their ghosts would give me terrible dreams, and I would see their blood wherever I looked.”

Tyrion Lannister studied her face. “I am no stranger to nightmares, Sansa. Perhaps you are wiser than I knew. Permit me at least to escort you safely back to your own chambers.”

Part of why Sansa’s so naturally gifted at this kind of political double speak is because she understands people so well; she’s an empathetic and emotional character, and is extremely aware of the emotions of everyone around her. To affectively influence others, you need to understand what they want and be able to give it to them. Because Sansa is so aware of the people around her, she intuitively knows what they want; and all she wants to do is give it to them, because she doesn’t want to be hurt again.

The whole conversation she has with Tyrion in the Tower of the Hand does an excellent job showing how intelligent she is:

“I . . .” Sansa did not know what to say. Is it a trick? Will he punish me if I tell the truth? She stared at the dwarf’s brutal bulging brow, the hard black eye and the shrewd green one, the crooked teeth and wiry beard. “I only want to be loyal.”

“Loyal,” the dwarf mused, “and far from any Lannisters. I can scarce blame you for that. When I was your age, I wanted the same thing.” He smiled. “They tell me you visit the godswood every day. What do you pray for, Sansa?”

I pray for Robb’s victory and Joffrey’s death . . . and for home. For Winterfell. “I pray for an end to the fighting.”

Again, she shows an unparalleled ability to lie without actually lying. And she’s clever enough to tell Tyrion what he wants to hear without saying anything that’s actually false, that way it can’t come back to bite her later. She learned her lesson in A Game of Thrones not to trust someone just because they’re kind, and is careful not to show her cards to Tyrion. But in case he’s being honest in trying to help her, Sansa does not reaffirm her love for Joffrey. That’s why her answer of I only want to be loyal is so smart; whether Tyrion is playing her false or no, Sansa has given him the answer he wants to hear. She’s kept all of her doors open without creating additional risk for herself.

Having to survive Joffrey every day also teaches Sansa how to get what she wants without actually having to say it. When she saves Dontos’ life, she plays to Joffrey’s ego:

Unhappy, Joffrey shifted in his seat and flicked his fingers at Ser Dontos. "Take him away. I'll have him killed on the morrow, the fool."

"He is," Sansa said. "A fool. You're so clever, to see it. He's better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn't he? You ought to dress him in motley and make him clown for you. He doesn't deserve the mercy of a quick death."

All Sansa wants is to save Dontos’ life, and in the moment she comes up with a spectacular lie. Of course Joffrey would think it humiliating to make Dontos into a fool, so Sansa convinces him that would be an even greater punishment than death. She manipulates Joffrey into doing what she wants him to, and he doesn’t even know it’s happened.

Learning how to slyly insult Joffrey is one of the few ways Sansa can actually express herself as a prisoner, and she gets incredibly good at it. She starts by passive-aggressively getting one over on him:

“Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?"

"I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him.

But as she gets better at politics she goes even further, actively tempting Joffrey into getting himself killed:

“They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest,” she said recklessly. “Though he’s older than Your Grace, to be sure. A man grown.”

Joffrey’s biggest insecurity is that he can’t rule in his own right; Cersei won’t let him do certain things, and Tyrion is in charge of him as the Hand of the King because he hasn’t come of age yet. While Joffrey’s anger is normally aimed destructively at Sansa, here she figures out a way to make it work for her; using his own emotions against him to do something reckless.

As well as learning the art of political double-speak, Sansa starts to understand the broader political machinations at work. Because she was a diligent student of Catelyn and Septa Mordane, she has almost every sigil in Westeros memorized; at Joffrey’s name-day tourney, she recognizes every competitor by their House. This may seem unimportant at first glance, but it’s actually very important; twice in Arya’s chapters in A Clash of Kings she wishes she knew Houses and Sigils as well as Sansa, because than she would know who she was dealing with.

Since Sansa knows who everyone is, she has head start in understanding where everyone’s loyalties lie. On top of that, she’s also incredibly observant; she’s constantly taking in everything around her, stopping to pay attention to every little detail and interaction between people. Even though Cersei and Joffrey are trying to keep it hidden, Sansa notices that Joffrey’s tourney is held inside the Keep because he would be mobbed if they went out into the city. And she knows the Redwyne twins are hostages just as much as she is:

The Redwyne twins were the queen’s unwilling guests, even as Sansa was. She wondered whose notion it had been for them to ride in Joffrey’s tourney. Not their own, she thought.

That’s not something anyone would have told Sansa. For one, no one is even allowed to talk to her per Cersei’s orders. For two, Cersei doesn’t let anyone acknowledge that she has hostages – in the same way Sansa has to pretend she is a guest of Joffrey’s court, the Redwynes have to pretend they’re willing guests. That means that Sansa, with no help from anyone, has of her own accord put all the pieces together and realized the Redwynes are political pawns just like her. Very impressive for a twelve-year-old.

Sansa’s attention to detail is clear when she meets Shae, and immediately notices something is not right with her:

Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to show her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes.

And when she’s entering Maegar’s Holdfast at the start of the Blackwater, and notices the guards:

The two guards at the door wore the lin-crested helms and crimson cloaks of House Lannister, but Sansa knew they were only dressed-up sellswords. Another sat at the foot of the stair – a real guard would have been standing, not sitting on a step with his halberd across his knees – but he rose when he saw them and opened the door to usher them inside.

Her encyclopedic knowledge of Westerosi Houses and her attention to detail combine to give her a really good head for political machinations. She sees how the Lannisters use empty titles to flatter their lesser servants while saving the best prizes for their family:

Hallyne the Pyromancer and the masters of the Alchemists’ was raised to the style of lord, though Sansa noted that neither lands nor castle accompanied the title, which made the alchemist no more a true lord than Varys was. A more significant lordship by far was granted to Ser Lancel Lannister.

She manages to keep pace with Littlefinger and Tywin’s games:

She did not understand why that should make him so happy; the honors were as empty as the title granted to Hallyne the Pyromancer. Harrenhal was cursed, everyone knew that, and the Lannisters did not even hold it at present. Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. Robb has beaten them every time. He’ll beat Lord Baelish too, if he must.

I cannot emphasize enough that Sansa, following the tiny thread of Littlefinger looks happy to be Lord of Harrenhal, manages to predict the Red Wedding a whole book before it happens. That’s pretty incredible. Right now, Sansa has no power to start pulling meaningful strings of her own, but it’s clear that she fundamentally understands the complexity of geopolitics and would be well-prepared to make decisions of her own when the time comes.

Another way Sansa continues to learn about the realities of ruling is through people around her trying to teach her lessons. Because Sansa’s a hostage and isn’t allowed to say anything she feels, she basically becomes a blank slate for people to project whatever they want onto. Cersei, Dontos, and the Hound all try to “teach” her something as they project all of their own fears, insecurities, and trauma onto her.

Dontos tells her to play the fool:

“Joffrey and his mother say I’m stupid.”

“Let them. You’re safer that way, sweetling. Queen Cersei and the Imp and Lord Varys and their like, they all watch each other keen as hawks, and pay this one and that one to spy out what the others are doing, but no one ever troubles themselves about Lady Tanda’s daughter, do they?”

Of course, Sansa already knows this. All the way back in her second chapter of A Game of Thrones, Sansa thinks to herself that Moon Boy is smarter than he looks and is only pretending to be a fool so he can go wherever he likes; and Dontos confirms her suspicions when he reveals Moon Boy is a spy for Lord Varys.

It’s a consistent pattern that everyone around Sansa is constantly underestimating her; partly because of their own biases, and partly because Sansa is an almost entirely internal character, rarely letting people hear her honest thoughts. People assume she’s as hollow as the words they force her to say, but in reality she’s an introvert and a hostage.

The Hound also feels the need to impart some “lessons” onto Sansa:

Sandor Clegane snorted. “Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They’re all liars here . . . and every one better than you.”

Again, he’s assuming Sansa’s much dumber than she actually is. Sansa already knows that everyone in King’s Landing is a liar, and has sworn to herself never to trust them again.

The most valuable lessons Sansa gets are from Cersei during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Certain things are expected of a queen. They will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey. Best learn.” The queen studied the wives, daughters, and mothers who filled the benches. “Of themselves the hens are nothing, but their cocks are important for one reason or another, and some may survive this battle. So it behooves me to give their women my protection. If my wretched dwarf of a brother should somehow manage to prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment.”

In this moment, even though she’s not doing a particularly good job actually doing it, Cersei articulates what’s really important about politics: optics. Her true motives for protecting the Ladies don’t matter as long as the Ladies believe that Cersei is doing it for the right reasons. That’s what monarchies are built upon. They’re a fragile house of cards constructed out of people’s belief.

That’s a lesson Sansa learns again when Joffrey sets her aside and takes Margaery as his bride. Sansa knows it’s going to happen, and is coached by Cersei how to react:

I must not smile, she reminded herself. The queen had warned her, no matter what she felt inside, the face she showed the world must look distraught. “I will not have my son humiliated,” Cersei said. “Do you hear me?”

But in front of the court, Joffrey carries on the charade, pretending Garlan’s offer of his sister’s hand is brand new information. Sansa watches from the sidelines and sees how people react; chanting and cheering to the theatre of it all. She gets to learn in real time how important it is to be performing your duties for the people. Other characters – most notably Jon Snow and Daenerys – can never quite figure that part of ruling out, and it has grave consequences.

I don’t mean performing in the negative sense. Of course, it can be used like that, like when the Tyrell’s intentionally starve King’s Landing so they can swoop in and make a big show of providing food. But it can also be used for good; it is an absolutely necessary aspect of ruling to let your people know what you’re doing for them. Jon in particular gets in trouble at the Wall because he doesn’t explain why he does things; he just does them and hopes people will trust him. Part of the courtly aspect of ruling is doing the work of showing your people how you’re helping them. That way you build trust with them, and they know you care for them. That’s what Sansa’s learning how to do.

Sansa’s also very good at the literal courtly aspect of politics; the time actually spent in court, sitting for hours and hours as the tedious day-to-day of ruling takes place. After the Battle of the Blackwater is over, Sansa has to sit in court for an entire day as soldiers are given their reward. She manages to stay focused the whole time, giving incredibly detailed accounts of each prize that’s awarded and each act of valor that caused it. She handles herself better than the grown men in the hall:

By the time all the new knights had been given their sers the hall was growing restive, and none more so than Joffrey. Some of those in the gallery had begun to slip quietly away, but the notables on the floor were trapped, unable to depart without the king’s leave.

Actual adults can’t even tolerate it, but Sansa manages just fine. This talent of hers is taken for granted by readers, but really stands out when you compare it to other characters. Sansa has the benefit of being raised to be a Lady, unlike a character like Daenerys who never had to sit through the training. Dany can’t make it through one day holding court in Meereen, and calls a lid early because she’s so bored – then stops holding court all together. Actually being a Queen is horribly bureaucratic, and that’s a skill that takes some practice to be able to perform.

Sansa’s ability to hold her own as a leader also really shines during the Battle of the Blackwater, when all hope seems lost and Cersei abandons the women in Maegar’s Holdfast:

“Oh, gods,” an old woman wailed. “We’re lost, the battle’s lost, she’s running.” Several children were crying. They can smell the fear. Sansa found herself alone on the dais. Should she stay here, or run after the queen and plead for her life?

She never knew why she got to her feet, but she did. “Don’t be afraid,” she told them loudly. “The queen has raised the drawbridge. This is the safest place in the city. There’s thick walls, the moat, the spikes . . .”

“What’s happened?” demanded a woman she knew slightly, the wife of a lesser lordling. “What did Osney tell her? Is the king hurt, has the city fallen?”

“Tell us,” someone else shouted. One woman asked about her father, another her son.

Sansa raised her hands for quiet. “Joffrey’s come back to the castle. He’s not hurt. They’re still fighting, that’s all I know, they’re fighting bravely. The queen will be back soon.” The last was a lie, but she had to soothe them. She noticed the fools standing under the galley. “Moon Boy, make us laugh.”

Sansa has no reason to do this. Cersei has given Ser Ilyn orders to kill her if the castle falls, and all the women in the holdfast are older than she is. She’s the last person who should be capable of standing up to take charge, considering her age and her impending death by execution.

She knows she’s faced with a choice: try and save her own life, or stay and comfort the women in the holdfast. And she decides to stay.

True Knights

This book sees Sansa’s worldview start to deepen. She’s only a child when the series starts, and like most kids has a very simple understanding of the world; there’s good and bad people, and good and bad things that happen. Songs were the way Sansa gave that worldview structure. They taught her that the good things happened to the good people, and the bad things happened to the bad people. Westeros is fair, and only the good people could be put in charge to do good things. Kings, queens, and knights were all avatars of the inherent goodness of the world; people put in place specifically to protect others.

This worldview became unsustainable for Sansa after Ned’s death. Every single rule the songs taught her was violated by her father’s execution. In her last chapter of A Game of Thrones, we see Sansa turn to nihilism as a result; her father is dead, her prince is a monster, and the knights sworn to protect her are the ones beating her. She doesn’t believe in anything anymore, so much so that she just wants to die.

In A Clash of Kings, Sansa starts to grapple with the overwhelming cognitive dissonance. Ned’s death and Joffrey’s cruelty taught her how evil people can be; but she also knows how good they can be, because she grew up in Winterfell. For all of their shortcomings, Ned and Catelyn were loving parents who tried their best to do good, and raised their kids the same.

Sansa still believes in goodness, but sees that everyone around her fails to live up to it:

Knights are sworn to defend the weak, protect women, and fight for the right, but none of them did a thing. Only Ser Dontos had tried to help, and he was no longer a knight, no more than the Imp was, nor the Hound . . . the Hound hated knights . . . I hate them too, Sansa thought. They are no true knights, not one of them.

Notice how she thinks They are no true knights. Sansa is surrounded by unimaginable cruelty, but she holds on to an undying sense of optimism. She knows that real knights don’t fight for the right, but that doesn’t stop her from continuing to believe in those ideals. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, when her belief in good was attached to specific people like Joffrey and Cersei, Sansa’s new worldview isn’t dependent on people to live up to. She believes in doing the right thing no matter what, even if the people around her let her down.

Sansa’s conception of beauty is the same way; in the first book, she assumed that beautiful people must also be good. But in A Clash of Kings, she reverses that order; people become either beautiful or ugly to her based on how good or bad they are. We view Joffrey through many POVs, and it is clear that by any standard that he is objectively attractive; yet Sansa now finds him ugly:

His plump pink lips always made him look pouty. Sansa had liked that once, but now it made her sick.

And she thinks this of the Hound:

The scars are not the worst part, not even the way his mouth twitches. It’s his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger.

It’s not his physical appearance that scares her, it’s the anger in his eyes. That’s the part of him that’s ugly to her.

This evolution in Sansa’s understanding is never clearer than in her interactions with Dontos. The parts of his appearance that Sansa finds unattractive are his blotchy skin and broken veins, which are both symptoms of his constant drinking. It’s his drinking that bothers her:

“I prayed and prayed. Why would they send me a drunken old fool?”

. . .

This is madness, to trust myself to this drunkard

But Sansa manages to look beyond that as soon as Dontos invokes Florian the Fool. As much as Sansa understands that the songs aren’t true, the idea still appeal to her. When Dontos says he wants to make amends and become a true knight, in spirit if not name, Sansa treats him as if he actually were a knight:

“Rise, ser.”

. . .

Sansa took a step . . . then spun back, nervous, and softly laid a kiss on his cheek, her eyes closed. “My Florian,” she whispered. “The gods heard my prayer.”

Sansa’s growing understanding of the world around her also changes the way she thinks of class. To some extent in A Song of Ice and Fire, every single character is classist because they’re all rich people in an extremely hierarchical society. The entire structure of kings, lord paramounts, lords, knights, and peasants requires you to be classist; if you believe everyone in Westeros is equal, the entire structure of the society crumbles. While some of the POV characters like Jon and Davos make great strides in understanding how bankrupt the Westerosi class structure is, they’re still generally classist; it’s almost impossible not to be when you grow up in the culture they did. Davos grew up poor, but the indoctrination of classism has given him an almost religious fervor to follow Stannis as the “true” king.

Sansa especially had a very rigid understanding of class in A Game of Thrones; Arya making friends with the butcher’s boy was anathema to her. But the more that Sansa sees the people in power as the monsters they really are, the more sympathy she has for the people below her. In the sept praying before the Battle of the Blackwater, she holds hands with a washerwoman:

The old woman’s hand was bony and hard with callus, the boy’s small and soft, but it was good to have someone to hold on to

The more Cersei and Joffrey try to isolate Sansa, the more they try to snuff out any feeling of goodness or loyalty she had, the more Sansa reaches out to connect with people. Everything bad that happens to her makes her feel more connected to the people of King’s Landing. She’s too young and privileged (class-wise) to have a fully functioning understanding of the true evils of hierarchy, but she fundamentally understands something most of the aristocracy do not: that the common people are people and should be treated with respect.

She knows the common people will suffer the most if Stannis breaches the city walls, and prays for theme:

She sang along with grizzled old serving men and anxious young wives, with serving girls and soldiers, cooks and falconers, knights and knaves, squires and spit boys and nursing mothers. She sang with those inside the castle walls and those without, sang with all the city. She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike

Sansa gladly positions herself alongside the working people, not offended to be among them the way the Lannisters certainly are.

Sansa’s deepening worldview also gives her an incredibly complex relationship to the songs and stories she used to love. As I’ve already mentioned, she doesn’t disown them entirely; the high ideals of the songs are still very important to Sansa. The concept of a true knight, who would actually defend the defenseless, is the cornerstone of Sansa’s belief system, and she doesn’t need that person to actually be a knight – as long as they fulfill the moral obligation of being good. (Little does she know that very person is later tasked to find her.)

But now she knows that the stories lie. She understands their role as propaganda; when Arys Oakheart tries to say the peasants believe the comet heralds Joffrey’s reign, she doesn’t believe him:

“Glory to your betrothed,” Ser Arys answered at once. “See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace’s name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey’s Comet.”

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure.

And she can’t even finish a sentence defending knights without realizing it isn’t true:

“Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn’t, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there’s such a dearth of good sacking songs.”

“True knights would never harm women and children.” The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

The words ring hollow in her ears because Sansa does know what happens when a city is sacked; earlier in a previous chapter, she thinks this:

The whole city was afraid. Sansa could see it from the castle walls. The smallfolk were hiding themselves behind closed shutters and barred doors as if that would keep them safe. The last time King’s Landing had fallen, the Lannisters looted and raped as they pleased and put hundreds to the sword, even though the city had opened its gates. This time the Imp meant to fight, and a city that fought could expect no mercy at all.

Cersei underestimates Sansa, assuming everything she knows is from a song, but here we see that Sansa knows that the songs don’t tell the whole story. Unlike in A Game of Thrones, she no longer holds them in complete reverence. The Sept used to represent everything beautiful about the songs to her:

Sansa had favored her mother’s gods over her father’s. She loved the statues, the pictures in leaded glass, the fragrance of burning incense, the septons with their robes and crystals, the magical play of the rainbows over altars inlaid with mother-of-pearl and onyx and lapis lazuli.

It was the song’s come to life. But after Ned’s death, she hates it:

When Sansa had first beheld the Great Sept with its marble walls and seven crystal towers, she’d thought it was the most beautiful building in the world, but that had been before Joffrey beheaded her father on its steps. “I want it burned.”

She literally wants to set fire to the things that used to represent the songs.

But songs and stories are the foundation of Sansa’s world; even though she doesn’t believe in them the way she used to, they still shape her perception. She doesn’t want to let them go:

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can’t be lies.

She still uses the template of songs and stories to interact with the world, but now with the understanding that the world is so much more complicated. Whereas before, the songs represented a sanitized version of war, Sansa begins to understand it in its entirety:

Away off, she could hear the sounds of battle. The singing almost drowned them out, but the sounds were there if you had the ears to hear: the deep moan of warhorns, the creak and thud of catapults flinging stones, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch and thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts . . . and beneath it all, the cries of dying men.

It was another sort of song, a terrible song.

Thinking about something through the lens of a song no longer represents a childish fantasy for Sansa. Her conception of them is no longer permanent; her view of the songs has changed to fit with her new reality, but it’s still a comforting way for her to make sense of the world around her.

She even incorporates her love of the songs into her political manipulations:

"You're lying," Joffrey said. "I ought to drown you with him, if you care for him so much."

"I don't care for him, Your Grace." The words tumbled out desperately. "Drown him or have his head off, only . . . kill him on the morrow, if you like, but please . . . not today, not on your name day. I couldn't bear for you to have ill luck . . . terrible luck, even for kings, the singers all say so . . ."

Her use of the songs nearly saves her life here. Joffrey doesn’t know enough to be sure that she’s lying, so once the Hound corroborates her story, he has to believe it’s true.

Sansa’s attachment to the stories is integral to her character, and GRRM does a tremendous job of making it important to the arc she starts in this book, which is her continued journey from pawn to player in the Game of Thrones. Sansa’s perspective as a political actor is entirely unique from anyone else for many reasons, and one of those is her connection to the ideal version of Westeros that lives in the songs. Even as Sansa realizes the songs are lies and that the world is so much darker than she thought, she never gives up on the hope that it could be good. Her unwavering optimism for the world, in the face of so much trauma, means that she will never stop trying to make the world better.

Flowering

Throughout her time in King’s Landing, Sansa’s experiences with sexuality are inextricably linked to violence. The way Joffrey physically abuses her comes with a nasty undercurrent of sexual violence. The total control he exerts over her means she has to let him do what he wants:

The king settled back in his seat and took Sansa's hand. His touch filled her with revulsion now, but she knew better than to show it. She made herself sit very still.

The subtext of that scene is drawn to the forefront when Joffrey has Sansa beaten after Robb’s victory at Oxcross:

“Leave her face,” Joffrey commanded. “I like her pretty.”

. . .

“Boros, make her naked.”

Boros shoved a meaty hand down the front of Sansa’s bodice and gave a hard yank. The silk came tearing away, baring her to the waist. Sansa covered her breasts with her hands. She could hear sniggers, far off and cruel.

This is one of Sansa’s first experiences with sexuality, and it is nonconsensual and done specifically to humiliate her.

The relationship between sex and violence is never clearer than at the start of the Blackwater:

"Bless my steel with a kiss." He extended the blade down to her. "Go on, kiss it."

He had never sounded more like a stupid little boy. Sansa touched her lips to the metal, thinking that she would kiss any number of swords sooner than Joffrey

Joffrey is asking Sansa to kiss his sword; the metaphor here is not exactly subtle. To Joffrey, sex and violence are one in the same; having power over someone, hurting someone, turns him on as much as physical attraction. And as his betrothed, Sansa is on the receiving end of his sexually charged violence.

Unlike Joffrey, Sansa’s not turned on by violence, seeing it and sexuality as two separates things. And she would rather suffer through the violence, thinking to herself she would rather kiss the sword than kiss Joffrey. Her experiences with being found attractive to someone have all been so traumatic that actual violence scares her less.

Arguably the most traumatic experience she has is during the bread riot:

Sansa dug her nails into her hand. She could feel the fear in her tummy, twisting and pinching, worse every day. Nightmares of the day Princess Myrcella had sailed still troubled her sleep; dark suffocating dreams that woke her in the black of night, struggling for breath. She could hear the people screaming at her, screaming without words, like animals. They had hemmed her in and thrown filth at her and tried to pull her off her horse, and would have done worse if the Hound had not cut his way to her side. They had torn the High Septon to pieces and smashed in Ser Aron's head with a rock. Try not to be afraid! he said.

In the nightmares she has of that day, she dreams of being murdered; a knife cutting through her stomach until she’s left in bloody ribbons. It’s not hard to see the violent sexual imagery in that description. Sansa knows what those men planned on doing to her, and the memory haunts her. It’s no coincidence that she wakes from those nightmares to her first period:

“No, please,” Sansa whimpered, “please, no.” She didn’t want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now.

The way GRRM writes her reaction is so visceral. As tears streams down her cheeks, she tries to wash herself, cuts apart her sheets, burns them, and tries to drag her entire bed into the flames as well. And the whole time she does this, she keeps thinking They’ll know or What will I tell them? or I have to burn them. She’s so completely and utterly terrified that anyone could ever know, she’s hardly even thinking. It’s just sheer, overwhelming panic.

This line in particular stands out:

The bedclothes were burnt, but by the time they carried her off her thighs were bloody again. It was as if her own body had betrayed her to Joffrey, unfurling a banner of Lannister crimson for all the world to see.

Down to jewelry she wears and the way she styles her hair, Sansa’s body belongs to Joffrey. Her job in King’s Landing is to look pretty for him in the hopes that it will save her from his wrath. Her body exists solely to please him. She’s literally stripped of her own agency and control.

Flowering is the last straw for Sansa because it means she can be tied forever to Joffrey through marriage, and he’ll be free to rape her and force her to have his children. And there’s nothing Sansa can do to stop it. Her own body has betrayed her by merely existing.

Sansa’s period is again equated to physical violence during the Battle of the Blackwater:

“You look pale, Sansa,” Cersei observed. “Is your red flower still blooming?”

“Yes.”

“How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here.”

Then a second time, Cersei compares sex to violence:

“You little fool. Tears are not a woman’s only weapon. You’ve got another one between your legs, and you’d best learn to use it.”

Through Cersei’s eyes, we get the clearest summary of the point GRRM is trying to make. Existing as a woman in Westeros is inherently oppressive to the point of smothering the life out of her. Where the men are given swords, women are given marriage and childbirth; but the latter is no less violent than the former. In Cersei’s words:

“We were so much alike, I could never understand why they treated us so differently. Jaime learned to fight with sword and lance and mace, while I was taught to smile and sing and please. He was heir to Casterly Rock, while I was to be sold to some stranger like a horse, to be ridden whenever my new owner liked, beaten whenever he liked, and cast aside in time for a younger filly. Jaime’s lot was to be glory and power, while mine was birth and moonblood.”

“But you were queen of all the Seven Kingdoms,” Sansa said.

“When it comes to swords, a queen is only a woman after all.”

In many ways, Sansa’s arc in A Clash of Kings is centered around this idea; the violence of femininity in Westeros. Being a child isn’t enough to spare Sansa the horrors. The whole reason she’s trapped in King’s Landing to begin with is because of her body; the Lannisters want to use her like property – a broodmare to sire them sons to inherit Winterfell.

It’s no surprise the climax of Sansa’s chapters in A Clash of Kings pushes this concept to its furthest bounds . . .

Ser Dontos and The Hound

Throughout Sansa’s chapters in King’s Landing, GRRM is deconstructing the trope of the Princess in the Tower. Sansa more than any other character is aware that her life takes place within a story, and she prays to the gods to send her a hero to save from the Red Keep. GRRM had already subverted the idea of a charming Prince with Joffrey in the first book, so A Clash of Kings subverts the trope of a knight coming to save her. That’s why her two protectors in King’s Landing are Dontos and Sandor Clegane – two men who aren’t quite knights.

For most of the book, the narrative treats Dontos and Sandor as foils. The story of why either one is not a knight puts them on two opposite ends of a spectrum. Dontos has his knighthood taken away from him because he’s too soft. He would rather drink and let people laugh at him than fight with a sword, which is why Joffrey makes him a fool. On the other hand, the Hound likes killing too much to be a knight:

“Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers.” Sandor Clegane spat at her feet to show what he thought of that. “So long as I have this,” he said, lifting the sword from her throat, “there’s no man on earth I need fear.”

This dichotomy between them is made clearer in the way Sansa has to escape their advances. Around Dontos, she’s dodging kisses:

"Give your Florian a little kiss now. A kiss for luck." He swayed toward her.

Sansa dodged the wet groping lips, kissed him lightly on an unshaven cheek, and bid him good night. It took all her strength not to weep.

But it’s a steel kiss she has to dodge from the Hound:

He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel.

The idea of Dontos and Sandor as opposites is driven home further by their different approaches to Sansa’s love of stories; Dontos uses it to win Sansa’s trust:

“I think I may find it in me to be a knight again, sweet lady. And all because of you . . . your grace, your courage. You saved me, not only from Joffrey, but from myself." His voice dropped. "The singers say there was another fool once who was the greatest knight of all . . ."

"Florian," Sansa whispered. A shiver went through her.

"Sweet lady, I would be your Florian," Dontos said humbly, falling to his knees before her.

The Hound uses it to berate and belittle her:

“There are no true knights, no more than there are gods. If you can’t protect yourself, die and get out of the way of those who can. Sharp steel and strong arms rule this world, don’t ever believe any different.”

Sansa backed away from him. “You’re awful.”

“I’m honest. It’s the world that’s awful. Now fly away, little bird, I’m sick of you peeping at me.”

But underneath the superficial differences, Dontos and the Hound have the exact same relationship to Sansa. When Joffrey is having her beat after Robb’s victory at Oxcross, both make efforts to help her – Dontos volunteering to hit her with a melon instead of a sword, and the Hound telling Joffrey “enough” – but stop short of doing anything that would put themselves in danger. They both make advances on Sansa against her will – Dontos with kisses and the Hound with knives, but the overt sexual nature of both cannot be denied. They both position themselves to Sansa as a sort of mentor figure, telling her how to act and what to believe, with the implicit (and often explicit) message that she’s not smart enough to think for herself and it would really be in her best interest if she just trusted them instead. Both men position themselves as Sansa’s “protector”, but they never protect her from much of anything; in the few moments they’re actually given the opportunity, like during the Battle of the Blackwater, they both panic and leave her to fend for herself.

What really connects the two men is how they use Sansa. To them, she’s the paragon of youth and innocence; the way she believes in the stories reminds them both of what they used to be like before the world beat them down. Sandor was a boy who played with toy knights before Gregor burned his face, and Dontos was saved as a child by the knight of knights Barristan Selmy.  While they’ve both grown jaded, Sansa brings out the parts of them that still believe in the stories. That’s clear from the way Dontos reacts to the Lannisters winning the Battle of the Blackwater:

“Oh! the banners, darling Sansa! Oh! to be a knight!”

And even though the Hound claims to hate the stories, it’s a song he wants from Sansa:

“Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids.”

Sansa as the princess in a tower appeals to the fantasy of both men to be her hero.

But this is a subversion of that trope, not a straight retelling. Particularly in regards to Sandor, GRRM really deconstructs the destructive nature of this male fantasy. Before Sandor asks Sansa to sing him a song, he comments on her body:

“You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you’re taller too, almost . . .”

Sandor wanting to play the knight with Sansa is always tied to his sexual attraction to her; in every single instance, GRRM always ties them together. There is never one without the other. It should go without saying that this is not good; Sansa is barely twelve, and hasn’t even had her first period when Sandor’s sexual advances start. She is a child. In Maegar’s Holdfast, she’s shocked that men would view her sexually:

“Enough drink will make blind washerwomen and reeking pig girls seem as comely as you, sweetling.”

“Me?”

“Try not to sound so like a mouse, Sansa. You’re a woman now, remember?”

This passage also very clearly draws the connection between Sandor’s relationship to Sansa and violence. Cersei explains to Sansa the way battle makes men into monsters around women, and then the next chapter Sandor appears in Sansa’s bedroom with a knife. This is not meant to be a romantic scene, or else GRRM would not have framed it with threats of rape and violence.

This is further re-enforced by the song Sansa sings to Sandor. When he holds the knife to her neck, he demands she sing the song of Florian and Jonquil:

He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

But Sansa can’t remember the words, and instead sings the Mother’s Mercy hymn:

Gentle Mother, font of mercy, save our sons from war, we pray, stay the swords and stay the arrows, let them know a better day.

Gentle Mother, strength of women, help our daughters through this fray, sooth the wrath and tame the fury, teach us all a kinder way.

It is incredibly symbolic that the Hound demands Sansa sing him a song of romance, but she physically can’t; the only song she can remember the words to is one of forgiveness.

So much of Sansa’s narrative in A Clash of Kings is people demanding things that she can’t give them. Joffrey wants her loyalty, Cersei wants her words, Tyrion wants her trust, and Dontos and Sandor want her love. Everyone is pulling her in different directions, and her entire personality starts to crumble under the pressure; there’s no way she can give all of these people everything they want. Something has to give.

And when Sansa can no longer play her role, when the fear of dying is too visceral for her to wear her courtesy like an armor, the one thing Sansa can still give Sandor is her mercy. . .

Radical Empathy

The running thread that connects all of the themes in Sansa’s chapters is her being trapped. Physically through Joffrey’s abuse, emotionally through Joffrey, Cersei, Dontos, and Sandor, and even by herself mentally as she begins to internalize the abuse. Everything about the Red Keep is meant to turn Sansa cruel and self-interested, just like everybody else; even if they aren’t intentionally cruel like Joffrey, they’re okay with Sansa being hurt because that’s just how life is, like Cersei. Or Dontos and the Hound, who don’t intend to hurt Sansa but do because they’re too caught up in their own narrative to acknowledge her humanity. Even Arys Oakheart, who really doesn’t want to hurt her, but is too afraid to say no and defy the class structure of Westeros.

That makes Sansa’s defiance through empathy stand out in such radical contrast. The kindness Sansa shows everyone, even those who hurt her, is how GRRM brings the songs to life. Sansa doesn’t love those stories because she’s silly and naïve; she loves them because they justify her belief in the inherent goodness of being kind.

Empathy and kindness are Sansa’s defining character traits, and that’s why her arc in A Clash of Kings opens with her saving Dontos’ life:

Sansa heard herself gasp. “No, you can’t.”

Joffrey turned his head. “What did you say?”

Sansa could not believe she had spoken. Was she mad? To tell him no in front of half the court? She hadn’t meant to say anything, only . . . Ser Dontos was drunk and silly and useless, but he meant no harm.

Even though just moments earlier she had noted Joffrey’s mood was turning dark:

The king was growing bored. It made Sansa anxious. She lowered her eyes and resolved to keep quiet, no matter what. When Joffrey Baratheon’s mood darkened, any chance word might set off one of his rages.

The way Sansa stands up for Dontos is particularly notable because he had the chance to do the same for her in A Game of Thrones, but chose not to:

Sickly Lord Gyles covered his face at her approach and feigned a fit of coughing, and when funny drunken Ser Dontos started to hail her, Ser Balon Swann whispered in his ear and he turned away.

- Sansa V

Dontos wouldn’t even risk treating Sansa with basic courtesy, yet she risked her live to save his.

And that’s not the only time Sansa stands up to Joffrey to save someone:

Halfway along the route, a wailing woman forced her way between two watchmen and ran out into the street in front of the king and his companions, holding the corpse of her dead baby above her head. It was blue and swollen, grotesque, but the real horror was the mother's eyes. Joffrey looked for a moment as if he meant to ride her down, but Sansa Stark leaned over and said something to him. The king fumbled in his purse, and flung the woman a silver stag.

- Tyrion IX

The only other character we ever see move to actually stand up to Joffrey is Tyrion, who is also the only person in court who doesn’t have to be afraid of Joffrey’s retaliation. Everyone else sits by day after day and watches as Joffrey abuses Sansa and says nothing; or worse, they actively participate. But whenever Sansa sees Joffrey hurting someone, she risks herself to make him stop.

Sansa also uses her kindness to give herself courage:

Sansa found herself possessed of a queer giddy courage. “You should go with her,” she told the king. “Your brother might be hurt.”

Joffrey shrugged. “What if he is?”

“You should help him up and tell him how well he rode.” Sansa could not seem to stop herself.

She’s too afraid to speak back at Joffrey when he’s abusing her, but as soon as she sees him mistreat Tommen, she finds the courage to stand up for others.

Kindness is almost an involuntary reflex for Sansa:

Lancel was one of them, yet somehow she still could not bring herself to wish him dead. I am soft and weak and stupid, just as Joffrey says. I should be killing him, not helping him.

Lancel Lannister, who stood by and egged the crowd on as Sansa was stripped and beaten after the Battle at Oxcross. She has every reason not to help him; she knows if she stays in that room, with the battle all but lost, Ser Ilyn is going to kill her solely because of the Lannisters’ spite. She has no reason to stay and help Lancel. But she can’t stop herself.

The moment where Sansa’s kindness stands out the most, though, is when the Hound comes to her room during Blackwater:

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. “Little bird,” he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

I think reading this passage out of context is what allows certain fans to paint this scene in a romantic light. The softness of Sansa reaching out to touch Sandor is an indelible moment. But it does the moment a disservice to read it that way. This scene is so well written because of what comes before it:

“I could keep you safe,” he rasped. “They’re all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I’d kill them.” He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. “Still can’t bear to look, can you?” he heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. “I’ll have that song, Florian and Jonquil, you said.” His dagger was poised at her throat. “Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life.”

Afraid for her life, Sansa closes her eyes. But Sandor is too bitter, jaded, and wrapped up in his own self to realize that’s why she closes her eyes; he thinks it’s because she still can’t look at the burned ruin of his face. He came to her room with kindness the furthest thing from his mind; the flames dancing on the Blackwater Rush made him scared like a wild animal, and he’s come here to get something from Sansa – whether she wants to give it or no.

(And while certain people are interested in carrying a lot of water to redeem this character, GRRM has really left no ambiguity in Sandor’s intentions. The passage He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed, taken in tandem with his confession to Arya, I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf, make it very clear that Sandor intended to rape Sansa. That is not up for debate.)

Sansa singing the Mother’s Mercy hymn is the last thing Sandor expected. The idea that in this moment, as Sandor becomes all of the worst things he’s ever believed about himself, about to do one of the most monstrous acts a person can do – that in that moment, Sansa could still show him mercy, is enough to stop him. He can no longer pretend that all the songs are lies and that everyone is only pretending to be good, because in this moment Sansa is still somehow capable of showing him kindness. 

Sansa’s ability to have empathy for seemingly irredeemable characters is not limited to Sandor (though certain shippers would like to pretend that’s some unique characteristic of their relationship, it most certainly is not). The dynamic between Sansa and Cersei is so rich because of Sansa’s inability to hate her, even though Cersei is responsible for pretty much every bad thing in Sansa’s life.

The Sansa and Cersei dynamic is one of the narrative’s most dynamic and complex, as Cersei represents a dark mirror of Sansa. Both were in love with the idea of becoming Queen as children, but arrived in King’s Landing to find their Prince is not who they thought he would be – Cersei both literally and figuratively, as she realizes she’s not to marry Rhaegar Targaryen but instead Robert Baratheon. They’re both subjected to emotional and physical abuse by the King for things that aren’t their fault – Robert hates Cersei because she isn’t Lyanna, and Joffrey hates Sansa because of his fight with Arya on the Trident.

But Cersei’s Lannister upbringing and life have made her cruel in all the ways Sansa is kind. She can see the parallels between herself and Sansa, but instead of reacting with empathy, she uses it to justify her cruelty:

“You’re stronger than you seem, though. I expect you’ll survive a bit of humiliation. I did.”

Being afraid of the men in her life has taught Cersei that’s the correct way to wield power:

“Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this and you’ll have treasons popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy.”

But Sansa reacts the opposite way:

“I will remember, Your Grace,” said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people’s loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I’ll make them love me.

This line has become the definitive statement of Sansa’s character because it so wholly embodies her ethos. Cruelty is not in her nature, and her instinct is always to show kindness. It also ties a direct connection to her own personal experiences shaping how she wants to be as Queen:

“Fear is better than love, Mother says.” Joffrey pointed at Sansa. “She fears me.”

Sansa knows what it feels like to be afraid, and she never wants anyone else to ever feel like that. Where the cruelty Cersei suffered taught her it was normal and good to rule that way, Sansa learns what it feels like to be at someone else’s mercy. If she ever has control over someone, which she will in books to come, she’s learned to always be kind because she knows what it feels like when someone isn’t.

All of her chapters in A Clash of Kings are full of moments that show how much Sansa values kindness. While I’ve already highlighted the life or death examples, she also shines in the small moments, like when she encourages Tommen before he faces the quintain at Joffrey’s name day tourney. And she comforts him when Myrcella leaves for Dorne:

Prince Tommen sobbed. "You mew like a suckling babe," his brother hissed at him. "Princes aren't supposed to cry."

"Prince Aemon the Dragonknight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon," Sansa Stark said, "and the twins Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk died with tears on their cheeks after each had given the other a mortal wound."

- Tyrion IX

She tries to comfort Lollys Stokeworth across the bridge to Maegar’s Holdfast:

She greeted them courteously. “May I be of help?”

Lady Tanda flushed with shame. “No, my lady, but we thank you kindly. You must forgive my daughter, she has not been well.”

“I don’t want to.” Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to shove her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes. “Please, please, I don’t want to.”

Sansa spoke to her gently. “We’ll all be thrice protected inside, and there’s to be food and drink and song as well.”

Her prayer in the Sept before the battle starts shows just how much she cares for everyone:

She sang for mercy, for the living and the dead alike, for Bran and Rickon and Robb, for her sister Arya and her bastard brother Jon Snow, away off on the Wall. She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin, for all the brave knights and soldiers who would die today, and for the children and the wives who would mourn them, and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.

There’s only one person in the whole of Westeros Sansa won’t extend her empathy to:

But when the septon climbed on high and called upon the gods to protect and defend their true and noble king, Sansa got to her feet. The aisles were jammed with people. She had to shoulder through while the septon called upon the Smith to lend strength to Joffrey’s sword and shield, the Warrior to give him courage, the Father to defend him in his need. Let his sword break and his shield shatter, Sansa thought coldly as she shoved out through the doors, let his courage fail him and every man desert him.

This line feels especially important. A lesson that’s drilled into Sansa time and time again by Cersei and Sandor is that her kindness makes her weak. It was used against her in A Game of Thrones, where her trust in Cersei and Joffrey left her completely vulnerable to Ned’s death. But this passage shows that it is not weakness that makes Sansa kind - it’s strength. For a character as kind as she is, and subjected to so much abuse, it would be easy to see her narrative as someone repeatedly letting herself be run over. By including this line, showing that Sansa’s empathy is a choice she makes – and making it clear that she chooses not to have it for Joffrey – it shows that Sansa still has control over herself, and will set boundaries. 

Instead of using her experiences in a negative way like Cersei, Sansa learns to carefully apply the lessons of her life; she won’t let abuse stop her from being kind, but she knows when to stop herself from trusting someone again.

Because Sansa’s kindness and optimism are the most important aspects of her character, her arc in A Clash of Kings ends there. Joffrey setting her aside in favor of Margaery is an emotional rollercoaster for Sansa:

Dontos waited in the leafy moonlight. “Why so sadface?” Sansa asked him gaily. “You were there, you heard. Joff put me aside, he’s done with me, he’s . . .”

He took her hand. “Oh, Jonquil, my poor Jonquil, you do not understand. Done with you? They’ve scarcely begun.”

Her heart sank. “What do you mean?”

“The queen will never let you go, never. You are too valuable a hostage. And Joffrey . . . sweetling, he is still king. If he wants you in his bed, he will have you, only now it will be bastards he plants in your womb instead of trueborn sons.”

Throughout A Song of Ice and Fire, the narrative is constantly testing Sansa’s commitment to her ideals. Everything she knows is constantly turned on its head, going from a dream to a nightmare. The momentary joy she feels knowing she doesn’t have to marry Joffrey is only allowed for a second, until it collides with Dontos’ harsh reality.

But instead of ending there, the narrative takes a page out of Sansa’s book and leaves on a vision of hope for the future:

It was a hair net of fine spun silver, the strands so thin and delicate the net seemed to weigh no more than a breath of air when Sansa took it in her fingers. Small gems were set wherever two strands crossed, so dark they drank the moonlight. “What stones are these?”

“Black amethysts from Asshai. The rarest kind, a deep true purple by daylight.”

“It’s very lovely,” Sansa said, thinking, It is a ship I need, not a net for my hair.

“Lovelier than you know, sweet child. It’s magic, you see. It’s justice you hold. It’s vengeance for your father.” Dontos leaned close and kissed her again. “It’s home.”

[justfangirlthingies]

Intruders (Helmut Zemo)

This is my first ever finished fic for our beloved Zemo, who definitely deserves to have his sword in the mcu.

I've had this scenario in my head for a while now and usually I find it hard to properly write out my thoughts to text. I honestly have no idea what's gotten into me that allowed me to write my thoughts into a fic, but whatever it is, it can come and bless me with its presence more often

Summary: You were planning on having a relaxing evening when a group of "intruders" turned your plans around

Warnings: I think there's one or more curse words, a sword (but nothing dangerous happens with it) if you think there's anything that I missed and/or should be added as a warning here please let me know

Word count: 2137 words

Transaltion: If you are familiar with Zemo fics you probably know what "draga" means. In case you don't know draga = dear/beloved

You were relaxing in the bathtub, eyes closed, as the warm water embraced you. You dipped the back of your head into the water in order to get all your hair wet properly, a soft sigh escaping your lips. It was peaceful and quiet, until you heard something that sounded suspiciously like the front door opening and closing that is. Immediately, you sat up in the water, which started to slosh from the sudden movement, and pulled your knees closer to your body as you listened attentively. Maybe you just imagined the noise. You were probably just being paranoid. Living alone in a house as big as this just seemed to have taken it's toll on you. What you had not expected however, was to hear more noises. Oh you definitely weren't imagining this. Loud footsteps accompanied by voices could be heard throughout your home.

In distress, you quietly jumped out of the bathtub, your body and hair still dripping with water as you stepped foot on the towel on the floor. Well you certainly wouldn't be able to defend yourself wearing only a towel. You stayed alert while you let your gaze wander through the room swiftly, in order to find something to wear and also something to defend yourself. That's when you spotted it. His bathrobe.

You never bothered to take it off of it's hanger. Doing so, would have made the situation you lived in come crashing down on you and you couldn't have that, now could you? Besides, it still contained traces of his intriguing smell, you'd never find the willpower to discard something that carries his smell still.

Without giving it much thought, you grabbed the robe and put it on, quickly tying it up as you continued to scavenge the room for some kind of weapon or defense. After coming to the conclusion that there was nothing of use for you in this room you sighed silently. Panic settled in your system as you felt your heartbeat and breathing speed up. You tried desperately to calm yourself, your hand wandering to a little ceramic bowl that usually held soap in it. This would have to do.

Only when you reached out for the handle of the bathroom door, you remembered. The sword! There was a sword just conveniently hanging on one of the walls in the hallway. He had shown you how to use it. You probably forgot half of what he had taught you back then, but it would have to do to save your life. That's why he taught you in the first place, to defend yourself.

The bowl made no sound when you put it down, seeing as you placed it on a piece of fabric, in order to avoid making noise. Carefully, you opened the door and tiptoed your way out into the hallway. As soon as you had stepped foot onto the ground of the corridor, the voices grew clearer, but you needed to focus on your current goal, which was to go and get the sword hanging on the wall and not to listen to the intruders. So, that's exactly what you did.

Getting the sword off the wall turned out to be more challenging than you anticipated, as it was quite heavy. A lot heavier than what you remembered it to be. After struggling with it for a good minute or two ,you finally managed to lift it off the wall and the weight of the full sword, without it being supported on the wall anymore, nearly caused you to drop it, seeing as you only held it with one hand. The odds seemed to be in your favour, for you caught the weapon mid-air and while it still made contact with the ground, the carpet covering the floor managed to absorb the sound of the sword clinking against the floor.

You took a deep breath and pushed the big and wide sleeves of the robe up a bit, to keep them from disturbing you. The voices you had been hearing didn't seem to stray far from the living room and kitchen area. Putting on a straight and brave face, you exhaled deeply and lifted the sword like you had been taught, you also tried to keep the stance you were supposed to have as you made your way down the hall.

You came to a halt right around the corner to the kitchen and living room area, where you attempted to calm your breathing and heartbeat once again. "Now what?" you thought. Should you walk into the room and confront them? Or should you pull the attention to yourself from here right away?

You decided on the first option, this way you could still take a few minutes to calm yourself down and- CRASH!

"Oh no. Oh no this is bad. Shit! What do I do now?" You cursed under your breath as you looked at the object you had accidentally run over. Someone had placed a bag, which you accidentally shoved with your foot because you didn't know it was there, right next to a lamp. It is save to say, that said lamp now laid before your feet in shards and the placement of the bag also wasn't your doing. In fact, the bag didn't even belong to you.

"I thought you said this is your place and no one lives here" a man's voice growled. "Show yourself!" shouted another voice in your direction. You contemplated running away and hiding for a moment, but there was no backing out now. So, you gathered all your might and confidence together and tried to keep your voice steady you spoke "Who are you and what are you doing in my home? I will ask you to leave only this once" Your demand came out more shaky than you would have liked, but it would have to do "And-and I'm armed" You added, realizing you had forgotten to mention it previously.

What you were not aware of was that he stat around the corner with the two men and when your voice reached the Baron's ears, his eyes widened, though he promptly covered up his surprised expression from the others. "You knew about this didn't you?!" Sam jumped up from his seat "This was your plan all along!" "I assure you Samuel, I was not aware anyone was here" Zemo retorted quickly. "What a load of crap!" Samuel shouted back.

You however, didn't get a chance to take notice of the conversation the two were having because you noticed someone else approaching you. You quickly took your stance to fight for your life, the sleeves of the oversized bathrobe rolling back down your arms and covering your hands, which were placed on the sword's handle, as you did so. As soon as you caught size of the man approaching you, you noticed a feature he had. An arm made of metal. This was going to be harder than you thought. You swung your sword at the man who caught the blade mid-swing, with ease in his metal hand. "I'm very sorry for intruding. We were not aware that someone lives here." "Well, I obviously live here" you grumbled.

You kept struggling against him even after he had grabbed your arm and rendered your attacks useless. Even when he had started walking you back around the corner, you still keep the sword tight in your grip, ready to put up a fight again as soon as danger was near.

What you didn't expect though, was to see him. Baron Helmut Zemo. You dropped the sword as soon as you saw him, it landed on the tiled floor making a loud reverberating noise, that immediately caught his attention. "Helmut" you mumbled, not believing your own eyes as they began to water.

As soon as the sword fell, all of Zemo's attention was on you. The way you stood in a poise and secure stance, much like the one he showed you. The sword which he remembered to be decorating the hallway lying before your feet. Your (h/c) hair still wet from what he presumed must have been a bath. He didn't fail to notice his robe, which even though it was tied tightly and securely around your waist, still seemed to hang loosely around your body. Your hands were covered by the sleeves of his robe, yet he didn't miss the way something briefly reflected the light of the room from underneath one of the sleeves. So, you still wore the ring he had given to you. Hearing your voice sounded like music to his ears. Another thing he noticed, was that it seemed like you didn't age a day. Were you possibly taken by the blip?

Helmut Zemo could read you like a book, the expression on your face however, was the only thing that was hard for him to read right now. There were so many different emotions covering your features, but as soon as he took notice of your beautiful pools of (e/c) swimming with tears, he jumped up from his seat, ready to take you into his arms and just hold you tightly and securely to his body. "(Y/n)" he whispered back to you.

Sam Wilson queered the Baron's pitch, by holding him back from crossing the room to reach you. You took notice of what Zemo was trying to do. It was something you also wanted. Something you needed right now. It seemed you were in luck once again because the man with the metal arm had loosened his hold on your arm and it was easy for you to slip from his grip.

Without giving it another thought, you sprinted across the room and ran right into Helmut's arms, not caring about the man who was holding him back. You held each other tightly, enjoying his warmth and familiarity. Sadly, the bliss you were experiencing was suddenly cut short by the man with the metal arm.

"Let me go!" You struggled against the man's arm again. "James let go of them." Zemo demanded calmly. "Do you even know who that is you're throwing your arms around here?!" The guy asked you, his voice sounded more like a growl, which caused you to thrash around more. "Of course I know who that is!" you snarled back at him in irritation. "I think I can recognize my husband myself, thank you very much. Now let me go!" you sassed. The statement had caught the man named James off guard and he loosened his grip on you again, the other man doing the same with Zemo.

You had gotten married shortly before the Baron blew up the UN. It was the only way for him to come to terms with his past and while you were not happy with the decision he made, you understood why he did what he did. That doesn't mean you agreed with his ways of doing this. God knows you had tried to talk him out of it many times after you found out about his plans. You didn't even know what you were looking at when you saw the plans and even though Zemo knew you were not aware of his plan, even after looking at some of the blueprints, he wanted to be honest with you. So, he told you everything he had planned. There was no stopping him from at least trying and while you used to give yourself the fault for not stopping him, which would have been impossible anyways, you had come to terms with it over the years.

"Draga" your husband exhaled as he wrapped his arms around you again. His embrace was something you had missed for a long time, a smile formed onto your lips as you hugged him back and nestled your face in his neck. "I missed you Helmut." your voice was muffled by his shirt and skin. "I missed you too" Zemo immediately returned your statement, his lips resting on the top of your head as he inhaled your scent, that he loved and missed so much. "You smell nice" he murmured against your head making you giggle.

"You do know you'll have some explaining to do about all of...well, this" you pulled away a bit, looking at him as you gestured to him and the other two people in the room, who just watched this whole situation unfold in complete and utter bewilderment.

"I know, I know, but for now let us enjoy the moment just a little longer" he smiled at you as he pulled you closer again, before leaning forward a bit to whisper in your ear "My bathrobe suits you well dear" You lightly hit his shoulder for that statement and because you could practically hear the very evident smirk adorning his face.

Taglist: @ateez-star @littlemissnoname13 @gwlvr @handmaiden-of-mischief

[ialwaysgobacktoit]

Time to rest your weary head - PART 12

OK. this was officially the most fun chapter to write y'all! And since the last one was so short (and ended in a cliffhanger lol) I decided to free you of your anxiousness and hand you now......... THIS RIGHT HERE. enjoy, folks!!!

Chapter List

@madie2200 @starbornsinger @katiebellf

She could do this. She could do this. Gwyn kept mentally repeating to herself for the few seconds between her subtle decision of telling Azriel about their mating bond and right before she opened her door. She couldn’t hear anything below the thrumming of her heart, blood pounding in her arched ears as she inhaled deeply.

She was a Valkyrie. Confessing her feelings to a male was nothing. Except that it wasn’t just any male. It was Azriel, the Spymaster of the Night Court, the Shadowsinger, and her friend. Her mate. And she wasn’t like any female. She was hurt, and tarnished and –

No. She wasn’t about to fall in that pattern of behavior. She was so much more than what happened to her. She was the rock against which the surf crashed. Nothing could break her. Not again, and not anymore.

So she was determined to let it all out. She needed to be fair, for both of their sakes. She owed it to herself, that honesty and truth. And her newfound friends and family were there to prove it. She could be happy, she should be happy. And although having fears was a part of the process, hers wouldn’t dominate her anymore. She could still walk on her own pace and be mindful of her boundaries.

She opened the door. She would do it, she would talk, and Azriel would listen –

Like summoned by her thoughts, there he was; standing in her doorway, a hand in the air, as if he was seconds away from knocking. Still dressed in that beautiful evening attire, the black silk of his tunic matching the color of his raven hair, staring at her with such unwavering intensity that made her knees buckle.

She opened her mouth to speak but he beat her to it.

“Gwyn, I…” He looked hesitant, and she didn’t know if that made her feel more or less nervous.

Seeing his pause, she motioned for him to come in, desperately trying to calm her racing mind to what could he possibly be doing there. She didn’t dwell on it any longer as she now faced him, and observed quietly as he crossed his hands behind his back, refraining himself. She clutched her hands on the folds of her skirt, both because they were trembling and because she felt that, if she didn’t, she would boldly cross the room and reach for his face.

“I don’t know how to tell you this.” Azriel started, and they stood a considerable distance apart. His shadows seemed to be in an internal dispute, some trying to go for her and others hovering on his shoulders. His voice was low and quiet, sending shivers through her spine as he continued: “But I won’t keep this to myself anymore. I could do it, but I just… It wouldn’t be fair to you. To us.”

She swallowed hard, and her heart beat faster in her chest. “Az, I…”

“Please.” He softly interrupted her “Just… Let me say this.”

All she could do was nod as he turned away from her stare, his gaze lost within the logs of the crackling fireplace in front of him. Something in his tone made her tear up. Mother, she didn’t even have the chance to say how she felt and now there he was: melancholy in his voice as if he was going to deliver some bad, bad news.

But then…

“You must know something. But first, you need to know that you don’t have to do anything about it if you don’t want to. I would respect and understand any decision you’d make, always. Even if you didn’t want to ever see me again” The words poured from his mouth, as if he had the same intent as her: to let it all out. His sharp inhale and the way he met her stare, worry and insecurity behind that casual indifferent mask, shattered her.

She could suddenly see both of them in the theater again; staring into each other’s eyes like it was only them in the whole world. That damned pause after he called her beautiful, pure emotion in his voice. With a jolt, she knew what he was going to say next.

“And I would do it without even thinking twice because, Gwyn, we’re-”

“Mates.” She completed his sentence, softly.

His eyes grew wider as a few shadows swirled around her, agitated.

“You knew?”

She nodded, closing her eyes slightly before opening them up again, taking a couple of mind stilling breaths that allowed her to focus.

This is it. You can do this.

“Since my birthday.” She saw the way his posture switched from caution to rather curious, some tension easing up on his shoulders as he took in her words. “I was hoping… I was giving some time, trying to understand how I felt, how to tell you this... But after tonight, I just had to let you know. I was meaning to come after you, but it seems you beat me to it.”

She knew he was gathering up the pieces by the way his eyes were quickly scanning her, his brows slightly furrowed as he read into the looks and blushes she cast him on training, how differently she talked to him on the first days after his surprise.

“Why? I mean” He corrected himself, hoarsely “Why after tonight?”

“Because tonight was amazing” She took a step towards him, watching him nervously, barely hiding the small smile spreading on her face now, her eyes glimmering “Because you are amazing, Azriel. And I like you a lot.”

He also took a step and she observed joyfully as wonder appeared on his features, his eyes widening just a little at her words, his heart racing. Just like hers. His shadows were all over the place right now, as if he’d forgotten all his worries. Or if he didn’t particularly care about them at the moment.

“I like you too, Gwyn. A lot.” His voice rumbled through her spine, making her shiver. Mother, he was handsome. She closed their distance in one last step, and now they were face to face, staring at each other with such intensity it could have made her melt. “And I will do whatever you’d like. I mean it, if you don’t want to accept the bond, I would-”

“I know.” She quietly interrupted him, nodding.

They stood quiet, staring at each other for a couple of seconds, and Mother if she couldn’t help the shift in her tone now, the way her voice automatically lowered and softened, before she found herself asking:

“And what do you want to do?”

He watched her every breath, assessing her with a different kind of emotion in his darkened eyes as she stared back at him expectantly.

“I want you, Gwyn.”

His longing, warmth, careful words and actions, the way he pronounced her name, it all caused her heart to burst with passion, heat spreading through her. Like she was everything he could think about, but he was still concerned he’d make her uncomfortable.

So she finally gave in to that aching need of touch and reached to his face, her thumb caressing his cheek. She leaned in and placed a feathery kiss on his lips, giving in to the jolt of electricity that sparked at the mere touch. When she pulled away, seconds later, she found him gazing at her lips, before meeting her stare again. His eyes had widened just a little, as if he was trying to process what had just happened.

He placed his palm on top of hers that was still on his cheek, his shadows encircling them. She could hear his heart even clearer now that they were so close, and a soft smile bloomed on her mouth. With his left hand, he tugged a strand of her copper hair behind her ear, brushing lightly against her face.

She saw the question in his eyes before he even asked, his voice like velvet, eyes tinged with mischief and carefulness and heat: “May I kiss you back, Berdara?”

“Of course, Shadowsinger.” She breathed.

When they lips met again, it felt like the world stilled around them. It was so much more than she thought it could be. Azriel gently cupped the back of her neck, sending shivers all over her, while she rested her free hand on his chest. The kiss was gentle, and soft, but also a bit more intense than the one before and filled with an array of emotions Gwyn couldn’t begin to convey. Suddenly she recognized she’d been waiting for this for a long, long time. To be in his arms, to taste his lips...

His hand left hers and stopped at her waist, and they parted. She was panting lightly as she took in his ragged breathing, his darkened eyes and swollen lips. What a delightful sight.

She couldn’t help smiling once again, which turned to a breathless chuckle as he grinned back before resting his forehead on hers. They stood like that for a few seconds, breathing each other’s scent and smiling like fools, and Gwyn allowed herself to close her eyes and fully take in the moment. The way she felt at ease and relaxed at his presence, in his embrace. The pleasant heat that spread through her as the kiss deepened, that thrilling sensation that threatened to leave her comfort-zone, and how she didn’t seem afraid of it – of everything that came with it. She wanted to face that with him, someday. Right now, she would just enjoy being in his arms.

After a moment, her curiosity settled in and she realized he hadn’t told her for how long he knew about it:

“Az” A soft hum in response “Since when did you know?”

She lifted her head and faced him fully, waiting for his response. Admiring those beautiful features and lines that hid so much from the world, yet were so openly gazing her now.

“I heard you.” Seeing how confusion stamped her face, he let out a soft chuckle “Singing, one night after our dinner at the River House. I was at the training ring, and your voice… It beckoned to me, to my shadows, and my feet moved at their own accord until I stopped at your door. It was the most beautiful thing I ever heard.”

She raked her fingers through his silk raven hair, and marveled at how smooth it was. His eyes shut for a moment, before he hugged her, keeping her close.

“You know” His voice was a sweet tune on her ears, his breath on her neck “With the mating bond acknowledged, I don’t think we’ll be able to cover our scent. Everyone will find out.”

“About that” She almost forgot. “We’re not the only ones to know.”

He faced her again, brows furrowing.

“Oh?”

“Rhysand.”

She could see by his amused laugh that was not the answer he thought he’d have. But he let her continue as she went through what had happened all those nights ago. How Rhysand had figured it out, the same night that Azriel did. After she was done, Azriel just shook his head lightly, still with that dimpled half-smile.

“I could talk to him, if you’d like privacy for some time. Although my shadows could perhaps cover the scent, I think the spell Helion taught him while Feyre was pregnant would prove more effective.”

Gwyn mulled over his words, considering. Her most reckless self wanted to be carefree and confident and discard the offer; but she thought the pressure of everyone knowing about them might be just a little too much. Baby steps, she reminded herself. There was no problem in hiding from the world what they had for now: what mattered was that they both knew it. And she wouldn’t risk her new relationship with Azriel for her pride: she needed to respect her boundaries, after all. And she knew he would be on board with whatever she decided.

So she nodded.

“Only for a while; I think it would be good.”

“For as long you want, Gwyn. You know we’ll do this at your pace.”

It was like he had read her thoughts. She chuckled quietly in response, and without saying anything, closed their distance once again to brush her lips against his; Mother, she would never get enough of that feeling. Of the fact she could just lean in and kiss him. Something so intimate yet she once thought it would never happen to her; she never thought she’d want it to.

But she did, so badly, and he was there, with her, one arm pulling her close and the other set firmly on her hips, and she enlaced her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss even more, feeling his warmth and his grip around her, gentle yet steady… She let out a sigh, and heard a small groan in response from him as he reluctantly pulled away, breathing heavily and facing her with a growing need that made her stomach flutter. They would go slow, and they both knew it, in a silent agreement. That’s why he parted their kiss.

“Are you going right away?” Her voice was no more than a whisper as she tried to pull herself together.

“I don’t particularly want to, but I will. I’ll see if Rhys is still up.” He sighed, murmuring. “You should get some sleep.”

She hugged him tight, placing her head on his chest and savoring the sensation of his muscles under his silk tunic. Pressing one ear to his broad torso, just like she did the night of her birthday; feeling his warmth, breathing in his scent. She didn’t want to let go just yet, but she could feel the tiredness creeping in, the adrenaline now leaving her body. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Az.”

They parted at last and she held his hand and stare, interlocking their fingers as they moved slowly towards her door, shadows finally gathering around their master. She stood by her threshold and watched as he lifted her hand slowly to his lips and kissed it, never taking his eyes off her.

“Good night, Gwyn.”

She fell asleep just a few seconds after laying down, almost believing it had all been a dream; the tingling sensation on her hand and mouth and the way his scent lingered on her, lulling her to sleep, the only things to prove her otherwise.

[mqgriett]

Tech- Princess

Request: hello darling, i saw you were taking requests (it’s okay if you aren’t anymore, just disregard the rest of this) and I was wondering if you’d be able to write something for Tech? I’m absolutely starving for content surrounding him and I’d take literally any crumb you’d be willing to spare🥺 prompt/genre is totally up to you! @bandaid-bunny

Pairings: Tech x Fem!Reader

Warnings: small mention of death (very very minor, like a sentence)

Summary: you left the Jedi Order a year ago, which meant also leaving the Bad Batch. Tech’s feelings for you never faded, and neither did yours for him.

Notes: I really want to write a part 2 to this!! Please lmk if y’all would want a second part!! 

Tech adjusted his tie for the fifth time, looking at himself in the reflection of the silver elevator. He licked his hand, smoothing back any stray hairs on top of his head. 

“Nervous much?” Hunter muttered next to his brother. 

Tech shook his head, “of course not. Why would I be?”

“Because this is the first time you’re seeing her in a whole year.” Crosshair replied, a smug smile on his face as he crossed his hands over his lap. 

“And why would that make me nervous?” Tech scoffed, rolling his eyes and straightening the cuffs of his suit. The collar of his dress shirt felt increasingly tight and he pulled on, further giving his brother more of a reason to tease him. 

“Last time you saw her you couldn’t talk right!” Wrecker slapped him on the back, making Tech choke on his own spit. 

“That-”, cough, “is-”, another cough, “not true.” He finally caught his breath and repeated his sentence a little clearer. “That isn’t true.” 

“Really?” Crosshair raised an eyebrow and turned to Hunter, who was giving Tech the same look. 

Sarg intertwined his fingers, bringing his fist to the side of his face and making his voice a few octaves higher to mock Tech, “You look especially beautiful in the night time, it hides all of your imperfections. No- it highlights your imperfections. No- you have no imperfections in the night time. No- you’re perfect” 

Tech crossed his arms, his cheeks glowing a shade of bright red as Hunter reenacted the scene from a year ago.

“We’re here for a surveillance operation, that’s all.” he swallowed the ball in his throat, “I might not even get the opportunity to speak with her, so I have no reason to be nervous.” 

The quiet ding of the elevator reaching the top floor was his saving grace. Tech was the first one off and he automatically began to scan the crowded room for any sign of you. As Wrecker walked behind his brother he whispered, “surveillance operation.” He nodded and followed the rest of the Bad Batch, eyes still searching for any sign of you. 

“Sarg, good to see you.” said Cody’s strong tone of voice, catching Tech’s attention again. 

“Same to you, Commander.” Hunter replied, giving the 212th trooper a strong handshake. Cody pointed out that the Bad Batch and 212th were allowed to have fun that night, and that they were only to interfere with anything if it was a threat to the princess’s life. He pointed to the other troopers that had accompanied him that night. The majority of the 212th attack battalion dotted the ball room. 

There was no sign of you after roughly twenty minutes, allowing Tech to ease up a little bit. Crosshair returned from the bar, standing next to his brother and handing him a medium sized glass with a small amount of black liquid. Although he wasn’t much of a drinker, Tech downed the shot within seconds of having it in his grasp. 

***

“Nervous much?” Padme asked, watching from the corner of your room as you adjusted the front of your corset for the fifth time. 

You ignored her snarky comment, continuing to speak your thoughts out loud, “Out of all the squadrons he could have asked, of course he chooses 99.” 

“You’re going to smudge your makeup if you keep pacing and sweating like that.” she replied, walking to your side. “And, who knows? Maybe he’s not here.” 

“Hunt- The Sergeant, doesn’t go anywhere without him. He’s here.” you answered, taking a loud breath in to calm yourself. “It’s been at least a year. Last time I saw him I was allowed to go on missions and hold a weapon that’s bigger than my palm.” 

You reached behind yourself and started to undo the corset, “Now I need to go and sit in meetings, sit like a lady, smile and nod, and be pretty. That’s all… Could you re-tie this for me? The seamstress made it so I couldn’t breathe.” You motioned to the strings of the corset. 

“How about you wear that blue dress, you liked that one.” Padme suggested, trying her best to get you into a better mood. 

You sighed, “alright.” 

As you walked back to your closet, Padme spoke behind you, “if you look on the bright side, attachments are no longer forbidden for you.” 

It genuinely made both of you laugh, lifting your spirits a little as you unhooked the blue dress from its hanger. “maybe embrace that he’s here. You no longer need to follow the code, make the best of it.” 

She was right, the Jedi code no longer applied to you. 

About a year ago, when your sister had passed, it left you to take the throne of Alderaan as Princess. Your father, Bail Organa, was a senator and your mother, Breha Organa, was Queen. Someone needed to help her govern the planet, which led to you leaving the Jedi order and fulfill your duties as the only living legacy of your parents. 

It was a difficult decision to make, and tonight would lock it in. The majority of Senators were here, including a few other monarchs. Last time you had seen the bulk of them you were still a Jedi Knight, now you were Princess of Alderaan. 

This party was risky to throw, but it had already been postponed many times before. There was a small window to celebrate the new princess, which is no-doubt why the Bad Batch was called in. Majority of the troopers were on missions, and if the party was to be short on guards then it needed the strongest battalion available, Clone Force 99.

It was already twenty minutes into the celebration, and you had five minutes prepare to see them again. Last time you five were together it was a special operations mission, you were a Jedi and they were your designated clone battalion. Now you were tasked with pretending to be someone else, a princess. 

You tugged your dress on and allowed Padme to lace the back up, it was time. 

***

A loud sound of trumpets echoed through the room, quickly drawing everyone’s attention. The lights dimmed everywhere except the grand balcony with a staircase leading down to the main floor. 

Tech followed the voice of the announcer, who seemed to be invisible among the huge crowd. “It is with great pleasure that I welcome the Queen and the new Princess of Alderaan.” he said obstreperously. 

Queen Breha walked with grace down the steps, waving as she descended. 

Next came the princess, her gold-accented, sleek, pastel blue dress shining in the light beautiful. Tech’s heart raced as he saw you, his glass slipping from his grip. He had nearly forgotten how beautiful you were, and the way you quickly walked down each stair nearly made him faint. The expensive glassware would have broken if it weren’t for Hunter’s quick reflexes. 

The only other time he had witnessed the sight of you in a dress was during an undercover op, other than that you were frequently in your robes. Maker, you were breathtaking in that gown. He was going mad and you were still across the room. 

You turned over your shoulder, automatically scanning the crowd for any signs of the Bad Batch. It seemed that every free moment you had was interrupted by a Senator or distant relative congratulating you on your new status. So, you smiled and made small talk, a tiny headache beginning to creep up on you. 

As you thanked Senator Clovis for coming, a strong hand touched the small of your back. “Need a break?” Hunter asked behind you. 

In that moment you could have cried at the sound of his voice. You were so overwhelmed and tired, wanting to collapse every time you needed to start a new conversation with someone. As you turned, you straightened your back, “Sergeant.” You gave him a curt nod, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.” 

Hunter raised his eyebrow, waiting a moment before hooking his arm within your own. “Since when do you call me Sergeant?” he mused, beginning to lead you over to the edge of the ballroom. 

You were well out of earshot of anyone important now, and your whole demeanor changed. You let out a breath of air and slouched, letting your legs rest a shoulder-width apart. “You have no clue how happy I am to see you.” 

“Right back at you Command- Princess.” he said, letting go of your arm. 

“Don’t call me that, for maker’s sake.” you pleaded, your tone genuinely sad. 

He smirked, “not your thing, huh?” 

You shook your head, “where’s the rest of the boys?” 

“Wrecker spilled that Corellian wine on his shirt, Tech and Cross are helping him get cleaned off.” he responded with a shrug, as if it was a regular thing; on that thought, it was. 

Your heart fluttered, “Tech’s here?” 

Hunter chuckled deeply, combing his hair back, “he is. Why?” 

You pursed your lips while narrowing your eyes, “just curious.” 

Before Sarg could tease you any further, the large gold door to the men’s bathroom opened and the other three Bad Batchers stumbled back inside the room. You instinctively looked over your shoulder, your gaze catching Tech’s. 

You both froze, trapped in each other's presence. He smiled, eyes sparkling in the faint light of the ballroom. 

The group of three made their way to Hunter and you, Wrecker with a huge grin on his face. 

Crosshair performed a dramatic bow, “m’lady.” he slid his hands into his pockets, a smug smirk on his face as he greeted you. 

“I hate you,” You teased, shaking your head the smallest bit to show you disapproval.  

“Hi Princess.” Wrecker didn’t hesitate to pull you into a tight hug, but he soon let go once realizing that he was possibly transferring the wine stain onto your dress. 

Tech wrapped his arms around your waist and whispered, “you look nice.” 

You rested your chin on his shoulder, “back at you.” 

Crosshair interjected, “you got something on your dress.” he twirled his long finger towards your abdomen. 

Wrecker had accidentally transferred some wine on your gown. You frowned, knowing that you now had to change dresses. “Kriff,” you mumbled, secretly slightly relieved that you got to leave for a few minutes, “I’ll be back. If anyone asks, just say I’m touching up my makeup.” 

As you took a step forward, Padme’s words seemed to echo in your mind. Maybe embrace that he’s here. You no longer need to follow the code, make the best of it.

You smiled, “Tech would you mind coming along? I’m not supposed to leave the room without another person.” 

He looked slightly surprised at your offer, but after tripping over a few words he nodded and followed. 

Tech took a deep breath once you two were alone, clenching and relaxing his fists to ease a bit of his nerves, “I missed you, we all did. Missions aren’t as fun without you.” 

You grinned, “I missed you too. Everything goes by slower nowadays.” 

“You don’t enjoy your new life?” He asked, eyebrows creasing to form a concerned expression. He looked around at all the gold accented treasures hidden among the castle. 

“There’s no excitement. Every day is just a repeat of the last.” The elevator doors opened and you both stepped inside. 

They slid shut, officially making it just the two of you. “Do you miss the Order?” 

You shook your head, “Not as much as I thought I would, but I miss the adventures. I miss you.” you said the last piece quietly, hoping he didn’t hear. 

But since it was Tech, and he was the most attentive person you knew, he heard. He turned to look at you, making deep eye contact, “I miss you too. Co-piloting with Crosshair isn’t as fun as it was with you. I’m not as good at calming Wrecker down as you were.” 

You arrived at your floor, the doors opening again and both of you walking out. There was an awkward silence surrounding the two of you now, both wanting to say the same thing. 

As you stepped foot in your room, the energy shifted a little. You motioned for Tech to make himself comfortable and made your way to the closet. 

He sat at the foot of your huge bed, admiring how well-decorated it was. He turned to look at the wall his back faced, eyes wandering to your nightstand. In the middle stood a framed photograph. It was a picture that Wrecker had taken after a rough mission. You and Tech were both asleep, your head on his lap and his hand draped over your waist. He sighed and called out to you, “You know I’ve always loved you, right?” 

You froze, barely finishing at pulling the peach-colored dress over your head when his voice reached your ears. By the time you had turned around, Tech was standing in the doorway of your closet. 

No more Jedi Code. 

You walked to him, placing a gentle hand against his cheek and kissing him. He grabbed your hand and held it, leaning forward to deepen the kiss. He had waited too long for this to end quickly, and you felt the same. 

[love-and-monsters]

Necklace for a Dragon

M dragon X GN reader, 5,975 words

A dragon commissions a necklace for his deceased mother, but he is reluctant to open up about her death. Can you help him work through his grief?

The thin, delicate chain in your fingers clinked quietly as you worked on it. The magnifying glasses perched on your nose enabled you to carefully manipulate the tiny gemstones into place. It was a nice piece, you thought. The white and pale yellow gems set against the deep platinum gave the impression of tiny stars in a night sky.

Your gaze flicked up as you worked. It was a habit from before you’d gotten the bell installed on your door to let you know if a customer had entered, so your gaze moved back to your work before you’d really processed anything you’d seen.

Then your brain caught up with your eyes and your head snapped back up.

There was a man standing in the middle of your store. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a fairy tale. His look was oddly monochrome- he had pale skin, white-blonde hair that curled around his ear and under his chin. Silvery antlers pulled back from his head and a shimmering scaled tail tufted with fur coiled and twitched behind him. His clothes were unreasonably fancy and not at all modern- his shirt was ruffled and he wore a heavy, furred cloak around his shoulders. Gems fairly dripped from his horns and the upper curve of his ears.

The little bell hadn’t even rung to announce his entrance. It was as if he had simply appeared in the room.

“Hello,” you said, whipping your glasses off and staring at him. “Can I help you with something?”

He regarded you with ice-blue eyes. His expression was utterly neutral. “I am looking for jewelry.”

Okay. Good start. Your eyes swept over his frame, assessing him as a customer. He was unfamiliar, but given his mannerisms and the general look of his clothes, he was wealthy. That was good- most of the pieces in your store weren’t made by you. There wasn’t enough of a market to buy your handmade pieces in most cases, which were priced high enough to drive away most typical buyers, and those who were rich enough to afford the splurge were few and far between. Most of the jewelry on the shelves was cheaper, more mass-produced pieces. It wasn’t exactly something you were proud of, but it kept the roof over your head.

He wasn’t looking at any of those pieces, though. He had beelined right for the well-lit display case that showed all your custom jewelry. You slipped out from behind the counter and hurried over to him. “See anything you like?”

His gaze swept over the case. “I am not sure.”

“Well, I also take commissions, so if you want a specific design, I can do that for you,” you said eagerly. Commissions were uncommon, but very much appreciated. You could charge a little more for them and you didn’t have to account for the shelf time.

The man turned toward you. His gaze locked with yours and a chill slipped down your spine. Holy shit. With a sudden clenching in the pit of your stomach, you knew that this wasn’t an ordinary monster of Fortune Falls. This was one of the Old Ones.

The Old Ones were not necessarily old individuals, though, even though the one in front of you appeared to be in his twenties, he could be ancient. It was their species that were old, though, ones that had existed before civilization and kept to those old ways. They radiated powerful magic and rarely interacted with humans at all. Even other monsters were uncomfortable around them.

You had only seen one once before, an ancient golden dragon. You steeled your will. A customer was a customer. Even if Old Ones had an irritating habit of paying in extremely outdated currency- you would be lucky if he paid with something from the modern millennium.

“A specific design,” the man repeated, drawing you out of your daze. You nodded attentively.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” you said. The man exhaled slowly. He had the expression of someone unused to interacting with others- he didn’t seem to be holding a stern expression because he actually felt stern, but more because he had completely forgotten you were supposed to change your expression to let others know what you were feeling. “Maybe you could tell me what the jewelry is for and I can give you some suggestions.”

The man turned back to the display case. “It is for a funeral.”

“Oh,” you said. “For, ah. For you or for the, erm. Deceased?” It was not the first time someone had come to your shop looking for jewelry to bury someone in.

“Deceased.” There was no emotion in the man’s voice, but it was not the lack of emotion of the passionless. It was the sound of someone who had been exercising their emotions so much they didn’t have anything left to give. Pity stirred in your chest.

“Well, I’m sure we can find you something nice,” you said. “There are a lot of nice pieces here.” You gestured broadly at the wall of jewelry. The man peered at the necklaces lining the bottom row. His tail weaved back and forth, flowing like a river.

After a moment, he shook his head. His curls swayed, brushing against his chin and over the tips of his ears. “No,” he said. “Something else.”

You froze, waiting for his next move. Instead of turning toward the door, he turned toward you. You let out a sigh of relief. “Would you like something made specifically for you, sir?”

He lowered his chin in the slightest of nods. A faint flicker of bitterness invaded your mind before you shoved it away; the idea that you were going to make something that was going to have exactly one showing before it was being shoved underground wasn’t something you were overly pleased about. Then again, plenty of the extremely rich had pieces of jewelry made for them only to cram it into a closet after one night out. This was a little more important than that, wasn’t it?

“It would need to be elaborate,” he said. “Something worthy of my mother.”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “I’m sorry for your loss,” you said. “I can sketch up a few designs overnight and you can come back tomorrow to look at them. We can work from there.”

The man’s head dipped in a slow nod. “I will see you then.” Not waiting for any response, he whirled, cape swirling around him, and headed out the door.

The bell still didn’t ring. You glared at it until the man left, then pulled out your stepladder and went to check on it. When you tapped it, it jingled merrily. Hm. Weird. You moved the ladder away and experimentally swung the door open and closed. The bell rang every time. Okay. Really weird. But you had more important things to do.

You placed the stepladder away again and sat behind the front counter. There was a sketchpad situated under the desk for situations such as this. Usually, you had a little more idea what the customer wanted. You kicked yourself for not asking any more questions. He had left before you could get some clarification. You sketched out a few designs, most of them similar to ones you already had on the shelf. They were pretty, of course- all your jewelry was nice, and it tended to be difficult to make shiny things look that bad. But they almost certainly weren’t what your client wanted.

Night fell. You closed up your shop, but stayed in the back, eating takeout. You had an apartment, but it was barely bigger than your shop and you spent so much time here that you’d just moved a couch and some blankets into the back room, just in case you wanted to crash for the night. Really, the only practical use your apartment had was that it had a shower you could be sure no one else was using. Given your cooking skills, it was probably safer if you didn’t have access to a kitchen.

You sketched on the pad late into the night, growing more and more frustrated the longer you tried. Nothing seemed to be coming out right, and the things that looked kind of good were too reminiscent of stuff you’d already made.

Grimacing, you rolled your stiff neck and shifted your position. One of your legs was starting to fall asleep. Maybe you should just go to bed. Your mind wasn’t getting any clearer the later you stayed up, and maybe you would get an idea in your dreams. It wasn’t common, but it was better than just sitting around and waiting for inspiration to strike.

You leaned your head back, eyes closing for a moment. The image of the man swam back to your mind. He had been rather beautiful. The silvery sheen of his tail had been almost mesmerizing. It reminded you of sunlight gleaming off flowing water, or maybe oozing mercury. And his multi-pointed horns, glittering with gems had been striking as well.

Inspiration slammed into your mind like a lightning bolt. A sizzling, frenetic energy jumped through your veins. The idea seized you with a frightening ferocity. You had felt this before, the few times when an idea had seized you with a creative fervor. There was no way you were going to be sleeping now. Instead, you scrambled for another piece of paper. You needed to get this down before the idea faded.

It took you well over an hour of sketching, erasing, and fine-tuning before you’d worked the design into something you were happy with. Once it was done, you collapsed into bed, not even bothering to change your clothes. Sleep swept over you in an immediate wave.

You woke late enough that you barely had time to throw on another set of clothes and snag a granola bar before you had to open the shop. Fortunately, the design you’d made the night before still looked good in the morning light. The amount of times you’d written something in a sleep-hazed frenzy only to wake up and discover that it was absolute garbage was uncomfortable to even think about.

Despite your somewhat unkempt appearance and your tiredness, you still managed to make a couple sales. One of them was an engagement ring, one of your own designs, which had you feeling quite proud for the rest of the day. You added a few finishing touches to your sketches with a flush of enthusiasm. The day was nearly over, but the man hadn’t showed up again.

Someone cleared their throat right in front of you. You startled, knocking over a stack of coins and watched as they rolled under your counter. “Dammit.” Grimacing, you looked up.

The man was standing over you. He watched as one of the coins rolled in a neat circle next to his foot and fell over. “You should pay more attention,” he said. He stooped and picked the coin up, placing it delicately on the counter. “It is bad customer service to leave a customer waiting.”

“There’s supposed to be a bell,” you muttered under your breath. If he heard you, the comment didn’t bother him. He watched as you scrambled to pick up the few coins you could see. You could get the ones under the desk later; it wouldn’t do to go crawling around on your hands and knees in front of an important customer.

“I have the sketches,” you said. “There’s a little area we can sit in over here.” You led him over to the small alcove, separated from the rest of the shop by curtains. It was basically just a table in an area that would give the two of you a little privacy. Not that it was terribly necessary- there wasn’t anyone in the shop. But it was nice.

The man swept over to the table and paused. You looked where he was looking and paused. There were two chairs at the table and both of them had tall backs that left no space for a tail. “I might have a stool somewhere,” you said. “Hold on.”

The man lifted his hand, revealing long, elegantly manicured fingernails. “No need. I will be fine.” He sat a little awkwardly, tail curling across his lap. You hesitated for a moment, then sat across from him.

“So, I have a few sketches that I wanted to show you,” you said, spreading them across the table. The man reached out and picked up a few of them, looking over them with a critical eye. His expression was utterly emotionless. You swallowed uncomfortably. It was always weird to have someone looking at your art right in front of you.

Each drawing was examined and he placed it on the table in front of you. The stack of rejected drawing kept getting higher. The back of your neck tickled with sweat. Was he going to like any of them?

He reached the bottom of the pile and paused. Right. Your final drawing. You sucked on your lower lip. His expression was still unreadable. Finally, he placed the drawing on the table in front of you. “This one,” he said in a soft voice, tapping a finger in the center of the drawing.

It was the design you’d based off his antlers. You nodded, sweeping it back off the table. “Great. So, next we’ll need to pick the base metal color. I’ve got a few of them. There’s silver, gold, platinum…” You spread the sample metals across the table in front of them. His gaze swept over them for a moment, then he tapped the platinum band. “Okay. Good. Are there any specific colors you want in it? I’ll try to match the colors as well as I can, and you’ll get approval at all stages.”

The man sat back in his seat. For the first time, you saw a flicker of discomfort cross his face. “Blue,” he said after a moment.

You noted the color down on your pad and gathered your drawings back together. “Great. That should look nice.” You glanced into his face. His expression was still fairly emotionless, but you thought you were getting better at seeing the subtle tension on his face that indicated changes in expression. There was a tension around his eyes and a tightness around his lips that made him look tired. The sort of blank, weary tiredness of someone who was struggling to keep going. “Um. When do you need this by?”

“Four days from now,” he said. “Is that acceptable?”

“It’ll be a rush job,” you said automatically, then cringed. That felt insensitive. The weariness in his face grew a little more present as he bowed his head in a small nod.

“That will be extra?” he said. He started to reach for his pocket, but you waved your hands hurriedly.

“Uh, no, no. It’ll be fine. No extra charge.” It was probably a bad decision. There was a reason you charged extra for rush orders. But he looked exhausted and if it was for a funeral, he was likely going through a lot. It felt wrong to add onto that.

The man stared at you for a moment. He said nothing, but there was gratitude in his expression. “How much do I owe you?”

You told him the price. He reached into his pocket for a moment, then extracted several bills. You held your breath as he handed them over. Bills was a good sign. You’d once been paid exclusively in heavy gold coins and it had been impossible to find a bank that would exchange them for actual currency.

After a moment, in which you were able to reassure yourself that yes, the bills were all modern, you tucked the money into your pocket. “The rest I’ll want upon delivery,” you said. “This is just an advance.” The man nodded. “Also, I’ll need your name.”

“Solomon,” he said. He gave no last name. You didn’t bother to ask for one.

“Then I’ll see you in a few days for pickup.” You smiled at him. He gave a small bow and swept back out the door.

As it turned out, you saw him much sooner than that. You closed the shop slightly early and started heading back home. It wasn’t the best idea, to take a full night off when you had a rush order you needed to complete, but you were starting to feel a little gross. It was time to get some food that was slightly better than takeout.

The air was chilly and it was drizzling as you walked across the street and headed toward your apartment building. Then you came to a stop, squinting at the man standing in a tiny alcove of trees. His clothes were ostentatious and he looked more than a little out of place, like a prince crouching in a stable. His head was tilted back, staring up at the rain dribbling from the sky. It trailed in little rivulets down his sharp features.

“Solomon?” you said before you could think better of it. He lowered his head and turned to face you. His expression was solemn, but there was a new level of exhaustion in it. It looked more like he was too tired to make any expressions other than weariness.

He nodded to you. “Hello.”

You paused, a little awkward. He didn’t seem overly keen to talk, but he wasn’t exactly moving away from you either. “What are you still doing here?”

Solomon closed his eyes and swayed unsteadily. Automatically, you darted forward to try to catch him. At the same moment, he stuck a hand out to prop himself up on a nearby tree. You collided, his hand fumbling awkwardly through the air until it came to a rest on your shoulder. There was a moment of stumbling as you adjusted to his weight. He was heavier than he looked. His tail wrapped around one of your legs as he struggled to catch himself again.

After a few moments of fumbling, the pair of you managed to find a balance. His weight pressed down on you, leaving you panting with the effort of holding him upright. “Are you okay?” you managed.

Solomon’s chest expanded against you as he took in a deep breath. One of his hands pressed against a tree trunk and he slowly lifted himself back up. “I’m all right,” he said. His eyes closed, but this time, he didn’t sway dangerously. He just let out a deep sigh.

You slid away from him, relieved to have his weight off your back. “Are you sure?” You hesitated for a moment, debating the pros and cons, then kept talking. “Do you… do you need some help?” The words came out of you slowly. You didn’t have a lot of experience trying to give other people your assistance; you were solitary by nature and rarely gave or asked for help.

Solomon closed his eyes for a moment. His long, snow-white lashes nearly touched his cheekbones. “I am just tired. I have not been home in some time.” There was a terrible weariness in his voice, like each word was a struggle to get out of his mouth.

“Do you need help getting there?” you said. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you could actually help him get home. Didn’t most of the Old Ones live in the mountains? You didn’t even have a car.

“No,” he said. “I…” He hesitated, then ducked his head a little, looking intently at the ground at his feet. “I have not been home because I do not want to go back.”

The awkward silence grew thicker. You cleared your throat. “Er. Is it because of your mom, or…?”

His lips curled up to show the slightest flicker of fang. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “Er.” A suggestion floated across your mind. “You could come to my apartment for a bit. You look tired.” The instant the idea left your lips, you felt stupid. You were tired too, and you didn’t really feel up to entertaining a stranger, much less an Old One who likely had never been in an apartment building. On the other hand, leaving him alone on the street felt gross too. Well, he probably wouldn’t take you up on the offer anyway-

“I would appreciate that,” he said. “After you.” He gestured to the sidewalk in front of you.

Well. Okay. This was happening. You walked ahead of him, trying frantically to remember the last time you’d vacuumed. Had it been last weekend? Hard to say. It honestly kept slipping your mind. Oh, god, when had you last dusted? Did Old Ones care about stuff like that?

In no time at all, you were at the front door to your building. You fumbled with your keys for a moment before your door clicked open. Solomon stepped into your building with an expression of mild curiosity.

There was nothing fancy about the lobby to your building. There was a threadbare rug and a slightly shoddy desk in a corner. The doorman, a medusa with massive snakes coiling around his head, looked up. His eyes fell on Solomon sweeping in behind you and he raised is scaled brows. You mouthed ‘tell you later’ and headed for the elevator.

Solomon looked momentarily confused when you gestured for him to follow you inside, but he stepped in regardless. You tapped your floor button and the elevator doors slid shut.

You were already braced for the weird jolt that happened every time the elevator started, but you’d completely forgotten that Solomon wasn’t. He seized your elbow as the floor juddered under your feet. His expression was smooth, but his grip on your arm was tight.

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s just an elevator.” You couldn’t tell if he understood what an elevator was, but your lack of concern seemed to appease him. His grip on your elbow loosened, though he didn’t remove his hand.

Solomon brushed past you to get off the elevator once it stopped, giving it a suspicious look over his shoulder. You bit your tongue. Do not laugh at the powerful monster. Even if he is looking at the elevator like it might jump at him.

You jostled the lock a few times before your door swung open. Solomon was tall enough to just look over your shoulder into your fairly tiny apartment. It only had a couple of rooms, and both of them could be charitably described as cozy. You scrambled to grab a few of the carelessly-tossed bits of packaging that hadn’t yet made their way to the garbage can and pushed them out of sight. You had definitely forgotten to dust for a while; Solomon picked up one of your books, then hurriedly ducked his head into his elbow to sneeze.

“Sorry. I don’t come here all that often,” you said. Solomon sniffed and put the book back down.

“I have never been inside a human dwelling before. Are they all so…” He trailed off, looking around the room. “So compact?”

“They’re not if you have more money,” you said. “Um. I can get you something to eat or drink? Or get you something to make you more comfortable? You can sit, if you want.”

Solomon scanned the room and his eyes fell on the small, but fairly cushy, couch. He approached it slowly, then, after testing the cushions with a hand, sat down.

It was strange to see him seated on your overly-plush couch. The heavy fur ruff of his cloak and the fine regality of his face were at odds with the barely maintained shabbiness of your apartment. It was like looking at a historical reenactor on break. It just looked off.

“So, uh,” you said, fumbling for something to do with your hands. “How are you doing?”

It was a dumb question, but you were having trouble coming up with things to say. Solomon looked at you. There was something glassy in his expression. You paused in your aimless fidgeting.

“I am…” The words seemed to take considerable effort. He closed his eyes and swayed. You placed the mug you’d grabbed on the counter, fully prepared to lunge for him if he showed signs of fainting.

Fortunately, he only swayed for a moment before his eyes opened again and he slumped back into your cushions. “I have had a long few days,” he said.

“Yeah?” You picked the mug back up and slid it into your coffee maker. You had no idea if he would like it, but you felt like you needed some. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

He gave you a stony look. “Do you know who I am?”

It was such an unbelievably douchey question spoken with such earnestness that you snorted. “No. Not really. You haven’t told me much.”

“I am the Lord Solomon, ruler of the lands from the town to the eastward river,” he said. The words were grand, but his tone was bored. “My mother’s death places me at the top of the line of succession. There had been an enormous amount of political posturing.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process what he was saying. “I wasn’t aware this area had a lord.”

“It may be a bit above mortal understanding,” Solomon said. “We operate outside mortal laws, and our ownership of the land does not fall in line with your understanding.” He flexed his fingers and clenched them into fists repeatedly. His tail twitched back and forth. “Indeed, these past couple of weeks have been stressful.”

“I’m sorry about that,” you said honestly. You picked up your mug, now filled with steaming coffee, and walked over to the couch. He looked up at you as you sat next to him. His eyes flicked toward the mug and you saw him sniff the air curiously. “It’s coffee,” you said. “Do you want some?”

“Yes,” he said. “I know what coffee is.” Your hand was already sort of extended toward him, so he easily reached out and took it from you. Before you could do anything other than stare in surprise, he had tilted it up to his mouth and drained it in a few quick gulps. “Thank you.”

There was one of the Old Ones sitting on your couch and he had just stolen your coffee. Presumably, it would be a very bad idea to yell at him, but you still kind of wanted to. “Okay,” you said in a barely-restrained voice, “Cool. I guess I did offer.”

Solomon caught the irritation in your tone. “I am truly grateful for your assistance. I will admit that I was unwilling to return home.”

“It probably feels weird that she’d not there anymore, right?” you said. Solomon looked at you for a moment, then gave a tiny, hesitant nod. “I know how that feels.” You paused, swallowing hard. “I lost my dad five years ago now. It was rough. I can’t imagine having to deal with lordship on top of all that.”

Solomon kept looking at you with wide eyes. He didn’t seem to believe that you, a lowly mortal human, could comprehend his feelings. You decided to wait until he was feeling better to be insulted by that. “I am sorry for your loss,” he finally said, sounding a little more robotic than sincere. You decided he probably didn’t get out much.

“It’s okay. It was a while ago.” You leaned back on the couch. “You want to talk about it?”

Solomon kept staring at you. “Talk about it?”

“You know. Say all the stuff you’re feeling. It might help,” you said. He kept looking at you. The concept seemed entirely foreign to him. “Um. Like. How are you feeling right now?”

He looked at you for a long, uncertain moment. “Tired,” he finally said. “I am tired. Of trying to manage land squabbles. Of trying to plan my mother’s funeral. From dealing with all the new responsibilities my position entails.” He rubbed his forehead. “And I miss her. I miss being able to see her. I miss being able to speak with her about her responsibilities. I miss hunting with her.” His voice choked and he made a gulping noise that seemed to surprise him. you reached out and tentatively patted his shoulder.

“I know. It’ll get better. But it’s gonna hurt for a long while,” I said. “It’s gonna be hard.” Solomon gave an absent nod, looking down at his cup. “You know, there’s a grief counseling support group in town. If you want to go to it sometimes, I can take you there. I go there still, when it’s bad.”

Solomon looked blank. “A support group?”

“It’s a group of people who all lost someone important to them who get together and talk about their feelings. And they all help each other. You can learn a lot about dealing with grief from going. And sometimes hearing about other people’s problems can make it easier to deal with your own.” Solomon blinked a few times. His eyes were abruptly watery and you realized you weren’t entirely sure how to deal with him suddenly breaking into tears in your living room. You patted his shoulder awkwardly. “It might help? I think? I know you’re not like most of us, but it could still be good. I don’t think grief is all that different across species.”

He inhaled slowly. There was a little tremble in it, like he was still dangerously close to crying. “I think I would like that,” he said. His voice was quiet, but firm.

“Okay,” you said. “It meets Wednesdays.” You paused. “Do you know what Wednesdays are?”

He snorted. “I have a concept of human time.”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay. Good.” You sat in silence for a few more moments. There was still tiredness in the set of Solomon’s shoulders, but he looked more at peace than he had a few moments ago.

Eventually, he got to his feet. “I should return home,” he said. “I will see you again.” He paused. “And thank you.”

“No problem.” You stood up and started to lead him toward the door. “We support each other, you know?” He nodded.

You stayed up for a while after he left your apartment. It felt strange, that such a conversation had taken place between you and an Old One. They seemed so ancient and remote, and yet you had just had a conversation with one on the loss of a parent. And he had seemed utterly normal.

Odd. Not unpleasant, just… odd.

Your shop was quiet the next day, so you spent much of it working on the commission. Your thoughts were occupied with Solomon. How something so powerful had managed to look so vulnerable- it stuck with you.

Solomon didn’t show up for the next few days, which gave you some time to finish the necklace. It was good work, in your opinion, sturdy and beautiful. The long, antler-like branches were designed to rest on the clavicles and twist up the throat.

The necklace was done in time for the meeting on Wednesday, so you packed it into a box and took it with you to your apartment. You usually brought some sort of food with you to the meetings. It seemed polite, and people usually enjoyed it.

When you emerged from your apartment, Solomon was standing there. He was still wearing his heavy robes, with the thick fur ruff, and it was attracting a lot of stares. He didn’t seem to notice it. His eyes locked onto you as soon as you emerged from the building.

“Hello,” he said. “We are still going together, yes?” Despite his serious expression, there was a note of hesitancy in his voice.

“Yeah, we are,” you said. “Come on. I’ll show you the way there.”

It was a cozy little building that the meetings took place in. There were only four other people in the group, and they all stared at Solomon when he walked in. You gave an awkward wave. “Hey. Uh, this is Solomon. We met, uh, recently, and he wanted to come to the meeting.”

The man who led the group, a bulky and intimidating werewolf, locked eyes with you. His confusion and shock were blatantly written across his face. You tried to communicate your own surprise and bewilderment at the situation, but it was difficult when his eyes kept going back to Solomon. Thankfully, the Old One didn’t seem to have noticed. He just crossed the room and took one of the seats.

The meeting went as usual, except for everyone’s glances at Solomon. If he was bothered by their constant staring, he didn’t show it. You occasionally reached out to pat his hand or his leg. Everyone stared when you did that, like you were casually touching the sun itself. He didn’t speak much, except to give the bare basics of his story. But he paid intent attention to the stories of others, apparently interested in what they were saying.

“So,” you said as you stepped outside after the meeting, “how was that?”

“Interesting,” Solomon said. “Everyone just talked about their loved ones and their feelings.”

“Yeah. It helps to talk about the people you love and how you’re dealing with everything. It helps to know there are other people who care,” you said. “Oh, and, uh, by the way, I brought this with me.” You reached into your pocket and removed the small box.

Solomon delicately opened it and looked down at the necklace. He traced its lines with a finger. His lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly. “She- My mother would have liked it.”

His voice broke. You leaned into his side, letting him rest some of his weight against you. His tail twined around your leg, as if seeking comfort. “You can cry. Remember? We said it was good to cry.”

Solomon shuddered and tears started to drip down his cheeks. He cried in silence, leaning on you heavily. You allowed him to, only speaking to soothe him.

Eventually, he petered out. You offered him a pack of tissues. He mopped at his face. “Thank you,” he said, voice rusty.

“Of course. Like I said, it’s good to have other people you can count on.” You patted his arm gently.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. “I was wondering. The funeral is… soon. Perhaps, if you were willing, you would come with me?” You stared. “You do not need to feel obligated. It is just- you have helped me, recently. I feel that it would be nice to have someone there who understands.”

“Sure,” you said. “I’d be okay with that.” Solomon nodded, then reached into his pocket. He retrieved a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to you. Your mouth dropped open. It was mostly fifties, with several hundred bills wadded up in the middle. “This… I think this is more than we agreed on.”

“You have given me a greater gift than just the necklace, so I feel that I should pay you back in kind.” Solomon squeezed your shoulder. “Thank you. I will see you again soon.”

His form rippled and extended into a massive, serpentine dragon. Its scales reflected opalescently in the sunlight and his antlers gleamed like metal. There were gasps around you, but your eyes were fixed only on him. He looked back at you with a surprising amount of affection for a draconic face, then he swooped upward and vanished. You stared as he vanished into the sky, awe swelling in your chest. “See you again soon,” you said, half to yourself. “And thank you, too.”