#and we’ll never unknow it again

[ninyard]

if there are 38 days until tgr then that’s just 38 days to get all the ridiculous Jeremy headcanons out of my system until we find out his family are just homophobic

[leclsrc]

car sex with charles and/or saying I love you thru laughter (#2) or I haunt you in your sleep!!!!!!

shift gears – cl16

Charles picks you up in his Range Rover, which can only mean one thing.

auds here... i cried over ur bday greeting for me this a.m. so naturally i wrote car sex! i love you mackster

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... car sex, penetrative sex, semi-public setting, use of bunny as a petname, riding, size kink

Days where you get to fuck in the car are obvious and numbered, because those are the same days Charles picks you up in his black Range Rover instead of an obscenely showy red Ferrari (because the low ceiling will never grant either of you the patience to ride him). Half the time this car pulls up at your flat, you barely make it to the parking lot elevator you’re never not unscathed, fully dressed, or swollen-lipped.

Those are also the same days he gets back from work trips or races. The same days you have to make it to an event on time and nearly never do. Today is one of those days, which you really should’ve embedded into your head when you decided to wear a dress that ended far above your knees.

When you slid into the passenger seat and felt his eyes on you, his hand on your thigh, lingering. When he asked for a kiss for the road and deepened it, licking into your mouth until your thighs quivered and you were the one asking for his cock, when he instigated it all. When he parked at the far, dark end of the garage of this godforsaken restaurant, ushered you into the backseat, invited you on his spread lap. Pressed open-mouthed kisses all over your bare neck, licking over your collarbones.

“I really can’t be late tonight,” you mouth hotly into his skin, but your words ebb into a whimper at the feeling of his hand sneaking up your tiny dress. “Charles.”

“We’ll be quick, bunny,” he affirms, his rough hand groping at your ass shamelessly. “Missed you too much, putain.” He thumbs at the wet seat of your lace panties, pulling it to the side so he can bully himself into you, and for a minute it’s just you two breathing as you struggle to adjust to the girth of him, always a challenge after he’s away too long. 

Your doe eyes struggle to stay open, fluttering shut when they meet his dark ones. “So big,” you wrench out, your voice on the edge of a sob. 

“Remember what I tell you, baby?” He whispers into the air in-between the both of you. “Say it with me,” he continues, closer and closer to bottoming out.

“We’ll make it fit,” you whimper, finally fully seated on him. You’re clearly struggling already, the burn of lifting yourself up and down slowly, slowly, then faster, taking a toll on you and causing a sheen of sweat to form across your writhing body. “Please, please,” you beg, unknowing what for.

“I know, baby, I know. Feels good, yeah? Hard to stay quiet?”

He watches your pussy swallow all of him again and again, thumbs at your clit to watch you squirm and release sweet sounds, taking his cock like you were made for it. Your stuttered moans rise in volume every time he thrusts upward to meet you, his cock making nasty noises that only get you wetter. You’re so tight, so wet, dripping all over him and your thighs. 

“I can’t take it,” you say, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m—gonna fuckin’—”

He’s doing the work now, thrusting up into you and involuntarily jerking moans of his name past your lips every time his balls slap against you. “Come on, bunny, keep bouncing. Come for me,” he says between his teeth, pressing his hips flush against your ass, so deep you can feel it in your stomach. “You gonna be good, oui? For me?”

“Yes, yes,” you nod dumbly, “don’t stop, please.”

He tells himself you’re both doin a good job of being quiet, staying under the radar. His car’s as hulking as it was ridiculously expensive, and it’s sturdy, so it doesn’t shake much. He repeats the shitty lie to himself as he thrusts into you harder, and this time you’re almost wailing his name, mixed with expletives and pet names of your own making.

You’re squeezing him, gushing down the length of his cock, and he knows he’s not going to last long. “Right there, Charles,” you whimper, “wanted you to fuck me since you picked me up. Wore your favorite pair,” and fuck the pink lace wrung around your hips, this really is his favorite. 

“M’gonna cum if you don’t shut up,” he scolds, pounding into you and feeling just how close you are.

“Yeah, me—me too, baby, I—fill me up, I wan’ it,” you babble, and before you can even inhale, he’s emptying himself inside of you as you release hot and wet around him, his hands everywhere, just dying to get a feel of you underneath the thin material of your dress. My filthy girl, he murmurs into your neck, accent heavier than ever.

Your phone rings three inhales later, and your sweaty hand swipes clumsily to pick up Lando's call.

Hey, dinner’s starting in five.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, trying to not sound as breath-deprived as you are. You already feel the staccato vibrations of your boyfriend against your damp skin at the poorly-hidden lie and hide a laugh of your own. Quietly, he bites at your skin and squeezes the flesh of your waist. I love you, he whispers amidst laughs, at the same time Lando asks: You guys done driving?

You blow a silent kiss, and then clarify: “Just finished.”

[goodqueenaly]

Do you think the Faith of the Seven forbids divorce barring an annulment, like Catholicism, or is it more lenient in such matters from what we can see in the text?

Note that “divorce”, as a term, is never used throughout the main novels, the Tales of Dunk and Egg, or TWOIAF or F&B. The closest we as readers get to associating “divorce”, specifically, with the world of Westeros is a response from GRRM about the marriage of Doran and Mellario, in which the author says “divorce simply isn't common” in Westeros. Whether the author was trying to say that divorce, as a separate idea from annulment, exists in this world but perhaps not for Faith-worshiping Westerosi, or whether the author was simply equating divorce and annulment and commenting that ending a marriage in Westeros “simply isn’t common”, or whether GRRM meant something else entirely, is impossible to say.

Nor indeed do we have what I would call a complete idea of how Westeros operates with respect to ending marriages. Even if we leave aside the ironborn (with their tradition of hierarchical polygamy and Victarion’s horrific method of ending his last salt marriage) and the followers of the old gods (whose faith is far less formally structured than that of the Faith of the Seven), there still remain significant open questions about in what circumstances a marriage made under the Faith can be ended (and I’ll just use the very general wording of “ended”, to avoid the complications of trying to apply a distinction between “divorce” and “annulment” which may or may not exist in Westeros). A marriage made in the Faith can be legally ended for non-consummation, though that is clearly not the only grounds for doing so (as Tyrion and Tysha’s marriage was also legally ended despite the fact that they consummated it). How this process occurs, however - other than Tyrion’s vague reference to “the High Septon or a Council of Faith” putting aside a marriage, and the author’s own few words on annulments - remains mostly a question mark. Likewise, how each party could and would live following such a marriage ending is also mostly unknowable right now.

(All of this, moreover, is a separate discussion from marriages which appear to still exist, in a legal sense, but in which the spouses have physically and emotionally separated from one another - Doran and Mellario, for instance, or the periods of estrangement in the marriage of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. To what extent this process and the end result could be or is formally pursued and/or recognized in Westeros as a separate state from ordinary marriage, is again, an open question. There seems to have been no formal action taken by Alysanne or Mellario, much less their husbands, to request an acknowledgement from the Faith or any legal body that their respective marriages had changed or, at least for Mellario, essentially ended, but again, the information is thin at best.)

(I’m also not discussing those instances where both spouses remain alive, but the actions of one spouse result in that individual’s legal death and the effective widowing of the “surviving” spouse - a husband joining the Night’s Watch, for example, or a wife joining the silent sisters, a la Quentyn Ball.)

I definitely expect to get at least a little more discussion in TWOW on the practicalities of Westerosi annulments. However, because I think the best chance for us to learn more about this process is through Sansa’s remarriage to Harry Hardyng - and because I think Sansa’s marriage to Tyrion is going to be called void on the grounds that she and Tyrion never consummated it - I don’t know how much we can glean from that storyline about whatever extent Westeros acknowledges divorce versus annulment. Indeed, I doubt we’ll ever get the word “divorce” used in the novels; rather, I think any situation where a marriage is ended will be said to be an annulment, or a “putting aside”, of the marriage, rather than any modern concepts of divorce that we may have.

[amatorygirls]

GtN and HtN spoilers!! CW: talk of not having control over your body

just randomly thought of this now so excuse my incoherentness or possible ignorance or if anyone has said this before (this is also my first ever tumblr post so sorry for formatting errors), but i was looking at fanart of cytherea the first and just loving it. i realized there’s just something so baroque about her, and i think that’s on purpose. because she’s of the 7th house yes, the emperor’s joy and all that, but also because she’s a woman, and also because she’s dying. she’s expected to be beautiful because of her affiliation and her gender, all while she’s decaying from a disease that she was doomed to be born with and could never escape until it ultimately killed her. wilting away infront of everyone. and the ENTIRE time, she was given roses. roses, the pinnacle of beauty. every single rose she was given had a meaning, a life. and every single rose died. inevitably, wilting away infront of her. reminding her of her own fragile, ‘beautiful’ self. and even after she was dead, she was laid to rest drowned in roses that were modified to stay perpetually fresh, along with her body (i think) ((which of course john would do, after reading nona i’m not surprised)). not even eternally asleep could she catch a break. i think tamsyn muir was saying something here about how the ‘ideal woman is a dead one’. she is silent, still, and malleable. that’s what she pretended to be in canaan house. but i don’t think she ever could truly be. she was too angry. too enraged. also the fact that she became a lyctor in hopes she could be cured but just ended up suffering in a stagnant state of sickness for thousands of years, the fact that she was purposely given this disease. the fact that john LIED. lied to everyone. lied to HER. before her life, during her life, and after her life, things were done to her body without her informed consent. her cancer being almost prophetic, her unknowing improper lyctoral ascension, and the possesion of her empty shell of a body. (also it being used as a medium for pyrrha and wake is a whole other thing) she IS the rage of not having control over your own body. i think, ultimatley, that’s what her character is about. i mean, i’m pretty sure harrow stabbing The Sword™️ INSIDE her unwilling corpse was probably a metaphor or something…

“we take so much. i’m so sorry.”

(again i just thought of this thirty minutes ago so feel free to add anything 🙏) ((i also wonder how this parallels dulcinea and her life but it’s 1 am and i don’t feel like thinking anymore. but i think we’ll learn more about her in alecto.))

the art that inspired this was a beautiful cytherea and harrow drawing by pygmypouter on tumblr!

[moonmeg]

A little addition to "Curious"

“D’aw and yet here ye are unable to live wi’out me”

Robyn rolled his eyes as a smile began tugging on the corners of his mouth. There was some truth to it. Micah was his best friend, the person he’d trust with his life and imagining a life without those red curls, trilled Rs and filthy tongue was impossible. At the very least, Robyn thought, it would be a rather unhappy life without Micah.

As he stared at the ceiling of the barn the thoughts came rushing back. Endless trains of thoughts pulling him from one question to the next. That was nothing new. His mind was always restless and always made it difficult for him to concentrate on something fully for a longer amount of time. It’s been this way since his childhood but this train of thoughts was different somehow. Vivan’s words didn’t let him go. Who was his “somebody else”? What does Vivian know that he doesn’t? And instead of sitting and thinking of who it is, all his thoughts could be stilled with a little glimpse into a crystal ball. The solution is right there. And Robyn certainly didn’t care much for rules. He could ask someone else to take a look but…

Micah was right. Oracle magic is not to be underestimated and knowing your future may be more dangerous than one might think at first. And what if he does suddenly know who he’s going to be with? Wouldn’t it feel forced? Like it didn’t naturally develop but because “it must happen”. That would affect the whole relationship, no? Isn’t that the nice part about romance? That you yourself don’t know what will happen. That your unknowing will make the little things and the firsts of a relationship so much more meaningful? Even the kiss with Vivian has a meaning now that it wouldn’t have had in a case of knowing how she felt and that she will kiss him.

A bunch of hay suddenly poking his face ripped him out of his deep thoughts.

“Ey!”, he exclaimed disgusted. “Ew, Mike, what the heck?!”

“Oh, sorry, was that not the wheelbarrow? Oopsies.”, Micah grinned.

“You bastard-”, Robyn started grinning himself and stood up from the hay seat, gently pushing Eilidh’s (the unicorn) head off his laps, “-I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Come and try, Shorty.”

“Alright that’s it!”

Robyn picked up small piles of hay and threw them at Micah, who dodged them without throwing anything back. Laughing and with another pile in his hands, Robyn approached Micah. The freckled boy however, held out the pitchfork to his attacker.

“Put the pitchfork down.”, Robyn halted smiling.

“Put the hay down.”, Micah replied, “Then we’ll talk ‘bouta pitchfork.”

“You’re a very unfair opponent, good Sir. You attacked me first! Now you’re using weapons I don’t have. Make it fair. Hay against hay.”

“Only if there’s ceasefire while I put it away.”

“You have my word.”

A moment of delay. Nothing happened as they both smirked at each other. Micah placed the tool on the ground and kicked it behind him, never once breaking the eye contact with the brunet.

“Good.”, Robyn tried to suppress his smile and be fully in the role of a dueling opponent, who would ensure to be on the winning side, “Now eat hay!”.

Micah dodged the hay attacks once again, still not throwing anything back. He instead attempted to flee, running around in the barn with Robyn right behind him. Both laughing heartily in this game of chase. Robyn chased after Micah for a good minute until Micah’s reflexes were too slow and gave Robyn the opportunity to pin him to the wooden wall by the shoulders.

“Where to now, Freckles?”, he smirked up at Micah.

Micah smiled, panting and catching his breath, trying to still his heart beat along with it.

“Alright, alright!”, he laughed, “I surrender.”.

Robyn didn’t give a response. He tried to catch his own breath and only managed to stare at Micah. Stare at his face as if he’s never seen the light brown freckles all over it or the reddish brown of his eyebrows and eyelashes. As if he looked at those golden eyes for the first time and as if he first notices the chunks of red hair falling into that pale face. As if this was the first time he noticed how beautiful all those traits were together. His breath calmed.

“Rob? Ye- uh… ye can let me go now.”.

Robyn blinked rapidly a few times and pulled himself out of his thoughts.

“Oh, yes, right. Sorry.”, he let go of Micah’s shoulders and backed away, “I uh.. I spaced out for a little there.”.

Micah chuckled. “I noticed. It’s alright.”.

The redhead looked around the hay-covered barn with a long uttered “Well”.

“We better get this cleaned up again before ma dad notices.”, he rubbed his neck.

“Yeeeaah”, Robyn chuckled, “Sorry about that too.”.

“Nonsense, I got myself into this literal mess. It was fun though.”, Micah turned and smiled at Robyn.

“It was.”.

Robyn picked up a broom from the corner of the barn. He better forget about whatever that intense stare of him just was. He wasn’t staring in that sense.

Right?

Micah was attractive to him. But that’s nothing new.

There wasn’t more to it.

…

Right?

[wexhappyxfew]

12. pushing a strand of hair behind their ear

For Annie and Brady please.

I love them soo much. And I adore your writing.

Also I hope you’re doing well and are having a great day :)

hello anon! thank you so much for submitting this prompt!! 🥹 it absolutely took a fairly cute direction in quite the circumstance (we’ll see what that means), so i hope you enjoy!! :) thank you for the love on annie and brady too! 😭 that’s so sweet!! they’re a joy to write so i hope this provides some goodness for them! YOU TOO ANON!!! i hope your day (and now weekend) is going wonderfully! please enjoy!!!

i found you again

(a/n): had a much longer version that this but….did not feel ready for that so, i shortened it up and made it work a bit more with the prompt and i liked how it came out so :) it is shorter than some of my other writings, but i hope to expand on it more in future postings haha! please enjoy!!

Annie slowly slid out of her bunk and moved through the tiny room towards Brady's bunk and got a look at his face, immediately shrinking a bit at the sight of him looking so safe, small and youthful in his sleep, reminding her of that last time they'd found each other side by side, the unknowing between the two of them, one of their last conversations face to face. And now….he was right there.

Annie reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small shake. In almost an instant, he awoke and turned to her in the darkness and immediately reached towards her like he always used to do and grasped her arm. Always reaching.

"Hey, everything okay?" he whispered quietly, his voice a pin-drop in the dark.

"I can't get myself warm." she whispered back, the frustration behind her voice, flogged with a bit more emotion than she was going for and he immediately moved over the best he could in the cot and lifted his blanket up.

"Hop in." he whispered, a small smile on his face. Annie immediately sat on the edge and pulled herself into the bunk, wrapped in her own blanket and turned on her side, immediately becoming engulfed in Brady's chest, his bit of warmth and him. He let the rest of the blanket fall around her form and then he immediately wrapped his arm around her, pulling her shivering form to his own side, arm rubbing up and down, a bit of friction on her clothes, from him. Annie snuggled her head into his neck, where it seemed to be the warmest and let out a small sigh of relief at the bit of warmth that was finally entering her body.

"Better?" Brady whispered, warm breath tickling her neck, and she smiled and nestled closer and nodded.

"Much." she whispered, "Thank you." He smiled, and she shifted a bit, cuddling deeper, and then sighed at the immense amount of comfort that she hadn't felt in days, finally encircling her. Slowly, she brought up a hand out of the warmth of the blanket, and brought it to the side of his face, gently brushing her thumb over the bit of stubble on his cheek, the pleasant feel of him just right there, was comforting in it of itself. It was all she needed.

"So," Brady whispered, his voice somewhere next to her ear, "I never asked, after you were captured - what happened?" Annie shifted a bit and sat up, away from the warmth of his neck, and instead staring down at him, her thumb brushing his cheek, head resting on her hand, staring at those twinkling eyes.

"I was out of it for the most part," Annie whispered back, reaching up to brush some of his strands of hair from his face behind his ear, over and over, watching the sleepiness roll into his eyes, "between the knock to my head and the knee, the lack of food and water….I don't remember much aside from well…..the questioning. The staring." She met his gaze, watching quietly as he let his eyes linger over her face.

"What'd they ask you?" he whispered, his voice so low, all she really saw was his moving lips in the bleary darkness.

"Questions about everything. The 100th. About Birdie; newspaper clippings and such. About Buck and Bucky, about the Regensberg mission - my name was in the paper. Asked about home." Annie managed out, her eyes hardly leaving his own, "I didn't tell them anything. I told them my name, my number, my unit. That's it." Brady watched her and slowly brought up his free hand and brushed it against the bottom of her lip, lingering over the few scabs under her chin from the few scuffles with Germans and falls and punches.

"You?" she whispered back.

"The same." he whispered, "Lot of questions about the 100th - Buck especially. A few about you." She stared at him.

"I didn't let on a thing, though," he whispered, "I'd rather die than give away info about any one of us."

For a moment, they just stared at each other in a way that was far more intimate than anything else in the past few days, enough where her heart raced, and she suddenly felt consumed by his ever-present gaze on her own.

"Did they do anything to you?" he whispered, his thumb brushing her cheek again as her hands continued to prod his hair, "I swear to-", he looked at her, "Annie, if they laid a finger-"

"No, they didn't, not like that," she whispered, hand shaking against his face, "just shoves, a few…punches-"

"Punches?" Brady whispered, "Annie I-"

"John." she whispered, louder than she had wanted and quieted herself, shaking her head, "I'm fine, look-" her hand cupped his cheek, "I'm right here." He stared at her so longingly her stomach hurt, that yearning, that want, that desperate, reaching nature lingering between them.

"I know." Brady whispered, his hand grazing her neckline which was layered in blankets and clothing, "Just….if I ever see them doing anything, I'm jumpi-"

"John," Annie whispered, her voice soft as cream, "you don't have to do any of that now. It's just you and me. Right here." She reached out and took one of his hands, placing it on her chest where her heart was, hidden under skin and bone and overcoats. Brady watched her, like some sort of miracle and believed her. He let out a breath and swallowed.

Watching each other in their current circumstances was an art in it of itself - their hesitant, lingering gazes, the touches on one another's faces, the way her eyes evaded his, but always came back, their bodies so close, pressed against one another, but still distant.

Watching Brady now, he looked beyond exhausted, more than he ever did back at Thorpe Abbotts, and the more she continued that same, calming motion of brushing his strands of hair back, sometimes to settle behind his ear and sometimes to not, she watched his eyes grow more tired.

And in a sense, she got the idea it reminded him of when he was a child, when there was no war and his Ma probably tucked him in at night and brushed his hair gently until his eyes closed. And now, he was halfway across the world, in a P.O.W. camp.

"You need rest," she whispered softly, watching as he leaned a bit more into her touch as her fingers graced over his cheek, his eyes fighting to close, fighting the sleep, "it's okay." He watched her through half-open eyes and brought a hand to her neckline and watched her.

"I'm glad I found you again, Annie." he whispered, "I don't know what I'd do if I knew you'd gone down and didn't end up here." Annie stared at him, her world stilling around her and she couldn't help but lean forward and press a soft kiss to his forehead, before pulling back and cupping his cheek.

"Get some rest, okay?" she whispered, "I'll be right here." Brady watched her again and then nodded, that small smile on his face failing to disappear, as his eyes slides shut and his body finally seemed to relax.

You couldn't do that much here, you were always on guard, waiting for the next sound of explosions, or someone in the hallway, yelling, screaming.

Yet, here, he finally seemed to let go of all of that and sleep.

And until his breathing became deep and slow, she sat up, running a hand through his hair and letting him feel at home for once.

Even if that home was nowhere near here.

Even if home was this, right here.

[ashisill]

I wait for you

Warnings: smoking, drinking, crying, mentions of sex, self sabotage, depression, suicidal thoughts, mentions of debating suicidal (it’s mentioned a few times. Please heed the warning if this triggers you), angst, angst, more angst, and being hopelessly in love with Sir Jacob Kiszka.

~This one is a lot, but I am very proud of how it turned out.

~

You and Jake had something special. Something that only comes once in a lifetime. Everyone watched you two, and wished for what you had. He loved you more than himself. More than his iced cold whiskey after a show. More than his beloved guitar. Honestly if you were to need him mid-show he’d drop everything, and run right off the stage for you. He was always running for you. Always looking for you everywhere he went. All you had to do was say his name, and he was there. He was always there. No matter what. You were truly his first priority. His first choice. His first love …. His only love.

You gave it all up. Things got hard, and you ran away. You fucking left it all behind. Your picture perfect life left in a daze. Although it wasn’t all your fault you still blamed yourself. Jake was busy all the time. Between tour, interviews, and traveling. You began fighting all the time. Every little thing was an argument.

You had your last argument in an cold hotel room. You got physical with each other for the first and last time. He never hurt you. He would never dream of it, but when you had enough you landed a smack against him. He grabbed your arms harder than he meant. You left that night, and you’ve regretted your life ever since. Running was worst decision you’ve ever made. How could you leave him? How could you hurt him when he’s treated you so sweetly. You’ve wanted to call you really did. Was it fear that stoped you? Fear of him hating your guts for what you did. You’d rather live in this unknowing pain than bare the thought.

“Jake wake up you’ve been asleep all day” Josh tried to wake his twin. They’ve found themselves in yet another hotel room. “Jake come on. The shows in a couple hours” he said opening the windows, and nudging Jake.

“Cancel it what’s the fucking point?” he said, and you could smell the whiskey on his breath. To see Jake so hateful towards his passion hurt Josh. ‘You drug me into this damn band, and you don’t even want it’ was the thought that repeated in Josh’s mind.

“Jake your drunk get the hell up” Josh said pulling the covers off, and throwing them on the floor. “I’m not doing it again Jake. I’m tired of this. Get the fuck out of the bed” Josh left slamming the door behind him. Where he was going? He didn’t know, but he needed some fresh air. He headed outside to walk the city.

There you were in the local park with your dog, having no idea they were in your town. Josh stumbled into park. The nature fascinating him, and catching his interest. That curly headed boy you loved so much came into your field of vision. As much as he’s changed over three years you knew it was him. “Josh!” You shouted.

He looked around confused, assuming it was another fan. Then he spotted you waving at him “no fucking way”. You bolted after him, and your dog chased you. “What are you doing here?” He pulled you in for a warm, and welcoming hug.

“I actually live here now. What are you doing here?”

“Got a show tonight darling. I missed you”

“I’ve missed all of you dearly. How is everyone?”

“Let me buy you a drink and we’ll catch up”

Meanwhile Jake is unaware of Josh’s discovery, but he knew you were there. He could feel a change in the air … He could feel you. For some reasons things didn’t seem so bad. For the first time in a while he got himself up, and took a shower. He brushed out his tangled hair, and cleaned himself up. Throwing on his favorite pants, and a button down shirt. Complete with some expensive cologne that he can’t remember where it came from.

Josh told you everything you missed in the past three years. You longed to be there for it all. Finally you asked the question that’s been eating at you since the conversation started. “So” you took a drink preparing yourself. “How is he?”

“Jake? Oh he’s fine. Still Jake I suppose”

“Is he? That’s good” you took another drink.

“Do you believe me when I say that he’s ‘fine’?” He said using his fingers as quotation marks.

“I want to yes. Is it white lie Joshua?”

“It’s a big fat fucking lie. He’s not fine. He hasn’t been fine since that night, but that’s not your problem. It’s just hard taking care of him when he doesn’t want to care for himself”

“I miss him a lot. I hate myself for leaving him. I’m not doing so good myself. I don’t even know myself anymore. It’s like I’m a stranger in my own body. The world seems so dark without him”

“I’m sorry dear. Jake isn’t much better. As much as I’d love to lie, and tell you he’s happy. He’s not at all”

You wanted to tell him the reason for your outing this morning. The true reason why you were there, but you couldn’t. How could you look him in the face, and tell him you didn’t want to live. How could you tell him hours before you were really debating on staying on this Earth. You could see him reacting strongly. You already knew the things he would say. Maybe even shed a tear with you. He’s already dealing with a lot, and you can see it in his eyes. You just couldn’t do it.

“What’s the matter?” He could still read you well.

“It’s just a lot, but I’m okay” lair how could you? He sees straight through it you know he does. He sighs, but doesn’t pry. Instead he simply just changes the subject.

“Have you loved another?”

“Never”

“Never? Not once?”

“Hook ups don’t count. Some of them look like him, but there never him”

“He could say the same darling. I don’t know if it’s a good idea to see him”

“What why not? Please don’t don’t this-”

“I’m not taking him away from you. Just listen to me. He’s not well dear. I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. Come see me after the show, and I’ll think about it. Maybe all he needs is you, but I’m holding back for a reason”

“I think I know why, and I understand. Do you promise you’ll think about it” he’s hesitant because if you left again he knows it would kill Jake. There’s no way in hell he would make it out alive. Just the thought of it makes Josh want to crawl away and cry.

“Would I ever lie to you? I just need what’s best for Jake. I’m sure you understand”

“You so good to him Josh. I wish I had someone like you. Caring for me the way you care for Jake”

“That person is in a hotel room about a mile away. Like I said meet me after the show okay?”

You agreed, and said your goodbyes. Returning to your home to find something nice to wear. What used to be Jake’s favorite dress seems like a perfect fit. Josh headed back to the hotel to find his brother. “Jake you better be out of-”

“Yeah” was all he said.

“Feel good today?”

“I suppose so. Where’d you go?”

“Oh ya know for a walk”

“Where’d you go? Terrible liar you are”

“The bar. I’m glad your feeling better today”

He just nodded his head. Josh sighed knowing it’s taking everything out of him not to tell Jake. ‘Your lovers back! Your lovers back! She’s here you don’t have to be sad anymore! Please don’t be sad anymore. She’s here, and she loves you!’he wanted to shout it at him. To see Jake smile for the first time in three whole years. To see his face light up like it once did before. Instead he stayed quiet, and went on about his business. “Can you go check if sam is ready?” He asked Jake.

You did just as Josh said, and after the show he snuck you backstage. “I need you to be really quiet, and not let him hear you. Walls are paper thin darling” he said locking the door behind him. “I need you to answer me completely honest”

“Okay what’s up?”

“Your gonna stay?”

“A part of me died that day. I can’t go through this again. I fucking miss him Josh! I would go through hell again just to hold him one more time. I’d break all my bones if that’s what he wanted. If he asked for the moon I’d bring it to him. The stars too. He’s my world Josh need him back. I need his love. I need his touch. I need him Josh I need him. This morning I didn’t want to live any longer without him. The scary part is I almost fucking did it. That’s why I was at the park. I needed air. I needed to breath. Moments before you saw me I was crying on a park bench. Embarrassing I know, but it’s the truth.

“Oh darling no. No sweet girl no”

You broke into tears, and Josh comforted you with a hug. Like you predicted tears started to fall from his own eyes. “We need you here. You belong here. I am so fucking proud of you. Your here. Your alive. To know that life has been so terrible to you that you questioned living. It makes me want to hide away, and shelter you from every bad thing. I know I didn’t tell you this enough, but I love you. I really love you, and I don’t want you to be in pain anymore. Your safe now, and in a few moments everything will be okay again. I promise you. I know how bad your struggling. I see Jake everyday, and it just gets worse. I just want to see him happy again. Your the only solution my darling. I haven’t seen him smile in three years. He’s never excited about anything. He doesn’t have anything to talk about, and he always drunk. Always. When he does speak it’s either to cuss me out, or it’s about you. I know how bad things are, and I want to see you feel okay again too”

“What does he say about me?” You asked as Josh wiped your tears.

“It always starts angry. He’s angry because he wants to be happy again, but he can’t be. Your the light in his life. Then he starts to act like he’s angry with you. Sometimes he’ll cuss you out too. Then he’ll start to cry, and your name is all he knows. When I try to comfort him he’ll ask for you. I’ll say “she’s not here Jake”, and he’ll remember that your gone. He’ll start to think of you, and how he loves you so deeply. He’ll tell me some stories about the two of you before it hurts to much. Normally ends with him crying himself to sleep or getting so drunk he can’t feel you lingering”

“How could I do this to him? Your positive he wants to see me?” You asked trying not to lose your control.

“Come with me”

Josh knocked on Jake’s dressed room, and an annoyed “what?” came with it.

“Can I come in? I have someone you might want to talk to”

‘Could it be her?’. Jake went quiet, and Josh opened the door. There he stood with a cigarette in his fingers. His face dropped, and neither one of you moved. You’ve looked for him in every room, but now he’s here. A rush of adrenaline flowed through his veins. He feels alive for the first time, and all you had to do was walk into the room. Color has returned to his pale face. His eyes once grey, and gloomy now glowing in your light.

You both just stood there questioning if this was real. You broke the cement that glued you to the floor, and ran once again. Straight into his arms this time. Josh knew everything was finally better, and left shutting the door behind him. Letting his back rest against the shut door. His hand covered his mouth as he began to cry once more. Crying because Jake’s gonna be okay again. Because he knows all is well now that your here. Tonight he’ll fall sleep without a single worry. He’ll drift away knowing his brothers happy. Knowing he won’t have to make himself sick from worrying. Or staying up half the night waiting for Jake to come back with some girl that looks similar to you. He’s safe, and Josh can finally breath again.

You gripped, and pulled at each other like this was a dream you were going to wake up from. His hair got longer, he still wears those same old jeans, and he still smells like home.

“I’ve missed you” was all you could manage to say.

“My girl” he kissed your forehead. “Oh my girl”

You buried yourself in his neck fighting back tears. “I thought I’d never see you again. I wanted to call I really did”

“Shh shh it’s okay. I promise”

After all you put him through he’s still forgiving. The pain he’s been in for the three years was nothing just to feel you again. He’s willing to forget this ever happened just to keep you in his arms forever.

“I love you ya know? Time hasn’t changed it a bit”

“I love you too Jake”

His lips were locked on yours immediately. You pulled at each others hair, and the collars of your shirt. Trying desperately to get closer to each other. “Jakey”

“God I’ve missed you calling me that”

“I missed you. I missed you so much”

“I’ve miss you to my love. Do the others know your here?”

“Only Josh”

“Assuming he found you when he went on his supposed ‘walk’ the morning” he said holding your face in his hands.

“Well to be fair he was on a walk, and I found him”

“You found us. You came home. God I’ve missed you. Every day when I wake up your on my mind, and it stays that way till I sleep. Even in my sleep you haunt my dreams every night”

Lips crashing against each others once more. Emotion running through you both. “Why’d you leave me baby?”

“I don’t know Jacob. I don’t know”

His hand wrapped around your neck, and he kissed you hard. “Don’t leave again” his eyes began to water

“I’m here Jake. I’m not going anywhere my love”

He brought you to the small couch in the corner. Tangled up into each other, kissing his neck, and hands wandering each other’s bodies. Wordlessly you agreed to save it for later. Your felt tired like you haven’t slept in years. As you laid on your lover your eyes began to fell heavy. Jake laid their wide awake wondering how you were here. It didn’t feel real, and he held on to you just in case he woke up from this dream.

Josh came back later to tell Jake everyone was headed out. You were passed out on his chest completely unaware. “We’re fixing to leave” Josh whispered at the door.

“Alright” he woke you up gently. “Time to go sleepy girl”

You and Jake took a drive, and enjoyed the city lights. After you hit the bar that was in the lobby, and headed back to the hotel room. Everyone was gathered in the twins room talking about the show.

“Yeah I know. Did you hear how bad I fucked that up?” Josh belted out laughing far louder than he needed to.

Jake swiped the card, and the opened the door. You laughed almost as loud as Josh. As the alcohol hit your system everything was just so damn funny.

“Is that … her?” Sam asked confused.

“Sam look at Jake of course it’s her” Danny knowing immediately by Jake’s smile that it was indeed you.

“Y/n! Y/n! It’s you! Your back!” He shouted.

“Oh my god I’ve missed you Sammy”

“Good to have you back” Danny hugged you tight. You let your self go limp in his arms. “Someone’s drunk huh?”

“Just a little bit Danny”

“Josh check out this record I bought” Sam said already distracted.

“Let’s hear it brother”

It was a soft jazz album of a band you’ve never heard of. Jake’s eyes were fixated on you as you spoke to Danny. He reached out his hand, and you grabbed it with a giggle. He danced around the room with you, spinning you round and round. Stumbling all over the place, and tripping over each others feet. Josh watched in awe as a smile never left Jake’s face.

A little while later after the chatter quieted you collapsed onto the bed. Josh motioned Jake to come to him. They went out to the balcony “I’m proud of you Jacob”

“Thank you for taking care of me for so long. You could of kicked me to the curb. Or let me quit my job, but you didn’t. I’ll never be able to repay you, but know I wouldn’t be here without you”

“I promised you I’d always be here for you. I love you man”

“I love you too bud” they shared a hug before Jake followed you to the bed.

“Tying to escape?” you joked peeking your eyes open at him.

“Now ma’am I thought you were asleep” Jake said kissing your forehead.

You shook your head, and he joined you in the bed. You cuddled up on his side, threw your leg and arm over him, and began to fall asleep.

“Promise we’ll stay like this forever?”

“For infinity my love. I’ll find you in every universe I live I promise”

“I love you Jakey”

“I love you too my girl”

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ The favorites ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡

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Author's note: This is my new favorites list. My old ones are still available through my old masterlist. This one is just updated and I cleaned up the links that didn't work anymore. Sorry to every writer who gets another notice that they have been mentioned, do know that I still love you very freaking much. I'm just going through a re-brand and cleanup phase :)

* = smut

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♡ Arthur Morgan ♡

*Thursdays by @the-karma-cafe Summary: in which the boys are curious where Arthur runs off to every thursday night

*Big Iron by @grugruel

*Bold as love by @woman-of-balnain Summary: reader is jealous after seeing mary and arthur hanging out.

*As far as dreams go by @serawritesthings Summary: While Arthur found sanction in his dreams, you would fret about them every night. While he longed for the sweet caress of your hands, you were unknowing, fooled by his stoic facade as your dreams only brought you nightmares. (There is a part 2)

Captive by @queenxxxsupreme Summary: On your way back to camp, the O’Driscolls attack.

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♡ John Marston ♡

Dating golden boy John Marston HC's by @devnmon

*It's certainly heaven if you're here, Darlin' by @2dmenenthusiast Summary: You're life with John was constantly filled with ups and downs. Hopefully you can both make it together in one piece.

*Summer love at Bighorn Ranch by @holyratrimony Summary: After his divorce from Abigail, John Marston is a mess. A series of rash decisions lead to John purchasing a rundown piece of land called Bighorn Ranch. As the ranch grows, so does the need for extra hands. When you show up, ready for your new job, John is immediately taken with you. When you get caught in a thunderstorm and show up on his doorstep, soaking wet, will he be able to keep his feelings to himself, or will he confess everything? 

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♡ Joel Miller ♡

*Say you love me by @thot-of-khonshu Summary:  Red wine. Rage. Regret. Reunions. When pride separates you from the man that got away in 2003, you thought you’d never see him again. But when going to tie loose ends for Bill and Frank, you see him and a young companion.

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♡ Henry Cavill ♡

L’aurore by @fvckinghenrycavill Summary:  a fluffy morning with Henry and his beard that he has to shave.

*Drunk in love by @angrythingstarlight Summary:  Drunk Henry comes home wanting a little taste of his favorite snack.

Love bite by @delicate-moon-princess Summary:  It was just a little love bite. Who knew Henry could be so dramatic?

*Doctor and Mr. Cavill by @ramp-it-up Summary:  Kal’s favorite Veterinarian, nerd activities and Henry.

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♡ Henry Cavill's Sherlock ♡

Jigsaw by @andsheloved Summary:  as you wonder what it would be like for him to return your affections, Sherlock finally understands what he would sacrifice to fit within your world.

We’ll be alright by @love-strawberry Summary: in which they fight but there's no doubt that they'll end up alright.

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♡ Clark Kent ♡

*Need by @aimless-imagines-for-fun Summary:  A little make out session between you and Clark gets heated and this time, you two get to go all the way.

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♡ Captain Syverson ♡

*And so much more... by @sillyrabbit81 Summary:  After a disappointing date, your best friend's older brother picks you up to take you home.

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♡ Carmen Berzatto ♡

*After hours by @ilongfor-the-arts Summary:  Reader is a friend of his or more of a coworker but she finds Carmy attractive and one day someone says something about him, just for a laugh, nothing really mean and reader chimes in with a “ I’d totally sit on his face”?

*You’re my girl by @ilongfor-the-arts Summary: The meat delivery guy flirts with you and Carmen doesn’t like it.

*“Bad“ at this by @ilongfor-the-arts Summary: They like each other but neither wants to admit it. Tension builds until the kettle starts screaming.

*Learning in public by @ohcaptains Summary:  you didn’t think he’d enjoy it that much. didn’t think he’d want more, too.

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♡ Halsin ♡

*Oh, to be alone with you by @galacticgraffiti

*In need of a healer by @scratchandfriends

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♡ Love and Deepspace ♡

*Top tier eaters by @syluslovies

*Eating you out by @rose-tinted-kalopsia

*Favorite positions by @shomatoriashi

*Shot, shot, shot, shot! by @aeyumicore Summary: what happens when the four love and deepspace men get drunk and jealous? there's only one cure and it's in between your legs!

Princess treatment by @mephisto-reporting

*"Is it in yet?" by @cute-little-crow

*NNN by @jinwoosbabyboo

*Foreplay by @writer-freak

*Come ride on me - i mean, camaraderie! by @shomatoriashi

*Touch by @thisisjustfanfic

That boy is mine by @luvzayne

*Until you pass out by @cute-little-crow

*Playing with your body by @lunebulous

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♡ Xavier ♡

*Delicious Desire by @lostinlads Summary: after a heavy makeout session, xavier finds out that you've never been eaten out. he takes it upon himself to bless you with his mouth

*Xavier is an insatiable little freak by @missaengg

*No restraint by @aeyumicore

*We can't be friends by @kitimeq

*Pervert Xavier (and Zayne) by @aeyumicore

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♡ Sylus ♡

*At your mercy by @nanaslutt

Transactional tantrum by @lamb-teaa

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♡ Jeon Jungkook ♡

*miss taken by @junghelioseok

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[separatist-apologist]

Lying In Between The Memories

You could call it paradise but it looks just like hell to me

Summary: Following the blood rite, Gwyneth Berdara can't shake the memories of a life long-gone.

The shadowsinger can't seem to move on after five centuries of loving the same woman.

Together, they'll have to carve a new path forward.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter

[ongoing TW for Sexual Assault]

The tension in the room was so thick, Gwyn could have cut it with a knife. Azriel looked wild and somehow pained, his expressions shifting second to second along with what must have been his chaotic thoughts. She exhaled a breath and pressed a hand to his chest, which seemed to strengthen some unknowable resolve.

“Everything will be fine,” she began, wondering if she was reassuring him or herself. “We’ll talk to Eris—”

“Let me take you home,” Azriel interrupted. Gwyn nearly screamed out loud. Of course that was his solution. Of course he’d think she should go back to Prythian, leaving him to deal with whatever the Vanserras wanted while she sat in a library.

“Are you serious right now?” she asked, taking a step away from him. Crossing his arms over his chest, it was clear that yes, Azriel was very serious. 

“The Vanserras are dangerous,” Azriel said, his voice pitched lower than was typical. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“Oh, but you do? I’m dangerous, Az, and I can handle myself just fine. If you want to go home so badly, be my guest. I won’t stop you. But I’m staying.”

“Gwyn—”

“No. No. I can’t…I won’t do this with you, Azriel. Either you mean it when you say you care about me—that you trust me, or you don’t. Decide. Right now. Either we’re equals or we’re not and I just want to know where I stand with you.”

This was it and Gwyn knew it. Whatever Azriel said would determine how they moved forward—if they moved forward at all. After everything that had happened between them, it seemed almost cruel to provide him with an ultimatum, but Gwyn wasn’t going back. She wasn’t going to hide in the library, lost in her regrets and wishing things could be different. They were different. 

She was different. 

There was no point following through on the promises she’d just been willing to make if Azriel was never going to make good on his. Why train her, why teach her to use weapons or how to take the likes of him down if every time there was danger, Azriel was going to swoop in and hide her away?

What was his problem? 

There clearly was one, because the only reasonable answer was to immediately assure her that he trusted her. Not war with himself between what he actually wanted—she assumed that was her returning to Velaris—and knowing that if he took her back, she’d never see him again. Gwyn’s heart thudded in her throat against the long stretch of silence.

“I—” His throat bobbed, working against whatever emotion he was swallowing. “I’m sorry—I…I’m scared.”

The admission hung between them. Azriel was so many things to Gwyn and frightened was never one of them. Azriel wasn’t afraid of anything, including death. How many stories had she heard of him running head long into battle, damning the consequences? What could he possibly be afraid of when surely Eris Vanserra was no threat to the likes of him?

“Eris is all talk,” she dismissed, sliding around him in an effort to clear her senses. She could still feel his rigid cock held in her hand and if she wasn’t careful, she’d make Eris wait on them.

Presumably, for hours. 

It was a good plan—one she would have succeeded in, had Azriel not followed just behind her. Dragging a hand through his hair with frustration, Azriel growled, “He has plenty of bite—don’t let his pretty face fool you.”

“Oh, is it pretty? I hadn’t noticed,” she said with too much innuendo. She hadn’t meant to be so suggestive, though she also didn’t mind that soft growl that slipped from Azriel’s throat. He’d always been a little territorial—obnoxiously so, if she was being honest—but now? This was why she hadn’t wanted to sleep with him. He was going to take things too far. 

That should have bothered her, but right then, Gwyn wanted Azriel to take things too far. It was the worst possible time, in the worst possible place, and she couldn’t really focus on the threat of the Vanserra’s because Azriel was staring down at her with eyes so dark there might have been no color to them at all. Just endless pools of starless night threatening to devour her. 

Azriel cocked his head to the side, all animal, and Gwyn knew right then, that he could scent what she wasn’t trying to conceal. He didn’t seem to breathe as she dared to come closer, pressing her hand to his still chest. 

“I don’t care about Eris Vanserra,” she murmured, peering up at him through dark lashes. “Lock the door. He can wait.”

“Gwyn,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

She didn’t think she could take it if he told her no. Her pride certainly could not withstand that level of rejection no matter how valid it was. Gwyn was tempted to say something to him that might change his mind, but right then she felt nervous. Too vulnerable for speech, too embarrassed to do anything but remain rooted in place as the realization of what she’d said swept over her.

Oh. Oh no. 

She was becoming the thing she’d sworn she wouldn’t be. Resolve slammed into her, stealing her spine as the memory of all those months training washed back over her. The recognition that this, right here, was why she had to quit training with him. Why she needed to step away before he did any more irreversible damage to herself. 

Oblivious to her racing thoughts, perhaps to her detriment, Azriel grabbed her upper arm the moment she started to step back and without a word, pressed his mouth to her own. She’d expected hunger and heat—not desperation to greet her. His other arm wound around her waist, holding her so tightly there was nowhere to go. That was by design, though Gwyn had nowhere she wanted to go.

There were a million things to be afraid of, but this right here—and the way she felt about him? That was, perhaps, the most terrifying thing. Instinct warred between walking away from him again and staying where she was, letting go and giving in, pulling and pushing until Gwyn was muddled and confused.

And yet there was clarity in that kiss. Reason, among the madness, was found in his lips. She didn’t realize they were moving, that she was taking steps toward something until Azriel was pulling her into his lap, himself seated on that sofa. 

“If I start,” he breathed, trailing his mouth over her jaw and down her neck, “I won’t be able to stop.” Something twanged within her—something old, something primal. “Good,” she replied, raking her fingers through his dark hair. 

“You deserve better than this,” he said, scarred hands coming to cup her face so she had to look at him. “Better than a rushed coupling so I can race off to deal with Eris. Wait for me. For tonight,” he added, a plea to his words. 

Wrapping her fingers around his wrists, Gwyn met that hungry, desperate gaze. “Together?”

“We’ll do everything together,” he swore softly, a lethal menace to those words. “Let someone try and stop us.”

Gwyn kissed him again, unable to deny what she felt or what was happening between them. Love. 

This was love. 

Somewhere between swearing she’d never train with him again and looking into those hazel eyes swearing he’d do everything with her if she wanted. Goosebumps erupted over her arms, drawing ice through her fingers. She was excited and she was scared all at once. Dread and elation pooled in her gut though Gwyn did a good job of concealing both. Azriel didn’t seem alarmed by what he saw, at any rate. 

“Can you stand?” she asked when Azriel shifted his hips, revealing the hard cock just beneath.

Closing his eyes, head tipped back, he breathed, “Give me a moment. If I think about Vanserra long enough, it’ll pass.”

Gwyn tried to slide off his lap, and was too delighted when he tightened his grip, holding her tight. “You hate him so much. Why?”

Azriel looked up at the ceiling. “He’s a bastard.”

“That’s not a real reason. Tell me.”

“When I was young—in my twenties—Eris was engaged to Mor.”

The words hung between them for a moment, weighty as Azriel considered what he wanted to say. This was ancient, then. Old, unfinished business between them that Azriel had never forgotten. 

He didn’t look at her as he added, “I was in love with her.”

Oh. 

Gwyn could see Mor so clearly in her mind right then. Beautiful in such an easy, effortless way. All that golden hair, her beautiful eyes…and the way she’d been looking at Emerie, she reminded herself before jealousy could fully take root. It was impossible, though, not to compare herself to Mor. Not to imagine Azriel with his fingers curled around Mor’s waist, his lips against her neck—

“Mor was never interested in me,” Azriel continued, blazing through this confession like he needed to say it. “But I thought, back then at least…maybe…it didn’t matter. She was engaged to Eris and Rhys could do nothing about it. Wouldn’t do anything about it,” Azriel added, as if that were important to the story or to him. Gwyn certainly wasn’t going to wade into that old fight, though she saw there were leftover scars that had healed poorly. 

“Mor took things into her own hands—she came to our camp in Illyria and she slept with Cassian. Virginity…it’s…it’s important in the Autumn Court. It’s an old custom for females of nobility and a point of pride for males. Mor decided if no one would help her, she would do what we’d always done—she’d help herself.”

“You slept with her?” Gwyn questioned, her blood turning to ice. She didn’t think she could stand knowing that Azriel had both loved her and slept with her, unfair as it was. This was centuries old, a drama older than her, than her parents, and likely her grandparents. 

Azriel shook his head. “No. I told you…she never wanted me. She went to Cassian. Everyone knew. It was an open secret in the camp, and secrets like that are hard to keep. There was no love lost between the three of us and the rest of the Illyrian’s, who already felt we were given special treatment because we were so close to the High Lord. Someone told Keir—but rumor had already begun to spread around Hewn City and Beron knew before Keir could control the situation.”

Azriel took a breath as if he needed to control himself. Gwyn swore she could feel his rage somehow, though maybe it was just her own anger as she imagined what it must have been like for Mor back then. Sold, by her own parents, like she was mere cattle for breeding. Knowing that she had no good options and still trying to do something that gave her agency. 

“Keir nailed a note to Mor’s womb and dumped her into Autumn letting them know she was their problem now,” Azriel whispered, his voice lethal. Whatever Gwyn had been imagining paled in comparison to the reality. 

“Eris could have helped her. He found her before me—we weren’t allowed to step foot into Autumn so we had to wait. Cassian, Rhys and I…we were patrolling sections of the border between Autumn, Summer, Spring, and Winter. Flying overhead, trying to find her, we—we were going to get her even if it started a war. But it was Eris who found her first. Who saw how injured she was, who could have helped. He left her there, where I found her hours later and…” 

Azriel fell silent, eyes glazed as he relived that moment. As he considered what it still meant to him and the hatred he’d never be able to let go of. 

“He’ll say he couldn’t intervene. That it was better, politically, to look the other way while I stalked across that border and brought her into Summer. But the truth is Eris is a coward, too scared to do anything that might endanger him, first. He’d let his brothers die, he’d let his mother suffer, and he’d see the rest of the world burn to keep himself safe first and I hate him for it.”

There was nothing else to say. Even if Gwyn did have a defense for Eris—and she didn’t—she wouldn’t have offered it up to Azriel. There were other questions she had, questions that felt too embarrassing to ask.

Are you still in love with Mor? 

She swallowed that one, terrified he’d say yes. What had happened, in the aftermath? She’d never wanted him, so maybe nothing at all…but had something? And did he know they’d had a whole dinner in Velaris right before Gwyn left specifically trying to catch Mor’s attention because Emerie thought she was beautiful? 

Questions better left for another time.

“So how do we play this?” she asked instead, because she wanted to be a team more than she wanted to plumb the depths of his life before her. Gwyn simply had to trust that, at least here and now, she was the only female Azriel cared about. That whatever feelings he had for Mor had fizzled over the years until only friendship remained. Perhaps when Eris was gone, and they were back in Velaris.

Or maybe Gwyn would tell Nesta all this and they could compare notes. Did she know Cassian had slept with Mor? Did she even care? Gwyn couldn’t imagine Nesta being cool about it, but what did she truly know? Nesta and Cassian were mates and that changed things.

“Carefully,” Azriel said after a moment, his expression wiped clean of its former fury. “Eris’s weapons are his words. Give him nothing to work with, let him back himself into a corner. And we can’t kill him.”

“Are you saying that to me or yourself?”

“Is there a difference?” he murmured without any awareness of what he was implying. “Knives stay under the skirts.”

“I’m tired of dresses,” Gwyn mumbled, swinging her legs off him to stand. 

“I’ll have you out of them soon enough.”

He couldn’t see the grin that spread over her face, though he likely knew the heat spreading through her. Gwyn merely waved her hand.

“Big words, Shadowsinger.”

AZRIEL:

Unlike Eris, Azriel didn’t need a mask for his boredom. He was bored—irritated, even, made worse by Gwyn sitting close enough his knee was touching hers. Fully clothed when her perfect hand had been wrapped around his cock and she’d been all but begging him to take her. Gods, Azriel couldn’t focus on a smug word leaving Eris’s mouth. And Eris knew it. Knew what Gwyn hadn’t yet figured out, putting a countdown on a conversation Azriel wasn’t sure how to have. He’d just gotten her to open up to him and Eris was going to wreck it all before Azriel built the sort of intimacy he was certain he needed.

All he knew for certain was the information had to come from him rather than Eris Vanserra. Gwyn, lovely, perfect Gwyn, was doing the hard work of making small talk with Eris. She’d put on her most charming demeanor and Azriel wondered if she wasn’t playing dumb on purpose. Eris, on the other hand, had a gleam in his eye reminiscent of a wolf unaware his sheep was really a dragon in disguise. 

“I’ve never been to Autumn,” Gwyn was saying, tucking a long piece of that cinnamon colored hair behind an arched ear.

Azriel was in love with her and gods, but he wanted to tell her so badly it made his teeth ache. She played Eris so well—hadn’t the first born son been told Gwyn was a scholar from the Night Court? And wouldn’t he assume she was smarter than the average High Fae? But Eris was buying her bright eyed, too-idealistic act which left Azriel left to play the brooding bodyguard. That was a role he knew all too well, at least. And Eris had the decency to keep his eyes fully on Gwyn’s beautiful face rather than let it drift.

Azriel might have abandoned his no violence policy had Eris not managed this. He had one hand clenched beneath the table, nails digging into his palm to keep himself from squeezing the life from Eris’s smug, imperious eyes.

As Eris described Autumn to an enraptured Gwyn, Azriel’s thoughts once again drifted to his mate. He needed to tell her. It was a last ditch attempt, sleeping with her and hoping it snapped for her then. Azriel knew that had worked for Cassian in theory. Nesta had felt it…and chose not to acknowledge it.

He might go insane if that happened to him and Gwyn. So focused on his inner thoughts, Azriel nearly missed Gwyn’s sweet, “Is the High Lord joining us?”

“He’s around,” Eris replied with a bored wave of his hand. “I’m certain he’s looking for Helion—”

“Helion?” Azriel interrupted. Helion arriving had Rhys written all over it. Eris’s eyes shifted, that smile sharpening at the corners. Fuck. Azriel hadn’t meant to say anything at all. 

“Did your High Lord not inform you? Fascinating given how long you’ve been here…”

Azriel didn’t respond, leaving Gwyn to scramble. Without missing a beat, she threw that sunny smile on her face and said, “We’re only here for the library. I can’t remember the last time the prince stopped by to say hello. I’m sure he’s too busy for us.”

Eris glanced up at Azriel, two lines of concern creasing between his brow. “You haven’t seen him?”

“In at least a week,” Gwyn replied without betraying her real question. “Perhaps we will now that more emissaries from Prythian are visiting.”

“I was under the impression–” Eris stopped himself before he could finish that thought. Gwyn glanced “Well. I suppose we’ll all learn together, won’t we?”

Gwyn’s smile never wavered. “It’ll be nice to get to know all the new courts. We could keep in touch.”

Eris was clearly lost in his own thoughts, eyes drifting across the room. Azriel turned his head to look, curious what had drawn Eris’s attention from the cat and mouse game happening at their current table. Helion had sauntered in, every inch the Day Court High Lord in his white draped robe and the gold jewelry adorning his gleaming bronze skin. Something about him was striking right then—an expression Azriel had seen once before, though he couldn’t remember when.

Eris’s upper lip had curled with distaste, his dislike plain against his features. Flanked on either side of the High Lord were two others—a rather beautiful blonde with a book tucked beneath her arm and a male with the same onyx colored hair as the High Lord. Both wore azure clothes, their eyes lined with kohl.

The trio didn’t spare Night and Autumn a second look, making their way toward the high table. Eris didn’t take his eyes off them until they were fully behind them, though his expression was inscrutable. Still, it was something. It shouldn’t have surprised Azriel that Eris didn’t like any of the other courts, nor was it really worth following up on, and yet he would have been a poor spymaster if he didn’t order his shadows after both Helion and Eris.

After all, Eris and Helion would likely be trying to spy on him, too. The High Lords loved their secrets almost as much as they loved their games. Whatever was going on between Autumn and Day was for them—not Night. Azriel and Gwyn were nearly done, besides. She merely needed to finish her cypher for the two to return with her stolen book on Koschei. They didn’t need anything else—not really. Though, it occurred to him right then that his shadow had never returned from Koschei’s lake. 

Strange.

He’d need to follow up on that. 

Azriel was distracted and couldn’t even pretend he didn’t know why. If he’d come alone he’d be on top of all of this and right then, Azriel wondered if Rhys hadn’t suspected. Of all the people…of everyone who could have come, Rhys had insisted it be Gwyn. Untested. Unknown. Azriel’s mate. Had his brother suspected? 

No.

No, Rhys would have warned him surely. Or, at the very least, put them in a better environment. Though…Azriel remembered all the shenanigans Rhys had gotten up to with Feyre around and oblivious. Maybe not. Azriel was spinning himself in circles, unable to focus and he knew he wouldn’t until Gwyn knew, too.

At least then he could free himself of the indecision. Get back to working—throw himself into it, even, if need be. He’d always been good at distracting himself, and this would be no exception. He had centuries of practice with Mor, though Azriel suspected this would be infinitely more painful.

Pain was home, though. He lived there, loved there—worshiped at its altar. 

Glancing at Eris, Azriel wondered if the prince of Autumn didn’t understand that, in some strange way. He almost felt pity, catching a familiar look of yearning streak across Eris’s features—gone so quickly Azriel could have lied to himself and said he imagined it. 

“Did you want something, Eris?” Azriel demanded, ignoring the cooling food on his plate.

Eris offered a fox’s smile. “Only the pleasure of your stimulating company.”

Gwyn never broke character, which was more than Azriel could boast. She merely continued eating, pretending this was a normal conversation between normal people. Friends, even. Eris stood, though, catching the eye of his father striding into the room with the king.

“Bye!” she called after Eris’s retreating back before adding, “Prick,” under her breath.

“You were charming,” Azriel said from the side of his mouth, noting how neither father or son deigned to look in his direction. Why would they? He was merely a bastard born Illyrian, after all. Trash, as far as they were concerned. 

“Isn’t that why I’m here? To smooth out your edges?” she teased and gods, he wanted her so badly it was making a fool of him.

“More than you know,” he replied, pulling his wings tighter against his body to keep them from flaring outward. Not that anyone would understand what that meant, and still it was probably better not to have a preening, territorial Illyrian stomping about the dining hall.

He needed to get them both out which was harder than he thought it would be given Gwyn was fixated on the missing prince. “Where is Kai, do you think?” she asked when Azriel stood, unconcerned himself. Who cared? Kai’s absence was the only good thing that had happened lately, utterly eradicating any competition to Gwyn Azriel might have had.

After all, he wasn’t convinced he could compete with a prince. 

She would have realized, had Kai stuck around, the choices being offered. Would have realized she could live easier with Kai than she ever could in Velaris, no matter how much she loved it. And Azriel had nearly convinced himself that she would have chosen Kai—because why would anyone choose him when there was another option readily available—until Gwyn murmured, “I miss Nesta and Emerie.”

Walking down the hall with her, Azriel glanced down at Gwyn, his expression inviting her to continue. 

“It’s just…I would have told them about Eris, and we would have laughed about how pathetic he is. And I’ll bet Nesta knows something about that courtier from Day he was staring at—”

“What courtier?” Azriel demanded, his shadows swirling around his shoulders.

“The blonde. You didn’t see? He had tragedy written all over him when she came in.”

He didn’t need to tell the shadow slinking away what to do. If Gwyn thought she saw something—however absurd it felt—then Azriel would follow up on it. 

“We’ll be home soon enough,” Azriel said, pulling their shared door open so she could sweep in, still a princess, even if all she had was him. “You can tell Nesta and Emerie everything then.”

“Everything?” Gwyn challenged, crossing her arms over her chest to stare him down. 

“Most things,” Azriel amended. “Nesta tells Cassian too much and I don’t need him knowing what I do when he’s not around.”

“Why would he care?” Gwyn pressed, but Azriel didn’t want to talk about Cassian for another moment. Didn’t want to think about Cassian. This was as good of a moment as he was going to get, he reasoned. There would never be any time better, at least while they were in this palace. 

Azriel didn’t answer, unwilling to admit Cassian would find it all absurdly funny much in the same way he and Rhys had a good laugh over Cassian’s trouble with Nesta, and how Cassian and Azriel had been so amused by how oblivious Feyre had been to Rhys’s obvious affection.

They weren’t blood brothers.

But stupidity ran between them like a cord, strong as any mating bond. Reaching for her face, Azriel kissed her before she could say another word, hoping to pick up where they’d left off just before Eris had so rudely interrupted them.

He hadn’t forgotten the pleasure of her soft hand gripping his aching cock, nor could he erase the look in her eyes from his memory. That sultry look was enough to drive him to his knees, to make him beg, crawl, plead. He’d do anything she demanded and more simply because it was her lips speaking the words. 

She didn’t protest, melting against the leather of his armor he was now desperate to get rid himself of. Instead, Gwyn kissed him back, hoisting herself up on tiptoes until Azriel said fuck it and lifted her into the air, if only for an excuse to put his hands on her ass. 

He was brainless by the time he managed to walk them into his bed chamber, made weak by her tongue stroking his own and her fingers in his hair. Had he ever been so aroused? So desperate? So excited? Azriel racked his brain for an answer but none came. There was only those teal eyes, that freckled skin.

“Is this happening?” she asked him, her breath warm against his cheek.

“If you want me, I’m yours,” he replied, saying the only words that came to him. 

Stroking his cheek, Gwyn looked down at him, her hair forming a curtain around them. “I want you. You’re mine.”

A groan slipped from behind his lips, their gazes locked. 

They were doing this.

“I’m yours,” he repeated.

I’m yours. 

[bvidzsoo]

Pure-blooded (Part 1)

 Author: bvidzsoo

 Warnings: the use of the word ‘bastard’, nothing else

 Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x oc

 Word count: 5942

 Summary:  A story about a girl called Vaella Velaryon, who after more than six years, returns to King's Landing due to her brother, Luke, being questioned about his right as heir of Driftmark, and she meets Aemond. A changed man. A vicious man who is set to have his revenge, unknowing that Vaella would do anything for her family.

 A/N:  *khm khm*(does a shameful walk) As a simple mortal, I had no choice but to crumble when I saw this man, so...my brain started working, and here I am, writing about Aemond *sighs* A little heads up, this will be a mini-series and we’ll see how many parts it’ll have, because I initially wanted to write three but uhm well, I keep getting ideas sooo yeah. I can start a taglist if people are interested, just comment on this post to let me know. Your feedback is strongly appreciated, so I hope you will leave your thoughts for me to read. You can find my story on Wattpad as well, under the username ‘Arfina8′. Enjoy now!

↳ Masterlist

              Serenity and peace was something King’s Landing had been lacking ever since King Viserys decided to marry Alicent Hightower. The friendship and trust had been broken forever between the two girls, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Lady Alicent Hightower. Rhaenyra felt betrayed, but tried to understand. Her father and her friend, who seemed to drastically change once her title was given, Queen Alicent Hightower. She had no business sitting on the throne next to the King, but Otto Hightower was a vile man, who out of greed would do anything to see his family succeed. Rightfully or not, it was no surprise to anyone anymore. Everyone from Rhaenyra’s family knew of the distrust and disrespect the Hightowers kept sending her way, time and time again, questioning her rightful title as heir to the Iron Throne and the legitimacy of her children. In some ways, it had become taboo to speak of such thing, unless you wished to grant yourself a very painful death. It was visible to everyone’s eyes, how different her sons were compared to her husband, Laenor Velaryon. And despite sharing the Targaryen features as much as her mother’s temper, Vaella was no different to her brothers. Her long platinum blonde hair and gleaming purple eyes wouldn’t save her from the whispers of others calling her a bastard as well. Why? Even in plain sight it was quite obvious that she shared none of her father’s qualities nor personality despite being raised by him. Laenor was a kind, patient, a bit clumsy and irresponsible, but loving man. Vaella, however, was brash and impatient. She didn’t take orders from anyone but her mother and alleged uncle, Daemon, and of course, herself. She was her own master and thus followed no one else but her own mind and heart. She was a soldier, never to be tamed, and a free spirit who sought justice and fairness. She wanted peace and most importantly to be accepted by her people for once and for all. She hated the whispers as much as her brothers, Jacaerys and Lucerys, did, as Joffrey was too young to understand what being called a bastard meant. And despite Princess Rhaenyra doing her best to protect her children, who meant the world to her, she was questioned time and time again, their legitimacy brought as center of discussion more than once. Vaella hated feeling powerless and uncapable of doing anything as a young girl, watching the pain in her mother’s eyes any time someone accused her brothers of looking like Ser Harwin Strong. As a young girl, she never understood why the people at Red Keep would stare at her with spite anytime she opened her mouth. But as time passed and she grew, she started to understand. She looked nothing like Laenor, yet resembled Daemon as if she were a fierce copy of his. She never dared question her mother, out of respect and fear of knowing the unspoken truth, but she knew. She knew the second her and Daemon were forced to meet at his beloved wife’s funeral, Laena. Their eyes held the same harshness and determination. Their hearts beat for justice and validation as they both felt like they deserved more than what life has given them, and most importantly, they both would burn bridges for Rhaenyra and slay anyone who dared mistreat the Princess. Vaella couldn’t explain why, but her love and loyalty lay deeply with her mother. She swore to protect her until her last breath were to be taken and give her anything she wanted. Sometimes, Rhaenyra would laugh, and say she was the son she never asked for but got in the form of a daughter, secretly wishing that she could name Vaella as heir to the Iron Throne. But Vaella was content with her position and the probability of inheriting Dragonstone one day, she didn’t yearn for the throne. That was to be Jacaerys’ as the second born, but first son of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Laenor Velaryon. Yet after everything they have done for the King’s second family, the Hightowers, they even moved out to let them be in peace, they would still take and take from them. They would not rest until they have seen Rhaenyra destroyed and with nothing. They wanted her dead, especially Otto and Alicent, and it was no secret to anyone. Vaella hated that family with a passion and always wondered how such a sweet man like her grandsire, King Viserys, fell into their trap. Perhaps, that is why he fell into it, because he refused to see their true nature. Now, with the sole existence of Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond Targaryen, Princess Rhaenyra’s succession to the throne would be questioned and debated over and over again. Those bastards would never have enough, not until they see the rightful heir and her family burning. Something that would never happen on Vaella and Daemon’s watches, not if they would strike the Hightowers first, but for that, they had to be patient. And that is why Daemon sent a raven to Vaella, discreetly asking her to join them at King’s Landing as Lucerys’ legitimacy had been questioned once again as her uncle Vaemond was petitioning against him inheriting Driftmark. Vaella’s blood boiled when she read the letter from her father and without much explanation she went to get her dragon, Silverwing, to fly to King’s Landing. Vaella was a traveler, therefore she resided both on Dragonstone and Pentos, the later being a place her father suggested she’d frequent. Daemon loved the libraries they had there and figured he could send her daughter to enjoy what that place had to offer for her. Vaella didn’t complain once she saw the beauty of that place and all the lectures it had to offer her. She might’ve been a soldier, but her heart yearned to study and learn as much as she could about her heritage, history, and curiosities of each land.

           The ride to King’s Landing had been swift, Silverwing could sense his rider’s anger and displeasure as they flew through the air. It came as no surprise to see nobody waiting for her once she arrived to the Red Keep, the courtyard empty as she waltzed through it, head held high. Not being welcomed to the place she once called her home didn’t affect her in any way. What did anger her, however, were the disgusting changes brought to it. The place was littered with green and the emblems of the Hightowers, making her feel sick. This place rightfully belonged to the Targaryens, her own family, and she couldn’t believe the plain disrespect brought upon the still living King by none other than his wife, who Vaella refused to acknowledge as Queen. When she was a child, she didn’t understand the seemingly obvious hatred directed at her by the woman or why she was trying to keep her sons away from her and her own brothers. Her uncles were nice kids while they were growing up, until they weren’t, until their mother’s words got to them, forever imprinted in their minds. Vaella was never one to instigate anything or hate people for no concrete reasons, but that faithful night, when Lucerys cut their uncle’s eye out accidentally, she realized there was no turning back. Aemond had looked at them with disgust and hatred, when he saw them rush to into their mother’s arms, Princess Rhaenyra. Vaella wasn’t a witness to the event as Aegon had stolen one of her dagger’s and was running around the castle drunkenly, hiding from her. She felt horrible when she heard what had happened. It made her hate herself how instead of being there to protect her younger brothers and cousins, she was running after Aegon, who was just being his usual jester self and annoying her. Despite their current hatred for each other, she had fond memories of Aegon, as the two of them would bicker quite often and chase each other around the castle. While they were growing up, Aegon was good with a sword and secretly would train her from time to time as being a lady and a Princess didn’t grant her the same privileges her brothers and uncles had. Aemond was never too fond of her, recognizing the power she held inside her at a young age already. He saw her as someone who would challenge him and outshine him in the future, getting his eye taken by her brother only made matters worse between the two. Vaella wasn’t fond of Aemond either, even before that faithful event, as she thought he was too soft and easy to pick on. He had the potential in him, yet he allowed everyone to walk all over him. Vaella hated people like that, people who willingly allowed themselves to be victims without standing up for themselves and instead running to their mothers to cry about what had happened. If Vaella were to be like that, she’d be nowhere today. She wouldn’t be a soldier, she wouldn’t have one of the most powerful dragon’s under her control, she wouldn’t have earned so many men and women’s respect, and most importantly…she wouldn’t be her mother’s most loyal and sworn protector. Lost in thought, she made her way up the stairs to the second floor of the castle, having in mind to visit her grandsire, but four guards came rounding the corner and stopping her in her tracks. Her body tensed as her left hand grabbed the handle of her sword strapped onto her hip.

“Princess Vaella,” the commander spoke up, bringing the princess’ gleaming eyes onto him, “your mother, Princess Rhaenyra, asked us to escort you to her chamber once you have arrived.”

Vaella stared at them for a second before nodding her head, releasing the handle of her sword. These guards were harmless, and they would lead her to her mother. The commander nodded his head silently and they started walking, two guards disappearing as they descended the stairs to their left, leaving her with two guards only. Despite being a soldier herself, Vaella didn’t wear armor unless she had to partake in a battle. She found the clothing too heavy to bear all day and opted for a simpler outfit, one that wouldn’t restrain her if she needed to fight. She wore tight black, leather pants, and two daggers gifted by Daemon, were hidden in her two boots which reached just above her knees. The laces were tightly tied together, the steel of her daggers lightly digging into her clothed leg, a constant reminder that she had them there. Her camisole was always beige and tucked away underneath her usually burgundy or black flowy shirts. Vaella wore them always off her shoulders and tucked inside her leather pants, accompanied by her usually black corset which came over her shirt and hugged her torso firmly. She didn’t like wearing her corset too loosely or too tightly as it mattered a lot when it came to combat offering her more mobility or restricting her of some movement. Her burgundy cloak was eye catching and everyone would stare at her when she passed by them, she wasn’t afraid or ashamed of her heritage. She wore it proudly and loudly, letting everyone know who she was. The daughter of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Laenor Velaryon. Those who valued their lives stayed away from the fierce Princess. The guards stopped in front of double doors and knocked on it before they allowed Vaella to step inside. She opened the doors and found herself looking at her mother and father. Rhaenyra was cradling her bump as Daemon looked outside the window, eyebrows drawn together.

“Mother, father.” Vaella greeted and bowed her head as a wide smile spread onto her mother’s lips.

“Vaella, finally,” She let out a sigh of relief and approached her daughter, “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it here in time.”

“None sense, mother.” Vaella’s eyebrows furrowed as she embraced her mother, careful of her bump, “I shall never miss out on such a hideous hearing. Will they ever let us rest—”

“Vaella, darling,” Daemon’s fatherly voice interrupted Vaella’s full of anger rant, “we had a rather straining day today. Let us not aggravate Princess Rhaenyra furthermore.”

Vaella gulped and bit her tongue, refraining herself of saying the insults she had in mind directed at the Hightowers, “My apologies, but tell me, what is the matter?”

Rhaenyra sighed and glanced at Daemon, who nodded lightly, “The King is very sick…I do not know for how much longer he will be amongst us.”

Vaella could hear the heartbreak in her mother’s voice and it broke her own heart seeing her like that, and hearing the condition of her grandsire. She loved the man a lot, he always protected them, he always took their side and shut down each and every accusation thrown their way. She might hate the Hightowers, and despite King Viserys choosing to marry such a snake as Alicent, it always left her impressed how much he’d go against his wife to protect his only child from his one and only love, Princess Aemma. Vaella always wished to meet her, but Her Grace died when her mother was a blooming girl; it was a very long time ago.

“Is there anything to be done?” Vaella found her voice as she looked at her father. He shook his head with a sigh, seeing his brother in such state bothered him a lot.

“I’m afraid it’s too late for anything to be done, daughter.” Daemon’s voice was low and Vaella nodded, sensing from his tone that they were done talking about the King’s condition. She looked at her mother and willed herself to smile at her.

“How is the baby, Princess? I haven’t seen you all in over a moon.” Rhaenyra smiled down at her bump and looked back at her daughter.

“She’s doing well.”

“So it seems I’ll have another baby sister?” Vaella smiled as she glanced between her parents, having accepted Daemon’s daughters as her own sisters the day her parents got married. She held no ill intentions towards her half-sisters, perhaps a little envy that they go to grow up with her real father, but she never held that against them. It was never their fault.

“Your mother had decided that it will be a girl and so I have agreed with her.” Daemon said with a chuckle as he brushed his hand against Rhaenyra’s baby bump.

“A wise choice, my Prince.” Vaella chuckled and Daemon smiled at her, noticing the two daggers gifted by him hiding in her boots and the red stoned ring also gifted by him sitting proudly on her left pointer finger. Vaella’s unashamed show of her heritage always amused him, but also made him adore her more. He was content of having a daughter which resembled him so much, yet he was grateful Vaella was lucky enough to inherit Rhaenyra’s level-headedness, which stopped her from being completely reckless as he was.

“Vaella, your brothers have dearly missed you. I think you should meet them.” Vaella’s eyes lit up at the mention of her brothers and she eagerly nodded her head at her mother’s suggestion, “They are probably headed to the courtyard, I heard them talking and saying they wanted to see the training grounds—”

Vaella bowed her head at her father and mother and turned to leave, but her mother’s final words made her stop by the door, “And please, Princess, stop them from engaging into anything stupid. And I also hope I can expect the same from yourself, Princess Vaella.”

Vaella smirked to herself, her mother knowing her too well. If she were to be provoked, there were less chances she’d back down and more that she would stand up to the challenge and accept it, “Of course, mother, do not worry.”

           Finding her brothers was no hard task, as they were quite loud while chatting. They were eagerly running around the castle, looking and checking every nook and cranny they were allowed to. Vaella, just to amuse herself, crept after them quietly, wondering when they’d notice her. So far, she had been tailing them for ten minutes and they seemed oblivious to her presence. Or so she had thought, because rounding the corner which lead to the stairs taking them downstairs to the main entrance, fours hands had her pinned against the wall. Her brothers eyes widened and instantly released their sister, shocked and happy at the same time. Vaella grinned at them and pulled them both into a bear hug, having missed them.

“Sister!” Luke exclaimed and held onto her arms, “We were not informed you would be joining us here!”

Vaella rolled her eyes and scoffed as she leaned a bit down, “I wouldn’t miss such an atrocious event, Luke. Somebody has to make order in this damned castle—”

“And you wish to be doing that, right?” Jace interrupted her inner thoughts spilling out and Vaella smirked at him, leaning her arm on his shoulder as Luke released her. She was taller than both of her brothers, but they were still growing, she was sure one day she’d have to look up at both of them as they would outgrow her.

“I wish to slit every throat that dares question the legitimacy and loyalty of my family.” Vaella answered them darkly as she glared at nothing specifically, letting her dark thoughts control her. Luke gulped nervously as he glanced at Jace before grabbing onto Vaella’s hand, bringing her back to the present.

“You can be so scary sometimes, sister.” Luke muttered as Jace took her other hand and they suddenly started pulling their sister with themselves, heading down the stone steps and marching towards the huge door. Vaella ignored Luke’s comment and let her brothers drag her with themselves, not complaining, as she had missed their presences. She loved them dearly and enjoyed spending her time with them. Being a few years older, she would read to them when they were younger and she’d help them learn high Valyrian, finding amusement at Jace’s repeated mistranslations. Once outside, Jace released his hold on his sister and ran up ahead Luke and Vaella, feeling full of excitement as he took in the place. In his eyes, nothing much had changed. Luke seemed hesitant in following after his brother, but still holding onto Vaella, he was forced to descend the stone steps. She noticed his hesitancy but said nothing, taking in the scenery before them. People had gathered here and there, some chatting as well as walking around. A smaller group had gathered around two fighting knights.

“Smaller than I remember.” Luke commented as Vaella and him glanced at two identical looking knights training, their swords clashing together. Vaella was itching to hold her sword and challenge a knight, but she remembered her mother’s words and refrained from doing so.

“It looks exactly the same.” Jace scoffed at his brother and hurried down the steps, glancing back at his sister and brother, urging them to follow him, “Ah, Luke, Vaella, come on!”

“In fact, it does not look exactly the same.” Vaella whispered to Luke with a grin and he shook his head, suddenly releasing her hand. Vaella looked at him with a questioning gaze until she noticed Jace tensing up and slowing down his walk to wait for his siblings to catch up to him. It didn’t take much for Vaella to realize why her brothers turned suddenly so stiff and alarmed. Everyone passing by them in the courtyard was staring. She hated it. The instant whispers and judgmental stares thrown their way, she wished to cut out their tongues and poke their eyes out. Her hand twitched to grab onto her sword, so instead, she allowed her hand to rest on Luke’s shoulder as Jace suddenly ran forward, towards a wall, with a missing piece in it. Luke and her stopped in front of a table full of various weapons, watching Jace’s excited face.

“See? I told you this would still be here.” Jace walked back towards them as Luke smiled to himself bashfully, “And you thought you could swing Criston’s morning star. And you almost took your own head off.”

No doubt Jace was recalling one of their trainings at which Vaella back then wasn’t allowed to participate, having been deemed too barbaric and un-ladylike. She couldn’t give a shit about it, but she didn’t want to upset her grandsire and her mother, so she stayed inside, and pretended to take an interest in sewing. When in reality, she absolutely hated it. As Vaella grabbed onto a weapon, her and Jace inspecting it, she felt Luke turn his head. She could feel his discomfort still and having her hand on his shoulder, she turned him back towards the weapons, giving him a glare.

“What’s your problem?” Jace asked as he noticed the exchange. Vaella forcefully placed the weapon back on the table as she felt Luke stealing a glance at her.

“Everyone’s staring at us.”

“Let them stare, brother.” Vaella snapped and looked around, catching the eyes of a few ladies and men, making her scowl at them. Everyone knew of the Princess’ reputation and they were afraid of her, her outbursts being sudden and brutal. Jace took a sword in his hand and pointed it at Vaella and Luke playfully, chuckling when Vaella raised an eyebrow at him. To his shame, his sister was a much better swordsman than he would ever be.

“No one would question me being heir to Driftmark—If—if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong.” Vaella sighed loudly as Jace stopped playing around with the weapons and looked at his brother.

“It doesn’t matter what they think.” Jace’s answer brought a smirk onto Vaella’s lips, appreciating his mindset which was similar to hers, and it left Luke looking at his two siblings smirking at each other cheekily. He sighed, feeling frustrated that seemingly he was the only one bothered by the stares and whispers. Luke knew Vaella didn’t care about anyone else’s opinions and he knew that while Jace cared, he never let it show. But Luke was different, he couldn’t hide his emotions well and being away from Dragonstone, which was his safe place, he felt uncomfortable and mistreated. However, he feared voicing his thoughts, knowing his sister would slay every soul standing in that courtyard if that meant it would make him feel better. He loved his sister, but she scared him more often than not. The siblings attention was caught by loud gasping coming from the crowd gathered around two fighting knights behind them. Jace, still excited about being back here, turned and ran up to the circle and it promptly made Luke and Vaella follow him. Vaella’s hand still rested on Luke’s shoulder and he didn’t mind, because it brought a sense of familiarity and reassurance to him. She was the only one making him feel safe underneath those judging eyes and he wished he could tell her, but knew his sister didn’t appreciate weakness from the people around her. Luke always tried to act tough around his sister, but sometimes failed miserably, yet it brought no change to Vaella’s thoughts about him. He was her baby brother and she knew he was scared of the world and their judgmental words, but she also knew he would grow up to be a powerful and proud man.

Vaella’s attention landed on the fighting knights and her body instantly tensed at the sight of Ser Criston Cole. She hated that man with her whole being and wanted nothing more than to cut out his tongue before torture him for the vile things he’s said and done to her family. However, her attention went as quickly as it came from that bastard as she watched the tall man fighting him. The platinum blonde hair made him easily recognizable as it could be no one else but a Targaryen. Having his back facing them, she couldn’t identify him, but she assumed it was Prince Aegon. He had been a fine swordsman while growing up, and as he loved attention she wouldn’t be surprised to see him fighting Ser Criston in front of a little crowd, gloating later on. That is, if he changed and became more mature…however, Vaella doubted her uncle was possible of changing much. Luke being a bit shorter tried to see better the fight and Vaella pulled him in front of her, letting go of his shoulder as she watched the fight closely. Ser Criston Cole was swinging his flail at the Targaryen prince, who was ferociously trying to dodge his blows while trying to gain advantage and swing at him with his sword. The fight was violent and the little crowd cheered when the Prince made a futile attempt at an advance, but Ser Criston swung his flail at him harshly, breaking the Prince’s shield in half. It took the later man off balance and Vaella smirked as she watched her uncle lose his footing for a second and slip, but her little amusement disappeared instantly when the two man changed positions, the prince now facing them and swinging at Ser Criston with his sword aggressively. It was not Prince Aegon, but Prince Aemond. Both Luke and Jace took a step back in shock, stepping onto Vaella’s feet, and when they turned to apologize, they saw how much her body language had changed. Vaella’s jaw was tight as her eyes focused on Prince Aemond only, following his every step as he turned around again, recoiling at Ser Criston’s continuous attacks. Vaella’s heart was thumping so loudly that all she could hear was that as she tried to ground herself, waiting for her shock to dissolve. The Aemond she knew was a frail and scared boy, running to his mother to seek refuge after every little inconvenience. But the Aemond before her looked ruthless in his swings and with a final swing from Ser Criston, Aemond swung his sword at him, taking him off guard, and winning the fight altogether. Vaella gulped and felt Luke’s hand sneakily holding hers, giving her a comforting squeeze. She quickly composed herself and placed her other hand on Jace’s shoulder, standing tall as the crowd started clapping for Prince Aemond.

“Well done, my Prince.” Ser Criston said smugly, “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Prince Aemond’s stoic expression was accompanied by his harsh words, surprising Vaella and her brothers even more. The frail little boy was gone, and a ruthless, cold man stood in his place. It was a change which Vaella never imagined would happen.

“Nephews.” Prince Aemond’s good eye fell on the siblings, its stare pinning them to the ground, “Have you come to train?”

Luke and Jace stepped back at his words, stepping onto Vaella’s feet again, prompting her to hold onto both of her brothers’ napes to hold them in place. She felt Aemond’s eye on her, taking her in. They haven’t seen each other in over six years. Aemond was tall now, and his eyepatch seemed to scream in their faces, as his piercing blue eye ran up and down Vaella’s body, noticing the changes the years brought to her. Her muscles were firm but not too much, and he could see the discipline in her body, making it obvious that she was a fighter. And if not her body stance, the sword tied to her hips made it very obvious. Her face had also gotten fuller and more mature, her round eyes more hollow looking than they were before. Her purple eyes could slice anyone in half, and he felt just that as she stared him down, hatred mixed with surprised showing on her features. Aemond’s face had changed too, it’s what took Vaella off guard the most. His jaw was sharp and his cheekbones high, his light blue eye paired with his eyepatch making him look dangerous. She wasn’t scared of him, knowing of his nature before his transformation, but the fight she had just seen told her that her uncle might surprise her more than once during her family’s visit to the Red Keep.

“Niece.” Prince Aemond finally found his voice, not surprised at Vaella’s defiance as she refused to speak first. He knew her as a chatty girl, yet her own harsh exterior came as a surprise, making him think that the once cheerful girl he knew was long gone.

“Uncle.” Her voice was firm as she greeted back, not afraid to stand up to him. She intended on walking away, but as she started tugging on her brothers napes to make them walk, a guard shouted for the gates to be opened and in walked Prince Vaemond Velaryon. Vaella didn’t miss the smug smirk on Aemond’s lips as he watched Ser Vaemond walk inside, meanwhile her brothers started fidgeting under her hold, the Prince sending a dirty look their way. Vaella stood tall and gave a glare to Ser Vaemond, but was ignored just as her brothers were. Ser Vaemond and his guards having passed them, headed up the stone steps, inside the castle. Vaella sneered and made a move to leave when her uncle spoke up.

“A fight, before you leave?” His right eyebrow raised as he watched Vaella looking at him with an amused smile.

“I was given instructions not to engage in any provocation to a fight—”

“I wasn’t talking to you, niece—”

“Why? Are you afraid a woman might be able to defeat you?” Vaella taunted, raising her eyebrows and felt Luke trying to make her walk as Jace looked at Aemond with a glare. Their uncle chuckled but remained unphased by her words.

“I have unfinished business with my nephew, Luke.” Hearing his name, the boy tensed and looked at Vaella with pleading eyes, asking her to start walking back inside the castle.

“You have no—”

“Bona iksos olvie unfortunate, uncle.” (That is quite unfortunate, uncle.) Vaella cut off Jace as she switched to High Valyrian, smirking at her uncle as his jaw clenched. Without waiting for an answer, she leaned her head down between her brothers and smiled, “Let’s go steal some snacks from the kitchen.”

Jace snickered at his sister’s words as she started walking them, still holding onto her brothers napes, feeling Aemond’s eye on her, as she held her chin high and looked only ahead, refusing to make eye contact with him. She wished nothing more than to engage into a fight with him, kick him to the ground and point her sword at his neck, but her mother has asked her to behave and keep her brothers out of trouble as well. She didn’t want to upset the pregnant woman, therefore decided to walk away. The air was a bit tense between the three as they started ascending the stone steps and Vaella cracked a grin, glancing back towards where the small crowd was now dispersed but Ser Criston and Prince Aemond remained. She caught the eye of her uncle and immediately turned her head, jaw clenching at being caught looking. There was something very alluring about the man and she hated how her curiosity sparked after their interaction, sensing the distaste and hatred oozing out of Aemond as he looked at them yet dared not to touch them.

“Did you see the mistake he made?” Vaella spoke up with a vile smirk, recalling the slip up of her uncle.

“Who?” Luke muttered confused, glancing up at his big sister as Jace opened the doors for them, and Vaella finally released the boys from her firm hold. It was a tactic to keep them under control but it was also something she would quite frequently do; they didn’t mind it after all.

“Our uncle, of course. When his shield broke, he was distracted and almost toppled over.” Vaella chuckled and placed her hands behind her back, following her brothers down to the kitchen, “Cricket Horn almost got him—”

“Cricket Horn?!” Jace exclaimed outraged and Luke had to press a hand against his lips as his loud laughter broke out of him suddenly. Vaella tried to remain unphased but couldn’t help her own laughter bubbling up.

“Criston Cole, I thought of finding a more fitting name for him.” Vaella managed to say between her laughter and her brothers were now stopped and toppling over in laughter. She knew she was distracting them from their dire moods and felt content watching her brothers forget about the whole ordeal which has happened in the courtyard. They started coming up with more hilarious names as they continued their walk to the kitchen and Vaella listened to them amused, their versions getting more and more creative. It made her realize that they were still young and underserving of the accusations the Hightowers and their own family was bringing to them. It made her blood boil, but being here she knew she could keep them safe and away from harm. Even if that came in the form of their uncle, she could take the man, she wasn’t afraid. And she was certain she’d be able to defeat him too, his fighting combat being that of the usual she saw in battles. Her father made sure to teach her tricks and so did her masters at Pentos and Dorne, making her a very talented fighter. She took pride in that.

“You know,” Luke muttered as they reached the kitchen, “I thought uncle Aemond wouldn’t hold a grudge against me—I should’ve known better, Vaella. I’m too naïve.”

Vaella sighed and looked at Jace as he ruffled his brother’s hair, “You are not. Yes, your uncle lost a very important asset of his, but he should not hold a grudge against a child who was just trying to defend his own brother. Do not be afraid of him, Lucerys, he will not lay a finger on you.”

“Because you will have his fingers cut and fed to Silverwing?” Luke asked quietly, grinning up at his siblings. Jace chuckled and looked at his sister amused, knocking his shoulder into her arm.

“Have I told you that you are a fast learner?” Vaella raised her eyebrow and grinned at her brother with mischief. Luke nodded his head proudly and Jace clapped his hands together, looking eager to raid the kitchen now. He was starving for some sweets.

“Shall we go now?” Jace held the handle of the door and Luke nodded eagerly. Vaella leaned down and licked her lips.

“Remember, we must be quick and under no circumstance can be caught, yes?” Her brothers nodded, mischievous smiles on their faces. They would do this frequently at Dragonstone, raid the kitchen and take as many snacks as they could without being caught. Then they would run to their dragons and fly to the nearest island, which was just ten minutes away, and devour their snacks before going for a swim in the ocean, if it was warm enough that day. Vaella knew there was no island they could fly to right now, but she knew of a forest with a beautiful meadow not far from here. Rhaenyra was the one who had shown it to her and ever since then it became Vaella’s favorite spot in all of King’s Landing.

Jace started counting from one to three and when he pushed the door open, Luke and Vaella slipped inside, making a run for the table filled with snacks.

↳Next part 

[ohbutwheresyourheart]

fragments from the google docs continues with: Nero's mom has a little chat with everyone's favourite goth kid, and she knows her ex well enough to sniff him out even when he's up to his stupidest hijinks yet.

Adaline has stepped out - she needs a breath of air not tainted by fear and guilt, please God just give her that much - and so she is the first to see them.

Her first impulse is to tell Morrison it can wait. Or, if it can’t wait, to send whatever job it is Lady and Trish’s way. Devil May Cry doesn’t need the money and the thought of leaving Nero -- or Dante leaving her -- is, for the moment, incomprehensible. Even for an evening. Even for an hour. She will fall apart. She will shatter like glass.

Then she sees the figure following -- limping -- a step or two behind Morrison, and holds her tongue. It’s rare that a client makes their own way to Devil May Cry; Morrison likes to act as go-between to keep the jobs coming through him. His pockets would empty fast if there was no need for a middle man.

So she keeps her peace, sipping from her glass of wine held in a hand that is only ever so slightly shaking, until Morrison comes close enough to see her in the dim glow of the neon sign. He tips his hat to her, as is his custom, but Adaline is hard-pressed to fetch up a smile as is hers.

“Always a pleasure, Ada,” he begins conversationally. “I realise this isn’t the best of times, but… well, we have a bit of a doozy by the sounds of it. Might even be connected to what happened here.”

Adaline’s toes curl inside her shoes and her grip on her glass tightens; the chardonnay glitters a kaleidoscope of colours as the neon lights refract through it. She says nothing.

The figure behind Morrison -- a young man, maybe only Nero’s age, dark-haired and covered in tattoos -- keeps his head bowed. In one hand he clutches a cane; no affectation, he’s leaning on it quite heavily. In the other, he holds something else, although Adaline can’t properly see what it is.

“May we…?” Morrison nods towards the door.

“Who are you?” Adaline asks the boy. “Why are you here?”

At first, she thinks he isn’t going to answer, but eventually he finds his tongue. His voice is low and slightly husky. Eventually, he does her the courtesy of looking at her. A pretty boy, with pale green eyes; she recognises the shape and colour from somewhere, though she can’t presently think where.

“My name is V. I am here because I have some information about a powerful demon lord poised to wreak havoc on this world. It is something I thought an equally powerful demon hunter ought to be aware of.”

Again, Morrison makes a movement towards the door. “Probably easiest if we don’t have to repeat the story…?”

The last thing - the absolute last thing - Adaline wants to do is let them across the threshold of Devil May Cry. This boy brings trouble, she can feel it. She wants to run inside, batten down the hatches, and keep what is left of her family safe from whatever trouble is building outside.

But Dante never will; she knows him that well by now. Dante never saw trouble in his life without throwing himself into the middle of it. Deep down, Adaline knows she has (just, barely) too much of a conscience to let the world burn for the sake of her boys. Not for the first time she thinks of how much easier life would be, without caring. Without that little bean counter in the back of her mind, totting up life and death. The rippling, unknowable consequence of so much as an afternoon off at the wrong time.

She downs the last of her wine and nods towards the door. “By all means. God knows, he needs some occupation. Why don’t you boys talk about money first? And we’ll talk about… everything else.”

It’s difficult to tell, at first, who is more disconcerted by the proposal. Morrison, however, is a wonderfully uncomplicated man and the rare opportunity of browbeating Dante into promising away his earnings before he’s even earned them without Adaline there to intervene is a powerful incentive. Nodding again to her, Morrison strides into the building.

And so they are two. For once, Adaline doesn’t care to hear the details of payments and cuts and debts, which is all Morrison will be talking about for now. She’s much more interested in V.

He’s gone back to avoiding her eyes as much as he can, fiddling with his cane and what she can now see is a large, though not particularly thick, hardback book. Something about it catches her attention, but it’s too dark to make out the details.

Moving as discreetly and unhurriedly as she can bear to, Adaline lets one hand drop to her side, and then behind her back; out of sight, she casts a series of cantrips. V himself -- his body; his being -- is untouched, but to Adaline’s eyes only his tattoos glow a faint purple. Perhaps the surprise shows on her face, or else he is magically attuned enough to feel the cantrips probing over him; he raises his head, offers a half-smile tinged with an emotion she can’t quite place.

“I assure you,” he says, “I am no demon, nor am I here to launch an ambush.”

No demon, maybe, but something in V is of the Underworld. Adaline’s consolation is that she knows anything she can pick up with a cantrip, Dante will smell on him.

“Forgive me if I seem discourteous,” she says with only a moderate amount of irony. “Someone tried to kill my son two days ago. It’s put me somewhat on edge”

There: V is good, he schools his expression again as quickly as he can, but Adaline sees the flash of panic; the momentarily widened eyes, the white-knuckled grip on his cane; the look of a man caught out.

“I’m… sorry to hear that,” he manages, but it’s too little too late.

Still with one hand behind her back, Adaline prepares to conjure more than a cantrip. “Who are you?”

V holds up his hands -- one still clutching his cane, the other held awkwardly to keep the book under his arm from slipping away -- and the attempted calm is replaced by no small amount of fear. Genuine fear, too, as far as she can tell, unless the boy is an excellent actor. While Adaline can’t smell fear rolling off a body like a demon could, she considers herself a decent interpreter of body language.

It calms her, just a little; anything afraid of her is no match for Dante.

“A friend. Or,” he adds, seeing her disbelief, “If not a friend, at least not an enemy.”

“Someone else walked up to this building once and said the same thing. It ended up causing us a lot of pain.”

They say, the two of them, that they wouldn’t be without Trish now -- but if it was between Trish and Vergil? That bean counter again: life and death, death and life. Pray they’re never given the option.

She’s scaring him: the boy with the demon tattoos looks ready to peel off. Adaline shakes her head, reminds herself he’s only Nero’s age -- if there’s a plot at work here, V is the intermediary rather than the mastermind -- though Nero would be furious to know she still thinks of him as a boy, not a man. Even if it’s a ploy, a trick, they need to know who is after them. Of course they first assumed… But it can’t be… Or is she fooling herself? Maybe the wine was a bad idea.

“Fine. I--” Adaline gropes for the words. “We need to know. Especially if it’s really all that bad.”

V relaxes slightly; lowers his hands, looks at her with something like compassion. He’s just a boy, she reminds herself again; look at him, this boy with his tattoos and his postmodern goth aesthetic, with his cane and his book and something demonic carved into his skin, something he might not even know of or understand. Bound up in a world of trouble beyond his capabilities. Even if that trouble is to do with whatever attacked Adaline’s son, V did not break into Devil May Cry and tear Nero’s arm off.

Those eyes, though. There’s something about him; something she can almost touch, almost taste. Something she feels like a bigger idiot every moment for missing.

“Had I the choice, I would not bring trouble to your door,” he says. His voice is low, genuine; Adaline finds she believes him. Or, at least, believes that he believes it.

She sighs. Exhaustion is settling into every muscle after two days of adrenaline-fuelled anxiety. The wine was definitely a mistake.

“We should probably head inside. They ought to be finished squabbling over money by now.”

V glances at the door; what he sees must confirm her suspicion, because he nods. He shoots her a quick smile and bows: it’s over-exaggerated, a dancer’s flourish; head down as far as his waist, arms outstretched, his cane flicking towards the door.

“Ladies first.”

It’s a charming display, but Adaline isn’t in the mood to be charmed. Especially not when charm so often disguises an intent to hurt. Again, that impulse against all good sense to turn the boy away and batten down the hatches with Dante and Nero. Her brain is running through all of the possibilities, even the most outlandish ones.

Okay, Mundus is dead (or as close as they’re going to get to killing him) and his corpse is slowly rotting in agony, but what if some other demon lord got the same idea? Mundus sent an underling to tempt Dante into danger once before, why fix what isn’t broken?

If that’s the case, whoever has taken Mundus’s place has even learned not to rely on painted doll replicas (and what if that’s why V seems so familiar? Something old, something new, something borrowed, something… green).

V looks up with a smile but his face falls when he sees Adaline still looks decidedly unamused.

“Let’s hear what you have to say,” she says, leading the way into Devil May Cry.

Dante looks expectant, almost excited; Morrison looks satisfied. Those two states don’t normally coincide. Adaline wonders how much money is involved here, and where it’s coming from. V doesn’t exactly give the impression he’s swimming in cash. Then again, this is Dante: he gripes about money from time to time but he’d work for free if the pizza place didn’t demand payment. Adaline happily funds him but he has a few shreds of chest-beating masculine pride about paying his own way that surface now and again.

Adaline circles around the desk to set her glass down on it, briefly makes eye contact with Dante, and leans against the wall behind him. She nods to Morrison as he leaves with a few final words about bringing in Lady and Trish and sets herself to watch. Now that she’s taken her own measure of their newest client, she’s interested to see what Dante makes of him.

Not much at first. Dante leans back in his chair, posturing boredom with the merest glimmer of interest.

“So,” he begins without preamble, “What’s your name?”

V stands in the centre of the office, the book open in his hand and his gaze pointed down at its contents.

“‘I have no name; I am but two days old’,” he says. In the ensuing pause, he snaps the book shut and looks up. “Just kidding. You can call me V.”

Adaline isn’t looking anywhere in particular. It is pure chance when her eyes fall on Eva’s photograph. It’s been on the desk as long as the desk has been in Devil May Cry, and Adaline stopped really seeing it years ago. She knows Eva is there, watching them (watching over them?) but familiarity breeds indifference to the contours of her cheeks and the exact curve of her jawline.

Or the colour of her eyes.

V is watching her when she looks up again; he’s quite still, but his grip on his cane is white-knuckled. His eyes are wide. Helpful: it lets her check the colour again.

Adaline remains impassive to the best of her ability. After a moment, during which she sees V’s Adam's apple bob frantically in his throat, he becomes impassive too; he looks away, deliberately turning his attention back to Dante.

For Dante’s part, if he’s noticed the brief, silent struggle, he gives no indication of it. Humming, he lazily sets aside his magazine and stretches.

“Okay, V... Why don't you tell me everything about this job?”

There’s a slight pause before V answers. He gives a little shrug, his lips pursed, as if to… well, Adaline isn’t quite sure, but his nonchalance strikes her as over-acted. In fact, if he is bringing them information about a job big enough that Morrison is nervous about Dante going it alone, isn’t ‘nonchalance’ the last thing in the world V should be feeling?

“A powerful demon is about to resurrect and…” Again, the briefest of pauses, as if the explanation is so obvious that V can barely bring himself to voice it, “We need your help, Dante.”

Dante lets out a bark of laughter. Either he’s giving an Oscar-worthy performance (and people rarely realise it, but Dante is a good actor when he wants to be; the man practically has a degree in misdirection) or he’s not picking up on any of the inconsistencies and questions Ada is. In stark contrast to her own anxiety, Dante is languid and lackadaisical. He pushes himself out of his chair and strolls over to the couch, still chuckling.

“Now that’s a familiar tune,” he quips. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard that exact line before?”

V doesn’t look offended by being blown off so easily. He shifts slightly, grip on his cane visibly tightening. Despite her suspicions, Adaline has an impulse to offer him a chair; he looks genuinely in pain. Before she can, however, he walks towards Dante, intent.

“This is… special.”

“Special,” Dante echoes disbelievingly, a hint of amusement colouring his tone. “Okay, what’s so special about this one?”

It’s about this moment that Adaline realises V has almost completely turned his back on her and she can no longer see his face.

“This demon is your… reason. Your reason for fighting.”

Something shifts in Dante’s expression. He doesn’t enjoy being jerked around and doesn’t suffer fools, but he’s enduring V’s dancing with more patience than Adaline would have expected. Is he finally realising, as she has, that there’s more to this than meets the eye? Or did Morrison just flash more money in his face than usual? Adaline can’t think. His reason for fighting? His reason… your reason--

I have no name; I am but two days old. How -- poetic.

Poetry. Murmured half-under his breath; the one indulgence in an otherwise spartan life; the book she had picked out for him, unearthed in a second-hand store--

“This demon got a name?”

“Vergil.”

[marigoldbaker]

started work on an extremely indulgent crossover fic that starts off with river. so here is a snip :) read for celia-typical feelings about amy and river's dynamic, as always, forever.

“That one, look over there,” Amy was saying, a giggle in her voice as she nudged River’s shoulder. “Is that a space Chihuahua in her purse?”

River squinted, her mouth twitching. “Actually, I believe the closest thing to that on Earth would be – well –” She considered, drawing upon centuries-ago biology classes at Luna University. “Have you ever wondered what it might be like if a hyena and an electric eel had some sort of clandestine affair?”

“Has anyone?” said Amy, still all giggles. “Slimy laughter, that’s what it’d be, River.”

“Now, that’s a band name,” said River without thinking.

Amy looked at her askance, eyes still shining, and River realized her mistake. “Do you know,” said Amy, in the same tone of voice she’d said everything else, “my best friend Mels, she says that all the time?”

“Oh?” said River.

“You two would get along,” said Amy, tapping her chin with her pointer finger. “You’d probably explode a whole planet, mind, but you’d get along.” She looked shyly up at River. “What about you, River? Do you have a space best friend?”

Everything in River ached. Every day. Hurt in a way that would never stop hurting. She’d thought it had been agony when she first found herself in this body, giving up every other life she would ever have to pull the Doctor forward, but watching her mother slip away from her, look at her with unknowing eyes and a casually friendly smile, was pain beyond anything she’d ever known. 

Lucky thing, then, that River refused to interrogate her feelings on this.

“Spoilers,” she said.

“How the hell is that spoilers?” said Amy, an incredulous laugh in her voice.

River considered her words carefully. “My best friend is my mother,” she said.

“You have a mother?” said Amy. Then, “No, hang on, wait, you’re a mummy’s girl? Oh, Christ, your mum must be psychotic.”

River thought of Kovarian, then Amy. “In a sense.”

“Or, wait, was that rude?” Amy was continuing. “I’m sorry, I just–just, the thought of you with a mum is terrifying. Some part of me feels as though you were just born with all that space hair and a blaster.” 

River suspected that Amy had never quite stopped feeling that way about her. “Well, I do have a mum,” she said, “and she–”

What to say about Amy? Amy was her whole world. River’s earliest memory was of Amy holding her, whispering words of such love. Even when Amy had been so, so little, just the joy of being around her again had been enough to very nearly eclipse the grief of never being little Melody Pond, with a mum who was big enough to hold her. No way to boil Amy down into a pithy little sentence. Impossible for River to even try.

“Oh, no, don’t tell me,” said Amy wisely, before River could. “She’s someone important too, isn’t she? And you can’t tell me or the Doctor, ‘cause we’ll meet her soon enough.”

“Spoilers,” said River, tapping her nose, and smiled like it was easy. 

[plantsrrfriends]

Butterfly

Xiao x f!Reader

Synopsis; Xiao’s loyalty remains, even after centuries.

Themes; angst, established relationship, hurt/no comfort

He sees her in the butterflies.

When he lies on the grass, wind rustling through the leaves and sun shining down. He’s sheltered by a towering tree but doesn’t quite know how he got there or when he fell asleep.

He sees her as the paper thin wings flutter and the insect lands on a flower.

The color in their wings reminds him of her eyes. Her clothes, and the way she enjoyed mimicking their pattern in her own fabric. The end of her long sleeves would fade into color and black roots. She enjoyed how they’d flutter in the wind when she moved.

He sat up from the grass, but a sudden pounding in his head made him keel over. He’d been here before - why did he come back?

Xiao could in-vision it so clearly. When he glanced up, it was like he could see her. Standing a few yards away, briskly walking toward him with worry on her features.

She was saying, “You worried me. What are you doing all the way out here?”

He apologized to her. Her pace faltered and she stopped next to him. Instead of chastising him, she just sighed and crouched down. Xiao thought maybe she was going to sit next to him, but instead she let herself fall forward and crashed against him.

Startled, his hands reached to steady her, falling back into the grass with her weight on top of him. He would never grow used to her outward displays of affection. All the yakshas were kind and affectionate towards one another, but the dendro Yaksha always treated him on a different level. One he wouldn’t understand for many centuries.

“Take me next time you decide to run off,” she had said, chin resting on his chest, “If you run away, I want to come with.”

“You want to run away?” He questioned.

She hummed, “I would run away if it was with you.”

He watched her and she closed her eyes and embraced the gentle breeze and warm sun. He always considered himself rough and sharp. A weapon that anyone could cut themselves on if not careful enough. But she always acted like she was invincible. As if the blade would never dare break her skin, and she was right. If it was within his power, he’d let nothing hurt her.

“Let’s run away, someday.” She suddenly declared.

“Okay,” he agreed without even thinking. It made her smile and she leaned up closer to him, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his lips. Xiao closed his eyes at the feeling, like bliss in his world of hurt. He chased the feeling and she obliged, gifting him a gentle and more direct kiss. As soft as a butterfly.

He should’ve run away with her. He should’ve taken the chance. He should’ve grabbed her hand and done anything in his power to make her happy.

But when the yaksha began to drop like flies, she found it impossible to leave her suffering friends all alone. She would never doom them to a life of pain and loneliness, so she stayed with them and with Xiao.

He should’ve realized sooner what a toll it took on the both of them. Because before he knew it, she was gone. Her own sorrow made the very plants she loved to consume her and shelter her from the outside world.

Xiao opened his eyes, and she was gone. No longer pressing a kiss to his lips or settled in his arms. He sat up again. The pounding in his head was gone.

He used his spear as an aid to stand up, and glanced at the towering tree behind him. Settled in the large open plane. High up on one of the old geo spears that had now become a mountain. If he stared hard enough, he could still see her huddled form, long sleeves forming roots and a home for all butterflies that wished to accompany her.

Gently, he placed his palm against the tree trunk and then leaned forward, forehead resting on the bark just where the mark on his forehead was. She always liked pressing her forehead against his.

“I’m waiting for you,” he whispered, unknowing if she could hear it or not, “and then we’ll run away.”

A butterfly settled on one of the low branches of the grand tree. He would always see her in their wings.

[dagger-n-ravvi]

Chapter Twelve: Little Bedfellows

Ace finds himself suffering the same fate of Epel.

Warnings include Unwanted drugging, serious injury, Abuse of Authority, elements of kidnapping

Previous | Next Chapter | Fic Index

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55557751?view_full_work=true

“‘M… ’m okay. I’m not hurt…” Epel mumbles as he’s picked up. Vil presses his palm up against the side of his head, right where it hurts most. He flinches hard, and tears start to pour down his face. 

"Stoooop… n-not hurt…” he whimpers. Vil scoops him up and rushes into the bathroom. He sets him down in the bathtub, and then rushes out again. There’s a long moment where all Epel can hear is a dull ringing in his ears, and then a rivulet of shockingly red blood runs quietly across the white porcelain, just in front of his nose. He just stares at it, feeling weak, confused and shaky. Where is Ace? Did he get away?

Vil appears in front of him with a glowing, purple vial. He tilts Epel’s head back, and then pours the contents between his lips.

"N-no, cough-! ‘M ok…" Epel protests, unable to turn away as Vil massages his throat. He swallows hard, and his head starts to feel floaty and numb, like he’s been stuffed full of cotton. 

"Whear's Assce? ‘M okay… promise-NGHAAAAAA-!” 

He cries out as Vil presses a big wad of white gauze to his forehead and pain surges through his neck and skull…

Time seems to stretch out and compress at the same time. There’s a moment where Vil might have been yelling through the door at someone Epel can’t see. Then in the next moment, Epel simply appears in bed, and Ace is right beside him. He’s staring back at him with an eerily still, blank expression. 

“Why are all the freshmen at this school such idiots?”

Vil’s voice sounds exhausted and despairing more than mad. After a moment, his hand appears, and gently presses Ace’s eyelids closed-

…Epel giggles faintly, breath catching as his tummy muscles flutter. Someone’s fingers are in his mouth, and his tongue is coated with that olive oil that is not olive oil-

…Vil is standing above him, fussing with the bandages on his head. He can it’s Vil because of his hands. Slender, very soft hands that have never held a shovel for eight hours digging holes to plant the new saplings in spring. Rook’s are different. He always wears gloves…  

…His face is turned to one side, and Ace is lying next to him. His eyes are closed, and his body is utterly still apart from the steady rise and fall of his chest. Riddle’s collar is gone, but it’s immediately obvious that he was wearing it since that very first night at orientation. Deep, red gouges and chafing are present all around his neck. The first two buttons of the loose, linen nightshirt he’s been changed into have been left open to give the damaged skin room to breathe and heal-

…Rook is gently moving his arms, legs and body around.

“Not much longer now, I promise. You’ll come through this with all your strength, and then you can learn to help your homeland, as you wanted-“

He’s back in bed. It’s nearly dark outside, but he can see that Ace is beside him again.

“Ace?” Epel’s voice echoes strangely in his ears. Ace’s eyelids flutter, but do not open.

“No…” Tears silently fall down Epel’s cheeks as he realizes that he’s been poisoned. Just like him, but worse. He’s so far under that he can’t even open his own eyes.  

“Mm sorry…” Epel’s body tenses up in that now familiar, deeply frustrating way, but does not move. 

“I promise… we’ll… get out… I promise.” Epel strains, and finally manages to roll against Ace's side. It feels nice. He’s warm… Epel can hear him breathing beside him-

…And finally, a dizzying and truly unknowable time later, something finally changes.

[thewriterlyowl]

On this latest reread one thing I’ve noticed the most is that Other Guy, once he decides that his romantic feelings for Katniss need to be made known, consistently does not meet her where she is.

He has this in common with Peeta at first, but we’ll get to him in a minute. Other Guy is the Main Character in his relationship with Katniss. He liked her six months before the Games but said nothing until he saw her slipping away. What was he expecting? For her to wake up and choose him? That it would just happen eventually because, as I said before, what Other Guy knows most about her is her and her family’s survival is what she cares about the most? Who knows? In any case, it was Katniss will be mine eventually. It’s inevitable.

Then the Games happen and he sees the onscreen narrative. Even though Katniss says he must know it was fake, there must be a part of him that doesn’t believe it. It becomes You were supposed to be mine, and you betrayed me. When she gets back, Katniss specifically says they don’t talk about her time in the Games. They don't talk about Rue, they don't talk about Thresh, they don't talk about Cato's final moments. She does not want to relive it and that is her choice, but it is also his choice. Because for Other Guy, it represents a time when she was inaccessible to him and therefore unknowable to him. So he acts it never happened - which is a refusal to meet Katniss where she is now. He makes no effort to say he's trying to understand, or even that right now its hard for him to understand. It is now You were supposed to be mine before, but now you can be mine after. What came in between is a mistake.

When she is reaped again, it's possible that he would have made a full confession but thankfully Collins spares us their goodbyes are taken away from them as a final punishment from the Capitol.

And then in MJ, Katniss says he "doesn't try to kiss me or talk about love" and mentions that it could be because he thinks it's too cruel. (Our darling Katniss has a concussion so I forgive her for this, but she also says that the thing putting pressure on their friendship was her arranged marriage to Peeta, without considering that her friendship with Other Guy never stopped Peeta from being her friend). Anyway, it seems that Other Guy is more amiable than he has been. He defends her, he protects her, he refuses to leave her alone. When I first read it, I even liked him better than I had. At first.

But then you see that Other Guy is more satisfied because Katniss is in an environment that he has always wanted: fighting for the freedom of the Districts. But he is still thinking of her Games as something that took her away from him, instead of something she experienced. It's something that disrupted the natural order of things, and now it has returned - with improvements. It is still what came between was a mistake, here is where we are supposed to be, you can still be mine. You see it when he consistently refuses to see how letting yourself be a piece in anyone's Game erodes your humanity, no matter what cause you're fighting for - until it's too late.

And thats why their friendship breaks down, why the "dark, twisted sadness between them" exists. At first, Other Guy's refusal to meet her where she is only presents romantic problems. But then as time goes on, you see it causes cracks in their relationship that ends it completely. Katniss continually tries to articulate what her experiences in the Games have taught her about war and taking lives, and he doesn't listen until it ruins his relationship with the girl he says he loves.

Throughout MJ, he's like "here's where you kissed me, Katniss *weepy face*", "why are you talking to Finnick, Katniss *angry face*", "where's your desire, Katniss - all the other girls in 12 wanted to kiss me", and bonus "maybe if I volunteered to save her she'd kiss me like she kissed you, Peeta". Like, inasmuch as he's a valued soldier, he's still harbouring childish notions about how to get Katniss to like him. Katniss is worlds away from this nonsense, but maybe if he'd bothered to meet her where she was outside of that bit at the beginning he would know that.

Now, Peeta.

While it is lovely that Peeta fell in love with Katniss at such a young age, likely admiring her because of her tenacity and fantasising about being loved by someone so devoted (see: Prim), he idealises her quite a lot. It’s almost an example of modern-day courtly love, especially in CF. He falls even harder during the Games, which is why he’s so devastated when she tells him it was an act to some extent.

Peeta had to wake up. He thought it was I love Katniss and she never noticed me but we survived the Games together and now we’re in love. At first, he freezes her out unless they’re required to be in public together. But then he does a bit of self-reflection and it becomes Katniss did what she had to do to keep us alive. I am still in love with her but I still want to be her friend. Because he knows that he was putting expectations on her that she wasn’t ready for, once he got to know her.

Then throughout CF, he is constantly protecting her, assuming that he has become someone she cares about so her level of devotion makes sense. He doesn’t question her motives because he knows she’s trying to keep him alive. But when she gives, he takes. And when he gives, he watches her take without the expectation that she must give back.

Then he’s hiajcked. And it becomes Katniss lied to me for our entire relationship and she tried to kill me. She is still trying to kill me.

Now, the difference here is, Peeta is not the same. In both of those other scenarios, the constant is I love Katniss. Now, that is gone. So Peeta must first meet himself where he is, and then see if this version can meet her where she is. So it becomes Katniss has always protected me. She will always protect me. What we do is protect each other.

So by the time we get to the end, the veil has been lifted. There is no idealisation, there are no Games clouding anyone's actions, there is no suspicion. There's just them. Peeta is back to himself, and sees what Katniss' love looks like without outside motivations. It is still Katniss has always protected me. She will always protect me. What we do is protect each other, with an added This is love. This is what is real.

Other Guy and Peeta actually switch places over the course of the books. Other Guy seems like he loves Katniss but in hanging onto the version of her that he wants - that no longer exists - he ends up loving a shadow that Katniss cannot become. Peeta's courtly love for Katniss deepens when they go through the Games together, but instead of abandoning her when that version (created on the back of survival, mind you!) is not what's in front of him, he chooses to love the Katniss in the way that he can and take what she can give him. He consistently stops loving the shadow and loves the Katniss that she has become.

[mygloviesme]

cool about it. || myg

no. 5: feeling like an absolute fool about it

predebut/debut!yoongi x female idol

summary: kanako is an established idol with a growing career and a secret relationship with a producer from her label, haneul. when she’s asked to work with yoongi and rm to create a track for her, she gains unexpected feelings for a certain upcoming rapper. with her increasing fame, her controlling boyfriend, a set of six boys who seem to have grown an attachment to her, and a new boy who’d give her the world, how will she figure out a way to balance it all?

(definitely inspired by boygenius)

word count: 2.8k

genre: ANGST, friends(?) to lovers, slow burn, lots of pining

chapter warnings: toxic relationship (not w/myg), mentions of mental health, grooming (not w/myg), age gap relationship (not w/myg), oc gets hurt while doing dishes so mention of knife and blood

inspo song: the gold by phoebe bridgers

FEBRUARY 15TH, 2012, 7:10PM

With lots of hesitation, I accepted Jungkook’s invite for dinner via text. Let me show you exactly what he texted:

Jungkook: kanako come over to dinner, we miss you!!!!! If you dont we’ll bring dinner to you!!!

His order caught me by surprise since we had only known each other for a short while. We’ve never even had a conversation, I don't think. 

But the news had broken inside the building. I’ve avoided walking the halls ever since a trainee I’d known since my trainee days had come up to me, taking my hands and telling me:

You still have time to make this right and take back what you said, you know that right?

I didn’t reply to her, only standing in shock. Haneul was loved by everyone in the building, he was the best producer we had. He was the mind behind my biggest singles and trainees could only dream of having their first hit be made by him. He was charismatic, charming, and a social butterfly. He was the type of person you’d describe as “lighting up the room when he walked in.” He was the dream man for a young girl like me. He had this way of controlling a room like a conductor controlling a symphony. He was alluring. 

The trainee, Aimee being her name, simply gave me a reassuring hug before skipping off, unknowing the damage she just did. After that interaction I slipped back into my depression. I stayed in my dorm and have only left once these past five days for counseling. Bang-PD was more than supportive of the idea of me seeing a therapist, saying it’s the least I can do. 

FEBRUARY 13TH, 2012, 12:10PM

I sit in my new therapist’s office. She’s short, like me. And sort of a mess, but it’s just like me. Her name is Hana. She settles into her chair with a small notepad in her hand and a pen, just like the American movies I’ve watched. 

She shuffles in her seat as she writes something down. 

“Alright Kanako, how are you feeling today?” She asks, a small beam from her face. Her expression scrunches to readjust her glasses. 

I fiddle with my fingers, “I’m alright. I’m glad to be here.” I reply. She writes. 

“That’s good to know, Kanako. Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” She questions. 

I nod slowly, “I assume you were given a run-down?”

She laughs softly, “No, not really. It’s sort of complicated, but I like to hear it from my patients first. So, to answer your question, I don’t.”

I nod again, “I was in a relationship for a while. A little over ten months. We started when I was seventeen, and he was twenty-two.” I say sort inaudibly. She bobs her head, “And how was that?” 

I swallow, “It was great, in the beginning. He would buy me gifts and shower me with so much affection, which was something I wasn’t used to. We would go out on walks at night so no one could see us and he would hold my hand so…tightly. It was so comforting being with him. But-”

“But?”

“I remember the first time he acted differently. It was in his studio apartment, our first night together. We had…had sex.” I dart my eyes from her direction to my hands. 

“It was my first time but it wasn’t his. Obviously. The night wrapped up so nicely with him holding me for so long. I felt so safe. But…he saw a message from my phone, one from a male trainee I used to be friends with. He asked if I wanted to hang out the next day. And Haneul just…” My breath extends, “He completely flipped out. I remember being completely naked under his covers and he just ripped them off of me. He was so angry and accused me of cheating on him. He screamed, screamed, and screamed at me until I was just nothing but tears. I felt so vulnerable.” 

“What happened after?” She says, writing simultaneously. 

“I crawled to the edge of the bed when he started breaking down crying. He kept repeating that he was so sorry, that he would never do anything like that again. And I held him, still naked. And the funny thing is, he was in a shirt and boxers. So I couldn’t feel him. There was still this barrier between us.” I bite my lip, furrowing my brows as if that’ll make the memories come back clearer. 

Hana adjusts her glasses with her hand, “Still a barrier? You had felt that way before that night?”

“I mean, yeah. He was very secretive. Like he’d toss me a bone to distract me, then run away. He planted these stories in my head to excuse why he wouldn’t text or talk to me for hours on end.” 

“Do you have a story in mind?”

I anxiously clench my fists.

“He told me once he had to go back home to Busan to visit his mother who had gotten sick. I mean, it was such a serious thing I told him he could take as much time as he needed. I spent the night in his apartment before he left and he had fallen asleep before me so I was just kind of lying there. I saw his phone light up, and it was a text message from a girl asking when he’d make it to Busan. I read the rest of their messages and it was clear that he was flirting with her. I’m not sure if they had hooked up but I didn’t think so at the time.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“That morning, yeah. And it was just the same thing. Screaming, calling me awful names, saying I wasn’t giving him enough in bed. That I was a selfish virgin.” I say, looking out the window and recounting the painful memories. I purse my lips in a tight line, feeling that familiar lump in my throat. Hana only nods, waiting for me to continue. To be ready to continue, that is. 

“And then he cried again,” I add, “In my arms. Apologizing again, saying he’d never treat that way, again. And I stayed.” I whisper in hopes to not break down. 

“Why is that, Kanako?”

“Why did I stay?”

She bobs her head as if to say yes. 

I remember that feeling I got that night when he invited me out to dinner. The cold, the touch, the yelling. 

“For the apology.”

FEBRUARY 15TH, 2012, 7:10PM

“Ah, Kanako!” Hoseok says as he opens the door for me. I give a quick bow to the group of boys who wait behind him with a small grin. In my hands I hold a glass tupperware with small cinnamon sugar cookies. 

Jin peers behind Hoseok, “You didn’t have to bring anything!” He beams and takes the tupperware from my hands, placing them on a much nicer plate for aesthetic. I can’t help the smile that grows on my face when Hoseok opens the door wider, gesturing me to come in. Just like last time, there’s boys sprawled out in different areas of the dorm. Some are setting down cutlery and plates, others set a hot pot down and other various foods, and then my eyes see Yoongi. Like instinct. 

He’s placing pillows down the perimeter of the table, but he doesn’t look at me. I hope to meet his gaze and stay like that for a millisecond longer until I give up, setting my coat on the coat rack. I’m wearing casual clothes, skinny jeans and a knitted sweater with my hair in an, admittedly, messy ponytail. Not in a very cute way, but in a way where I had forgotten I was coming here until the timer on my oven had rung loudly in my ears. 

I take off my shoes and walk to the kitchen, “Anything I can help with?” I say and tuck my arms in between each other. Nervous, nervous, nervous. 

Jin plops a piece of meat in his mouth, “Nuh-uh. Sit down, please. Everyone, actually! Let’s all sit down!” He yells rather loudly which makes me flinch. He gestures to everyone to sit around the table, which we follow rather quickly. He must be the oldest with how organized he seems to be. 

We all take a seat on the various pillows, eyeing the beautiful dinner that lays before us. I see Jungkook plop down beside me, and to my surprise, so does Yoongi. Our shoulders manage to brush each other as Yoongi settles down. 

“Why is everyone acting like we’re going to pray?” Yoongi mutters and is the first to reach for the pot of soup. He scoops the red liquid with a deep ladle and grabs my bowl simultaneously. My eyes widen just a bit as I watch him serve me. He gives me a rather large portion and sucks in his teeth, “We have lots more so, uh, eat up. Okay?” He says without making eye contact with me. I don’t smile, not even a bit. Even though it’s really killing me not to. 

His small act sends an uproar around the table, “Ah! Gentleman Yoongi. Such a gentleman.” Namjoon jokes and serves himself as well. And just like dominoes, everyone moves around, passing plates and bowls. Different boys give me various plates of food and as I turn to Jungkook who called my name, he stuffs a serving of seaweed with rice in my mouth. 

“Jungkook-” Jimin bursts into a fit of laughter. 

“What? She hasn’t started eating yet. Gotta get the ball rolling.” He mumbles. 

I cover my mouth and for the first time in a while, smile. I laugh once, twice, and eventually my hand sticks to my mouth like glue as tears well up in my eyes. My stomach starts to hurt as I swallow the rice and try not to, well, choke. “It was that funny, huh?” Yoongi smiles as he looks at me. I turn to him and nod, attempting to catch my breath. I want so badly to stare into his eyes just a second more, just like this. How he’s looking at me now. But he’s the first to break eye contact which leaves me feeling a little lost and stranded. 

We all enjoy our food together, some boys going back and forth with bits of small talk and jokes.

It’s fun watching their dynamic, observing like I’m only listening through a wall. I take bites and sips from my food every so often but I still feel anxiety rioting in my throat that makes me not have much of an appetite. 

“So when are you guys debuting?” I ask, the thought only coming to the forefront of my mind just a second ago. Namjoon runs his fingers through his hair as he ticks his head slightly, he looks uncertain. 

“Ah, Bang-PD says sometime next year.” He says, and the once loud table turns quiet. 

I look around in confusion, “Is that- should I have not-” I say faintly. 

Jimin shakes his head and covers his mouth as he swallows, “We’re all just hoping to have as much success as you had, Kanako.” He says. The table of boys all nod and I give them a warm, reassuring smile. 

I set my chopsticks down, “I know you’ll be very successful, and you want to know why?” I look around the table, “Because you all have a very powerful dynamic that most lack. As long as you have each other, you’ll do great things.” I give a toothy grin. 

I see Jungkook peer over to my frontal view, “And we have you, right?”

“Yes, you have me too.” I nod in agreement. 

“You know Kanako, being eighteen,” Jin says, and in my mind I wince as he continues. Please don’t say I’m mature for my age, please don’t say I’m-

“It’s pretty overwhelming to deal with all of that fame. You know you don’t have to be so serious and wise all the time, right?” He says matter-of-factly. 

I feel a relief rush over me and a sense of recognition. How is it they know exactly what to say?

“Right.”

FEBRUARY 15TH, 2012, 9:36PM

After dinner was finished the boys all get up to set up a sort of hangout circle. They move the table to the edge of one of the bunk beds and gather blankets and pillows while I clean the dishes, even though Jin was very opposed. You’re our guest, why are you cleaning our mess? He said. 

But after a few moments of reassuring him I was just trying to do my part and help, he accepted. I look at the pile of messy dishes and sigh before dipping in, grabbing a sponge and starting. Although I genuinely did want to help, it was still a pain in the ass to clean up after seven men. I start off with the the silverware and slowly building my way up when I feel a body beside me with a rag in his hand. 

“Oh, Yoongi-”

“Just drying them off.” He states. 

I bob my head and welcome his help, knowing it’d make cleaning the dishes much faster. We do that for a thick minute, just me passing the dishes and him setting them in the cupboards and drawers. I feel a growing nervousness, knowing there was an elephant in the room. The whole time, during dinner, during our conversations, there was an obviousness of what had erupted in the BigHit building. It’s hard to ignore a scandal like that, but I’m just glad they don’t see me any differently. Even going the extra mile to invite me for dinner, it was a big deal I was starting to realize as I roamed my thoughts during this heavy silence. I wondered if people thought they were crazy for associating with me, if they felt like the boys were betraying Haneul by continuing to speak with me. 

I wash the next piece of cutlery, oblivious to the fact that my palm had been nicked by ,what I registered later, to be a knife. I gasp and look down at my hand, “Oh shit!” I exclaim, seeing the red secretion drip down my hand. That is an unusual amount of blood. Fuck this is embarrassing.

Yoongi looks at me, then to my hand. “What happened?” He says loudly as he rushes to open one drawer after another, searching for aid. The boys jerk their head to my direction, all gasping and getting up swiftly as if I’d just been murdered. 

“HYUNG, DID YOU STAB KANAKO?” Jungkook screeches. 

“No I didn’t, shut up!” Yoongi cries, making a mess by throwing papers and other random objects, still searching. I see Taehyung grab an obscene amount of paper towels and he presses them down on my hand, “Hold it down, quick! We have to stop the blood!” He says and lets me hold my hand on my bleeding palm. He runs his fingers through his hair nervously, “Fuck that’s a lot of blood, is she going to need st-”

“No she’s not going to need stitches, everyone shut the fuck up!” Yoongi yells once again, rushing back towards me and removing the blood soaked paper towels from my grasp. He sprays some clear liquid on my wound, making me wince. “S-Sorry, hold on.” He mumbles and dabs the fluid with a tissue before placing a gauze on it, wrapping my hand in a bandage. 

“Hyung that seems a little..” Hoseok makes a ‘tsk’ sound with his mouth and furrows his brows. 

Yoongi rubs my hand to make sure the bandage is nice and secure, looking up to me with worried eyes. “Is that too tight? Is it alright?” He asks. 

I chuckle softly, “Yes, although I think a simple bandaid would have sufficed.” 

He shakes his head and grips the kitchen counter with his hand, as if trying to ease off. 

“I’m fine everyone. It’s alright.” I say in consolation. 

Namjoon rubs his forehead in stress, “The least we can do is let you spend the night.” He nods, feeling confident in his decision. I make a disdained expression and look around to the boys who are also in agreement. “You guys, please. I can make it back to my dorm.” I snicker in disbelief.

“You’re wounded! I could see your hand-bone!” Jungkook shouts. 

“Okay Jungkook settle down,” Yoongi sighs, giving me a considerate look, “Just stay. It’s late. Unless you have something to do tomorrow?” He asks. 

I bow my head, “No…I don’t.”

I see Jungkook dash to his closet, ripping clothes off hangers and piling them on his arms. He runs back breathlessly towards me, holding out different pairs of sweatpants and shirts. 

“She gets to borrow my clothes this time.” He says, looking at a defeated Namjoon. 

“Mmm…okay.” I say before the group claps and cheers. I’m shocked at how excited they seem to be, as if this was something they had hoped I would do before even coming. Hm. 

I pick out a set of clothes to wear from Jungkook’s arms, “I guess I’ll stay tonight.”

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