#also another thing they have in common . they both burned to death. and live at One point in timelines where they died

[meowsticmarvels]

ok one more thing. absolutely criminal that phi and akane don't interact more in ztd because to me they could be besties...... if you even care

[thebestsetter]

He has never been afraid of dying.

Death doesn't fright him. He sees it as a natural part of the cycle of life. One must be born, live their life, possibly reproduce so their species can keep on existing and then die. All animals, be it a big magnificient whale or a little insignificant ant, have to do this too. This is what they all have in common (and honestly, it's beautiful how all animals have to experience this. It brings humans and animals closer).

Everyone dies, be it the sinner or the saint, the rich or the poor. Death doesn't discriminate people. It just comes and takes everyone (which is kinda funny, since people think that money or looks make them different from the other. They don't. We're all equal. The bullet that kills the powerful is also capable of killing the weak). And frankly, he's okay with that. He knows it'll happen.

Given his work condition, he knows he's more inclined to die than the average person. Everyday, he has to go out there and risk his life, saving hundreds of people he doesn't even know and sometimes not even getting a "thank you" back. It's frustrating, but it's not like he's giving up. Before he dies, he wants to make this world a little bit better. It probably won't be much, but he still wants to feel useful. He wants to feel like he did something good.

"Oh God! You're okay! You're really okay! I was so worried about you!"

He doesn't fear death. Which is why he doesn't understand why he feels like crying when you visit him at the hospital he was staying at after a mission that went wrong. Death doesn't scare him, so he's not quite sure why his hands tremble when they reach to pat your head. He shouldn't react like this. He's never reacted this way before

"Please, don't ever do that again! Never ever!" Your grip in his waist tightens to the point where his lungs are burning for air, but he still doesn't want you to let go.

"You have no idea how scared I was. When the hospital called me saying you were here, I felt like my mind was going a hundred per hour! Please, don't die..."

How can you ask him this? You both know it's impossible. He's going to die one day, it can't be helped. You can't escape death's claws. No one can escape their funeral. You're torturing him. You know he doesn't like to lie to you. He can't just say "I won't die" cause it's simply not true!

"Please don't die" you repeat, and his hands movement comes to a halt "Because I'll be lonely if you die. Don't leave me alone, please."

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

He still isn't afraid of dying. But suddenly, the mention of death leaves an itching feeling at the back of his throat. It makes him sick thinking about you going on with your life, possibly mourning over his death for a long time (he doesn't ever want you to be sad, especially not because of him. Strangely, a sick, twisted part of him wants you to cry when he dies. To be sad. To not move on fastly. He quickly supresses those thoughts though) and then completely forgetting him and starting a new family (this thought makes him sick to the stomach. He feels like a very bad guy when thinking about how he doesn't want you to find another man to replace him. You always said he was irreplaceable after all).

He will forever be someone who was, not someone who is. He'll be lost in time, a name you'll mention once or twice on a conversation while smiling and thinking about the good times you had together.

He'll never hear your laugh and your voice again, will never take you out on extravagant dates and have movie nights watching silly movies and laughing at the special effects. Leaving you alone in this dangerous world feels almost criminal.

Death doesn't make him feel bad. Having you forget him after he dies makes him feel like absolute shit.

And so, even though he can't promise you that he won't die, he can promise one thing. He grabs one of your hands in his, looking at you as serious as he can be.

"You won't ever be alone." He says, and you feel like crying. He then smiles weakly "I promise. I love you. Our love is too strong to be stopped by death." He kisses your hand and then quotes the same sentence he uttered at your wedding day "Remember? 'And if death do us apart, I promise to find you in every other timeline.'"

And just like he did that day, he props up in the hospital bed and kisses you.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, ITADORI YUJI, Gojo Satoru, Inumaki Toge (or maybe I'm just a glazer ☹️), Nanami Kento (idk, I just feel like it fits him), TODOROKI SHOTO, Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Ejirou, Izuku Midoriya, Aizawa Shota, HAWKS + any character you think fits this!!

~ A/N: this can be read as a sequel of another fic of mine. It also can be read on it's own though (but please, do check the other one if you're interested!!). Also, you can see some Hamilton songs' references here and there (cause I'm a theater kid 😔) AND this was inspired by a line in "Cowboy Beebop"

Masterlist

[readerstories]

When You Touch Me - Wolverine x male reader x Deadpool 1/?

God I'm a sucker for a soulmate au. (AO3) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Warnings/tags: male reader, canon-typical violence, enemies to friends to lovers, eventual smut, slow burn

Wordcount: 2347

Summary: You’ve heard many stories about how people met their soulmates. Everyone crazier than the last, ranging from typical meet cutes, meeting with one of them at death's door, in war, meeting at your soulmate's wedding to another, and everything in between and outside of that. You had just never expected to add yours to the crazy list, meeting yours in a fight, only realizing after trying to kill each other for at least half an hour. And you certainly don’t expect to have another.

Other info: About this au - Soulmates find each other through touch, which establishes a mental link that lets feelings through, and if solid and built up enough over time, simple thoughts/words can also come through. Some bonds are purely platonic, about ⅓ in total. Multiple soulmates are not unheard of, but rare, more common with platonic soulmates. 

Quickly about the reader - mercenary/gunman/thug for hire. Great shot with pretty much any gun, has two knives as backup weapons, has fought with swords before. Looks wise he has hair and is shorter than Wade and Logan, but I try to keep no specific height in mind while writing. Has a few scars scattered over his body, but nothing specific as of yet. Does not want a soulmate, thinks it just leaves people vulnerable. Lives on his own in an apartment he owns and is content with his life.

All you were, really, was hired help.

All you were supposed to do was stand around and look scary with a few other tugs in a warehouse with high shelves stacked with crates, while your employer (a generous word for the drug dealer that hired you) met with another drug dealer.

It had gone tits up the second a man wearing a red and black spandex suit and katanas on his back of all things came crashing through a window.

You had dived for cover, because there are gunshots ringing out in the milliseconds after the glass shatters. You curse, reaching for your gun, with just one single 10 bullet magazine, because your stupid employer had insisted you only needed one when you asked for more. So to have something more you had your adamantium knives strapped to each thigh, hidden enough under your black joggers.

You curse under your breath, cause this is fucking awful. You hear gunshots over and over again, people are dying, wood from shipping crates are splintering, metal is hitting the floor. 

And there’s talking. 

Fucking talking.

“Come one guys, your aim is all off! Did none of you ever train on the neighborhood cats?”

Well, more like yelling. Because even though the warehouse wasn’t empty, it still had an echo. You are used to the loud sounds, it fuels your adrenaline as you peek out from behind the crate you are using as a shield.

The man, you are just going to call him Red for now, is flipping and bouncing between crates, avoiding any big hits. A few bullets graze an arm, but he doesn’t seem to take notice as his own bullets find their marks, bodies dropping around him. He’s nimble and quick about it, taking down guys from both sides with equal gusto, and you find yourself just watching him carefully. He’s almost elegant, light on his feet, and a jab or taunt spewing out of his mouth every few bullets. 

Careful not to alert Red or anyone else about your position, you shift, gun in hand watching him saunter over to your employer, the last man standing. Well, not really, since he’s down on his knees, begging for something incoherent while fat tears and snot roll down his face. 

“Newsflash asshole, I don’t care for your tragic backstory that the writer won’t let you talk about.” Red raises his gun, one last loud bang filling the warehouse before it’s quiet once again.

“Last fucking one, my counting skills once again making me win.” Red claps his hands together, before moving his hands to his hips, looking around the warehouse. “What a fucking mess.” He shakes his head, and you see your opportunity now that he thinks it’s all over.

You move up, pulling the trigger as soon as your gun is aimed right. Red doesn’t even get to turn before six bullets go through his chest, two through his throat, and the last two finding their mark in his skull. You shouldn’t use all your bullets on one target like that, but still you do.  Red drops like a sack of potatoes, and you draw a sigh of relief, lowering your gun as you too look around the warehouse. You’re glad it’s far away from anything else, because it should take at least a few hours before the cops are alerted, and by that time you would be far away from this warehouse that is by now covered in blood, bullet casings, and dead men.

Your earlier relief turns into utter confusion as you hear shuffling, and when you turn back towards where Red’s body is, you see him shake his head where he lays crumpled on the floor, and seconds later he’s on his feet with a groan.

“Okay, good shot whoever that was.” You gape, words slipping out of your mouth without meaning to.

“What the fuck.” Red’s head snaps towards you.

“Oh, there you are.” His voice is light, almost like he’s halfway into song. “I would return the favor, but I’m fresh out of bullets so this will have to do.” He pulls out the katanas strapped to his back. You grab your knives, managing, somehow by the grace of whatever runs this universe, to bring it out just in time to block both katanas that were coming at you in tight formation.

“Oh so you weren’t just happy to see me.” Red jokes, and though you can’t see his face under the mask, you are pretty sure he is grinning. You grunt, because there is no way for your brain to form words as you parry another attack from him, retreating.

You are in no position to attack, so all you do is stop his, and try to escape, backing off. Or rather, you try to, but Red is not letting up, so all you end up doing is walking backwards through the warehouse in a vague path between boxes and shelves as he attacks. 

He manages to get a few slashes here and there to connect, but they are shallow, just enough to draw blood and sting. One on your left arm, two on your right arm, three on your left leg. You wonder if amounts are on purpose. He seems to take it all as encouragement, laughing, keeping up his quick attacks. 

You don’t know you hold out, breathing heavy, arms and hands hurting with how you are clutching and shielding with your knives like your life depends on it. 

Because it 1000% fucking does, that’s why you manage.

Red finally lets up, just enough that you can create some space between the two of you. You don’t dare to actually turn and run, certain he has no moral code of cutting down someone from behind. So you just try to slowly create even more room between the two of you as you watch for his next attack.

“Oh I am having fun!” Red tries to clap, but he just knocks the hilts of his katanas together. “Though we are just a little unevenly matched here.” He sounds like he’s breathing just a little bit harder at least, even though there are no cuts next to the bullet holes riddling his suit. He tilts his head for a moment, then bends down, and then there’s a katana sliding over the floor, bumping into your boot. You look down at it, before looking back up at him.

“Come on, pick it up.” Shifting your knives into one hand, you keep your eyes on the white eyes of his mask as you bend down and pick up the sword. 

“Oh yeah, look at me during.” You ignore his comment, feeling the weight of the katana in your hand. It’s heavy, but perfectly balanced, feeling perfect as you spin it in your hand a few times, the hilt still warm from Red’s earlier hold. 

“Hot.” Red says as he twirls his second katana, mimicking you. Once more ignoring him, you put your knives back in their sheats. “Do you have them there to distract your enemies by making them think you are going to jerk off mid-battle?” You snort.

“No, they are there so they are more hidden, and more difficult to grab.”

“If you wanted my hands in your pants all you had to do was ask, baby.” You think Red is winking at you through the mask. You roll your eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Shut the fuck up.” With both of your hands on the hilt of the katana, you are ready to defend yourself from his first attack.

“Ohhh, you remind me of someone. I think the two of you would get along, he’s also a man of few words. Maybe I’ll let you live so you can meet him and fight him too, more material for my spank bank.” He definitely winks this time, then you are defending yourself from another attack from him. It pushes you backwards, again, but this time, you are able to attack back.

Though you can’t help but wonder if he’s letting you, just indulging you. Because you can feel how strong he is when you parry his strikes, you felt how strong he was when all you had was your knives.

It’s a dance, a dance he lets you participate in as you block, attack, block, attack, block. Redirecting his sword coming for your throat so it splinters wood instead of flesh.

“How did you learn to fight like this?” Wade asks, almost spinning as his energy is redirected away from your body. He is at least breathing a little heavier, and for some reason, you find yourself having a little fun, even though you think you know how this is going to end.

“I was a loser in high school. What about you?” You speak through gritted teeth, the sound of metal on metal filling the warehouse as you block another attack. You don’t even know why you ask him back, but it feels right.

“Something similar.” It’s still kinda hard to tell, but you think he grins under his mask as you attack back.

You do get a few cuts in, deep enough that it slices through his suit and the skin underneath, but it leaves you with little satisfaction as you see the cuts heal in seconds. Though at least his suit can’t fix itself, growing more tattered by the minute as new slashes and old bullet holes make a mess of it.

“So you are not just a pretty face, there’s some skills there.” You frown, anger flaring, and you are about to say something, but with a quick move that you have no opportunity to block, and that  truly demonstrates the difference between the two of you, he nicks you with just the tip of the katanta, just on the left corner of your mouth. You startle, but on instinct your tongue goes out to lick at the blood now sliding down to your skin. It just gives you more motivation to strike back, a big one that leaves behind what could almost be called a titty window on his chest, showing textured skin underneath.

“Ohhhh, freaky.” Red taunts, slicing your chest too, though your skin doesn’t heal when metal connects after slicing through your shirt like air. You curse, adrenaline causing your ears to roar, and the world to go a little fuzzy at the edges. You touch your chest, fingers coming back bloody, watching Red. Your own katana pointing towards the floor, ready, but down as you breathe heavily.

“Leaving yourself all open for me? You shouldn’t have.” Red coos, and that is what you are counting on. Letting him attack you straight on, thinking you have given up, so you can shove the katana through his skull, killing him again, and leaving you at least a few moments to high tail it out of there.

It’s what the plan is.

It does not work out like you intend it to.

It goes in a whole new direction.

Because when he comes close enough, you manage to get a hold on his shoulder, which gets you a hopefully not deadly slice over your abdomen for your efforts. You are moving quickly, seconds away from stabbing the katana through the bottom of his jaw. But then your fingers touch a bare spot on his shoulder where his suit had gotten torn, and there’s a sparkler going off in your brain, a sizzling sensation that settles in the back of your head as feelings of excitement, adrenaline, and happiness that are not your own speeds through your mind.

You gasp out loud.

You can’t help yourself.

Because you know what that was.

And there is no fucking way.

WHAT. THE. ABSOLUTE. 

FUCK.

Fucking no.

A soulmate.

You have a fucking soulmate??????

And this is how you fucking meet him????

In all of your turmoil, you have dropped the katana that was destined to go through Red’s skull. He is a few paces behind you, not immediately attacking, just watching you as you turn around in your now mostly frozen state.

“Wh-”

“Touch me.” Red blinks, owlishly even with the white eyes of his mask.

“Wow, so forward. You know, con-” 

“Shut the fuck up.” You march over to him, and in what seems to be confusion he lets you tug the glove of his hand that is not holding his katana. You interlace your fingers, the motion absurdly tender for the moment that is currently playing out. You see his eyes widen behind the mask, and you are sure his mouth opens and closes several times even hidden as it is.

“What the fuck.” The words are so soft out his mouth that you are not even sure he said them. Not that it matters, because a second later he is wrenching his hand back like you burned him. He runs past you, and you watch as he picks up his katana where you dropped it, and then keeps running after that brief slowdown, heading towards a door you hadn’t noticed while you were fighting. You startle yourself into action finally, following him, but he’s out the door before you can reach him.

On the other side there’s a hallway, and his back is quickly retreating, and all you feel is panic. You are not sure which of you it is coming from.

You try to keep up with him through multiple hallways, but he’s fast, getting out of the building before you do. It’s enough of a headstart that you only see backlights and hear the roar of a motorcycle speeding away.

You run over to where the cars you all arrived in earlier are parked, but of fucking course all tires are slashed. Not like you had any of the keys anyway, but they would have been easy enough to find in some dead man's pockets.

“Fucking MOTHERFUCKER!” You know he can’t hear you, but you hope Red feels your frustration through your bond as you punch the hood of a car, denting the metal.

(Part 2)

[thebadboyfanclub]

Welcome To Our Family (Daemon x Reader)

Hey everyone, so as I mentioned before I wanted to write a throuple thing with Rhaenyra and Daemon although even on this request there was some drama involved but it was interesting to write nonetheless. Also I don’t know why but this song inspired me the most especially the part “where you go I go, what you see I see” that was the vibe I was trying to pass for our reader with daemon

Most would say that the war in the stepstones had no place for love to blossom, the reeking stench of death had overtaken and most men had no life in their eyes, the majority prayed in gratitude that they were alive while others cursed the gods for keeping them on this forsaken realm when their friend of even their kin had been killed.

That did not even grace Daemon, who was lucky enough to spend every night in the arms of his beloved (y/n), the sister of one of his soldiers that had been wounded, (y/n) had marched in and demanded that her brother will come home.

“I will be damned if I allow you to give more than an arm for this, you are coming with me”

Her brother had obeyed her, she was as fragile as a rose but her thorns stung more than anything, right then and then Daemon had become a mere slave to his emotions, something that had never occurred before.

“I wish I could stay in your arms forever”

“That would be a dream, my love, however, we are counting the days until you depart, your wife probably awaits you”

Daemon was deeply offended by the jab his lover had thrown at him, slowly he rose up and away from her arm reach to look her straight in the eyes, the fireplace burned bright and the light shined against her glistening skin.

“You are questioning my feelings for you”

“I am questioning how strong they are, you are a prince, a husband, your life seems to hold no room for me”

“Is that how you think of this? That I just wanted to bed you?”

“Do you truly wish for me to answer that?”

Silence took over them while the only sound came from the crackles of the fire, Daemon was aware of how badly this could look, she was a commoner, a mere lady, and the realm would never accept her even if Daemon had not wed another.

“You and our daughter mean everything to me”

“But nothing to the king, he will ask for my head once he finds out I am carrying your child”

“I would never put your lives at risk”

“How do you plan on keeping us safe my love?”

“Do not worry about that, I will take care of everything”

(Y/n)s belly was starting to show, it wouldn’t take long for the king and his little whisperers to demand answers, the easy route was to declare his kin a bastard but Daemon was flying on cloud nine when (y/n) announced that she was with child, no he must do right by her.

He flew with her to Pentos, far away from Viserys and people that cared most about titles and crowns than love and compassion.

“Twins, my prince, two sons, praise the mother”

“What about (y/n)”

“The lady is a warrior, she is tired but healthy”

Daemon did not speak another word to the maester, he simply passed by him and into the room to find his beloved laying in bed, a faint smile on her face as she held one of her children while the other was being held by a midwife.

“You owe me 3 dragon coins”

“It is a bet I will happily pay, how are you feeling?”

“Sore and gross but happy, why don’t you hold him?”

“I-“

“Come on love it is merely a babe, like… so”

Slowly (y/n) passed one of her sons to her lover, instructing him to hold it carefully but securely, then she reached for the midwife so she can have her other son in her arms, both of the babes were quiet in their parent's arms.

“What should we name them?”

“I was thinking of Orryn, and mayhaps… Baelon?”

“Baelon and Orryn, the two princes”

Daemon and (y/n) had grown inseparable much to his brother's dislike Daemon had scoffed at his previous marriage and took his place next to his most endearing (y/n) that had blessed him with not just two children, but with passion, and comfort, she created a home for him, without her there was no warmth, no color.

Viserys was only finding out the milestones his brother was achieving with his mistress via ravens that Daemon dared to send, the birth of his sons had scratched a wound in Viserys that was not quite healed yet, so naturally when Rhea had passed due to fever, Daemon had even dared to invite Viserys to his wedding that took place in Pentos.

(Y/n) had just given birth to another set of siblings, Alyssa and Arren, two silver-haired princesses that slept peacefully through the night and would only stay quiet if (y/n) or Daemon held them, (y/n)s parents and brother had traveled to Pentos to finally meet the children and also attend the wedding.

“You look dashing sweetling, I see the prince has taken good care of you”

“How could I not? What is more important than the happiness of my lady wife?”

“We must admit we had conflicting thoughts over you my prince, I am happy that you proved us wrong”

“I do not hold it against you, she is your daughter you want what is best for her, also you were not the only one, (y/n) was also very skeptical over my intentions”

“I had every reason to do so”

“I have made peace with the fact that you will never admit you were wrong my love, you do not have to find excuses for it”

Daemon and (y/n) were wed in Valyrian traditions, something that infuriated Viserys, how dare he wed a commoner with the sacred paths of old Valyria, it was distasteful and utterly disrespectful, Viserys had only sent a one-sentence raven scroll back

“You disgust me, never come back”

Daemon had only rolled his eyes at it and threw it in the fire, he couldn’t care less about Kings Landing, they could eat each other for all he cared, (y/n) and their children were all that mattered ever since he met with the beautiful hues of hers, he treasured everything about her and worshipped the ground she walked on, he would always hold her close and shower her with gifts.

“We received a raven, I have taken the liberty to open it”

“What is it?”

“Laenor Velaryon has passed, and your niece is requesting our presence, well yours to be specific, she said “I need you, uncle”

“You are jealous, I have never seen you get jealous”

“Is this the one you told me about, that “spur of the moment” girl?”

“Indeed, we do not have to go, besides, my brother banished me”

“No, it is the first time our presence is requested”

“My dear, you are with child and the flight is long”

“I will be fine, I know it”

Daemon was certain he could not sway her, once something was on her mind there was nothing that could turn it around, he was also aware that the reason she was so adamant was a side of hers that felt threatened, there was a ghost of his past that was requesting attention and (y/n) was not willing to walk away from this without putting up a fair fight.

At a day (y/n) and her 8 children stood next to her and her husband all dressed in black, everyone rubbed their eyes at the sight of such numerous children, (y/n) always knew she was meant to be a mother and that fact that she had Daemon as her husband made it so much easier.

Until it didn’t, they were summoned by the king after the ceremony, (y/n) felt her stomach drop as soon as she walked in the room, instinctively her one hand went over her growing belly, yet she mastered the strength to place a smile and curtsy before the king.

“What is the meaning of this brother?”

“I was hoping we could agree to some sort”

“Over what?”

“I wish for you to come back, I… will legitimize your children and wife as she has proven worthy, bringing forward 8 children with another on the way is no easy task”

“The gods have been generous to us that is correct, we are grateful for this offer but forgive me to ask, since you mentioned an agreement it seems you want something in return”

“Correct, there is no smooth way to say this but as a parent, I hope you understand that I would do anything to protect my daughter”

“No”

“Daemon”

“If you are asking us to wed Rhaenyra then you have lost your mind, I will not involve my wife and children in your scandals”

“Pardon my husband, I think you can understand the reason behind his outburst”

Daemon was left confused over (y/n)s composure that attempted to cover for his utter refusal to hide his brother's plans, he turned to observe his wife, she was calm, and her hand went to find his as their fingers intertwined (y/n) gave him a slight squeeze of comfort.

“The legitimacy of our children and our marriage is something that we are interested in, however, you can see why we might have some objections over accepting Rhaenyra in our marriage”

“You are trying to negotiate?”

“Yes”

“What else would you like to accept, please speak freely”

“I want my children to be given dragon eggs as well as meet any unclaimed dragons, they are Targaryens, they should have the pick of their dragons as well”

“Done”

“I shall also be considered Rhaenyras wife, if we were to wed I shall have the same rights as my husband”

“You are suggesting the realm accept you as the future queen's consort?”

“As you mentioned I brought forward 8 children and another on the way, the crown shall accept them as future princes and princesses, if not then there is nothing for us here”

Daemon chose to observe his lady wife than speak up, she took initiative and strived for the best option, something he admired in her but he had never really witnessed how far she was willing to go to secure the future of her family, now she was sacrificing a spot in their marriage for a seat at the table, Viserys had been outsmarted by what he used to frown upon.

“Very well, we accept your conditions”

“Well then… welcome to our family Princess Rhaenyra”

-

(Y/n) and Daemon wed Rhaenyra as they had once done while their children and the rest of their family watched, Rhaenyra had underestimated the lady, (y/n) and might not be as assertive or rebellious as Daemon but her wits and calculated movements showed a woman that walked with her head held high and every step was thought after.

The days turned to seasons and then years, everyone was holding their breaths as they took a front-row seat to one of the most important marriages and alliances within the Targaryen Dynasty.

(Y/n) was held in the best light by the small folk, “the realms mother”, and “the Alyssane reborn” as her fertility kept thriving, blessing Daemon with another set of twins soon after Rhaenyra was wed, the two beautiful baby girls were named Megaera and Valera, the first of their family to receive dragon eggs on their cradles a gift by Rhaenyra who picked them herself then came Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya, overall (y/n) had the castle of Dragonstone filled with children, 13 to be precise.

Rhaenyra was painfully aware of how those babies came to fruition, Daemon's thirst for his wife was evident and he did not even consider giving Rhaenyra the courtesy of hiding, Rhaenyra had lost count of the times she had walked in on (y/n), and Daemon lusting after one another at all hours of the day and any room that was close to them, she sometimes wondered if the legends of Rhaenys being the favorite wife of Aegon made Visenya go through what Rhaenyra was also experiencing, is that mayhaps the reason behind Rhaenyra identifying with the warrior queen?

As (y/n) and Daemon stood by Rhaenyra at court, defending her and consulting her on important matters, painting the picture of a happy marriage with two spouses that supported her revolutionary claim, the realm expected Rhaenyra to bare a child as well, (y/n) was producing heirs one after the other, Rhaenyras womb laid empty since Daemon did not spend not even one night in her chambers.

It was the first time in years that the three of them had stepped foot in kings landing, Vaemond had called the court to usurp Lucerys from his claim at the driftwood throne, naturally, all 13 of their children were present along with the three boys from Rhaenyras previous marriage, (y/n) insisted that it would show how United they are and having that strong of a number on their side would scare off any other accusations.

A solid plan, until Ser Vaemond decided to protest against the king affirming young Lucerys as the successor for the driftwood throne.

“You run your house as you see fit, but I would rather die than let that boy take over my family’s name, parading around because you are too blind to see the truth”

“You dare question the decision of a king?”

“Look at them, all thirteen of them hold the characteristics of old Valyrian, true born heirs that I would happily accept as mine even though they came from a womb of a commoner, and you ask me to accept these three boys as Velaryons? It is blasphemy”

“You are certainly bold Ser Vaemond, you have the nerve to call me a commoner when I hold the future queen and the brother of the king as my spouses, my children are not thirteen, but sixteen, and all of them hold their names with pride, it saddens my heart to see that the thirst for recognition has turned you to this low of antics”

“Her children are BASTARDS! and she. Is. A. Whore”

“Pity, you had such great potential”

As (y/n) finished her sentence Daemon had taken the liberty to end Ser Vaemonds life, a clean cut through his head right above his tongue with the great sword dark sister, causing most people to gasp while (y/n) smirked and watched the body fall on the well-polished floor.

“No one disrespects our family”

“Disarm him!”

“No need, my love”

Daemon stretched his hand to his beloved (y/n) who only turned to pinch Lucerys cheek before she took her husband's hand to walk away, only to halt and turn around again, looking back to the rest of her family members.

“Rhaenyra”

Rhaenyra was grateful for (y/n)s graciousness, there was nothing that she could hold against her, she was loving and caring to her three boys, she would listen to Rhaenyra about any concerns for hours and even now she defended and included her in front of everyone.

She should be satisfied with such, still a thorn stuck in her heart and pride making Rhaenyra feel second best when it came to Daemon's heart, it has always been (y/n), (y/n) carried his offspring’s, he gave up everything for her, took her away and gave her a life full of gifts and love, the finest of any kind was reserved for (y/n).

“Pardon my intrusion, the princess is requesting Prince Daemon in her chamber”

“It is late, can it not wait?”

“Sweetling, the poor girl cannot know, go to her, I will be waiting for you”

“Fine, take your nightgown off for me, I want us to get straight to it when I get back”

Daemon whispered deviously before he planted a passionate kiss on the lips he most adored, reluctantly pulled away with an audible gruff and followed the servant girl silently, wondering what was so important that he had to leave his precious bed and his lustful wife right in the heat of the moment.

Rhaenyra paced back and forth with impatience written all over her demeanor and face, Daemon always had an influence over her, making her feel like a little girl again, though this was a different type of anxiety, once Daemon entered the room and the servant gave them their privacy Rhaenyra took a deep inhale through the nose to ease her nerves.

“I hoped to confront you over our marriage”

“What of it?”

“Do you truly think everything is fine or are you just blind?”

“I and my wife have honored our vows”

“That is the problem, you and your wife, it has never been just your vows”

“When you wed us you were to understand your place when it came to me and (y/n), I never used her as a surprise, you called for our aid and we generously offered it”

He was right, Rhaenyra had never been blindsided by them, (y/n) was a staple of their marriage, (y/n)s strive for the legitimacy of her children was the only reason Daemon allowed their wedding to happen, (y/n) had drank for Rhaenyras cup just as daemon had, binding their hands together and swore loyalty and devotion to their future queen.

As a woman Rhaenyra felt cast aside, this marriage was an insult to her pride, and having to bare through a birth of a child one after the other with a smile on her face was a twist of a knife in her wound, while her womb lay empty.

“You refuse to spend time with me, alone, you only show up with your children-“

“Our children, (y/n) and I call your sons our sons”

“At court yes”

“Are you questioning our actions? I did not have you to be as dim-witted as you seem right now, (y/n) called Lucerys her trueborn son in front of everyone, I took a man’s head for insulting you and our house and yet you stand before me and claim it is not enough for your liking?”

“I stand here to remind you that we have yet to produce a child, you can kill as many men as you wish, and (y/n) can scream it at the top of her lungs but that does not change that everyone sees her parading her belly and call her the realms mother while my womb rottenness under this wedlock”

“Rotten? Alright then, let us entertain this and say you bare my child, a silver-haired beauty that the realm will welcome, has it crossed that brilliant mind of yours that this will be more of a scandal for your three boys?”

“My sons are Targaryens”

“No doubt about it, but certainly they do not look like the part, in comparison to their brothers and sisters they look more like (y/n) than you”

“You are not refusing to lay with me to hush the rumors, you simply do not have the urge for it, I remember a time that you did, mayhaps it was the image of a gullible girl that kept you going”

“Listen and listen well, wife, (y/n) is my eternal love, the woman that took me in her arms and showed me life, you are my blood, I protected you, I defended you, I offered you sanctuary just so you can once again have something to complain about, well that is it, if you dare to summon me again for such idiotic matters I will grab my brother by the neck and force him to annul the marriage do you understand?”

Daemon was furious, as he spoke he started taking steps towards her, to the point that her back found the wall and Daemon was inches away from her face, hissing out the threat of annulment like a snake that released poison to its prey.

Rhaenyra had never experienced such hostility from Daemon, to say she was shocked was an understatement as her eyes frantically tried to find focus on his, daemons eyes were filled with fury, Rhaenyra had crossed the line in his mind, (y/n) had been kind and honorable to the princess, doing her duty like a proper lady wife and Rhaenyra scoffed at her, at his (y/n).

“Alright”

“Wonderful, now you must excuse me, I have some urgent matters that need my attention”

Requests are open!

[omegaverse-anthropologist]

going feral

i’ve mentioned feral alphas and omegas in a few posts before, but what does that mean? this post will discuss ferality,* its causes, common feral behaviors, and treatment.

*note: i will be using ‘ferality’ as opposed to the technically proper ‘ferity’ because the latter is based on the latin root and sounds pretentious, and the former is based on the english word and is more accessible

what is ferality?

ferality is a medical emergency caused most commonly by social isolation. it causes those afflicted to behave erratically, and is the most common cause of forced bites. it is one of the top ten causes of death for those over 80 years old. it is also called ‘loneliness disease’ or ‘bite fever,’ and is often euphemistically described as ‘losing oneself.’ in the past, more than a week of ferality was incurable. today, synthetic hormones and careful medically supervised management leads to over 90% of those afflicted to make a full recovery if treated before one week, and over 80% to regain most normal function if treated before two weeks. outcomes become less positive the longer someone experiences ferality, but there have only been 1,762 documented deaths directly from ferality in the US since 1980.

why does it happen?

humans in the omegaverse are pack animals not only because their ancestors saw practical advantages to living, hunting, and raising pups in groups, but because they were biologically dependent on one another. in simplest terms, interacting with pack aids the body in maintaining its optimal balance between the twelve dynamic (i.e., alpha, beta, and omega) hormones. prolonged lack of social support means that these hormones become unbalanced, leading the body to a state of multi-system disregulation.

ferality greatly reduces people’s access to the areas of the brain responsible for decision making, planning, empathy, and abstraction. it is the body’s desperate bid to regulate itself by any means necessary. those afflicted become impulsive, aggressive, and violent in some cases, so it is essential both for the afflicted person and those nearby that if you spot a feral person, you call emergency services immediately.

how do you spot it?

feral humans are fairly easy to spot based on their unusual, erratic, impulsive behavior. they may sniff the air (or other people) unsubtly, grab or touch things (or people) and fail to respond to spoken language. ferality is most commonly associated with inappropriate scent marking and biting for good reason: a feral person’s primary drive is to share scent with someone to help bring themselves back into balance. there are also some behaviors that can generally be attributed to the different dynamic sexes:

alphas

feral alphas tend to make aggressive eye contact as a posturing behavior

growling, snarling, and clicking at no one in particular

clenching and unclenching the fists and shifting from foot to foot

violence, especially toward other alphas

an acrid scent, like burning rubber or sulfur

betas

feral betas’ eyes tend to shift rapidly, settling on nothing for very long

humming, clicking, huffing at no one in particular

similar to alphas, they clench and unclench the fists and shift from foot to foot

general restlessness, moving quickly

climbing and perching inappropriately (e.g. on tables, vehicles, or buildings)

a rotting scent, like old meat or milk

omegas

feral omegas tend to make glancing eye contact—they meet someone’s eyes, hold, and look away several times

whining, purring, and clicking at no one in particular

baring the neck indiscriminately in a bid to entice a bite

hiding/burrowing (e.g. under tables or in closets. there have been several cases of feral omegas in clothing stores nesting in the clothing racks)

a chemical scent, like bleach or ammonia

how is it treated?

if you spot someone afflicted by ferality, it is essential to call for an ambulance immediately.

treatment begins in the ambulance. typically, EMS technicians anesthetize the individual for everyone’s safety. once it is safe to do so, the technicians draw blood and begin measuring vital signs and hormone levels to ensure that the individual truly is feral. in the past 30 years, rapid tests have made measuring hormone levels faster than ever. these levels are recorded and passed off to hospital triage, along with a record of any emergency hormones administered.

the hospital then brings the individual to the feral ward, where they have an individual room and nesting material marked with synthetic pheromones of all three dynamics. if the individual has been feral for less than ~three days, typically this is enough to trigger their body to begin regulating itself. in some cases, the individual may need direct scent marking in order to jumpstart regulation. if it’s necessary, a nurse or technician will swab the individual’s face and neck with a cotton swab soaked in a synthetic pheromone solution.

in more moderate to severe cases, the individual may need further assistance regulating themselves. in these cases, the individual will receive intravenous hormones and extremely frequent monitoring.

typically, after a few days of hormone therapy, the individual’s body will have reached a state of equilibrium and will be able to maintain the balance itself again. however, in some severe cases, the individual’s body may be unable to maintain the balance. these people will need hormone therapy every other week indefinitely. in some cases (especially those where there is also malnutrition or other severe condition), the issue will resolve itself with time. in others, the hormone treatment is for life.

how is it prevented?

the best prevention is maintaining healthy pack bonds. if, for some reason, this is inaccessible, clinics, health departments, and hospitals typically have nesting materials marked with synthetic pheromones. in the past five years, some nesting material companies have begun offering materials marked with synthetic pheromones. in addition, matching agencies sometimes offer scent-marked clothing or nesting materials for sale, though this practice is judged fairly harshly.

[sazandorable]

akai shuuichi

For nearly a year now I have been plagued by awareness of and lust for Akai Shuuichi from classic manga/anime series Detective Conan, of all things. It never stops. It keeps getting worse. My friends with me in the fandom are angels of patience, indulgence and gentle teasing, but for everyone out of that loop I need to explain.

Akai Shuuichi.

He's got striking green eyes and identifiably long lashes.

He is so tall, wears leather jackets, and often has one or both hands in his pockets.

He's left-handed.

He smokes.

He drives cool cars.

He has lived in the UK, in Japan, and in LA.

He used to have princess long hair he was super proud about. He chopped it all off after "a bad breakup" (more on this later).

Most of the time he looks like death badly warmed over in a prehistoric microwave oven. Bags under his eyes, sharp boney facial structure that makes his face look like a skull, an entire scene dedicated to him dropping a can of shitty coffee in dramatic slow-mo, apparently out of exhaustion. I want to bundle him in a huge duvet and spoonfeed him chicken soup.

He is so fucking smart.

He is so fucking funny in a deadpan way.

He looks so serious but does the wildest shit like it's a normal (and easy) thing to do.

He is a sniper. An absurdly good one.

Also excellent physical fighter. He's so cool, he doesn't do karate or judo like the protag's close allies or even boxing like Sherlock Holmes -- he does Jeet Kune Do like Bruce Lee.

He is good at everything.

He's FBI, one of their best.

He doesn't say shit but understands everything.

At any given point you have no idea where the fuck Akai is and what he's doing, but he'll always be where he's needed.

Hottest trait: reliable. Unfailingly reliable.

He infiltrated the big bad meanie shadow organisation at the heart of the series' overarching plot and became a very high-ranking member of it.

Now that he's been found out and burned, the common reaction to Akai Shuuichi from members of that organisation is "shit, he's our biggest threat, kill kill kill".

A guy from the organisation once realised he was being chased by the Akai Shuuichi and immediately shot himself in the head rather than deal with him.

Another shot himself after having been dealt with by Akai Shuuichi.

To be fair, it's apparently the guideline of the org to not leave loose ends and not get caught alive, but still. This doesn't happen with other characters.

He was a honey pot.

His seduction method was to let his target hit him with her car and then hit on her when she visited him in the hospital.

He ended up catching genuine feelings for her. Then she got killed, so now he has angst about that.

He refers to wanting to avenge her death and kill the guy that killed her as "I'll make my girlfriend cry tears of scarlet blood in regret for ever dumping me".

He says to himself "Hi, my precious, precious lover ❤" while sniping at the man who killed her through that guy's own sniper scope from over 700 yards away.

Hits him, too. 600+ episodes later the guy still has the scar on his cheek and touches it occasionally.

He also dated a FBI colleague, whom he first met when they bumped into each other and he pointed out she should apologise too because "the blame was 50/50".

She was super offended. And then she dated him.

Another, male, colleague once referred to Akai Shuuichi as "my wife".

The official resident Pretty Boy fanservice man is obsessed with him because he believes Akai caused the death of his own childhood friend(/boyfriend).

It was actually the pretty boy's own fault. For incomprehensible reasons, instead of ever telling him that, Akai "the blame is 50/50" Shuuichi takes on that responsibility and even tells him he still feels sorry about it, and lets this incredibly dangerous man repeatedly try to out and/or kill him and put so, so many people in danger in an attempt to get his revenge. It is all incredibly homoerotic.

He still humiliates this guy every time they meet, and sometimes when they don't.

He's so sweet about so many upsetting things like this or his own honeypot girlfriend incident, but also so ruthless about others. He'll do anything to get a foot into the shadow organisation. He'll use himself as bait. He'll use a colleague who idolises him as decoy (with his knowledge and consent). He'll use a 6yo as scout. He'll use a comatose woman, her little brother, your crush's dad, your dad, his ex, himself again.

"No, Conan-kun, don't get your loved ones entangled into this, what we do is dangerous and sometimes we get people killed. Anyway let's use this entire hospital full of injured civillians for a high-risk trick." - Akai Shuuichi

He's so sweet and also such a dick.

He also has daddy issues because his father was MI6 and seems to have died on the job in mysterious circumstances.

He's an oldest brother.

Because of his choice to start a dangerous job after what happened to his father and various other plot reasons, he is estranged from his remaining family they don't even share a last name anymore.

He and his little sister barely know each other, but she's emulating him and looking for him and trying to know him and it's so sweet. He can't let that happen for both of their safety, but also he's being a dick about it.

He faked his death.

So he's currently on his 4th name (that I know of).

He's now pretending to be a 5 years younger phD student with pink hair, glasses, and turtlenecks.

The turtlenecks are for hiding the fact that he's constantly wearing a voice-changing device. The device is a metal choker.

He's now living his best domestic quiet life at the hero's parents' manor-like house, reading their books and drinking their booze.

The hero's dad, who is a very popular author, wrote a book inspired by him. The book inspired by him got adapted into a movie and won an award.

The hero's mom, who is an incredibly talented and famous actress and a total hottie, has a crush on him. She taught him to cook.

Sometimes he drops by the neighbours' to share a meal he cooked with the old man and little girl living there and the kids often visiting. The kids told him his curry was not that great so he's working on it.

For another meal that failed to satisfy, he read cookbooks then asked an old lady to teach him the special recipe that had emotional value to her.

Man who is good at everything is not good at cooking. So he's learning that. From the women in his life. For the kids in his life.

He's so fond of the hero. They get each other and they don't usually run into anyone who does. They like each other so much. Autistic to autistic communication.

The hero is in the body of a 6-year-old. Akai is so impressed with him and thinks he's so cool and talks to him like an equal.

One time they went fishing and for a cover the hero called him "daddy".

Akai Shuuichi knows he's a weapon of destruction and can do pretty much anything. He's not a brag about it, just practical. He is basically the hero's on-call guard/attack dog now.

When the hero needs help, he calls Akai-san, and Akai says yeah, I followed the situation, I was waiting for your call, I know what you're going to ask me to do. Point me at the target and I'll take care of it.

And then he just does that.

In the latest movie, the hero needs to take care of an armoured submarine that is currently underwater and doesn't get picked up by radards. Akai goes "ok, I can handle that".

He shows up in a helicopter with an American rocket launcher and is like "ok, just show me where it is". The hero just has to light up the submarine for a couple seconds. Then Akai one-shots it. From the helicopter. While it's still underwater.

Then he goes home.

(To the hero's parents' home.)

This is Akai Shuuichi with little resources and lots of constraints, such as being an FBI agent in Japan not supposed to be there or do anything, certainly not use weapons, and by the way legally dead and cannot let the organisation know he's still alive because that would endanger several other people.

He plays the accordion.

[nthspecialll]

The survivors

Sometimes I think about the survivors of the Van Der Linde gang scattered across the map and beyond, each of them carrying the same wound that was left with the break of their family and how they try to remember them.

Both Trelawny and Tilly lives in Saint-Denis, I wonder if they ever bumped into one another a few years later, looking at each other across the street, just trying to process the face before them and the time and people that it pulls them back to. The happiest yet the most tragic time for both of them.

They probably crossed the road, meeting half way, their respective parntners holding eye contact for a moment and knowing immediately "oh, they know each other from... that" allowing the two the moment.

I wonder if Tilly cried to Trelawny , telling him how it felt to be there in the end after he left, finally having someone who understands her, and I wonder if Trelawny offered to hunt the others down like he used to. One last chase, one last time searching for the Van Der Lindes, whatever remained of them.

Mary-Beth was probably shocked when she saw Trelawny standing there in Valentine, waving at her with his usual charm, yet a bit of sorrow hidden in his voice. He probably strolled up to her, told her about Tilly and asked her to come visit as they walked together down to Horseshoe Overlook, Mary-Beth telling him about the adventures they had there.

Trelawny probably didn't struggle to find Pearson in Rhodes either, the hollow man with the picture of the old gang on the wall, who could barely look down the street without thinking of the hole in poor Sean's head and who would daily walk down to Clemens Point just to remind himself.

Pearson agrees to meet with Tilly and it becomes a monthly thing, often joined by Mary-Beth. They were held together by their common trauma, their unusual common past.

Trelawny was probably the one who found out about Karen and the fact she had drunken herself to death and had to hang his head low and let Tilly know.

Strauss was beaten to death, he had read that in the newspapers, Uncle was a bit harder to find, staying out of trouble yet also ending up in debt with some ugly men Trelawny could call in favour with. They talk and he brings him to TIlly, but they don't keep in touch.

For the remaining it took years, Trelawny searched up and downand at some point, early 1907 he found Charles fighting in Saint Denis. He told Charles about Tilly and was visibly able to see a weight being lifted off the man's shoulders, but he was too scared of brining back any bad luck to the happy Tilly and stayed away.

John had covered his, Jack's and Abigail's tracks from the law and him. Sadie he found out too late had been in the country but made her way to South Africa to work.

Trelawny stands left, he found them, just like he had done for years, except there is none left now, only John, John who has disappeared into thin air, a bad dream with a bittersweet aftertaste. He doesn't know what to do so he does the one thing he is good at, searching. His wife tells him to stop and although he shortly tries he can't, he too misses the past and wants it back no matter how much the words Arthur spoke to him telling him to leave and not look back had burned themselves into his skull. Searching is what he does, he can do nothing else.

At some point he finds John, after years he finally finds John's name in the newspaper, except it is too late and the only thing that remains of the man is two headstones with his and his wife's name, Abigail's last name replacing Roberts with Marston.

Jack is there too, he doesn't remember Trelawny, but Trelawny remembers him. He sees John's features in the young man who used to have twenty people there to care for him but because of one man now stood alone, the young man who would hopefully outlive the rest of the gang, except he probably wouldn't as he carried a gun and John's hat.

Trelawny knew then that the boy would suffer the same fate his uncle hat and he knew that a few years from then his search would lead to yet another early grave or a name scratched in the book of a jailor.

[mirage-aera]

•°. *࿐ Afterlife

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Fire On Fire - Sam Smith

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Reader

Synopsis: Simon thought that staying with you would be giving you a death sentence, he thought breaking up would protect you better than he ever could. He was so wrong in the end and regrets it deeply.

Word count: 6.966

Masterlist

Flashbacks are paragraphs in italics!

TW!! Mention of character death, suicide.

If this triggers you then please don’t read it!

Simon has never been easy, he has reminded you of that fact countless times. He doesn’t open up easily, he rarely shows affection, and rarely says ‘I love you’. But on the other hand, he’s insanely loyal. Willing to go to impossible ends to stick with you. He’s so incredibly protective, he’d go to any means necessary, especially in this line of work, to keep you safe from danger. Even if it means sacrificing his happiness, and letting you go. He’d never meant to just take your love for him for granted. No, that was never his intention. But when his identity gets leaked to the enemies, and they’re threatening him with you? Common sense flies out the window and he has one thing on his mind. Keeping you safe. Even though he knows you are fully capable of protecting yourself and others, he isn’t looking at this matter from a soldier’s point of view. No, he’s looking at it as your lover.

So when he goes home to pick some stuff up for you two at the barracks. For once, he’s actually in shock. His apartment, your shared apartment has been ransacked. No doubt by the people wanting to watch him burn. They have figured out where you live. Your safe sanctuary has become unsafe, and he hates it. This is his last straw. He’s doing this for your own good, he keeps telling himself that. He takes his time in the apartment. He grabs the stuff you’ve asked for and whatever he needs. But he also looks at every single object that reminds him of you. He glances around your shared bedroom. All of the little things remind him of the time you spent together. He looks at your guitar that is resting on the wall next to your dresser. You’ve always loved music, in all shapes and forms. You loved making your own music. Composing and singing songs for him. You loved listening to your playlists while working out. Playlists you made him listen to and he slowly grew to love. Now he can’t start his workout without having the music blasting in his ears.

His favorite song of yours though? Definitely the first one you wrote. You called it ‘Fire On Fire’, and you explained that it sums up your relationship perfectly. Both are insanely protective of each other, in the field you use it as an advantage. Always make sure to be paired up, you two get the job done efficiently without any casualties. When you two work it’s like a choreographed dance. You always know what the other is thinking. He remembers the times when he had nightmares, and let's face it, it happens frequently. You would softly sing this song to make him go back to sleep. And he would sleep without nightmares those nights.

You walk into his small office in your shared apartment happily and excitedly. “Simon!” He looks up at hearing you call his name. He casts a look at the papers waiting to be signed by him on his desk. He shoves the papers aside. Ready to give you his undivided attention. “What is it, lovie?” You grin at him, “I finished it! I finally finished it!” You say happily. He looks at you confusingly for a moment, “what did you finish?” You chuckle, “the song! Do you want to hear it? If you’re not too busy of course.” He casts another look at the papers before smiling up at you, “I’m never too busy for you, lovie. Let’s hear it.” You clap happily, “great let’s go!” You drag him by the hand to your bedroom. Where your guitar is resting on the bed. You grab it and sit down on the bed. You smile at him sheepishly, “I’ve figured out the lyrics for the whole song but I still need to figure out the melody I want to use. The chorus, however, is done. I’ll sing and play it for you.” He nods at you for you to continue. You play a few chords before starting.

“Fire on fire, would normally kill us.”

You start with a shaky breath. Slightly nervous of what he might think. As if he can read your mind. He smiles at you and motions for you to continue. He mouths, ‘you’re doing great.’ This sparks your confidence and you sing with a brighter tone.

“With this much desire, together we’re winners.”

You close your eyes as you let yourself get carried away by the song.

“They say that we’re out of control and some say we’re sinners.”

“But don’t let them ruin our beautiful rhythms.”

“Cause when you unfold me and tell me you love me.”

“And look in my eyes.”

You open your eyes and glance at Simon, who’s staring at you with an awestruck look on his face. You smile at him.

“You are perfection, my only direction.”

“It’s fire on fire,” you hum, “fire on fire.”

You close off the song as you slowly stop playing. You put the guitar down, “so what do you think, my love?” Simon is still staring at you with an awestruck expression. “It’s perfect lovie. You outdid yourself.” You give him a shy smile, “I wrote it for you, to remind you of the love that I feel for you. That I’m always there for you, no matter what happens.” He stays silent before engulfing you in a tight hug. You widen your eyes but hug him back nevertheless. You could get used to this warm fuzzy feeling.

He sighs and leaves the bedroom. He enters the living room. He looks sadly at the overturned furniture and broken glass everywhere. Yet despite all of this, this is still your home. No matter how run down it gets, the memories will stay and be there forever. Serving as reminders from the once-happy couple. He looks at the pictures that are, surprisingly, still hanging on the walls. Pictures that have his face hidden, in every single one. You’ve respected his wishes by not putting up pictures with his face revealed. He looks at one particular picture.

Today the 141 was granted some time off. Bonding time for the team, as Price calls it. You’re all dressed casually. No one would guess that you’d be highly trained individuals looking like this. Well except for Simon, for he’s still donning his iconic skull balaclava. You’ve come up with the idea to have an outdoor picnic so that you all can relax and share food. Everyone prepared a little something for the picnic. John brought some sandwiches, Kyle brought lemonade, Johnny brought cupcakes, you and Simon prepared various fruits covered in chocolate. Your spot is surrounded by all different kinds of flowers. The big wide smile that you’re wearing on your face has made Simon’s entire year. After you’ve eaten. You decide that running around the flower fields will be a great idea. You beg Simon to run around with you, saying that it’ll be fun. Knowing Simon has a hard time saying no to you, you give him a small pout and he instantly agrees. Albeit a little begrudgingly. You drag him through the fields as you let out loud boisterous laughs while Simon is smiling behind his balaclava. You can tell by the way his eyes crinkle and sparkle in delight. Johnny takes a picture of you two sneakily. Knowing Simon would beat his ass if he found out. But in the end, it’s worth it, this will be one of your most cherished memories.

He smiles fondly at the memory that comes through when he stares at the picture. His smile slowly fades from his face. Maybe he doesn’t need to break up with you, you’re fully capable and he can protect you if anything were to happen. But what if something does happen? He could’ve prevented it all if he just didn’t let his resolve break. No, he has to do it for your sake. He’d rather have you hate him and be alive than you still loving him and dying because of him. He heads to the front door and takes one last look around. You’ll have to be relocated, and preferably far away from him for your safety. Your apartment isn’t safe anymore. He nods and closes the door behind him. He’s not ready to close this chapter but he has to. It’s the right thing to do. He heads back to you, reciting in his head what he’ll say to you in the meantime. Yet every time he chokes up and can’t think of what to say. He’ll have to wing it and hope he doesn’t look as pathetic as he sounds.

Once he makes it back to base, he’s on a hunt for you. He can feel his gut twisting in ways that make him nauseous. He wants to back out, so fucking bad. But then he sees your dead figure and then reminds himself you’d be happier and safer without him. Without the constant figure of death looming behind him. Following him everywhere he goes. He eventually finds you in the commons room with the rest of the team. You didn’t notice him walking in until he stopped in front of you. “Simon! You’re back, did you get the stuff?” He shakes his head, “can we talk, privately.” You give him a worried look but nod and follow him to wherever he’s leading you. He eventually makes it to his office and holds the door open for you. You step inside as he walks up behind you. You turn to him with a confused look on your face. “Did something happen?” You ask him. He nods his head, “our place got ransacked. Probably the same people who found my real identity.” You widen your eyes before narrowing them, “okay. We’ll deal with them swiftly then. The faster the better, right?”

Simon takes a deep breath in, it’s now or never. He opts for now. “I don’t think they’re stopping there. And let’s be honest, our progress is slow.” You raise a brow, “we can push the mission, maybe the higher-ups will let us focus on them.” He shakes his head, “that’s not happening. Listen, I think it’s better we go our separate ways.” The distraught look on your face makes his heart shatter. “Wait what? Why? We can go through this together! You can’t just throw away what we have now!” He shakes his head, “they’ve already breached my privacy. How long will it take for them to find out about us? Do you know how dangerous that is for you? It’s for your own good.” He refuses to tell you they’ve already threatened him by using your name. You can feel anger flaring up. “So what?! I’m fully capable of defending myself! You of all people should know this, Simon!” He can feel his temper rising, “I know! I am fully aware! Don’t even think that I doubt you because I don’t.” He says the last part softly. Not wanting to argue with you, not like this. You cry out desperately, “then tell me Simon! What are you so afraid of?!” He looks you in the eye, “you!” You get stunned by his answer, before you can retort he continues, “I’m afraid of losing you.” He says with a small voice. You stare at him with an incredulous look, “yet you want to break up?! You know how ridiculous you are sounding right now?!” He stays silent. You scoff, tears welling up in your eyes. “So this is it then? Just like that?” He nods, “I’m sorry, but you’re going to get hurt if you stay with me.” Hearing that he’s determined in his decision you nod, accepting it. “I’ll see you on the next mission, lieutenant.” You turn around, ready to leave his office. He reaches out for your arm, grabbing it softly, “please, it doesn’t have to be like this.” You whip your head around, tears falling, “then how do you want it to be? You want to stay friends? Fine! I’ll see you around the base then.” You ramble out, not letting him speak before storming out. A few tears fell from his own eyes. He rubs his eyes aggressively, rubbing his black face paint everywhere. ‘Good job, Simon. You’ve ruined the only good thing you had in your life.’ He thinks to himself. ‘It’s for her own protection’ is ringing through his mind like a mantra, torturing him with the thought of you.

The next few months are hell for the both of you. You’ve been drowning yourself in work and composing more music, while Simon has been drinking his mind away. Wanting to forget the immense hurt look you had on your face when he said those regretful words. The rest of the team isn’t blind. They can see something happening between the two of you. They’ve tried talking to you both about it but only to get the same words back, “he broke up with me.”, “I did it for her protection.” Johnny having enough of both of your sulking moods, decided to try and fix whatever’s been broken between you both. He knocks on Simon’s door before turning the knob and letting himself in. “I think the point is to wait for an answer before you let yourself in.” Simon slurs out his words as he holds a glass of whiskey. Johnny frowns and takes the glass from him, “you’re out of your mind L.T.” Simon scoffs, “tell me something I don’t know.” Johnny raises an eyebrow, “you need to get your shit together. You’ve been miserable without each other. Everyone can see it, fucking hell even the birds can see it, except for you guys.” Simon chuckles dryly, “thanks for the pep talk Johnny, you can leave now.”

He frowns at Simon’s response. “Leaving her in the name of protection is so fucked up on so many levels, Ghost. If anything she’ll be in more danger without you by her side than without you. So I’m not requesting you. I’m demanding you to get your shit together, apologize to her, and get back together already.” Simon stays silent, thinking about it. Knowing he finally got through to the lieutenant he leaves to let him figure it out on his own. All he needed was a little step in the right direction.

Meanwhile, you’ve been summoned by Price. You walk into his office, which happens to be next to Simon’s. “You’ve asked for me Price?” He nods and motions for you to sit. “We have intel on a secret base to the north of here,” he says while pointing to a location on a map. “We need someone to quickly get in and out and retrieve more intel.” You nod along, “I’m guessing you want me to go in?” He nods, “that’s correct. I’m warning you, this will be a solo mission. The lesser the better, unless you want Ghost to come along.” You narrow your eyes at him, “I’ll go solo.” You state. He nods, “you leave tomorrow at 8 in the morning with Kyle, he’ll be your exfil.” You nod and leave, wanting to prepare for the mission.

Morning comes and you gear up together with Kyle. You head to the small heli that’ll bring you to the site. You can’t help but have a sinking feeling in your gut, you can’t tell whether it’s the pre-mission nerves or if it’s the heartache you’ve been experiencing for the past months. You load up into the heli and close your eyes as you listen to the rotors whirring. Trying to shut down so you could shake off the feeling but to no avail. Usually, Simon would help you. But this will be the first time in a while that you’d have to do without.

You sit in the chinook nervously. Nervous for the upcoming mission. At this rate, you’ll make yourself sick. Johnny is sitting to your left, giving you a worried look. You wave him off saying, “I’ll be fine in a minute.” You can tell he doesn’t believe you but he doesn’t push it. You close your eyes as you try to calm down. You can hear a heavy thud coming from your right. You ignore it as you’re more concerned with your nerves. Suddenly a hand engulfs your own and squeezes it. You crack open an eye and smile once you’ve realized who it was. It’s Simon, who’s staring at you with warm eyes through his mask. He doesn’t need to say anything, he can convey it all with his eyes. Instantaneously you can feel the nerves leaving. All you need is Simon and you’ll be alright.

You open your eyes. The sinking feeling has not left at all, if anything it only increased. Making you feel slightly nauseous. You notice Gaz looking at you concerned. He crouches in front of you and takes a hand of yours in his own, squeezing it like Simon did. You give him a small smile, appreciating his attempts. But in the end, it just isn’t the same. The helicopter lifts off and soars through the air. As the base gets smaller and smaller in the distance, you can’t help but feel that it might be the last time you’ll see the base. You feel your phone vibrating in your front pocket. You open up the pocket and fish out your phone. You frown once you see the lit-up screen. It’s Simon, of course it is. You choose to ignore it for now. Whatever he needs to say can wait until you return. Right now, you need to focus and get yourself and that intel home. Eventually, the heli slows down as it prepares to descend. The doors open as you leave the safe space. You check your comms once more before nodding to Gaz. “I’ll be waiting for you here, don’t do anything stupid.” He tells you. You chuckle at him, “as long as you don’t get into trouble I won’t either.” He rolls his eyes. You give him one last look before leaving.

As you make your way to the hidden base stealthily you can’t help but feel like something is not right. ‘Come on. You’ve been on countless missions like this with the team. It’s been fine then, it will be fine now.’ You think to yourself. You close off your mind as you trek through the dense vegetation. Eventually, the base emerges from the treetops. You lay down as you pull out your binoculars from your side. You spot a less guarded spot, that’s where you’re going to sneak in. You get up and make your way down from the overlook. While keeping watch of the guards around the spot you want to infiltrate. You notice they don’t have a set patrol, which might work in your favor later when you start taking down guards.

You approach the spot and hug the wall. You grab your grappler from your pack and launch it onto the railing of the wall. As you ascend the wall you take another look around, if you’re not careful they could see you and raise the alarm. You quickly ascend to the top and take out the guard hanging around that area. You shoot the next two with your silenced gun. You don’t bother hiding the bodies, it should be a quick in and out. You lean over the wall as you look around for the next entry point. From what you remember of the map that Price supplied you with, the office with the documents should be near your position. You quickly scan the main building looking for the office. Your eyes land upon a room. Bingo, that should be the office. You figure you could quickly make your way to a side entrance and make your way to the office from there. Any other entry point would be too risky, resulting in you getting caught.

You make your way down with a rope and head for the fire escape staircase. No guards are stationed there so it should be a quiet way in. You ascend the stairs and quietly open the door that leads to the building. You keep your gun up in case. Noticing no visible threat you let out a sigh of relief and start heading towards the office. Luckily you didn’t come across any guards on your way to the office. You entered the office quickly and closed it quietly behind you. You lower your gun and look around. ‘Right, any important papers and any other valuable intel is what I came for.’ You remind yourself. You head to the computer and start downloading files from it to a stick. Laswell can analyze that data later. You start making quick work of the drawers. Pulling out any important-looking documents and storing them in your pack. Once you’ve run out of stuff to take, you unplug the stick and store it as well. You take one last look around the office. You hold a finger to your comm, “Gaz. I got the intel. Heading to exfil now, eta 20 minutes.” You hear a ‘copy that.’ from Gaz as you swing the door open.

Only to be greeted with a pistol aimed at your head. You recognize him as one of the leaders of the organization. “I’ve been expecting you, sergeant.” You notice he’s alone, essentially you could make a move and make your escape. But he would likely try and shoot, thus alerting the whole base. It’s either that or get captured by them, which would lead to your demise. Preferring your chances with the first option. You raise an eyebrow at him, “well you aren’t expecting this.” You quip as you shove his arm upwards, making him shoot in surprise. Not even 5 seconds pass and you can already hear footsteps thundering in your direction. You shove him and make a run for it, knowing if you try and go for the kill, his henchmen will surely kill you. You leap through the door and close it shut behind you. You take a quick look at the positions of the guards. They’re all swarmed around you. There’s no way for you to get past them without getting injured. And you definitely don’t have the stopping power to brute force your way through.

You quickly radio Gaz to update him, “I’ve been made!” A bullet whizzes by your head. Gaz surely heard it too. Well shit, your position is now known. Shortly after more bullets are flying your way. You duck down, you try to come up with solutions. You can’t think of any right now. You’re just going to have to make a run for it and hope for the best. You shakily bring a finger up to your comms, “I need to make a run for it, there’s no other way!” You inform Gaz. You hear rustling on his end, “negative! Stay there and preferably out of sight. I’m coming to get you out of there!” He shouts out. You widen your eyes in shock. That’s a horrible plan. You voice out your opinion, “are you insane?! What is one person going to help?! There are hundreds of them versus us two!” You can hear him cuss. “Fuck! Okay, you listen to me right now! Take as much cover as you can, I’ll try and provide covering fire. I’m not far from the overlook, give me 1 minute.” You peak over the cover, and grimace. You might not have a minute. Some are getting ready to storm your position. You think, the main entrance is going to be full of them. They haven’t found out where you came from so they’ll expect you to exit via the main entrance. The way you came in is going to be your only option.

“Okay, I’m in position, whenever you’re ready.” You hear his voice crackle through the comms. You inhale and exhale. ‘Now or never.’ You think to yourself. You point your gun at the small squad at the base of the stairs. You open fire at them, mowing them down successfully. You quickly run down the stairs and make your way to the wall. You feel a hot pain in your shoulder. You’ve been hit. You don’t even need to look, you were going to get hurt one way or another. Not feeling much from it you continue running to the wall, using trucks and containers as cover. Not staying too long behind cover otherwise you’ll get overrun. Sometimes you can hear thuds around you, signaling that Gaz is doing a good job at providing covering fire. You make it to the wall in record time and start climbing the rope. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t get more injuries while scaling the wall. You brace yourself for whatever might come your way. You make sure the rope is still secure by tugging on it a few times. Satisfied with the sturdiness, you start climbing up. You can hear multiple rounds go into the wall next to you. Sooner than later bullets start embedding themselves all over you. Your legs, torso, and shoulders. You wince in pain as everything starts to burn with every move you make. You grit your teeth until you make it to the top.

You rest for a minute as you assess your injuries. You count at least five bullet wounds. You’re not making it out alive, that’s for sure. You grimace as you face the harsh truth. “You got to move! They’re closing in on you!” You can faintly hear Gaz’s voice ringing through your ear. You move through the pain, you have to at least try to make it back. You grit your teeth as you pull yourself up. You grab hold of the grappler again and start descending. You run as fast as you can away from the base. Shit, it burns. It burns badly. You just wish you didn’t have to sit through this pain for long. You make a safe distance away from the base. You rest against a tree. You definitely can’t make your way to the exfil point, at least not on your own. You slowly sink yourself to the floor. Your vision starts to blur, and gunshots get quieter and quieter. Either they stopped firing or you’re losing your hearing. You bet it’s the latter.

You start coughing. You’re coughing up blood. Internal bleeding. Great. As the pain starts fading into the background, your mind runs rampant. You lean your head back as you stare up at the sky. You chuckle weakly, “I’m sorry Simon.” You say to no one in particular. You just somehow wish that he could feel that you’re sorry. You know it hasn’t been easy for him either. And part of it is your fault. You’ve been pushing him away. Drowning in your own grief, that you failed to consider his feelings. Tears slowly start trickling down your face and into the muddy ground below you. “I’m so sorry Simon, I still love you, so so much.” You whisper out. Not having any strength anymore. You slowly close your eyes, losing the battle between you and the blood loss. Little did you know that your comms were still open and Gaz heard everything. If you can’t say it to him yourself then he will make sure he passes your message to Simon. In your stead. But first, he has to find you. He runs around, desperately trying to find you. Eventually, he spots a faint trail of blood. Knowing it has to be you, he follows it. Once he finds you he shouts your name. You being unresponsive worries him. He holds two fingers to your neck. Trying to find a pulse. To his relief, he finds one. It’s faint, but it’s there. He picks you up and carries you to the heli and demands for medics to be standing by at base, ready to receive you.

***

Simon heads to your room and knocks on your door, “(Y/n)? Can we talk?” It feels so weird to call you by your name. He used to always call you ‘lovie’. He frowns as he hears no answer. He’s about to knock on your door again until Johnny speaks up, “she’s gone.” Simon whips his head around to face him. “What do you mean she’s gone?” He asks. “She went on a mission that Price assigned her to.” Simon stares at him, “when is she supposed to be back?” Johnny checks his watch and frowns, “she was supposed to be back 15 minutes ago.” Simon frowns, a late arrival usually means bad news. He storms his way to Price’s office. “Why did you send her alone? Why didn’t you send me with her?!” He asks coldly. He sighs, “she can get in and out quickly, that’s why I asked her. And I did ask her, she said no. She said she’ll go solo. Gaz is with her to provide exfil.” Simon gives him a hard stare and leaves the office. He has no choice but to wait for you, and hope for the best.

Multiple minutes pass as he waits anxiously for you. Eventually, a commotion stirs him out of his zoned-out state. Several members of the medical staff run by in a frenzy. They’re shouting medical stuff at each other that he doesn’t understand. All he hears are, “critically injured inbound!”, “bring blood bags!”, and “prep for surgery!”. Suddenly everything goes in slow motion. ‘Critical, surgery, blood bags’ those are the words that are swirling through his chaotic mind. He closes his eyes and curses to himself. You can’t die. Not you. Anyone but you. He regrets many things in his life. But this will probably be at the top of his list if you don’t make it. Fuck. Why is he just standing here? Why can’t he do something useful for you, not even for one second? He has let you down continuously, and he hates it. He hears more commotion. It’s you being wheeled past him in a gurney with the same medical staff by your side, with a blood bag hanging over you, and more of them in the arms of a medic. He watches as you get wheeled into the infirmary. The state of you almost makes him gag. How the hell did you even get out of there alive? After being so long in the military, he knows someone with those injuries will not make it back, or stay alive for much longer. It’s a miracle you’re still breathing, no matter how weak it is, you’re still breathing.

He heads to the infirmary to wait for you. He wasn’t there for you during the mission, the least he could do is sit and wait for you. That if you’re alive after surgery, he could give you a heartfelt apology. Something that he rarely does. He sits in a chair and holds his head in his hands. A few minutes pass and he notices Gaz sitting next to him. He sighs, “what happened?” Knowing Gaz is the only one who can provide him with the answers. Gaz winces, “Ghost, I don’t think you want to know.” He feels growing frustrated with Gaz’s answers, “I fucking asked, didn’t I? Tell me, I want names.” Gaz sighs but resigns to his wishes, “it’s the same organization. She needed to get into an office to gather more intel. Turns out this whole thing was a trap. They were waiting for her outside the office door. One thing led to another and the whole base was sent upon her. I tried to give as much covering fire as I could. But she still got shot, multiple times. I’m sorry.” He shakes his head, “not your fault, I should’ve been there,” he mumbles out. Gaz scoffs, “I don’t think it would’ve made a difference. There were way too many of them.” Simon gives him an empty look, “I would’ve gotten her out of that situation, at all costs.” Gaz shakes his head, “mate. I know how capable you are together but there’s no way you would’ve gotten out of there together in one piece.” He shrugs, “I never said I would get out of there, did I?” Gaz catches on to what he means, “are you saying you would lay down your life for her?” He nods, “she deserves to live more than I do.” Gaz can sense he doesn’t want to talk anymore so he drops it. Gaz eventually leaves, needing to debrief with the captain. Thus leaving Simon all alone.

Torturous hours pass by. He feels like her chances of surviving are dropping by the hour. Eventually, a trauma surgeon pops out of the double doors. He looks around before meeting Simon’s gaze. “Are you here for sergeant (Y/l/n)?” He nods, confirming his intentions. The surgeon drops his mask, showing Simon his grim face. “She’s alive, but she’s far from stable. We put her in an induced coma, to help her body recover from the injuries she sustained. It could last a couple of days up to weeks or several months. You may visit her if you wish. Try talking to her, it might stimulate her brain and thus make her wake faster.” Simon gives him a nod, “thank you.” The surgeon gives him a pitiful smile before leaving.

Simon enters the small room you’ve been put in. He frowns once he sees you lying on the bed. His breath gets caught up in his throat. He’s never seen you look so frail, fragile, weak, almost dead like. The only signs showing you’re still kicking are the monitor beeping and your chest moving up and down ever so slightly. He pulls up a chair next to your bed. He takes your hand in his. He has a million words to tell you. He wants to tell you how much he loves you, and how he took your love for granted. He wants to tell you how sorry he is, that he’s wrong for thinking breaking up would protect you. When in fact it’s the opposite. Every time he tries to convey these words to you, he can’t. The words get choked up, causing his sentence to become incoherent. So instead he opts for a simpler option, one that hopefully conveys all of his regrets in five words.

“I’m so sorry, for everything.”

The monitor beeps faster in response. He widens his eyes, you can hear him. He squeezes your hand. “I never should’ve let you go, lovie. It was a mistake on my part. When you wake up, I’ll take you to all of your favorite places. If you’ll have me back.”

During the next few days, it seems like you’re only regressing. Your body can’t keep up with all of the demands it needs to properly heal. Simon has been there, every hour, every day. The team has tried to drag him out to at least take a shower, but he refuses. Multiple what-ifs run through his mind. What if you wake up? And he isn’t there for you. Or what if you die? And he’s not there with you. It would break him. He’s not a fool, he knows your days are limited. He knows your chances of pulling through are close to none. So he stays there, talking to you and holding your hand. Squeezing it in intervals, to let you know he’s still there. He suddenly gets an idea in his head. What if he sings your song to you, would you appreciate that? Probably, he knows how much you love that song. So he sings.

“My mother said I’m too romantic. She said, “you’re dancing in the movies.””

“I almost started to believe her. Then I saw you and I knew.”

He starts tearing up, he might never hear you sing this song again. He might never hear your voice again. Your laughter, your giggles, your excitement. All of it. He might never hear them again.

“Maybe it’s ’cause I got a little bit older. Maybe it’s all that I’ve been through.”

“I’d like to think it’s how you lean on my shoulder. And how I see myself with you.”

He thinks of the domestic life you have behind the scenes. Away from the military. Where you would have movie marathons, forcing him to watch with you. He would pretend to hate it, but secretly. He adores the time spent with you. He thinks of all the times you would lean on him, no matter where you are. You would fall asleep on him, it’s the sense of safety that he gives you that puts you at ease. He starts choking up.

“I don’t say a word.”

“But still, you take my breath and steal the things I know.”

“There you go, saving me from out of the cold.”

He can’t continue anymore. His tears are not stopping, they continue to fall and get soaked up by his balaclava. He hasn’t cried in years, and yet here he is. Crying like a baby. He doesn’t want to let you go, but he knows it’s the right thing. If you’re not in pain then you will be when you wake up, if you wake up. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he cries. He pulls away and tries to compose himself, “it’s okay to let go if you’re hurting, lovie. I won’t be mad, I promise.” He notices that the beeping is slowing down. He gives a weak smile, even though you can’t see him. “I’ll love you forever and always, my love. Rest well, I’ll see you on the other side sometime. Hopefully, I get to properly apologize and take you around to all of the places you want to go.” He sobs as your heartbeat continues to slow until it ceases to beat. “I’ll be okay, lovie.” He whispers.

He was not okay. He was far from being okay. He thought that he’d be okay after your funeral, that he’d get the closure he was craving. It’s been weeks, and the pain is still there if not stronger. He can’t stand it. Sometimes his mind is playing tricks on him. Sometimes he can feel a cold air embracing him, as if you’re hugging him. Sometimes he can hear you say, ‘I love you.’ Or ‘I forgive you.’ He’s losing his mind, that is clear to anyone. His aim has been shakier, not as fast on his feet anymore. Fuck, he’s losing his touch.

Everyone is concerned, he sees the worried glances they throw in his direction. The way they avoid the topic of your death at all costs. He hates it, he hates how weak he’s become. He hates how they’re pitying him. One day he gets an idea. There’s a way for him to come see you sooner. Not a pretty one, but it’ll do. He dwells on it for the next few days. Not wanting to do anything rash. He has no family left that he gives a shit about. He only has the military going for him. But going at this rate, he’ll most likely get discharged because of his mental health. How he’s falling apart at the seams. Funny how he’s been alone for most of his life. Yet the instant something good enters his life it gets taken from him. He can’t function properly anymore after you died. Like taking candy from a baby.

Later in the evening. He skipped dinner, not bothering anymore. It’ll only be a waste on him. He writes a short note addressed to the 141. He explains that it’s not their fault. That he’ll be happier than if he stays here, without you. He places the note neatly on the corner of his desk. Knowing someone will come running once they hear the bang. He grabs the handheld gun he stores in his bedside drawer. He stares at the gun. Weapons have never felt heavy on his hand. Let alone handheld guns. Yet now it’s like the heaviest thing he’s ever lifted. He brings it up to his temple. He gets the easy way out, you had to suffer with at least five bullets in you. He closes his eyes and thinks of you. He smiles at the image he has painted in his head. A genuine smile, one that hasn’t appeared on his face in a long time. Again, he feels cold air engulfing him once again. He laughs, that has to be you comforting him. As you always do. He rests his finger on the trigger.

“I’ll see you in a minute, my love.”

He pulls on the trigger. In one second three things happen. A loud bang. Blood splattering. A thud.

One second he’s seeing black. Before he knows it, the next second he sees white. A figure slowly approaches him. He squints his eyes, trying to make out who that figure is. A smile creeps up his face once he realizes who it is. His lovie. You smile at him as you walk closer to him, “hi Simon.” Tears start welling up in his eyes. He says nothing as he pulls you into his strong embrace. You sigh but return the embrace, “it’s okay now, Simon. We have all of the time in the world.” He nods as tears start falling on your white clothes. You pull away as you chuckle. You wipe his tears away, “come. I’ll show you around. You’ll love it here, I promise. It’s so peaceful here.” You hold your hand out to him. He lets out a little laugh but nods and takes your hand in his, “okay. Show me, lovie.”

[literallys-illiteracy]

Death as an allegory:

Death as a concept is inherently meaningful to mortal beings, those who know that, in time coming, their life will end.

The most common association with death as a concept is an ending, the time at which the shadows of life are no longer cast, the wick of the candle burned out, the act never to be seen again — death is most commonly viewed as the ending of your time, an inevitable future which one must come to terms with.

The concept of death does not end in living creatures, the death of an ideology, the death of a company: any and every ending that one may encounter in their life, acts as a “death” of sorts — In many ways, a person dies countless times before their last, the death of one's childhood beliefs, the death of a perspective held, the death of an interest, or of a companion near them.

The tarot of death is representative of this, representing change, the ending of a stage or cycle in ones life, and in it, the start of a new cycle — Death as a symbol acts as both a beginning and an ending, though “All things will end”, so too will the grievances one lives through.

“Letting go” of one's mortal attachments, so to speak, allows oneself to view the beauty in death, the transformation that one may undergo, the metamorphosis from one stage of life into the next.

This motif is notably seen throughout the hero’s journey: the image of the hero’s death and rebirth, symbolic of the usage of the story’s structure, being the process of growing up and becoming an adult. 

Through this same theme of ‘Metamorphosis’, comes the common connection between the image of death, and the butterflies cocoon.

Akin to the rebirth of the hero featured within the hero’s journey, the butterfly enters a passive state, where it then breaks forth, having transformed, becoming a greater being, mirroring the transference between child and adult.

A more morbid example of this same image, of the ending of ones stage acting as another beginning is that of the cordyceps fungus: the spores will connect to an ant, leading to its inevitable death, but to the blooming of, and spread, of countless more spores — The cyclical nature of life and death make the imagery inseparable, you cannot have one without another. As one creature dies, it makes way for another to live; as you progress through life, you will change, making way for your growth with this removal of past thoughts; As above, so below.

It is through this dichotic symbolism that the concept of death is often represented in media, most notably, as an allegory for the changes one undergoes in their life — The hero’s coming to terms with death, abandoning their mortality, allows them to be free from the binding nature of death, being rebirthed as a greater person, no longer fearing the change in their life ahead of them.

As mentioned before, this concept of metamorphosis through life, the death of a persona, of an idea, is not limited to a living being to begin with, the most notable (and funny) example of which being the dichotomy between the ‘Death of the author’ and ‘Birth of the reader’.

‘Death of the author’ is a concept which states that the intention made by the author is not the final arbiter of how that work may be interpreted, notably, the interpretation of every story relating to death and/or rebirth being readable as a trans allegory (by me, every time, sometimes intentionally).

In the author’s ‘Death’ comes the ‘Birth’ of the reader, allowing for one to draw their own conclusions, for the writing of the book to change in meaning, to adapt in circumstance alongside the reader; The death of the author brings forth the endless potential of not only the reader, the audience, but also the work itself, giving their story a form of immortality, granting it the endless potential for life.

While this concept of a metamorphosis takes a general form in the hero’s journey, the passage to one’s adult life, the relation can take a much more direct approach; I am of course referring to people from whatever this country is:

The imagery of rebirth takes a more literal meaning; The removal of one's past life, name, and associations is often referred to as a “death”, with their past name even being referred to as a “deadname” — the death of a dreary stage, finally being able to shed the skin which does not fit your soul any longer; To finally be able to fly freely, no longer confined by the life you were born into, to be able to live as you truly are.

There will be an end to all things; no matter how suffocating, how eternally you think to be trapped, there will come a time for you to use your wings, to fly in a place where flowers bloom, to live as you should live, as you were meant to live. 

While the image of death is intertwined with that of life, and in thus representative of freedom, of change, death can also be read as the final rest, for the peaceful and inevitable ending.

Overcoming the fear of death can grant one tranquillity; Death is representative of a final stop in life, the ending point to your journey, the point at which you need not have any more qualms or worries.

The peace that can be brought by reminding yourself “one day you’re going to die”.

No more future to fear that you have your past to regret, you have one life, one chance, and the only wrong way to spend it is regretting.

I don't know why it's always an unplanned trans allegory script when I have free time?

[ladyiristheenchantress]

Working with Earth

Welcome to the fourth part of my elemental series! Today we will explore some aspects of working with earth like offerings, devotional activities, common lessons, aspects, and more! With all that said lets get started!

To preface: I am a devotee to water itself, I am a west witch practioner which means I work within the domain of water, the past, divination, and psyche! I also am a general elemental practioner and have experience working with all of the elements and their aspects!

What is working with Earth like?

Per usual: Things can depend on gnosis and the cultural lens we are looking at, however some things are consistent! In general earth is considered a constant force, something you can always tap into because you are always within it, on it, or in the case of astronauts near it. Earth represents consistency, slow but meaningful changes, and perseverance. Earth doesnt have a gender (same with all the elements) so asking during a working relationship can be a great way to bond! In general, Earth is primordial being the very first to be created even if it was just a ball of flames and liquid stone. Earth is considered but also not considered to be the first element to house life! People debate if it was water with the primordial soup or if it was earth giving water a space. However it is clear earth is a major life giver regardless. Earth has many aspects from rot, biomes, to just pure grounding energy, and working results change depending on who you are interacting with.

Some people work with earth as a whole, and we see this with the 'mother nature' archetype! This energy tends to be balanced, loving, and full of trial and error. Another aspect may be with specific biomes like navigating loneliness and introspection with desert, or managing your energy levels with rainforest! In any case, earth has major emphasis on love, grounding forces, but also cycles. All energy you use earth will eventually take back from the living. In this case, earths personality is not set in stone, often times changing and reflecting specific nuances. Another important thing to note is earth has frequently been described as both powerful but also sometimes a push over. We can observe this in mundane life with the invention of GMO's, pollution, etc. Earth allows us humans to do a lot of awful things to earths natural systems (evolution, balancing, etc) however Life will always find a way. It is important to remember you are an animal like any other deer, fish, or bear! Respect the earth as it speaks to you. Earth is a lot more direct because of the heavier role it plays on us. Patience is the best virtue when interacting with earth.

UPG: Earth is an extremely kind spirit to commune with, often happy to speak directly to all of its creatures. Earth usually presents 'slow burn' lessons usually being carried out over seasons, years, or decades. Working with earth is all about taking things one step at a time and learning indirectly not what it means to be human but what it means to be animal. Earth is all about establishing your place within the world, and encouraging you to leave this place better than you found it. Earth represents the present, pausing, and setting up long term goals no matter the weather or struggles we face. Its about unity and learning to love others with the short mark we leave on our home.

A thing to note is earth has a common 'womb' and 'mother' element often being nicknamed mother nature, dirt to life, etc! Most cultures observe earth to be the ultimate womb because of our history. Compared to all the elements earth has the heaviest association to life and birth, just as much as it does death and recycling. This has lead to the darker element of 'rot' being an aspect taking. Rotting and Decay takes time, much like all things.

What are common offerings?

Most people place altars to earth by windows, on the ground floor, and by living rooms! Earth tends to enjoy pretty much all offerings because it not only can represent advancement but also returning to roots. However: There is heavy emphasis on ethical offerings like with crystals, locally sourced items, and growth. So I would hold off leaving a red bull on the altar for now. Earth enjoys going place, so travel altars, smaller altars, or collapsible ones are a great choice! Dont feel limited to one point in your home

In earths case, there is heavy emphasis on longevity! So common offerings usually include dusting and cleaning, taking care of a plant, and things that may require repetition like preparing a meal or drinking water. In my water post I talk about net positive, neutral, and negative offerings and earth is no different. A lot of workings can be done outdoors in forests, prairies, and more. Make sure you are researching what hurts flora and fauna before you go out, for example: Leave the salt at home! Salt can hurt the salinity of the soil and hinder growth.

Some ideas include hosting forest or highway clean ups, going on hikes and nature walks, collecting flowers or just communing with nature, foraging, helping others, and getting crafty!

What are the correspondences?

Crystals - Smokey Quartz, Amazonite, Obsidian, Jasper, Malachite, Aragonite, Super Seven, Moldavite, Unakite, and Septarian Herbs - Dandelion root, Hawthorn, Linden, Oak, Red clover, wood sorrel, Rasberry Leaf, Food plants (nuts, berries, gourds, etc), Pacholi, Ivy, Fern Colors - Green, Brown, Gold Energy Centers - Root, Sacral Zodiacs - Taurus, Virgo, Capricorn Tools - Terracotta pots, Coins, Plants, Plates, Crafts Scents - Musk, Soil, Moss

Resources:

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[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓃮 Even the Sun Influences the Tide: Chapter Eight

Even the Sun Influences the Tide: After the death of your foster brother, King T’Challa, you had spent much of your year of mourning in isolation. When your mother gathers you and your sister to end your mourning period, you encounter the newest threat to Wakanda: Namor. You don’t know what to think of Namor, but you do know one thing: he probably shouldn’t be making trips to see you at your beach hut.

Warnings: None.

To Note: Namor/K’uk’ulkan x Fem!Reader, I Tried To Make The Yucatec Maya & Xhosa Translations/Traditions As Accurate As I Can Get.

Word Count: ~2.4k

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K’uk’ulkan had kissed you deeply one last time, not being able to help himself after staying away from you for so long. You thought you were going to pass out from the heat burning beneath your cheeks at the intensity of his kiss… but no, you were just left in a daze. Then he guided you out of the tent, eager and looking forward to seeing you in the traditional wedding attire of his people. He had only ever seen you in the simple clothes you wore while living in your hut, and dressed in the clothing Namora had prepared for you? He had an almost impossible time taking his eyes off your beautiful form, let alone keeping his hands from wandering. K’uk’ulkan could only imagine what you would look like dressed in the traditional ceremonial garb. Calling for Namora, he spoke a few quick sentences in his native tongue, informing her of what he needed her to do for you. Namora was shocked to say the least, but she was pleased that you were making an effort to end the violence between your people. So with a promise to take good care of you, Namora bowed her head and guided you back the way you both had come.

You didn’t speak Yucatec Maya and didn’t have Griot with you, so you had no idea what had transpired between Namora and K’uk’ulkan. At the very least when you were brought to the room you had woken, you were surrounded by more blue skinned women, and not hardened soldiers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? More rapid fire illusive words were exchanged, the faces of the women soon glowing with excitement and happiness. You felt more reassured by their reactions and your shoulders relaxed. Then two of the women approached you, taking your hands and tugging you in the direction of another hall. You glanced back at Namora with wide eyes, but she only nodded her head at you.

You trusted Namora, so you would trust these women.

The women had led you to a hot springs that bubbled and gurgled with steam and mist, inviting and making your body ache. You needed a moment to relax. You were going to get one because the women, Zyanya and Tlalli as they had told you, were carefully stripping you out of the dress you wore and motioning for you to step down into the warm water.

You had long since gotten used to bathing naked around other women, it was a common practice at the hot springs in Wakanda… but you couldn’t hold back your nerves this time. Not when you were such an outsider. You felt self conscious of your body, of your skin, of your being. Neither Zyanya nor Tlalli made any inclination at being judgmental over what they saw, busying themselves around you as you submerged yourself into the water. Wrapping your arms around your folded knees, you closed your eyes and took several deep and calming breaths.

You were alone, surrounded by the enemy of Wakanda, whose leader you had just shared a very intimate kiss with, and without a plan. You had also just agreed to a ceremony you knew nothing about.You might as well have sold your soul to the devil… but it if prevented needless death, you would take it. Yet you had thoughts of doubt, you were the ordinary one in the family. The black sheep whom T’Chaka and Ramonda had welcomed with open arms years ago. You didn’t know the first thing about how to make an alliance or be diplomatic, you never had the need to learn despite it being your choice of action. It wasn’t like you were ever going to be an influential figure from the royal family. At least you were smoothing things over with K’uk’ulkan, that was good. You were doing something right.

Hands gently stroked your hair and began to run scoops of water over the strands, soaking them and combing them. You were reminded of the times Ramonda had lovingly washed your hair for you when you were but a child, combing your hair neatly before braiding the strands in one of the many traditional styles of your new home. For a moment, you felt a flicker of homesickness. You had spent so much time trying to get away from your family to lesson your hurt, only to start wanting their company the moment you had the space you desperately craved. Were they even looking for you? Or were you simply assumed to be running from confronting the pain you had been stewing in for an entire year?

Those thoughts made your lip wobble and you harshly pressed them together to stop yourself from being consumed the sadness you had battled for so long. You were stronger than this, you had burned your funeral clothing. It was time to let go. Fingers began combing something that smelled nice, into your hair, lovingly tending to your hair and overall treating you with respect and reverence. Then Tlalli began massaging perfumed oils into your skin and you loosened up, letting her maneuver your limbs and treat every inch of your skin with devotion. You let them. It was probably part of a ritual, such as cleansing your body for the ceremony, or preparing your spirit in one way or another.

By the time your skin was buttery soft and a pearlescent sheen for being massaged and treated so delicately, your hair was fully washed and combed and you were being helped out of the hot springs. A beautiful stitched and embroidered robe was held open and you happily allowed them to cover your naked, damp skin with it, relishing the softness of the material. Led back to the cavern full of women, your jaw went slack.

While you had been bathing, they had been very busy. There was now a space where several women were fussing over white fabric, needles and silver thread in hand. A corner now had a table with several jars and brushes, squabbling women standing in front of it with scrolls of symbols… your eyes then caught a few boxes of jewelry, all a bright and vibrant jade that matched the ones K’uk’ulkan wore. Your hand was taken and you were led over to the jewelry.

You curiously looked around at the beautiful pieces, wondering how you were to wear some of them as they were obviously body piercing pieces. Then a women turned around and brandished a needle. Your eyes went wide and you gulped, panic washing through your body. Apparently you had unconsciously stepped backward, as you backed right into Namora. She gave you a soft smile and gestured for you to sit down. You wanted to whimper but held it back as you reluctantly sat down and nervously eyed the woman with the needle.

Less than a minute later, after one of the women had demonstrated that they could, in fact, pierce your body with little to no pain, you were allowing them to pierce the places they wished. The Talokanil had created a compound that numbed the surrounding flesh almost instantly, enabling for fast and painless piercing. Your ears were the first to be done, an industrial bar, much like Namora’s being placed along with an orbital, several helix and cartilage ones. You were fairly sure most of the argument the ladies ended up embroiled in, were about what jewelry would look best on you. You took comfort in the fact that they cared about placement.

Then they had wanted to pierce your septum. You had to resist screaming when the needle drew close to your face, but again, you felt no pain, and a beautiful vibranium ring had been placed. You had to admit that you liked the look in the mirror. The patterns in the metal reminded you of those you saw in the mayan murals and upon the fabrics around you. Shuri was going to like your new look, that you knew. Your mother? She was going to do a double take and possibly balk at your appearance. That wasn’t to say she would hate them, but she would probably want you to have piercings from Wakanda, not from the people who she was convinced were a threat to both you and her people. But what had you on edge the most, was when they moved to pierce your lip.

You panicked once more and Namora had come over, soothing you and reassuring you in the language you didn’t understand. You hated that you needed to hold her hand as they pierced your lip, adding a lip ring that divided your lower lip in half. When it was done, with no pain which you once again felt silly about, you were left staring into a handheld mirror in wonder. You looked like a completely other woman, with a tribal elegance. You looked different, more mature, regal, elegant in an ancestral way… but you felt that you now looked more like yourself than you ever had.

Someone took your hand, and you were tugged to your feet. Brought over to the women who had been arguing over markings on several scrolls, you were sat down once more, only this time, you were confronted with paint brushes. Your right foot was grabbed and held out, and then you watched with wide eyes as they started painting swirls of crimson on your body. You didn’t understand what the purpose of the symbols were, but you could figure out that they were probably a part of their culture, so you let them paint to their hearts content. Even when they tugged at your robe to get to your upper thighs, back, and stomach. They wouldn’t put so much time and effort into it if it wasn’t important.

You were perfectly fine with the paint, it just itched as it dried on your skin and you had to force yourself not to scratch the flesh where beautiful lines of red had been artistically drawn. Before they moved onto your back, your hair was once again brushed out before being braided back from your face. Once your hair was out of the way, the paintbrushes descended onto your back, and it tickled. You found yourself biting down on your lip, which only made you remember that you had a lip piercing now. Your mother was going to do a double take when she saw you, you were now certain. You also entertained the idea that she wouldn’t take kindly to you going off and doing some ceremony you didn’t know anything about, just for the sake of peace. But at the same time, hadn’t she lost enough family, enough people, already? Someone had to do something.

That happened to be you. 

While you were staring off into space, wondering what your mother would think about what you were about to do, the Talokanil finished up their work and began fussing over the outfit you were to wear. It was a handmaid of course, embroidered with equally white thread to accentuate the red and green adorning your body. When it came time to dress you, you were herded behind a screen and the robe tugged from your body. Your cheeks blazed with fire while you cradled your arms to your painted chest. The moment you saw white fabric you were relieved to be dressed in something.

The white gossamer material was dropped over your head and blue fingers were quickly holding onto your arms while they tied the sleeves and the neckline of the fluttering fabric against your skin. While they were fussing over the ties and plucking at white fabric, you came to a realization: undo the ties resting off your shoulders, and the dress could very easily be pulled from your body… you weren’t going to have to do anything naked… were you? You might draw the line at that.

“Really should have thought this through,” You fretted to yourself. Desperation for peace had convinced you to jump the gun so to speak, but if this worked, you would have no regrets. So you let them fuss over you until they were happy and chittering in Yucatec Mayan. The screen was pushed to the side and you picked at the cuticles of your left hand.

“In reina,”(My queen) You took in a deep breath, realizing that you could no longer stall. You twisted on the ball of your foot to see Namora standing next two others holding a large mirror. Your reflection caught your breath. You recognized yourself, your reflection, but this was the first time you had felt like you were someone. Not necessarily someone important, but someone. You didn’t feel like you were going to fade into the background, forgotten like so many times before. Between your plentiful new piercings, the pure white gossamer of the off the shoulder dress, and the red markings upon your skin, you found yourself staring at your reflection with a faraway expression.

“Ki'ichpanech,”(You are beautiful) One of the women murmured, the others nodded. Your skin prickled from the chill in the air and you finally looked to Namora.

“K’uk’ulkan?” You asked softly, knowing that she would at least know what you were indicating with his name.

“Chukpaxten, In reina,” (Follow me) She responded with a nod. The women who had helped you made the hand gesture you were now associating with a sign of respect. You felt compelled to return the gesture and did so, carefully raising your hands and copying their actions. Bright smiles appeared not heir faces and you turned to follow Namora, grabbing the skirt of your dress so you didn’t trip. As you walked, you saw flashes of red from your legs, bright and vibrant compared to the white skirts you held away from them. You hoped that you didn’t get any of the paint on the dress. It’d look like a bloody mess.

The path that Namora followed led back to the cavern where K’uk’ulkan was working on murals, that you knew… but there was a change of scent in the air. As if someone had burned incense. It tickled your nose and you forced yourself not to sneeze. Upon entering the cavern with the murals, you stopped short, your eyes widening. The space was clouded with the smoke from what had to be incense. There was now what looked like an alter set up with several items placed on a table. Colored flowers were placed at four points, red, yellow, purple, and white.

“Mayor,” (Elder) Namora spoke, bowing to an older looking Talokanil who stood draped in traditional garb.

“What am I getting myself into,” You whispered as the eyes of elder Talokanil gazed upon you. This all looked very… official. Fear crept into your veins.  Of course it did. This was a serious alliance you were negotiating/commencing, you had to respect their traditions. If you screwed this up, you felt like you were dooming your nation to certain war.

Date Published: 4/23/23

Last Edit: 4/2/23

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[anneapocalypse]

22 and 25 for dragon age? 👀🔥🔥

🔥 Choose Violence Ask Meme 🔥

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

I said politics before, so I will point to another related thing I love that I think gets neglected and that's the lives of ordinary people. I wrote about this a bit in my post on why The Hinterlands are Good Actually and a big reason I think they're good is the insights they offer into the lives of commoners and how those lives have been disrupted.

This is of course directly related to politics. 😉 I've said it before, and I'll say it again: if you want to understand politics, fantasy or real world, one thing that's crucial to understand is the most people are primarily concerned with the material wellbeing of themselves and their immediate loved ones. If you understand this, you will understand why common people are doing what they are doing and what actions will sway public opinion. Pointing out that people are upset about having their houses burned down and their crops destroyed is not vilifying the mages for rebelling against very legitimate injustices. But it needs to be acknowledged that the Fereldan farmer is probably most concerned about her crops at this particular moment, and if you, the protagonist, would like to sway her opinion about the mage rebellion, you might want to do something to help her family survive the winter first. Welcome to politics. What the nobility are doing matters, but what the common people are dealing with also very much matters.

25. common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Basically every "this companion character doesn't grow or change!" complaint coming from someone who did not exhaust their dialogue tree and never took them anywhere. Yeah, you are gonna get a pretty shallow view of a character if you don't interact with them, boss, Idk what to tell you. I'm sorry if people are mad that character development happens in party banter but that has been a Feature of this series since the first and it's probably not going anywhere.

Moreover, 99% of the time when I hear this complaint, the character actually does grow and does change, they just a) don't do it in the specific way someone wanted, and b) the player character didn't get the opportunity to personally browbeat them into changing and then be praised for how right and correct they were the whole time.

Fenris and Sera are both really good examples of this (and both characters that I love). Fenris absolutely does change by the end of DA2. His journey is in recognizing the ways in which he misdirects his anger and lashes out at the wrong people (often apologizing when he does so!) and most critically achieving a level of safety that will allow him to begin to lower his hyper-vigilance (which can only be accomplished with Danarius's death). But because he doesn't get all the way to reversing his opinion on mages and become besties with Anders, people will insist that he doesn't have growth. Sera's journey is, like most companions, messy and incomplete, but she also has one and particularly by Trespasser has become a lot less knee-jerk in her reactions to elfy things and begun to acknowledge how much she's really been hurting herself. But because she doesn't fully embrace elven culture and incorporate it into her identity, for some fans it'll never be enough.

[ackerfics]

FAMILY LINE — a house of the dragon fanfiction | aegon ii targaryen x oc

act one, chapter two: the red-bricked road (wc: 6.6k) | masterlist

Maester Orwyle is the kindest Maester she has ever known.

The Maesters in Dragonstone are all knobbly knees and wrinkly skin. Aesira once thought they posed as wizards until they outright told her that magic wasn’t part of their profession. She wanted to argue that they looked like one of the magic-wielders in the picture books she adored reading again and again but they shut her down and proceeded to explain the most basic parts of Westeros history to a child of four name days. Everything about them was boring — none of the whimsical touch she wanted to see. It nearly drove her mother insane how she would prefer to make the Maesters’ lives a lot worse by never listening to their teachings and by always hopping from one chair to another. Her father, though, laughed at every misguided action Aesira made, claiming that she was becoming his little dragon. Still, she wanted them to be more engaging; they were droning like insects during the summer and it wasn’t a nice sound to listen to every day.

But Maester Orwyle is patient enough to face Aesira’s never-ending questions.

How do you become a Maester? Can you do magic? But Mother said you can heal any wound, so why can’t you do magic? Where do you come from? Does the King pick you? When can I see my dragon? Do you know anything about dragons? 

She learns that to assume as a Maester, one must study and dedicate their life to being a scholar in a place called the Citadel. Maester Orwyle doesn’t go into full detail but he reveals that it is guarded by the Hightowers, which is the House the Queen belongs to. No, they can’t do magic, an answer she heard from across the seas and they can’t fully heal a wound, unfortunately. Maester Orwyle doesn’t entertain the questions about seeing her dragon but he offers a wide variety of history lessons about them when he has more time for tutoring. He tells her she is a breath of fresh air after witnessing her fiery enthusiasm about learning, adding that Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena both have their little things to worry about other than learning about how the realm came to be. Aegon, she can understand, but Helaena? The girl looks smart enough with how composed she appears. But Aesira doesn’t have the right to judge someone’s character — she was taught by her mother to be better than that.

After her hundredth question, Maester Orwyle places a bound journal on the table.

“What do I do with it, Maester Orwyle?” She asks, eyeing the brown book with slight intrigue.

The man chuckles, waving a hand to dismiss whatever suspicion she has of this blank book. “It’s blank, my Lady, not at all associated with our studies. We’ve already established that you have the most outstanding proficiency in reading the common language at a young age.” He gestures to the tomes carefully placed around the edges of the long table. “I suspect that you also know how to write the basic letters?”

Aesira nods, feeling her cheeks burn at the compliment. “Mother made me learn. Aether would rather follow Father around Dragonstone.”

“A very wise decision made by the late Lady Aellara.” The light on Aesira’s face dims. Maester Orwyle quickly lowers his head in shame. The wound from Lady Targaryen’s death is still fresh for him to verbally make a reminder of it, so he hastily adds, “My deepest apologies, young Lady. I seemed to have let my mouth wander before my mind.” Maester Orwyle receives a tiny nod from the little girl. To uplift her spirits again, he presents an idea that will surely entice the little lady. “This blank journal will be your most trusted friend during your stay here.” He then places a writing utensil with a lead tip right beside the journal. “If something of interest catches your eye, you can write it here, my Lady. If you bear questions for our next tutoring sessions, you can write them down so you will never forget them.”

“Can I write anything here?”

At her question, he lets out a light laugh. Her age seeps through her words. “Yes, anything you want, my Lady.”

Aesira takes the journal in her hands. “How do I start?”

Maester Orwyle looks her in the eye. “You know your numbers, yes?” She nods, an answer that satisfies the learned man. “How about taking down the number of windows around the Keep? Or perhaps your thoughts regarding the paintings and pieces of art on the walls and in the atelier? I’m sure that by the end of the week, you will have more things to write about than when you started.”

She heeds his advice. On her journey back to the nursery, she stops in the middle of the hallway, the guards stationed at every chamber all watching her with curious eyes. Aesira, with the journal and writing utensil in hand, whirls around in a flurry of skirts and makes little stomps away from the nursery, the chuckles of the guards following her ear. Her styled hair bounces with each step she takes. Today, her handmaid decided on simple braids running down from either side of her head, never forgetting the powder blue ribbons preventing the braids from unravelling to match her day gown, which is a blue that is an homage to her mother’s House. It is a statement that has any gossipping Lady look her way, eyes flashing and lips showing fox grins, eager for the fabricated news to reach the Queen’s ears. Aesira doesn’t care; she simply wants to follow kind Maester Orwyle’s suggestion to keep herself from getting bored.

Opening the journal to its second page (she wrote her name on the first one), Aesira begins counting the different kinds of windows she passes by.

There aren’t that many tall windows that span from the ceiling to the floor but there are many small ones so high for her to reach that she even loses count. (Aesira only learned up till twenty, so anything beyond that, she is purely making everything up. She hopes Maester Orwyle won’t be that disappointed at her counting.) 

The paintings on the hallways, however, are not pleasing to look at.

It comes to a point where Aesira has to stop at one and try to make out why there are so many people connected to each other in one setting.

“A pretty, little Lady is not supposed to look at revolting things such as these.”

The Realm’s Delight.

Aesira received remarks from her Uncle Viserys (the old man insisted she calls him by a title that’s suited for a familial gathering of sorts, coupled with hearty laughs when she attempted to do it with flaming cheeks) about how his Heir would love to make the time of the day to meet her.

From her title alone, Princess Rhaenyra is truly a delight to look at. Pin-straight silver hair, not a strand out of place; clear yet amused lavender eyes; lips quirked to one side; and hands nonchalantly positioned behind her back as if she has all the time on her shoulders to stroll around the Keep. Aesira has to crane her neck to look the Heir in the eye because she’s tall like any of the adults here, not noticing that she is slowly losing her balance from doing so. A momentary flash of confusion takes place on Aesira’s face when Rhaenyra loses that casual, attention-grabbing posture of hers and instead gains a frantic one, the older girl reaching out an arm to wrap around Aesira’s little body. The princess catches her in time before she hits the ground.

“Careful, Lady Aesira,” Rhaenyra murmurs, the words still clear. The Kingsguard who was ordered to follow Rhaenyra moves a step, which causes her to glance at him while Aesira keeps on staring at the princess’s face. “It’s alright, Ser Criston, I managed to catch the little Lady in time.” The Heir takes one look at Aesira, never helping the laugh that bubbles in her throat. “Hello,” her voice is gentle, carefully pulling the young Lady back on her two feet.

Aesira blinks, wide eyes taking in the image of the King’s beloved daughter. Rhaenyra looks a lot like her own mother. Suddenly, a bout of uncharacteristic shyness covers Aesira’s body. “Hi,” she answers a little too meekly.

Rhaenyra goes back to being the princess everyone adores, posture and standing and all. In an unconscious thought, she slightly lifts her chin in the air, the amused smile on her face returning. “What has brought you to examine the paintings, my Lady?”

 “I wanted to write something in my journal.”

“Your journal?”

She nods, pressing the bound book on her chest as she does with Daemian. “Maester Orwyle gave me a blank journal to write in.” On that thought, she hasn’t held baby Daemian for the day. She wants to inhale that sweet babe scent that clings to his skin, letting the warmth of her baby brother preserve the memory of her mother. However, the very image of Rhaenyra with the halo of the Sun behind her back proves to be the closer memory of her mother to her little mind, the only difference is the smile they carry. Daemian may be Aellara’s last piece before she breathes her last breath but Rhaenyra is likened to the image of the Siren of the Vale. Aesira never meets Rhaenyra’s eyes while saying, “He told me to write anything I find interesting.”

Rhaenyra hums. “Have you ever stepped inside the castle’s atelier?”

“What?”

The smile on the older princess’s face is patient. It reminds Aesira of Maester Orwyle’s when he answers her questions. “It’s a place where they keep the most valued paintings in the Keep. I’m sure the masterpieces there are … more refined than the ones displayed on the walls. Do you want me to accompany you there? I have nothing else to occupy myself with nowadays.”

Shame burns Aesira’s little body when a guttural sound erupts from her stomach.

Even the Heir’s laughs are a delight to hear. “Never mind the atelier then.”

“I’m sorry, Princess,” she sheepishly says.

“Ser Criston?” Rhaenyra calls without looking away from Aesira. “Can I request a plate of—what would you like, Lady Aesira?”

“C-Can I please have honey cake?”

“An outstanding choice, my Lady,” Rhaenyra praises with a large smile. “Just a plate of the Keep’s finest honey cakes, Ser Criston. Have it delivered in the gardens, too?”

Ser Criston is taller than the princess ever is. Aesira has a hard time even leaning back to measure his height with her eyes. His white cloak is the most striking piece of clothing he wears, not the blinding glint of his armour or the large sword carefully strapped on his belt. Every movement he makes is guaranteed to have a noise. The blinding armour he has makes the slightest bit of sound when he looks down at Aesira, unsure whether he should follow the princess’s command despite the role he should be portraying — a gallant knight and not an errand boy. Ser Criston looks like her father’s knights, the difference lies in the colour of their cloaks; whilst Ser Criston has a pristine white, her father’s knights carry golden ones. (And they don’t look unapproachable like Ser Criston.) His hardened gaze quickly softens at Aesira’s wide eyes and like any other who dares breathe the same space as the Rogue’s daughter, Ser Criston melts.

“Of course, Princess, I’ll have a servant fetch you one immediately,” Ser Criston speaks with a timbre deeper than Aesira’s father.

“Have you ever been to the gardens, Lady Aesira?”

“When I accompany Princess Helaena, yes.”

At the mention of the younger princess, Rhaenyra’s expression changes.

Aesira continues, “But we only spend the time looking for bugs there.”

Rhaenyra begins walking to the gardens and Aesira has no choice but to follow in her little footsteps. “An interesting hobby, I suppose.”

“With my journal, I can write about them.”

“Good for you, my Lady.”

Aesira knows when someone is bothered by a subject. She’s seen it on her father’s face. She doesn’t like it at all because he looks scary and is ready to explode at any minute; then, Mother would cry and tell him to forget about hearing it and that she was content with whatever life they created in Dragonstone. Mother never forgot about telling Aesira about the lushness and vibrancy of the Vale, telling the tales of her days growing up in a way that made a younger Aesira long for a visit to her mother’s family and childhood home. Whenever that subject was brought up, it always ended with Father being angry and Mother apologising for planting the idea in the children’s minds. Aether would hug her to sleep as they pretended another argument was not sprouting from the next room, a verbal fight of knives that had every servant avoiding their quarters for the next nights to come. Aesira would ask her mother if Father permitted them to visit the Vale and all she got was a clipped smile and the words, “We won’t be visiting my home anytime soon, sweetling. Dragonstone is enough for us for the time being.”

She can see Rhaenyra possessing the same ticks Father has when he doesn’t like to talk about certain things. They become closed-off and stony—dismissive.

Aesira has no choice but to keep quiet and wordlessly follow Rhaenyra until they reach the beautiful gardens of the Keep, a piece of land in the Keep that appears to stretch on for miles in a large body of green foliage. The both of them choose a stone bench to settle on, not too far from the entrance, with Rhaenyra having to aid Aesira in fully sitting on the high chair. The silence is quite heavy, with the chirping birds and buzzing summer insects filling in what should have been a conversation between the cousins. The discomfiture stretches, so much so that Aesira opens the journal and starts drawing whatever she finds pretty. For a child of five name days, the drawings she makes are not for the faint of heart. All of them are poorly-made shapes that don’t resemble the blue roses around the gardens or the red exotic flowers a few feet away.

“There was a time I was curious about my cousins in Dragonstone,” Rhaenyra breaks the silence with a casual tone, both of her hands perching on her lap and body directed to face Aesira. “And about my aunt while I was growing up.

“Mother would tell me how great of a delight her little sister was, that despite her grace, she carried the fire brought by their mother. While Mother was serene, her little sister was a challenge to anyone who met her.” Rhaenyra smiles at her finally sharing her thoughts with the family of her late mother, a member so cherished that when Queen Aemma was on her deathbed, she was screaming for her younger sister (or so Rhaenyra was told). “I can count on my hand the number of times I met her but Aunt Aellara was—is still—the most beautiful woman in my memory, sharing the same title as my mother.” The two blondes with dragonrider blood in their veins look at each other. “Everybody always dimmed when my eyes fell on her. She was truly a sight blessed by the gods, both Old and New.

“And when she talked to me last year under the lone weirwood,” Rhaenyra shakes her head, “I find myself wishing I knew her way before the moments I can only remember. Uncle is lucky to have her by his side.”

Aesira watches as Rhaenyra covers her tiny hand with her larger palm.

“I’m truly sorry for what happened, my Lady.” The princess struggles to express her thoughts. “These words come from deep in me and I am ashamed that I never said it during the funeral.” Rhaenyra notices her pout, prompting her to place both of her hands around her little cousin’s.

“Mother told me about Aunt Aemma, too, and,” Aesira gulps, “little Baelon.” She welcomes the reassuring grip Rhaenyra made around her unsure hand.

“In these trying times, we come to connect with the people who share the same pain loss gave us.” A forced smile comes to pull on the Heir’s lips. The older girl leans forward as if to whisper a secret only for Aesira to hear. “Did you know, Baelon’s legacy lives on in you twins?”

“In Aether and I, Princess?”

“My name or cousin, if you please.”

Aesira makes a timid nod. “Cousin.”

“That’s better,” Rhaenyra proudly states. “And yes.” The intrigue in her little cousin’s eyes is present enough for the day and she finds herself excited for once in so many moons. “Uncle, your father, wanted to honour his unborn heir by following the Targaryen tradition of putting dragon eggs in one’s cradle.” She chooses to omit the part that Daemon committed such an act as a way to capture the attention of Viserys, with the prince reasoning that he needed the egg for his lady wife’s pregnancy, something that didn’t happen until moons later. That excitement in her eyes shouldn’t be extinguished; it was too precious. “I gave my permission to give this dragon egg to his unborn child and when news went around that there were two of you, another egg was procured and given to him. Father even forgave him for a moment; pregnancy is something to be celebrated in our family after all.”

 “I never knew that,” Aesira says in awe.

Rhaenyra lightly laughs, leaning a little. “Now you do.” She pauses. “I picked the dragon egg that went to Uncle’s possession thinking of a sister named Visenya; a second coming of Vhagar, I envisioned.”

“The largest dragon in the world.”

The Princess nods, never losing that proud grin. “Indeed. When I saw Aether’s dragon, I instantly knew Baelon’s legacy will live through you two. A dragon fit for an heir. If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me about your dragon, cousin?”

Aesira now fully sits on the stone bench. Her eyes carry the stars that she ate and were now resting inside her chest while her mother birthed her to the world. She doesn’t notice Rhaenyra momentarily halts her breathing at the sight of her lilac eyes showing a glimpse of the entire night sky. Aesira Starborn is most excited for once in two moons. “Starfell is her name.” The journal is long forgotten on her lap. “She never stopped clinging to me when she hatched and it made Father happy. She grew bigger in five years as Father also said. Oh, cousin, she has the prettiest colour!” She then places both of her hands on her mouth, as if she said something remotely warranting a severed tongue. “Not that Syrax doesn’t have a pretty colour — I quite like gold.”

Rhaenyra can’t help but laugh. “I am not offended at all, cousin. I am a witness to how pretty Starfell is. She was there, yes?” At the funeral.

 The little Lady hums her agreement.

“Truly a dragon worthy of songs, I must say. It was like looking at a streak of a burning comet in the night sky. Maybe you can introduce her to me next time. I’ll make sure to ask Father for his permission to bring you to the dragonpit.”

“I’d like that, cousin.”

And when the long-awaited honey cakes arrive, Aesira can’t help but think that maybe Syrax will grow to like her Starfell as well.

“You have a shadow, my Lady,” a handmaid notes while following Aesira’s footsteps in the castle’s hallways. The woman slightly laughs at the doe-eyed confusion plastered on the young Lady’s face as she stops in her tracks before nodding at something behind them. “It’s been happening for a while now, probably days.”

“Is it Prince Aegon?”

The eldest son of King Viserys is sometimes endearing and most of the time annoying. 

If not for Aether pulling him away, he would most likely stick himself to Aesira’s side. He’s long overcome his moments of shyness. Gone is that Aegon who always turned away when she’s inside the nursery at the same time as him, needing Queen Alicent to push him out of his shell to communicate with his female cousin. How she misses that Aegon. He lasted for about three days. The entire week, Aegon gained the confidence that had him pulling out every chair during afternoon tea time (the children never drank tea, instead they are given freshly-squeezed fruit juice), tugging on her hand to invite her outside to watch the pretty flowers, picking out the most extravagant blossoms without regards to how his mother would feel and tucking them behind her ear, and always following her around the Keep. She’s kissed Aegon on the cheek way too many times and the boy never stops asking more from her, claiming her to be the most beautiful in the realm, making sure to scream it loudly every time Princess Rhaenyra makes her appearance around their vicinity. His own Realm’s Delight, he says.

(Rhaenyra stares at him as if he has lost his mind to the Stranger.)

It’s deemed adorable by her Uncle Viserys, laughing at how adamant Aegon is at showing his affections; but to her, it’s more reason to stop joining his games with Aether.

“I think it’s a rather surprising change, my Lady. You might want to see it for yourself.”

Aesira tilts her head to see around her handmaid's skirts, her styled hair flowing with the movement and creating a curtain that nearly touches the floor. One of the tapestries on the wall is protruding instead of falling straight to the ground. The lump is suspiciously squirming and there’s no mistaking the tiny feet visible in the small space at the end of the tapestry. Aesira instantly knows who it is.

“Prince Aemond?”

The lump on the tapestry jolts and Aesira can’t help but giggle.

This is truly a fresh breeze compared to the tempests Aegon brings.

Earlier, moments after waking up, Aether is already pulling Aegon to play and run around the Keep, leaving behind Aemond to stare at the older boys with Vhagar in between his hands. Being two name days old, Aegon and Aether both think it’s no fun to bring around the Queen’s favourite toddler; the babe will only prevent them from being too rowdy with their games. A silent agreement passes between the older boys that they will never include Aemond as much as he wants to be to avoid the wrath of the Queen. This leaves the little prince looking for another fixation to follow and that comes in the form of the princess-looking girl in the nursery aside from his sister. As usual, the prince would sit beside Helaena while she’s in search of her new insect friend; but once Aesira presents an opportunity of being another important figure in his life, Aemond instantly takes it.

Aemond peeks from his hiding spot, his cherubic cheeks dusted with a sweet touch of embarrassed rouge. Aegon’s toy Vhagar is absent from his hands. Rather, they find comfort in the hem of his vest. His fidgeting mirrors his older brother during their first meeting, down to the way that he doesn’t make eye contact. If given the chance, Aemond probably would have vanished with the tapestry’s depiction of a war between men and dragons.

Aesira straightens herself, running her hands over the length of her skirts. She glances at her handmaid, a silent question of permission to stray from their destination. The young woman shrugs with a smile, putting the decision on the little lady. Gathering the material of her dress in her hands, Aesira makes her way to the tapestry, where Aemond hides again with a squeak akin to a tiny mouse.

“Hello, my Prince,” Aesira greets with a smile reaching her eyes.

The darkness behind the tapestry doesn’t dull the indigo hues belonging to the prince. They only widen at her reaching out a bigger hand than his, the glow on his cheeks also brightening until he sheepishly looks away from her.

“Would you like to be my companion for the day, my Prince?”

Aemond nods, taking slow steps to place his hand in Aesira’s. Her smile rivals that of the sun as she gently pulls Aemond from the tapestry and into the hallways bathed in natural light. The change in scenery makes Aemond squint his eyes, very much like how Daemian did when he wakes up in the morning. The similarity warms Aesira’s heart, poking her brain to do something about her urges. So, following the instincts she gained from attending to her baby brother, she pats the top of Aemond’s hair, ruffling his blond hair (it’s soft to the touch!) before putting her hand on her skirts. The warmth spread through her entire body at the sight of Aemond pouting and mimicking her actions himself, patting himself on the head. Aesira won’t complain about having more little siblings to take care of — Aemond looks adorable enough to be considered as such. She knows Daemian won’t mind having another big sibling either.

“You can tell me all your favourite places, my Prince,” she says. “We never talked that much, you see.”

“Aemond,” the prince voices out, patting his chest with a determined look on his chubby face. “Me Aemond!”

“You want me to call you by your name?”

Aemond nods.

Aesira grins. “Alright! Lead the way, Aemond.”

It’s no surprise that Aemond brings her back to the nursery, wordlessly telling her that this is his favourite place in King’s Landing, most likely the only place he’s ever been to that he remembers. Still, Aesira smiles and follows him inside.

They make sure that they are near Daemian’s crib, the babe cooing at them every so often. The both of them are in their world at the moment, their well-protected bubble that nobody can cut through, not even with the swords the Kingsguard carry; Aether and Aegon are traipsing and wreaking havoc in the Keep while Helaena is discovering the small ecosystem the garden offers. Aesira never leaves her eyes on Aemond, the younger boy explaining the sentiments held by every single one of his toys. His most favourite, he relays, is the wooden dragon Aegon claims Aemond stole from him. He tells Aesira it’s his most prized possession because it came from his big brother, a fact that nobody knows except Aesira and tiny Daemian. He babbles made-up words yet Aesira listens, even indulging him in providing more narrative to the stories he reenacts with his toys. Aemond is a sweet boy, untouched by the vipers of the Keep and the whispers of the walls. Aesira vows to herself that since nobody is watching this boy flip over pebbles and rocks, she’s going to claim that position herself.

As she adjusts her voice to play as a soldier in battle, Aesira remembers being two name days old.

Dragonstone is a sad thing to remember.

However, its walls and everything around it holds her most precious memories to date.

Her oldest memory involves being strapped against her father’s chest, with Aether safely tucked on his back; the shaking she felt indicated that he was chuckling at the worried expression made by her mother. They would be safe with me, he said but not before running the back of his fingers on her mother’s cheek.

Aesira and Aether were two name days old when Daemon Targaryen took them on a ride on Caraxes.

She remembers how it felt — the clouds right at her small hands, the delightful laughs released by her father, the confusion and wonder on her face that she was not on the ground but flying to the edge of the world. She remembers looking up at him while the light touches his short hair and she remembers him placing a tender kiss on the crown of her head. Of course, Aether was never forgotten because Daemon shifted his head so that the tip of his nose touched the boy’s ruffled hair. What she truly feels to this day was her mother’s embrace the moment Caraxes landed and she was off her father’s chest, every part of her face was touched by her mother’s lips.

“I told you they'll be back on the ground, darling wife,” her father said.

Her mother kept kissing her face, her laughs even making her mother’s handmaids smile. “You never fail to give me a fright, husband.”

“Sira?”

Aesira looks up to meet Aemond’s chubby face. “Yes, Aemond?”

“Don’t cry.”

“Huh?”

Aemond lifts an arm, an action that requires all of his physicality, being a tiny human being. He places the entirety of his palm on the apple of her cheek. He looks near in tears. “Sira sad?” comes his wobbly voice.

At the question, Aesira hiccups a little sob.

Aemond instantly forgets his toys, waddling over to his companion’s side and enveloping her in the tightest hug she received in her lifetime. They are standing at the same height — Aesira still sitting with her skirt surrounding her legs and Aemond maintaining his balance in front of her.

“I don’t want Sira sad,” Aemond says, squeezing his eyelids shut.

She wraps her arms around him. “I’m not sad, Aemond.”

“Sira crying.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m sad.”

Aemond makes a sound of disagreement, burying himself more into her.

“Then why?”

“I just remembered something.”

The door to the nursery opens with a flourish.

“Aemond, she’s my princess! Get away from her!”

“We’re back, Sira!”

Aesira then feels another hug coming from behind her. She detects the faint smell of the sun and grass on the person’s clothes. On her other shoulder is Aegon closing his eyes as tightly as Aemond, his hug never including Aemond and is solely around her torso and only her. She doesn’t even know why Aegon starts claiming her as his princess when his sister is one. (Maybe it was because she agreed to play as the maiden when he and Aether took the roles of knights on a journey to find the most beautiful princess hidden among the bushes of the garden.) Growing up as the second prince’s daughter, she’s subjected to the title of a lady, never a princess despite her father being a prince. Her mother explained that it was because of a thing called succession, a word she never understood. But even as the people around her affectionately added her name with the title of Lady, her father never did; he always called her his little princess.

“Prince Aegon, I’m not a princess.”

Aegon looks offended as a child his age can be. “You are.”

“Your sister is the princess.” She nods at a standing Helaena carrying something in her palms. The girl is awfully still, her eyes wide and her lips mouthing words nobody can hear. Aesira came to find out that Helaena is a speaker of riddles, which ached her brain trying to comprehend. The younger girl’s words left her scratching her head in an attempt to decipher what the different colours of the loom meant. She will have to write everything Helaena says in her new journal. “I’m a lady, my Prince.”

“Well, you’re prettier.”

She frowns. “That’s rude, Prince Aegon. Princess Helaena is pretty.”

“Whatever you say,” Aegon harrumphs. “Call me Aegon.”

“But that—”

“Aegon.”

“Alright.”

“Say it.”

“Aeg—”

Aether makes himself known. “You’re both going to hurt her,” he says, referring to the princes. Ever the dutiful big brother of two, he pulls Aemond with all his might, the toddler complaining with flailing arms as he’s dragged on the floor. Aether doesn’t pay attention to the squawks of a scandalised surprise coming from the wetnurses stationed inside the nursery. They are most likely looking over their shoulder, mindful of the passersby that can whisper to the ears of the Queen about how his sons are being roughly handled by the new wards. Even after successfully taking Aemond and promising him another round of dragons and knights (which calms him down a little and doesn’t erase the pout on his lips), Aether turns around and sighs. Aegon still doesn’t let Aesira go, the former swaying the latter in an imaginary tune only he hears, his smile showcasing how happy he is after days of her avoiding him and begging for her attention. “Aegon.”

“No.”

“I don’t want my sister hurt.”

“I’m not hurting her.”

Aether stomps one of his feet. “Yes, you are!”

Aegon doesn’t respond and instead, pulls Aesira more to him.

“You’re acting like a clingy creature from Essos! And you know what they look like?”

“What?”

“Ugly.”

“Aesira, your brother is being mean!”

Aether rolls his eyes. “Let. Her. Go.”

“Never. Aesira likes it when I hug her.”

The younger blond boy glances at her for confirmation. Aesira’s face says it all. So, Aether firmly plants his feet on the floor and places both of his fists on his hips.

The girl in Aegon’s embrace remembers her father doing it whenever he catches Aether rolling on the dirt as a way of shirking his sessions with the Maesters or when she stays up late pretending to read one of the tomes underneath her bed covers like one of those studious scholars (the glow of the lantern gave her away). She drops her gaze to the rugs protecting the children from injuries. The image of her father on her older brother sets a gnawing feeling that is more discomforting than Aegon’s endless hug. “It’s alright, Aether. Aegon is harmless.” Her shoulders loosen when Aether stops looking like their disappointed father. To further placate her brother, Aesira covers Aegon’s arms with hers, hugging him in this position. “He’s warm.”

“See, Aether! She likes me!” Elated at the thought, Aegon presses a large kiss on Aesira’s cherubic cheek. “I like you, too, Sira.”

Aether pouts. “That’s not what she said, Aegon.” He stops glaring at Aegon when Helaena moves from her spot (she’s still standing while everything falls into chaos) to sit beside Aesira, her skirt forming a pitched tent before deflating around her. “Princess?”

The younger girl ignores the boys and instead directly looks at Aesira alone. “I found this, Sira. I think you’ll like it.”

Helaena finally presents what she has been hiding in her hands.

Aether laughs as Aegon flings himself away from the two girls with a squeal.

“You did it, Princess!”

Cradled in Helaena’s hand are three tiny red bugs with black dots. They can be pinched with the tiniest of forces but with the way Helaena lets them roam on her skin, Aesira can tell they are safe to explore on this new terrain. Aesira has never seen such creatures even in Dragonstone, having chosen to spend most of her days inside the nursery and trying to make sense of the Maester’s words.

Aesira gasps, leaning close to the princess. “What are they?”

“I don’t know. I’m asking the Maesters.”

She tilts her head. “They’re adorable.”

Helaena nods, her attention never leaving the bugs crawling on her palm. “One for each of you, Aether, and Daemian.” The two girls watch the three insects interact with one another. Conversations pass between their small heads, their bodies huddling close together in a semblance of comfort. Seconds pass in the nursery’s timepiece and one of the red insects spreads its shell-like body — its fluttering wings leading it away from Helaena’s palms and into the air. The two children don’t have the time to express their sadness over the departing bug since a second followed the first. And then there was one. Helaena slowly raises her hands to closer inspect the lone bug with teary eyes. “No, she’s all alone now.”

The princess never fails to make Aesira wonder. Helaena is the prettiest girl Aesira has never seen. There are countless pretty girls in Dragonstone, her mother’s handmaidens all belong to that category. (Her mother is beautiful according to the songs; pretty is not the perfect word for the Siren of the Vale — the woman who brought men to her knees and who softened the Rogue Prince until she was killed by his love.) But the Queen’s only daughter holds a certain light to her. It’s subdued, not blinding like Aegon’s or everlasting like her mother’s, which calls for Aesira’s attention. If she’s not attending to Daemian or studying with the Maesters, Aesira is found with Helaena. It’s perfect because she wants a little sister to coddle and dote on. Helaena is a precious thing, so Aesira doesn’t understand why Aegon complains about her being creepy. There’s nothing creepy with the princess’s riddles or her blooming love for nature — the girl is even crying over how the red bug is going to be lonely now.

Letting Aether’s teasing and Aegon’s teary rebuttals fly over her head, Aesira raises a hand and carefully pats Helaena’s head.

The younger girl jumps at the contact but she doesn’t flinch away. Aesira smiles, “There, there. The red bug will join her friends later. Don’t be sad, Princess.”

Helaena leans her head to capture more of her hand’s warmth. The action reminds Aesira of the puppies running around one of the villages in Dragonstone. She begged her father to carry one back but she was declined by him with the words that the beasts were not worthy of a god carrying dragonrider blood in her veins, that if she wanted to treat something as a companion, it would be her newly-hatched dragon. The puppy she found had an almost-white shade in its gold fur. With Helaena’s hair, it’s not hard to imagine an adorable puppy on her trying to ask for more pats on the head. Aesira giggles and gives the princess much-needed pats.

“She won’t join them,” Helaena replies, now looking down at the roaming red insect.

“Oh?”

“Isolation welcomes another soul; a union bathed in gold just as the stars foretold.”

Another one of Helaena’s riddles.

Aesira’s mouth opens to address it but her voice never comes out as Aegon regains his bearings after a disgusted and terrified spiral of seeing the bugs. “You’re doing it again, Hel!” Now, as the eldest brother of three, he stomps in between Aesira and Helaena, but he isn’t as dutiful as Aether. Rather than give his sister space to breathe, he closes in like a hawk watching its prey, beak ready to hurl insults that will make his little sister cower. “You have to stop it. It’s weird and it’s creeping people out!”

A quick glance is exchanged between the twins.

“Aegon, I quite like it when the princess says her riddles,” Aesira supplies, resting a hand around his wrist.

Aegon looks back at her, conflict clear on his face. He flickers his contemptuous gaze on an unfazed Helaena and his resolve cracks. If his sister doesn’t appear to listen to a word he says, it won’t be worth it. He scoffs at Aether who flashes a contented gesture of a thumb in the air, a sign of a job well-done. The hand enclosing his wrist tugs on his hand, fingers entwined and magnetic as he follows Aesira pulling him to sit on the floor, shoulders shy of touching one another.

Cornflowers and lilacs are beautiful once woven together.

Staring deeply at the pair of joined hands, Helaena echoes, “Isolation welcomes another soul; a union bathed in gold just as the stars foretold.”

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[thesluttyvampirewizard]

Clearing Up Common Vampire Misconceptions:

Often, those in the magical world have misconceptions about vampires, often due to how rare they are, so I decided to make a post to enlighten things, especially since I'll be living among you on the Wizard Island.

Note: while I may say statements about vampires and their magic, understand that every vampire is different, and not every statement applies to every vampire.

Vampires, or sanguophages, are created during a ritual known as the First Death, which typically requires another vampire present to complete, but has rarely been completed without one, although the results vary wildly. When the First Death is complete, the newly turned exhibit symptoms slowly. Accidental First Deaths also happen on occasion, but are far less common.

Over the coming days and weeks, the human blood in their body is metabolized quickly as changes occur, including but not limited to: weight loss, light sensitivity in both skin and eyes, development of enlarged canine fangs, total albinism, and multiple organ failure, which is the last to occur as the ritual is complete.

Vampires, as is well known, are sensitive to sunlight, or more specifically, Ultra-violet light. This is caused by two major sources: the aforementioned albinism, and less mundane magical weakness to sunlight. The sunlight weakness varies from vampire to vampire, in the lightest cases resulting in frequent sunburn and light burning sensations in direct sunlight, and the worst resulting in total disintegration in direct sunlight, and skin fires with indirect sunlight.

This is often, but not always, linked to a vampire's overall magical proficiency, with the stronger vampires developing more intense weakness. All vampires to my knowledge, however, report eye strain in sunny conditions, with heavy overcasts being the brightest conditions we can feel comfortable seeing.

The albinism is the cause of the vampire's famous red, pink, or white eyes, and many humans have been mistaken for vampires due to natural albinism in the past, which has led to unjust treatment.

Vampires, as you can probably tell by myself, can also become Wizards. In fact, we often have natural proficiency in several fields of magic, such as Necromancy, Dark Magic (the manipulation of shadows), and Chronomancy. I personally employ a great deal of Eromancy, Mind Magic, and Spacial Manipulation in my day-to-day life.

Furthermore, not all vampires are considered evil, and much like humans, that is a result of our own actions, desires, and behaviors. I however am very evil.

Vampires are still capable of eating, with weaker vampires still requiring it for basic sustenance. Garlic, however, is to be avoided at all costs, as I experienced recently when @kinjedl provided a Stew with garlic, which I was unaware of. It unfortunately did lead to my complete disintegration (which required a great deal of blood to reverse) but I'd do it again, as that Stew was completely delicious.

Vampires come from all walks of life, but it is typically the older ones like myself (I turn 403 in November), who live in mansions and castles and have excellent access to vampire-care, while new vampires, especially accidental ones, often live in poverty without clean access to blood or even basic sunlight protection such as magically strengthened sunscreen or Spheres of Eternal Darkness, a plight I have a great deal of interest in helping to stop.

For any vampires out there, young or old, feel free to come forward, openly or anonymously with your stories, so that awareness can be raised for the wizard councils of Wizard Island. Thank you for your time, I bid you all a good midnight.

[trans-duckling]

For Them to Have Your Eyes: Doubts

The excitement Gai had been experiencing during the past few weeks was higher than anything he had felt before. Kakashi was almost three months pregnant and a small bump had started to be noticed on his belly. He knew his partner was not particularly happy about it, but he could not avoid smiling every time his hand brushed over it when they were alone, and the expression on the Hatake’s face told him he was enjoying it equally, even if with mixed feelings.

Truth was, up until that day he had had no reason to feel anything that wasn’t joy about the pregnancy.

Gai was on his way back home after a whole day of teaching at the Academy and later training with his team. He was still not back to perfect shape, but he could keep up with Lee and Tenten quite well, and rehab helped a lot. However, that afternoon he was not able to focus on the good things that had happened to him. His brain was set on a discussion he had had with his class about respecting everybody even if their abilities were different.

It had been like a hit in the gut, seeing that the same experience that him, his papa and Lee —among many others that he knew— had suffered was still repeating itself at the Academy. And the worst thing was that, even if he tried to teach the children about respect, what they learned at home was equally —if not more— important to them. There was nothing assuring him that the same situation wouldn’t repeat itself the next morning.

Gai was not stupid; he knew well what other people said about him and his papa when he was a kid. Even after his death and he himself becoming a respectable jounin, having other people mocking at him was quite common. He had grown up and learned to ignore them, of course, but that didn’t erase the way he had felt about it as a child. Or the fact that Lee had gone through the same.

Or that their child might, too.

He didn’t beam as he entered through his and Kakashi’s house, knowing his partner would most likely be taking a nap after a whole day of working at the office. Once his shoes were off, he turned the corner to the living room just to find his rival laying down on the sofa, Pakkun curled on his chest with the snout over the small belly. They were both asleep, and Gai observed them for a few seconds to commit the image to memory. Then, he silently moved into the kitchen and closed the division between the two rooms so the noise and smell he would be producing as he cooked didn’t wake them up.

He was half-way to finish the meal when the door of the kitchen opened to reveal a sleepy Kakashi with crazy hair and his mask resting at the bottom of his neck.

“Had a good nap?” Gai asked with a smile.

“Yeah” the Hatake yawned, stretching the arms over his head.

“And Pakkun?”

“He went back, said something about a hunt with the rest of the pack.”

“Oh, then I’ll put his dinner in the freezer for another day.”

As he moved, Kakashi’s arms found their way around his upper body, hugging him while he rested his head over Gai’s shoulder. Their figures seemed to fit perfectly like pieces of a puzzle, which made sense since he was sure that his rival was also his man of destiny.

“How was work today?” he asked with a smile as he moved the food in the pan. “Not too tiring?”

“As fun as any other day” the Hatake huffed. “What about you?”

“Hmm, it was fine” he nodded, focusing on not burning their dinner. “Do you mind setting the table?”

Something in his voice must have betrayed him, because the next second Kakashi stepped back and he sensed his posture changing into an inquisitive one.

“What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing is wrong, rival!” he said, putting all the conviction he had in those words. “Why would you ask that?”

“Because you never answer with just an “it was fine” to a question about your day.”

He sighed.

“It’s nothing, rival, you don’t have to…”

“Gai.”

There was a threat in Kakashi’s tone, something that told him he would get his answer one way or another. He knew sincerity was preferable, though.

He sighed again.

“Aren’t you worried about me being the other father?”

For a second, nothing happened. Then, his rival’s face changed into one of utter confusion.

“I’m sorry, I must have heard wrong” he said. “Come again?”

“It’s just… well, the baby —our baby— is going to have your genes, which most likely will make them a genius, but they’ll also have mine so, maybe…”

“They will become a master in taijutsu capable of facing the power of a god?”

“Kakashi…” he sighed as he turned with the spatula in hand.

“What? Did I say a lie?”

“Well, technically no, but that’s not what I was referring to” Gai complained, avoiding the eyes of the other man. “If I… If our baby ends up having the same limitations my papa and I had, then… I don’t want them to go through the same experience, Kakashi. I know we’re shinobi and these things are not supposed to affect us, but if someone makes fun of our child because of something they got from me, then I…”

Kakashi didn’t understand from where all that was coming from, but it was evident a long conversation would be needed. Gai seemed to be full of fear for their child, which was nice at the same time as it was worrisome, because it showed how much the way he was treated as a kid truly affected him. Oh, how the Hatake wished to be able to go back in time and kick a few more mouths.

“Lower the fire and let’s sit, ok?” he said, taking the spatula from Gai’s hands and leaving it on the kitchen counter.

The other man did as instructed, their dinner left to slow-cook as they solved whatever was going on. A part of Kakashi —the hormoned one— wanted to grab Gai by the neck and shake him until some common sense came back to his brain, but the other side knew that topic required some more finesse. Also, the last thing he wanted to do was disregard his feelings.

“Ok, in first place” the Hatake started once they were both seated around the kitchen table, “I want to believe you know how genetics actually work. Yeah, sure, the kid is going to get both our genes, but that doesn’t mean their being and abilities are going to be a mix of ours. Truth is, we won’t know until a few years after they’re born and capable to show any kind of chakra control.”

“But, if they…”

“If for any reason they end up being uncapable of having good chakra control, then we’ll focus on their other abilities, Gai. You, your dad, Lee and so many other shinobi for which you all made a path have been able to triumph in life by using only taijutsu, so there is no reason to believe our child wouldn’t.”

Kakashi brought one arm over the table to grab Gai’s hand and interlace their fingers. The gesture normally led to a big smile appearing in the other man’s lips, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I just… Don’t want them to suffer, rival” his partner said in a low voice. “I know we would teach them everything they needed to know and ensure their safety, but… The rest of the world may not be so kind.”

The Hatake knew well what he was referring to. The village had turned its back on his own father for choosing his teammates over the mission and led him to suicide. It had mocked Dai for his limitations instead of congratulating him for his dedication. People had continued making fun of Gai until after the war, when they learnt how strong he actually was. He had had to die in order to be fully respected.

If Kakashi was being honest, the simple thought of someone trying to use their child as a joke made his blood boil.

“We won’t let that happen” he assured Gai, squeezing his hand. “Nobody will mess with our child, I promise you.”

“Rival…”

“I am the Hokage” he interrupted the other man. “If they didn’t want things to change, then they shouldn’t have let me take the position. We’re going to do everything we can to ensure that not only our child, but also any other that may find themselves in a situation like yours, don’t suffer as you did. I promise.”

When Gai finally met his eyes, there were tears coming down the taijutsu master’s cheeks. Kakashi hated them because they carried too many negative feelings. Gai really thought that if their child was different, it would be his fault. That he would be the one to blame if other people tried to mock their kid just for not fitting the norm. As if there was something wrong about that. As if Gai was not the best person Kakashi had ever met in his life.

“You’re going to be a fantastic parent” he declared in an exhale, cupping the other man’s face with his free hand and using the thumb to brush off some tears. “I could never worry about you being the other father of this child, Gai, because I know that, whatever happens, you’ll love and protect them with everything you have inside.”

This time, Gai squeezed his hand back and pulled him up and onto his lap, arms wrapping the Hatake’s waist in a tight hug.

“And, if after all, something happens?” the man muttered against his skin.

“Then I’ll start exiling people from the country” Kakashi responded, kissing his head. “Nobody messes with our child.”

Under any other circumstances, he knew Gai would have demanded a different and less dramatic solution, but that time he just nodded, as if agreeing with him.

The truth was, they couldn’t know how their child would be. Maybe they would have perfect chakra control, or maybe they would never be able to mold chakra. They may even want to lead a civilian life rather than a shinobi one! Whatever it was, Gai and him would face it together. And probably accompanied by an army of their students and summons, who would no doubt kick and bite some sense in anybody that dared to threaten their child’s happiness.

[miracles-and-butterflies]

OOH! Addams family au? (It can have two versions; you can choose whichever one you like the most.)

First version:

Like say, alma's side of the family were distant relatives of the Addams? But regardless, the cooky gene is prominent in every relative.

So, let's say Pedro met Alma at a graveyard after a pet or relative died. They started visiting each other more often there and their love blossomed from there.

Pedro knew very well how the town saw her family; crazy, creepy, and a threat. But Pedro never saw her as any- well...he knew for sure she was all three of those things, but he also knew she had a heart of gold too (even though she never liked to admit it).

They both got married and the triplets came about. She and the rest of her family all lived in one house (like an early Casita before the Miracle).

The triplets grew up and got their gifts (Maybe gifts were already common in Alma's family and maybe she just didn't get one? Her family still loved her though). Julieta: poisonous food (but her family doesn't mind the poison). Bruno: foreseeing deaths and terrible fates. Pepa: Only storms, lightening, and rain.

So, they just end up like a combination of Wednesday and Pugsley. Alma and Pedro are purely Gomez and Morticia in the purest form.

Second version:

Pedro and Alma get married, have the triplets, and things seem fine for a little while. Until the other villagers decide that Alma's family weren't people anymore and decided to burn their house down.

One thing led to another, and Alma (with the babies) were the only ones to make it out alive. A miracle happened and a forest formed around her to protect her and her babies.

A new house came about, and things got started from there. Oh yeah, that day was the first and last time Alma Madrigal cried.

The triplets grew up never knowing about the outside world, until two boys came along. Those boys were Felix and Agustin, both were orphans who ran away from an orphanage at 16 and 17 years old.

They somehow made it to their house and Alma begrudgingly let them stay. A good way to give her kids someone to torture and "play" with. And that's how the grandkids came about, but both girls and both boys were above age of course.

(Also: Maybe the forest is an entity like Casita? It creates a labyrinth of pathways and dead ends just in case someone with ill intentions gets too close to the house. The forest saw that both boys needed help and decided to let them through.)

Isabela: Can only create poisonous plants

Isabela: super strength

Mirabel: Doesn't have a gift but practices witchcraft like Alma

Dolores: Can hear from afar. You can say she went insane from hearing voices for so long.

Camilo: Shapeshifting

Antonio: Can talk to only dead animals

All children know there's an outside world but don't think it's best to go out there. Alma told the stories of the scary human beings who kill you for being slightly different.

Whatcha think?

There’s a lot of Adams family AUs with the Madrigals. I don’t really have anything new to offer up to the plate.

The only thing I would change is have Mirabel be completely normal (same as canon, doesn’t practice witchcraft or wear dark clothes or enjoys gloomy subjects, etc), just to replicate the odd one out feeling.

And I’d rework how Agustín and Félix find them. As them coming in as teenagers and joining the family whilst they were still minors, only to later get married and have children does seem weird; pseudo incest, to be honest. Have them come separately, when they are not minors and don’t have them live alongside the family before starting relationships.

A suggestion: Félix could be studying weather patterns that leads him to the house and meeting Pepa. Perhaps Agustín was chased and injured by a wild animal, rescued by Julieta.