missesquinn-blog

[sweet-beezus]

Take my hand one final time

Walk me to my ocean line

[ryanstillwrites-if]

i was rereading the demo to get inspired by myself like a class A narcissist and this is some of my favourite writing in part 2

[tumblezwei]

I strive to improve my art so that every drawing of Ruby Rose is better than the last and that is my sole motivation

[laurabenanti]

finally got over this dang hump in my writing block and conquered my fear of writing smut again and now i'm damn near 5k words into an outline for this GD fic and i am just so freaking elated

[muzdiir]

it bothers me so much when writers use "male" instead of "man" irt non-human characters. like i get that they're trying to hit home the "theyre not human ooOOOooo" thing but it makes my brain jump right to non-sapient. idk im sure its a me thing, using "man" & "woman" solely for sapient species & "male/female" for non-sapient.

[thatlovinfeelin]

Swan Song | Jake Hangman Seresin |

Carole Bradshaw was pregnant when Goose died. Newly pregnant, too early to even know. The pregnancy was hard, not just emotionally but physically. The birth was even harder, but in the end Carole was left with a beautiful baby girl. She had Goose’s eyes from the start, big and brown, just like her big brother Bradley. Her smile was contagious from the very beginning and soon she was growing into a beautiful young woman. 

Y/N was very close with her big brother Bradley. They were nearly inseparable. So when Bradley joined the Navy, it took everything to convince Y/N that she shouldn’t follow in his footsteps. She went to college nearby, and got her degree slowly but surely. And once it was all said and done, and Bradley had a permanent position at Miramar, Y/N joined him there. 

“C’mon! Just take me for one drink!” You begged your older brother, “You never let me meet any of your friends! Even Penny said you should let me come!”

“Penny needs to mind her own business,” Bradley grumbled, throwing on one of your dad’s old Hawaiian shirts. 

“No, Penny definitely needs to butt in more,” You argued, “She wants me to actually make friends here. Outside of the studio!” 

“You’re the one who decided to move here,” Bradley pointed out. 

“And you’re the one who keeps me virtually locked up here!” 

“It’s my job to protect you. None of the people I work with are worth knowing, anyway, aside from Phoenix maybe.”

“Great, so introduce me to Phoenix!” You begged. 

“One drink,” He held up one finger, eyebrows pinched tight. He wasn’t joking. You were his baby sister, it was his job to look after you and protect you from everyone and everything. Including everyone he worked with. 

He wasn’t even sure if the Daggers knew he had a little sister. Phoenix and Bob knew, because they were Phoenix and Bob. But the others had no idea, and Bradley planned on keeping it that way if he could help it. He wanted you to stay as far away from military men as you possibly could 

“Two,” You bargained. 

“Fine, then you’re coming home.”

“You have to play me one song too,” You said firmly, “One round of Great Balls and I’ll be happy.”

“You have yourself a deal,” He sighed, “Now c’mon. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

You threw your arms up in victory and ran to go change quickly out of your leotard. Twenty minutes later, you were pulling into the parking lot of the famous Hard Deck. Another five minutes after that and you had a cocktail in your hands as you watched Brad mingle with various people in uniform. He hated wearing his uniform to the Hard Deck, he always came home to change first. 

“Penny, my dear, can I get another one?” A blonde asked, “Thanks darlin!” 

You rolled your eyes and took another sip. Once the blonde had his new bottle of beer he turned his attention to you, which you were hoping to avoid. You had watched him watching just about every girl in this bar. He seemed to know everyone, and know all of the girls. It made you want to be sick. 

“Now who might you be, sweetheart?” 

You eyed Penny, who not so casually eyed the bell by the corner of the bar top. You wanted to laugh knowing she’d ring this guy in an instant for you. All you had to do was say the word. 

“Not your type,” You replied, taking another sip, “Try the leggy blonde at the other end. She’s drooling over all of you patches.”

“I don’t think I want a tag chaser,” He replied, southern draw on full display, “What’s your name?”

You huffed before setting your cocktail down on the bar in front of you and turning slightly to face the man, “They call me Swan.”

“You a pilot?” He questioned, eyebrows raised. 

“No, just related to one. My uncles gave me my own callsign when I was a kid,” you weren’t sure why you were even telling him any of this. You really wanted to tell him to fuck off back to whatever backwoods hovel he came from. 

But there was something about the way he was looking at you that made you want to see a little more of him. His green eyes were intoxicating, and you were certain he used that to his advantage with all of the ladies. You didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. 

Yet, you couldn’t help but squeeze your thighs together as he brought the bottle to his lips. You did a quick survey of the bar to see if Brad was anywhere around, but he was engrossed in a game of pool with several other uniforms. Maybe you could have a bit of fun tonight. Just for this one time. 

“What do they call you?” You asked, leaning in a little further. 

“Hangman.”

Fuck. You knew that name. He worked directly with Bradley, and obviously he had no idea who you were, otherwise he wouldn’t be talking to you. If he knew he would probably be fending off the guy at the other end of the bar who wouldn’t stop eyeing you. 

“Well, Hangman,” You said leaning in a little closer, “Why don’t you buy me another drink?”

He smiled slowly and waved over one of the other bar tenders, Grace you think her name was, and then there was another drink in your hand. 

“So, what brings you here? Never seen you before,” Hangman asks over the music. 

“My brother and I live nearby, finally convinced him to bring me along with him tonight,” You replied simply. 

“Do you need your brother’s permission?” He playfully questioned. 

“I think you’ll find, Hangman, that I don’t need anyone’s permission to do anything.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

You drank the rest of your cocktail and slid off of the barstool, “Meet me in the bathroom in five minutes and find out.”

And that was the first time you fucked Jake Hangman Seresin. In the bathroom of the Hard Deck, while your brother and all of his friends were just feet away. Brad never found out though. Instead he marched his way over to the piano and started playing Great Balls the second you reappeared from the bathroom. You laughed and skipped over, sliding onto the bench next to him. 

Jake was a little confused, watching you cozy up to Bradley when he’d been balls deep inside of you just minutes before. He was seething when you leaned over and kissed Rooster’s cheek. He didn’t think you were one to be fast and loose with everyone. But maybe he was wrong. After all, he didn’t even know your real name. 

“Who’s that with Rooster?” He asked Phoenix through gritted teeth. 

“Uh, I think that’s his little sister,” She replied, “Y/N, but everyone calls her Swan.”

Fuck. Jake Hangman Seresin was fucked. Because he’d just fucked Bradshaw’s baby sister. The baby sister that he only mentioned in passing because he had a picture of her in his locker and in his plane. Jake joked one day  that she had to be a hell of a girl and Rooster let it slip, as if he didn’t even realize he’d said it. Maybe he didn’t. But Jake felt like he was going to be sick. 

Did you know who he was? 

When the music stopped Rooster came over to the Dagger group, you following closely behind him. You had a soft smile on your face as Bradley went around the group and introduced you. But when he got to Hangman you smile turned almost innocent, so much so it made Jake hard again just looking at you. You were smiling like you didn’t have his dick in your mouth, or so deep in your pussy that you kept saying you could feel him in your stomach. 

“Hangman, this is my baby sister,” Bradley grumbled, “Y/N, this is Jake. But we all call him Hangman.”

You smiled again and stuck out your hand, “Nice to meet you, you can call me Swan.” 

You were both very much fucked. Because all either one of you wanted to do was grab the other and continue what you started in the bathroom. All you wanted to do was kiss him silly in front of everyone, and then drag him to his no doubt, big pickup truck, and fuck him in it. Truth be told, that’s all Jake wanted to do too. 

“Nice to meet you, Swan.”

[scoops-aboy86]

See You Everywhere (Secret Admirer pt 3)

Steddie Week 2024, July 3: Long / mutual pining / Holding Me by Warlock

It's still July 3 in my time zone, haha I made it! *lame fist pump*

wc: 3293 / rated: T / set between seasons 2 and 3 / also on ao3

Darling Steve,

You amaze me on so many counts, not least by thinking I would stop writing to you after that, holy shit, not stupid at all. I see the vision, baby, and I think it’s precious that you’d rather picture me in disguise than imagine me wrong. But, sweetheart, you have to know that there are no wrong answers in these letters. This is much more firmly within my comfort zone than yours, I know, so I will never judge you for anything you write to me. 

(Although I am honor-bound to gently, lovingly point out that it’s Bilbo, not Bibo. And I hope your band of gremlins does not end up guiding you to lead a life of crime. Trust me, it’s not as glamorous as it might seem without the swords and the magic and the fantastic creatures.)

But I digress. I would happily slink into your bedroom at night, dressed all in black. (I wear a lot of dark colors anyway, so it’s not that much of a stretch.) I’d scale the outside wall up to your bedroom window and silently slip inside. Step softly so as not to disturb you as I approach the bed, where you slumber peacefully in… I want to say, with hope in my heart, nothing but those Hawkins High gym shorts? Nights have been hot lately, that and leaving the window open should help you keep cool. My own costume would be a little warm in this weather but it is, if I am to preserve my secret identity, a necessary sacrifice; one I would willingly make for the privilege of touching you. 

Do me a favor, sweetheart, and touch yourself while you read this. Through fabric, if you want to make it authentic, if you imagine me wearing gloves. (So smart for that, baby, because honestly you’d figure out a lot about me just from seeing my hands.) Lay back like a good boy, Steve, and let me make you feel good and pull those shorts down. It’s dark, I could pull up my mask a little bit to use my mouth. Suck you until you’re hard, use my hand for whatever I can’t fit in my mouth because I can tell you’re very gifted in that area. It’s a shame I’d have my hair covered because I like having it pulled, but I could still moan around you while thinking about it.

And baby? I’d swallow.

I’ll leave it there because… to be perfectly honest, I got a little distracted and made a mess of myself. You have no idea what you do to me, Steve, I feel like I’m on top of the world and all I’ve done is take the fantasy you provided and run with it. 

Which is embarrassing, because I started writing these letters because I wanted to give you something. You’ve seemed so melancholy ever since last fall and I wanted to let you know that someone sees you and cares. And here I am, selfishly imagining you when I can’t let you do the same, because if you knew who I am I don’t think you’d want me. I’m pretty far outside of your type, judging by anyone I’ve ever seen you with or noticed you show interest in. I listen to music you would probably hate. I don’t like sports, be it playing or spectating. Our high school experiences are on such opposite ends of the spectrum that we practically went to different schools. Your house is a castle and mine a hovel. We have nothing in common but I am filled to bursting with devotion to you that I can’t even. 

Do you really want me to continue writing, Steve? I know you’ve asked me to be before, but we’re in new territory here. I know I started it, but I really do feel like it was maybe uncool of me and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. 

I’ll follow your example and end on a different note. How is it going with your coworker? I don’t have a steady nine to five myself—or the part time version, I guess—but I imagine working with someone who likes to butt heads with you is pretty grating. If it’s an issue, I hope it resolves soon. Wishing you as little stress in your life as possible, I remain, as always—

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Before you ask, I do recall saying in my last letter that I don’t mind weird. To clarify: I will accept just about any weirdness from you, sweetheart, but it’s different when I do it. Forgive me my dramatics, but at the end of the day, everyone is their own harshest critic. 

~

Eddie is suffering. He’s haunted, too distracted to plan his next campaign or practice guitar—which, incidentally, are the things that usually distract him too much from things like school work or finding a respectable job. All he can think about is Steve, and by inevitable extension Steve’s ninja scenario.  

He’d laughed at first, okay? (Before, you know. Getting really, really into it.) Not in a derogatory way, but because it was actually a creative solution to something that a lot of dudes might not even consider a problem. 

Since I don’t know what you look like and it’d be weird to try and picture you anyway, and then what if I’m not even close and that makes it seem like I don’t like you for who you are?

Because, just, Jesus H. Christ. Eddie has fooled around with guys in places out in Indy, and being liked for who he is doesn’t really factor in. So this is… new. He feels almost seen, something that should be impossible while he’s still shrouded in anonymity, and yet Steve seems to be holding space for that veil to be lifted someday.

‘Someday’ suggests a mutual future of some sort, which is sparking a dangerous ember of hope in Eddie’s foolish heart. And in the meantime there’s always the mental image of getting to secretly blow the prettiest boy in Hawkins—

Fuck, he needs to get out of this tin oven of a trailer. He’d put his latest letter in the mail two days ago, then come straight home to jerk off some more and smoke his way into absolute paranoia that this time he’d really blown it. Gone full throttle on that fantasy, then told Steve not to want him, then said something dumb about that girl he works with, and then still mailed it?! 

He needs fresh air. 

(He goes and checks his PO box.)

Any air. 

(No reply yet, but the Hawkins Post Office isn’t known for its speed or efficiency.)

Air conditioning. 

It doesn’t surprise him, really, when he ends up pulling his van into the parking lot surrounding Starcourt Mall. Because Steve Harrington is haunting him and will keep doing so matter where he goes, so why not here? Eddie doesn’t even bother to fight the way his feet carry him towards Scoops. Wouldn’t be the first time, after all—Steve’s ass looks great in both green and blue—but he tries not to do it too often. 

All he wants is a crumb, a tiny direct interaction with the guy, even if Steve continues to remain none the wiser. 

~

Steve is suffering. Which really grates, because he woke up in a great mood! He’s already working on a reply to the latest letter—once again all stocked up on paper, so he can rewrite it nicer if he makes a mess of it this time. Every time he thinks about it his chest (and, okay, sometimes his dick too, he’s still a teenaged boy) fills up with giddy warmth knowing that his Secret Admirer liked his dumb ninja idea. Specifically said it wasn’t stupid and that they had to stop writing to masturbate about it. 

(Girls do that, right? Maybe not as often as dudes, but he really has had phone sex with enough of them to know they’re not necessarily opposed. That wasn’t a clue, Secret Admirer still could be either.)

So today should be going great, but instead he’s felt a headache coming ever since he hopped in his car to drive to work. Too late to take anything for it, though Advil or Tylenol sometimes barely dent in these things. He puts his sunglasses on for the drive and into the mall in the hope that will buy him some time before the worst of it hits. 

If only he could stay home, laying in his room as dark as he can make it with a cold washcloth over his eyes and a can of Coke with a crazy straw at the ready. Even better if he could somehow just call and get Secret Admirer to come over to keep him silent company, refreshing the washcloth for him when it gets warm…

“Shades aren’t part of the uniform, cool guy,” Robin says flatly when he walks into Scoops through the back. “I don’t care how hungover you are, company rules.”

“I’m not hungover on a damn Tuesday,” he grumbles back. But maybe it’ll be okay. Maybe the headache will hold off at least until his break, then if he clocks out early at least he still got half a shift’s pay. Maybe if it holds off a little longer after that he’ll be able to get all the way home without being a danger behind the wheel. 

He leaves the sunglasses folded on the break room table and starts helping her haul fresh tubs of ice cream from the walk-in to the display case out front. 

It’s going to be a long shift. 

~

By the time Eddie gets to Scoops, there’s a line so long it’s practically out the door. Frowning, he checks his watch for the time, something he hadn’t bothered to do in the van, and realizes it’s probably the tail end of the lunch rush. Super. 

Steve and the girl he works with are both behind the counter, taking turns scooping and ringing up each individual customer or group and then cycling back around to help the next in line. As he waits, Eddie watches from behind the cover of his long hair and realizes that Steve seems off today. He keeps squinting under the fluorescent lights, distracted, sometimes asking people to repeat themselves to both their and his coworker’s obvious annoyance. But it’s not until some kid shrieks that she asked for double fudge chunk and he’s scooping regular chocolate that Steve winces and brings his shoulders up like he’s trying to cover his ears, and oh. Oh, Eddie thinks he knows what this is. 

Sometimes I get these headaches that really mess me up. It doesn’t just hurt, it’s like all the lights get way too bright and sometimes my eyes go blurry for a while. Great parting gift from the concussion. Ice cream helps sometimes though, which is convenient if I’m at work. 

The tiniest amount of research at the library (or, in fact, two afternoons in a row) had told Eddie that this could be anything from migraines to a brain tumor, but given the concussion the former is more likely. If Steve is having one of those, this is probably the worst place for him to be: loud, bright, and enough people crowded into the ice cream parlor that even with mall air conditioning it feels lukewarm in here, when what he needs is quiet, dark, and a cold compress. And this is not the kind of place where he can just throw up and take a nap—not without the risk of getting in trouble, maybe fired.

Eddie knows that Steve is going to keep trying to power through it, because he knows all about how the guy is saving up to move out of his parents’ house. (Castle… Oh god, he’d called it a castle in his last letter, why had he done that? He knows that Steve wants out of there, wants somewhere cozy and lived-in as opposed to his mother’s taste in cool and impersonal decor.)

There’s nothing he can do but wait as the line inches forward. As a slight tremor starts to show in Steve’s hands, which Eddie is watching like a hawk. By the time Eddie, still last in line, is within touching distance of the display case it’s a full on shake, and Steve fumbles his ice cream scoop trying to spin it into the side loop on his apron. 

The clatter is loud against the background elevator music version of a The Beach Boys song. Steve’s coworker—Robin, according to her name tag—looks up sharply at the sound, but an uncertain kind of concern seeps into her frown when she gets a good look at him. “Steve? You alive over there?”

Steve, who has gone very pale, gives a slight shake of his head that seems to make his whole body sway. “Need a clean scoop. I’ll just… run to the back,” he manages, then stumbles towards the swinging doors marked Employees Only. There’s a choked noise as soon as he’s out of sight, and Robin seems to come to the same conclusion as Eddie: he won’t be back for a while. 

To her credit, she puts on a passably bright fake smile at the lady Steve had been helping, taking her mostly finished cup from the counter where Steve had left it and adding the requested chocolate syrup on top. 

Finally, it’s Eddie’s turn. But now he’s the one who’s distracted, trying to squint through the frosted glass of the window to the back room for any sign of Steve moving around. 

“What can I get you, Munson?” Robin asks loudly, a little annoyed as though it’s not the first time she’s asked. Oops. 

He also feels a little bad that he didn’t recognize her when she obviously knows him, likely from his lunchtime cafeteria soapbox spectacles, but ever since the first time he’d failed senior year he’d tuned out on all the rising underclassmen besides Steve pretty hard.

Eddie orders while glancing towards the window again and fiddling with the chain attached to his belt loop. “Actually, make that two cones. One for me and one to cheer up your fellow at sea.”

Robin wrinkles her nose. “You, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson, want to buy Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington an ice cream cone?”

He shrugs, something inside him shriveling because, yeah, that would seem weird from an outsider’s perspective, the way he usually rails against the jocks. Maybe he’s a little bit of a hypocrite in his affections, but whatever Steve was in high school he’s actually a massive sweetheart now. “Yeah, well. You know Hargrove gave him a concussion last year? King Steve may have been a douchebag to us commoners, but at least he’s not as bad as that piece of shit.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, but finishes scooping into the first cone and reaches for a second. “Are you sure there wasn’t some house party he was at last night? Everyone knows he got that title from being Keg King.”

It feels stupid to go to high school parties when I’m not in high school anymore. They’re too loud and just a couple of beers hit me like a brick because of my stupid messed up head. Partying used to be a good outlet but I can’t do it anymore. 

“Nah,” Eddie dismisses immediately, mind scrambling for a reason he can give for being so certain. “Nothing last night, or I would’ve been there. You know, for business purposes.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “By the way, if you ever need a little relief from the grind of dealing with shitty customers…”

It feels sleezy, and isn’t something he usually does, but it helps sell it. 

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” Robin says quickly, and moves to the register. “That’s three dollars and fifty cents.”

“Don’t forget the sprinkles,” he reminds her while digging the money out of his pocket. With that handed over and sprinkles dumped on, he takes his one cone and gestures grandly to the other. “And maybe don’t mention to his Highness that that was from me. It’d be a shame if he had the same reaction as you and simply tossed away good ice cream.”

That would crush him, actually. So even though he wants so, so badly to stay, he forces himself to leave before he tries to eavesdrop, just to be safe. 

~

“Steve?”

Startled, Steve jolts upright from where he’d been slumped in one of the break room chairs, wet paper towel sliding off his face and landing in his lap. The motion makes his head throb harder, and it’s all he can do to swallow down a groan. “Huh?” he grunts, eyes only open enough to make out Robin’s general shape. 

“Why’d you turn the lights off back here?” she asks, quieter this time. He can’t make out her tone at all through the sharp pain threatening to burst out of his skull, but he’s grateful for the lower volume. And that she doesn’t turn the lights back on. 

“‘S not a hangover,” he mumbles. Which, maybe he missed a step in that explanation. It was there in his head somewhere, surely she’ll make the connection? Or maybe just think he’s got some sort of stomach flu, since he totally threw up in the break room trash can. Hopefully in it. He’s… pretty sure he didn’t miss. 

“I’m getting that.” Very gently, Robin takes his hand and wraps it around an ice cream cone. “Here. Generous donation from a concerned citizen who shall remain nameless.”

Steve blinks down at the strawberry ice cream in a cone with rainbow sprinkles. 

Either this is the biggest coincidence in the world, or Secret Admirer was here. 

Suddenly his eyes are silently streaming, because he could use that comforting presence right about now. It shines through on every page—this overwhelming care that he’s never felt from anyone else, not even Nancy. Whoever it is must have remembered the one time he’d mentioned in one of his reply letters that ice cream helps his headaches sometimes. 

Steve cries because he wishes they would’ve just brought it themselves and done away with the mystery because he so, so longs to feel like someone’s in his corner now. Someone to give him a hug and rub just above his temples, which sometimes helps too. He takes a lick of the ice cream and chews on sprinkles and the tears come a little faster because he wants. 

“Oh shit,” Robin whispers, dropping into the seat across from him. “Are you crying? Steve—Steve, it’s okay, if you’re not feeling up to it I’m not gonna make you go back out there again. Especially not if you’re likely to ralph on the customers but, like, mostly because I’d feel like an asshole. I mean, I heard the rumors about you getting a concussion and that’s why you quit the basketball team and swim teams, but…” She hesitates, holding her hands up like he’s a bomb that she’s worried might explode in her face. “Just, it’s okay. You stay back here and I’ll finish the rest of the shift, you don’t even have to clock out. I’ll handle it.” 

For a moment, with hurt in his head and an ache in his heart and strawberry flavor on his tongue, Steve thinks it could be her. Maybe Robin is his Secret Admirer and it was her own idea to scoop this cone for him. But then she leaves, and that doesn’t feel right either. 

Steve is haunted by a faceless, nameless person that he’s probably crossed paths with without knowing god knows how many times. Or rather, by their absence.

Tag list: @hotluncheddie @lawrencebshoggoth @sofadofax @tangerinesteve @steviewashere

@cryingglightningg @theresebelivett @sleepy-steve @rozzieroos @lunaraindrop

@just-my-latest-hyperfixation @wheneverfeasible @swimmingbirdrunningrock @yesdangerpls @matchingbatbites

@ihavekidneys @p0lybl4nkk @grtwdsmwhr @cheesedoctor @whalesharksart

@thetinymm @envyadams-vs-me @practicallybegging @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @dauntlessdiva

@nerdyglassescheeseychick @fuzzyduxk @chaosgremlinmunson @greatwerewolfbeliever

[yameoto]

Listen I’m a FEMINIST but the way I’d be Alison Miller’s blue collar wife - so down bad it’s actually a threat to feminism.

Like someone looking AFTER her, after a long ass shift, making sure she’s fed, giving her head before she finally passes out from exhaustion - sending her off with lunch even though she keeps up before the damn sun half the time, pinching her cheek and telling her to be good like she isn’t about to spend her day doing hard ass manual labor.

Fighting half those shitty teens that go to school with Brandon for looking at her funny just because she’s yours, and she works too damn hard to be spoke to that way I just WANT HER

no like this gets so serious

wanna be the one to hold her pretty tired face in my palms and wipe the grime off her cheeks. making sure she comes home to a warm hot meal n fresh blankets and a clean house like some rural suburban housewife. she’s been dreaming, practically begging for a little stability for so damn long, because she’s been so fucking lonely. even before dad got arrested, her mother fucked off—and of course ali was the one fixing meals for mini brandon n her as dad went out and got fucked-up or whoknowswhat. packed his lunches and band-aided his scrapes from the scuffles he got in at school. microwaved hot pockets n sloppily washed the dishes when the pile-up began to start wobbling while dad did god knows that. certainly not caring for his kids (in the traditional sense, anyway). the miller house was and is a trainwreck. and when she picked up that job in the factory plant to take care of brandon.. not like she can clean up after herself with all the nights she’s spent, drunk off her ass, phone in one hand and three fingers in her cunt in the other. (even then, it was you. always you.) she’s been taking care of brandon for so long she doesn’t have enough time to take care of herself—and when she does, she’s absolutely shit at it.

(first time you came over, she stuffed her hands in her jacket and glanced away as she steered you away from the thick of it, suddenly self-conscious. like it had only just occurred to her that most people don’t live in a hovel. “s’not like i have the time..” and you just want to pinch her flushed cheeks and ducked head. coo at how adorable she looks.)

poor darling, been working n working her ass off her whole life. so having someone to come home to other than a 50/50 empty house or broken windows or a cuffed brother is more than a relief. god, how she loves you. needs you. thought you were an angel sent down from heaven when you first broke that dull, suffocating fucking cycle of monotony. waking up; working; sleeping. when you stayed over the first night and she’d blinked awake, blearily, her head on your chest n your arm lazily slung across her neck she thinks: god, she could do this forever. especially when you’d woken up, brewed a fresh pot of coffee and started on breakfast. she almost asked you to move in, right then and there.

she’s almost embarrassed to admit it, but fuck, does the picket fence life sound so appealing. she’s a simple woman with simple needs. one, being to hold you close. two, having three adequate meals a day (and you have the enforce no.2). fuck. she loves you so much. thinks she doesn’t deserve you. feels so bad that she’s so tired and sluggish after the end of a workday. obsessed with clinging onto your back and nuzzling into your nape and just staying there. weight of the world no longer on her shoulders. just her and her wife.

[joeyalohadream]

Wednesday WIP, Clegan Stalag fic. Currently at 6,000 words and not done yet. Also my first ever attempt at something that isn't fluff.

Very vague premise I started with is the idea that Bucky was struggling so visibly in the Stalag, while Buck mostly seemed strong (even though we know that man was NOT okay). So I took Buck out of the equation for a bit to explore Bucky's ability to lead while dealing with his deteriorating mental state. He accidentally checked out of the leadership role with Buck there to take care of it and now he feels compelled to step up and into it with Buck gone (hopefully temporarily) but he struggles to do it without Buck by his side. Learning about himself and Buck in the process because he unintentionally left Buck to lead on his own, and now that he has to do it while Buck is away, suffering in the place of a fellow airmen, he doesn't know if he can.

Here's 800 words to test the waters.

Bucky rolled over in his bunk as the door to their hut slammed open, hitting the wall with a thud. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been dozing; he was never really sure of that these days. He was fairly confident that the boys were only coming back from the daily line-up at the potato shack. He remembers a firm squeeze to his shoulder and a murmured “Be back with your chow in a bit, just rest John,” in his favorite raspy voice and swears it was just moments ago. Returning to their broken-down hovel with bowls of potato water surely didn’t warrant the chaos that interrupted Bucky’s doze.

Lately Bucky has been fading in and out. He doesn’t know how best to describe it, and he wouldn’t try to anyway, so he avoids thinking about it as best he can. Somedays he thinks maybe he should try to describe it to Gale. He might be a man of few words, but he hardly ever fails to say exactly what Bucky needs to hear.

But every time he wants to finally open his mouth and unburden himself onto Gale, his gaze lingers on the dark bruises that seem to grow every day under his eyes. On the skin pulled taught on his pale cheekbones as he somehow manages to lose weight and color faster than any other man in the Stalag.

In the end, each time, he refuses to become a burden to Gale. He won’t add to the heavy load on his best friend’s shoulders with his own issues, even though his current issues are preventing him from helping to lessen the load like he usually would.

“What the fuck are we supposed to do?” Bucky hears Crank’s voice cut above the anxious chatter that filled the hut.

“I don’t know Crank! We sent a runner to get Colonel Clark but what the hell is he supposed to even do?” Benny’s voice, usually calm and reasonable breaks out through the growing volume of voices in the small space and Bucky begins to gain momentum to sit up.

“Bucky get the fuck up,” Brady’s uncharacteristically harsh voice almost stops Bucky in his tracks, but he manages to get to his feet as he finally looks around to observe the faces of the men around him. They all look some combination of angry and scared. Bucky observes every face in the room, noting that his favorite face of them all is missing, before turning to Brady.

“Where’s Buck?”

Brady shakes his head and turns away from Bucky, looking somehow both more angry and more scared than anyone else in the room and Bucky feels the fog lift from his brain as his heart starts to pound faster in his chest.

“Where the fuck is Buck?” Bucky questions the room. His gaze flicks over the faces of his men, watching as most of them shuffle their feet and avoid eye contact with him. He swears he can feel his blood cool in his veins as he takes a step forward and grabs Benny around his collar and pulls him forward.

“Where is he Benny?” Bucky shakes him, feeling more alive than he has since before he walked into that phone booth in London.

“They beat him,” Benny breathes out. “Then they took him to the cooler.”

Bucky drops his hands, releasing Benny’s jacket and stumbling back a step.

“What?” He can’t help but stare at Benny uncomprehending because Gale is a senior officer in here. He goes to meetings with the Krauts and negotiates for supplies and he’s fucking Gale. Gentle, quiet, loving Gale and how could anyone hurt him?

“For how long?” Bucky practically yells. The cooler? He thinks and feels his heart sink. Gale can’t go to solitary confinement, none of them can survive this place alone and Gale has been wasting away even in a room full of people who care about him.

“Do we look like we speak German Bucky? We don’t fucking know anything!” Crank snaps at him.

“Why?” He needs answers. Disrespecting the guards gets you thrown in the cooler. Trying to escape gets you thrown in the cooler and none of them are going anywhere without a plan and each other. Gale wouldn’t do anything to get himself thrown into solitary, none of them would. Except me, Bucky thinks and then immediately feels shame.

Bucky reels back as every head in the room turns in the same direction at once and he follows their gaze, shocked when his eyes end up on Alex, leaning against the wall in the corner.

Silence envelops the room and Bucky takes a step towards him.

“I was working on the maps,” Alex says, still staring at the floor. “I didn’t see the Krauts coming, but Buck did.”

[ctrl-alt-em]

Communication is Key

Robin

I am Morven Hellwain. You have carried my spirit in your body for the last two months. As I am sure you have not figured out, when you lose consciousness, I gain control of our shared vessel. I need you to sleep as frequently as possible. Additionally, avoid bodily harm. I do not appreciate having to cast Cure Wounds when I wake.

Dear Morven Hellwain

Are you the reason for all the strange happenings? Did you explode the wolves? Lug says you killed that monster in the bunk house.

I go to sleep every night. I guess it is every other night? I don’t think I can sleep more than that and still help.

Thank you for healing my leg. Happen says he did not aim for me. His sprites played a mean prank.

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

I cannot fathom how you think you, the village idiot, can be of any help. The only way you can help is by ensuring I am in control as much of the time as possible.

As for your initial questions, yes, I am. I cannot imagine anything of note occurring in your proximity without my influence. I am not directly responsible for the wolves’ destruction; the recent unpredictable outcomes of spells is to blame. You need not concern yourself with magic.

Dear Morven Hellwain

I was not the village idiot. That was Young Man Dan. I was the spit-turner before I lost my job seven weeks ago.

I can be a great help! I helped save Lug from those men. I even injured one! And I was the one that got help when that man turned into a monster. Happen said I did a good job. I even helped us meet our friends and join our adventuring party. You are just upset that I can help just as much as you. I understand that. I was jealous of Tilly the spitturn dog too at first.

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

From the other's accounts of the confrontation with the mob, it does not sound like you played a needed role. It is no show of strength or skill to hit a blinded, maimed man with stale bread. As for the combat at Folkmoot, others surely would have heard and come to our aid, supposing I did not defeat the abomination before their arrival. You did nothing a dog would not be capable of. A dog likely would have been of greater help and less of liability.

Robin

You will get us both killed if you disregard my advice. Your 'help' is not needed nor wanted, I assure you.

To Morven Hellwain

I was thinking about back home, all the weird things people kept telling me. Leslie, the head cook, was cross with me. She said I missed work twice and that I insulted her in the market. I had no idea what she was talking about. I assumed she mistook me for someone else and I tried to tell her so. She said I was lying and fired me! It occurred to me that she might not have been lying. Was it you she saw? Are you the reason I lost my job?

From Robin Oatcake

Robin

Of all the things you could waste my time with, you chose this? Your 'job' is hardly worth the ink we are wasting writing about it. I will acknowledge that I was in control of our body several times before our departure. I did lose my patience with several of the dimwitted residents of the village so I very well may have offended the head 'cook'. I would not consider the loss of any great consequence. If anything, it is beneficial. Your 'occupation' would have delayed your departure for Folkmoot. You may thank me for my help in your next note. Hopefully, the writing will tire you.

To Morven

And what about my house? Did you tell the apothecary she could give it to her goat? If you wanted to run me out of my village so bad, you could have written to me earlier.

From Robin

Robin

If I recall correctly, and I do, the old hag asked me, "How I am supposed to keep a roof over my goat's head if you don't pay?" To that, I said, "Give the fucking goat my roof. I don't care." And I continue to not care. Your hovel was little more than a goat's shelter anyway.

I have spoken with Happen and he is aware of a root that induces a harmless sleep state. I have procured some. It is in the outer pouch of our bag.

To Morven

It is not our bag. It is my bag. And I don't need anything to help me sleep. A long day of traveling with my friends does that enough. Seeing as I have no work or home to return to, I will be with them for the foreseeable future regardless of our mission.

If you want to be helpful, Morven, you will tell me how to use magic myself and how I get you out of me.

From Robin

Robin

You cannot use magic. It would require innate talent or years of study, neither of which you have. Unless such fantasies lull you into a slumber, do not concern yourself with such endeavors.

I am looking into potential methods to separate us. However, until magic has been returned to its original state and I gather more information on what caused my spirit to enter your body in the first place, no significant progress can be made. You need not be involved.

To Morven

How can I not get involved when I already am? You’re in my head! You walk around in my body half the time! I should be the only one in my body!

And how do you know I don’t have inate innate talent? Maybe I just haven’t had need to use it.

From Robin

Robin

Knock yourself out as soon as you see this. Lug, Cressida, and Willowfine have been captured by a group of zealots and I need to go save their skins.

To Morven

No need to worry. Me and Happen did it ourselves. You should have seen how far Lug hit this one guy with his hammer once we got him out.

From Robin

Robin

That is not what I told you to do. You will get us both killed.

Willowfine said she saw you use magic. I can only assume you located a scroll and stumbled your way into using it correctly.

To Morven

You were wrong, Morven. I do have a talent for magic, no scroll needed, whatever those are. Mine is not as pretty or orderly as yours but I can cast spells. Cressida thinks that might be why you didn’t have trouble casting in my body.

You may thank me for my help in your next note. I will not ask you to knock yourself out because I have manners.

From Robin

Robin

I have spoken with Cressida and Willowfine regarding your spelling casting. As must I detest to acknowledge it, I suppose it makes sense. Either my spirit brought my magic potential with it or my spirit was attracted to your magic potential. I do believe the first one is the more likely of the two. It still stands that between the two of us, I am the more proficient and thus should handle any and all confrontations.

To Morven

Willowfine says we should try to come to a compromise. She said our attempts to screw with each other and limit the other’s time awake is annoying.

How about a deal? If I find myself in situations that I cannot handle, I will find a way to allow you to take control if you agree to cease trying to stay awake for days on end. If the group stops to sleep, you sleep and let me take control.

From Robin

Robin

After much strong arming from the others, I agree to your terms.

Robin

Why am I not surprised you have Wild Magic? Of all sorcerous origins, you draw power from the most unruly and unpredictable.

With that said, I request that you cast something that will offer you improved defense or evasion when in a confrontation. You cannot rely on Acid Splash only.

- Morven

[snowdropluck204]

A Date With Death - Spencer Reid x Unsub Fem! Reader - Pt 2

Hiya my lovelies... It's been a while... Mainly because I've been trying to write an original book, but hit a snag, so I'm back to my criminal minds centre of my brain to try and get some inspiration, hopefully this works... Anyway! I hope you enjoy this chapter! Xxx

TW: Murder, gore, blood, mentions of rapists, paedophiles, abuse, y/n being mistaken for male, assisted suicide.

Tag List: @vexis-world @inexplicableeee @flowercrownsandtrauma @alysianc @btsiguess-kpop @devilslittlebabyxx @delusional-4-fake-people @mega-kittyglitter-1 @esposadomd

(y/n) pov

I watched from around the corner of the hallway, waiting for Isabel Jackson to come home, waiting for her to stumble back to her hovel as she did most nights, either from her graveyard shift or from a night of drinking. This particular woman, wasn't as bad as a lot of the people I had previously disposed of, she hadn't killed anyone herself, but she was the reason for two young men, taking their own lives.

I sighed, thinking about the news articles, I remembered this case, it happened about two years ago and was thrown out of court. Because a woman couldn't possibly be capable of raping and abusing four, strapping young men? Could she? Granted the public believed that the person killing all these people was a man, probably not thinking anyone participating in such gruesome events could be a woman. I sighed once more. This was all for one purpose.

I watched, through the camera doorbell, as the woman came home, stumbling into her apartment and promptly passing out, as I could see all the cameras' feeds on my tablet. I waited, for around an hour, before walking up to the door, my mask on, I had decided to lean into the press and media, wearing a mask again, but this time, one of my own design. It was a kabuki mask, one of a skull, bright, innocent colours, like that of my original candy skull mask, but this one was mine. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out a long, black rectangular box, a device I had invented, I waved it across the door lock, hearing the soft kachunck as the tumblers fell into place. I looked up at the camera, knowing that the police would be able to see me, I waved.

I opened the door and stepped inside. I took great care in disabling the security system, the cameras, the alarms, of course it wasn't difficult, I was the one who had designed the system, I had been the one to sell them to her...

3rd Person pov

The police, and therefore the BAU, had been notified of finding another body, matching the unsub's MO. A man had called the police, stating that he had just come off his shift at the graveyard, the same one the body was found, when he saw someone leaving, couldn't see a face or clothing, it was barely lit in the early morning. But he walked over, feeling the whole thing was rather sketchy, seeing a dead body just outside the gates of cemetery.

The victim still carried his I.D, whether it was left on the body by design or the killer had forgotten about it was unknown. The man's name was David James, he had been previously convicted of domestic assault, and later, sexual assault and paedophilia. Spencer called Garcia, asking for a background check on the latest victim and receiving a call, not two minutes later with what she had found.

Spencer put the call on speaker phone, holding it up awkwardly, so that Morgan and Hotch could listen into the call, "Go ahead Garcia," Spencer said, eagerly awaiting what she had found.

Garcia sighed, coming through the phone crackled and morphed, "This guy was creepy, not like Hannibal creepy, but just icky kinda creepy. He was arrested a few years ago, police having gotten a call from the neighbours that they heard screaming coming from his place, he was taken in by the police, his wife was bloodied and bruised, with broken fingers, obviously he'd beaten the stuffing out of her, poor woman. There wasn't enough evidence to make it stick, because without the wife's testimony, apparently the rest of the evidence was circumstantial... Morons." Garcia groaned.

"But then there was a sticking of one charge, being sexual assault and paedophilia... Ew... Apparently he molested his own daughter when she was ten... He spent only a year in jail, he made a deal and walked with no parole, that was about five years ago, and unfortunately his daughter couldn't deal with the trauma, she took her own life in a foster home, two years ago. Her mom ran away when she found out her husband was released from prison... She was found a year ago, overdosed, they were buried together at Linwood Cemetery." Garcia finished her deep dive, Spencer was intrigued.

"Wait, Linwood Cemetery?" He asked softly. Garcia confirmed. "That's where the body was found," He informed her. "So the killer knows the specifics about his crimes, knows where his family and previous abuse victims were buried and left him outside the graveyard?" Spencer asked, crouching down to look at the body, seeing a note on one side of the corpse. "That's new..." He said, wearing rubber gloves and picking up the note.

The note read, "No entry for sinners."

"A note from the unsub?" Hotch asked, looking over Spencer's shoulder.

"I don't think so," Morgan responded, "The guy who found the body works here, he seemed to be a pretty big fan of the unsub, he was wearing a pin that said "Don't fear the reaper." Like that song?" He said, "I think this is just that weirdo trying to get fifteen seconds of fame." Morgan rolled his eyes at the idea.

Garcia had been following the media response towards the unsub, most people were completely enamoured with him, that he was doing work that should have been taken care of.

Spencer leaned back towards the body, taking care to look through every aspect of the scene, the body was facing up, arms crossed over his chest, a white lily laced between the fingers, cleaned of most of the blood, which hadn't leaked much onto the ground where he was lying, so the unsub had cleaned up most of the blood at a separate location, most likely the victim's home, before bringing him here. This could have been a sign of remorse... Or a way of leaving less evidence.

The garrote was once again, wrapped around the neck, digging painfully into the skin, leaving deep, bloody grooves in the throat and the handle had the word paedophile carved jaggedly. The carving seemed different to the other victims, this one was angry and harsh, you could see just how much pressure was forced into the wood. Spencer's brow furrowed in concentration, "The unsub seems to have a connection with paedophiles, either they were assaulted as a child or knew somebody who was being assaulted and didn't do anything, that feeling of guilt probably followed them into adulthood and they're trying to compensate for their lack of power then, by forcing their will on these types of felons now.

This kind of unsub is especially dedicated, I doubt he'd stop until he's caught, there's only a finite amount of people he could kill, eventually the felons would become harder to locate, or the unsub would simply get too old... Either way, we need to catch them or he'll just continue..." Spencer finished, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Hotch looked on at him in worry, seeing him so befuddled was odd, to everyone on the team.

When they were ready, the team went back to the local station, ready to give the cops the profile they were working with. Standing in a circle around the group of desks in the bullpen, each member of the team filled in the police on what they knew. "We believe we're searching for a man in their mid twenties, not necessarily poor or well off, more middle class, probably has a job working with parts, computers, cars, something he can have control over." Hotch began.

Morgan stepped forward, to continue, "We believe something happened to this man in his childhood, either he was sexually abused or someone in his life was and he was powerless to do anything about it, now he's taking the law into his own hands to fix what he couldn't fix back then."

Elle began to speak, "He won't be open about his feelings on the news and the press, this isn't about fame and media portrayal, this is personal, he has a target in mind, we just don't know who that is yet, but we do know that he won't stop until this object of his obsession is taken care of, or until we catch him."

Spencer watched his teammates thoughtfully, he was conflicted about his feelings regarding these killings, it was obviously a horrible thing to have to look at the string of victims this unsub had left behind, but these were bad people, so maybe they deserved this kind of end? He stepped forward, "This unsub is most likely calm and collected, someone you could tell your troubles to, someone you can share secrets with, someone charismatic and easygoing. They might be religious, probably some kind of old druid or pagan religion, and they're the kind of person to feel deeply upsetting about hearing about the loss of a person, even if they didn't know them."

Spencer was frustrated with himself, most of the profile wasn't conclusive. The unsub might not be religious, they might have just been incredibly intelligent and throwing the police off by adding a religious format to the killings... They might not have been sympathetic towards their victims, but want to seem as though they are... Everything about this profile felt... Wrong...

One of the local cops came into the room out of breath, "Sorry to interrupt, we've found another body, almost half a mile away from the last..." He said anxiously, Spencer glanced at the rest of the BAU, Gideon meeting his tired eyes. Each time he thought they were getting closer, the unsub seemed to be at least three steps ahead of them...

They were probably on their next victim already...

(y/n) pov

Isabel Jackson, wasn't difficult to deal with, she was so wasted that she barely woke up before I slit her throat, the feeling of her blood seeping into my clothes made me feel ill, I couldn't help the shivering and retching as got back to my car. I sighed, realising there was still someone else I had to visit, someone who wasn't on my list necessarily, but was someone I genuinely did care about.

When I saw the text I was left, I couldn't ignore it, I drove to a suburb neighbourhood, mostly populated by elders, this house was no different. I stepped in through the gap in the back fence, walking through the backyard under the cover of night, I used my key to get into the house through the back door, walking through the house I'd known all my life. This house in particular belonged to a lovely old man named Reggie, he was just the sweetest old fellow, but now...

I walked into the room that was once a cosy living room, now it had been converted into a bedroom, after Reggie got too weary and frail to handle the stairs, the room was now filled with bottles of pills and ointments, heart monitors, IV drips and Reggie... Poor, poor Reggie.

Stage four, terminal pancreatic cancer, he'd beaten cancer once, when I was still small, but he was exhausted, too tired to fight, I stepped closer to the bed, seeing Reg, sleeping, even sleeping he looked tired, each breath looked like it was agony to take. I sat next to him, taking his cold hand in mine, "Reg?" I said softly, trying not to choke on tears and the lump in my throat.

He startled awake, seeing me, he settled back against the pillows. Being that I was inside the house, the curtains were closed, I had taken off my mask, showing my face, I probably looked almost as tired as he was. He smiled weakly, raising his hand from mine to cup my cheek, "Is that my little duck?" He asked, teasingly, that same glint in his eye from all those years ago that never seemed to fade. I smiled, nodding.

When I was a child, from when I was five til I was about eight, I had an obsession with ducks, I had shirts with them, I wore a onesie with a bill and duck tail, apparently I even spent a good few weeks quacking at people... Reggie never let me forget it, I remember when I was a teenager I would roll my eyes at his teasing comments, now, I couldn't even laugh. I leaned into his hand resting against my cheek.

Reggie took in my appearance, a small frown came onto his face, "Never expected my lil duck to become a murderer..." He mumbled. I sighed, nodding, even though it pained me to hear his comment.

"I know Reg... But I have to do this... for everyone that they hurt, or could hurt... For chick..." I told him, my eyes filling with tears, struggling to keep them from trailing down my cheeks. Reggie's eyes grew sad when I mentioned her, he knew exactly who I was doing this for. "When I got the text from your daughter... I didn't know what to do... I didn't know if I would be hearing your last words or taking them..." At that, I broke, leaning my head against his bed, soaking the covers with my tears, my chest sore from my sobs.

I felt Reggie's shaky hand rest on my head, I looked up at him, "You know what I want you to do, but don't feel you have to... I don't want this resting on your conscious." His voice was almost pathetic, quiet, he was simply ready to die...

I sighed, pulling open my bag, the kit I brought out was relatively lightweight, but the gravity of what I was about to do seemed to be pulling my down. I pulled out some syringes. "I got these from a nurse friend I have, they'll put you into a sleep you won't wake up from..." I told him, trying to be stoic, but I could feel myself breaking. This man was like a grandpa to me, to chicky... We would play here after school when our parents were working, hell even when they were, Reggie would chase us about, we'd play tag, hide and seek, and Reg would make us hot chocolate with a horrific amount of marshmallows and whipped cream as he'd tell us stories about monsters and dragons and princesses that were sick of being saved.

Reggie leaned back, closing his eyes, as I injected the serum, "Thank you, my little duck..." He whispered, as his eyes fell closed and his face went slack. I sighed, the dam breaking as I sobbed over the loss. After a few minutes, I laced the flower between his fingers, kissed his head and turned off the beeping monitor, I wiped my face, pulled down my mask and left the house, not even bothering to hide from anyone that could have seen me. I got in my car, and drove, I didn't know where I was driving until I got there...

I was in the field me and chick used to visit, meadow and streams everywhere, my knees began to ache, like they couldn't hold me up anymore. I fell to the floor and began to dig with my gloved hands, I felt like I'd been digging for hours, but I leaned over and screamed. I screamed and screamed until my voice was raw, all the sound being swallowed by this hole in the ground...

Hope this chapter was okay, this was more about setting out a background for your character! Hopefully it won't take me too long to write part three, granted I say that every time... Wish me luck! Xxx

[simbic]

Barracks? Barracks.

This lot ffs

Game crashed three times while i was trying to do this, you wanna talk about rage. I play overwatch regularly (if you play pls add me ok), i know rage

So completed:

Barracks

Peasant/Yeoman Hovels

Forest (for foraging)

Village Green

Foundling House. I'm tempted to redo this but...im SO DONE

Left to go:

Almshouse

Beach (foraging/saltwater fishing)

Gentry manor, which is like half done already. I lost steam in the middle of it and just...left it to go build everything else. Ill probably start the whole thing over.

Castle

Prison, because I've had sims commit adultery in the past and it made me so mad. There was also the violence issue (the teenage boy who kept showing up everywhere and making enemies with every teenage girl he met, including his own sister, and frequently getting his ass kicked), so...yeah.

For outcasts...idk yet. Leaning toward a traveling caravan like @mortia had in hers way back. i intend for two orphans with room for two more because one of the last times i did this, i had an entire family die of plague. the last surviving family member was an infant. highly entertaining at the time. I'll have three soldiers in the barracks. I think that's doable. i just don't want to manage too many of them.

Hedge Tavern (send help)

Legitimately did not understand how everyone else's games are so peaceful and organized, and then i remember some people have religion, and others do storytelling. I don't know if everyone plans out the (highly addictive) stories in their BACCs, but if you do, bless you. I have the attention span of a toddler. ADHD etc

surprised that this held my attention for this long before something else distracts my absentminded ass.

I do have a specific thing planned out that i'm pretty excited about though.

anyway more spam

Rooms!

hello goodbye!!

[your-favorite-god]

Vita nostra aeterna pt 1

Wednesday's child is full of woe, ep 1

I’m not sure whose twisted idea it was to put hundreds of adolescents in underfunded schools run by people whose dreams were crushed years ago… but I admire the sadism. 

A monochromatic girl walked the halls of a seemingly normal high school, walking swiftly when she turned and pulled open a locker. Out falls her younger brother, Pugsley.

 “ I want names.”

‘I don't know who they were, honest! It happened so fast…”, the boy panics. He didn't want to witness the outcome of whatever his sister did. 

“Pugsley, emotion equals weakness. Pull yourself together.” As her brother continued to squirm and whimper Wednesday tried to start a sentence but was rudely interrupted. Images of what had happened before, her head thrown back as she saw the horrid jocks jeering at her little brother while they tormented him. “Wednesday?”

I’m not about to confess to my brother that I’ve recently been plagued by visions. They come on without warning and feel like electroshock therapy, but without the satisfying afterburn. 

“Leave this to me”,  Wednesday says as she promptly walks away. “Wednesday? What are you gonna do?” Pugsley questions, now free from his restraints. 

“What I do best.”

Endears POV:

“Wednesday, you know I always love your company. But is now the time? I was just about to tell Christina what happened at that gathering her precious Jonathan attended before class started”

She stares at me with a bag of piranhas in hand,” Cara, do you still have the peroxyacetic acid you made?” I look at her with a raised brow, “Of course I do, why?”. “Those fools hog-tied Pugsley and shoved him in his locker. I intend to teach them a lesson.” 

I can see how this might be confusing for you, allow me to briefly explain. Wednesday Addams is what most would call my best friend. 

Soulmate.

Shush ma morelle, anyways, we met a decade ago in the woods. She intruded upon my home and I found her very cute. So I decided to stay with her, my adorable little human. I came with her to her home and have continued to live with her family. I've even joined her in this boring little hovel named school. Or Should I say schools, we’ve been to many. Wednesday has this horrible habit of getting caught. 

It’s more satisfying to watch the looks on my victims' faces. 

As you can see, Wednesday has no appreciation for subtlety. But we’re just getting to the fun part, so let us get back to it. 

“Well then, allow me to raise you a better idea. Thallium in the principal's coffee. I’d prefer to avoid life on the run for now.” Wednesday pauses for a second, then looks at me with her version of loving eyes. “Brilliant mi vida, as always.” 

And off we went.

Non, Je ne regrette rien - Edith Piaf | Wednesday Soundtrack | Wednesday drops piranhas in the pool

We had stepped through the doors of the practice room as I heard the jocks mutter to themselves, 

“ Yo Dalton look, pigsleys sister and her weird ass friend. Hey, freaks! This is a closed practice!” 

Wednesday leveled them with her usual murderous stare as she spoke,” The only person that gets to torture my brother is me.” 

Nothing delighted me more than the fear on everyone's faces as she dropped the bag of piranhas into the pool, blood seeping into the normally crystal-blue chlorine-filled water. And that is how we landed ourselves here. In the Addams family car with Wednesday's parents, Morticia and Gomez. They were singing In Dreams as they doted on one another, Wednesday was brooding next to me. Unsatisfied with being shipped away to her parents' former school. “Darling, how long do you intend on giving us the cold shoulder?” Morticia spoke as Gomez continued to kiss her arm and neck. 

“Lurch, please remind my parents that I’m no longer speaking to them,” Wednesday replies, making me grin. I love it when she's like this, all petulant and ruffled, most of the time it means I’ll get to play around while she's busy thinking and sulking.  Her mother hums as her father tries to persuade his daughter,” I promise you, my little viper, you will love Nevermore. Won’t she, Tish?”  “Of course. It’s the perfect school for her. For them both really.” This irks Wednesday as she replies, “ Why? Because it was the perfect school for you? I have no interest in following in your footsteps. Becoming captain of the fencing team, Queen of the dark prom, president of the seance society.” Morticia looks at Wednesday with a serene face, always ever so calm and poised. “I merely meant that finally, you will be among peers who understand you. Maybe you’ll even make some friends.” Gomez looks at Wednesday with his signature grin,” Nevermore is like no other boarding school. It’s a magical place. It’s where I met your mother.” “and we fell in love.” They look at each other with this mutually infatuated gaze and sigh. Wednesday's eyes darken, if that's possible,” You guys are making me nauseous. And not in a good way.” They looked at her again” Darling, we aren’t the ones who got you expelled. That boy’s family was going to file attempted murder charges. How would that have looked on your record?” Wednesday looked off as her eyes widened slightly,” terrible. Everyone would know I failed to get the job done.” At that I couldn't keep it in, I chuckled as the little family smirked at me. Save for Wednesday of course who was still very occupied with her brooding. 

My my, this was going to be a fun new adventure. I can feel it. 

As we drove through the strong… iron… gates of this new school, morticia made mention od the weather. An admirable attempt at small talk through the thick silence, normally i would be the one to break it but wednesday specifically told me to give her parents the cold shoulder. If I’m being honest i dont entirely understand why but she looked so cutr and annoyed when she asked in her own way. How did she word it again? Oh yes, i was to be silent or else she would lock me in a tower and take all my jewelry. And my tongue. 

3rd POV

Finally the small family unit had made it to the principals office, greeted by Larissa weems.

“Wednesday is certainly a unique name, i'm guessing it was the day you were born?” she spoke with a grin, after everyone had taken their appropriate seat. Save of course for endeara, she preferred to stand. Tall in her red bottom pumps and silk blouse, she had taken her place behind wednesday, gazing at her new principle with a veiled look of boredom and small smile.

“I was born on friday the 13th.” wednesday quickly rectified, as morticia followed, “Her name comes from a line from my favorite nursery rhyme, Wednesdays child is full of woe.” 

“You always had a unique perspective on the world morticia, did your mother tell you we used to be roomates?” Principle weems said  fondly, her welcoming facade staying strong through the addam’s penetrating gazes. 

“And you graduated with your sanity intact? Impressive.” wednesday spoke again. The topic quickly changed as the principle spoke of her and endearas “interesting educational journey.” 

“Eight schools in five years?” Weems questioned,” They havent built one strong enough to hold us. I’m sure this one wont be any different.” wednesday replied with her same bluntness.  Endeara simply smiled as her parents bristled and were about to reply,” Thats just wednesdays way of trying to say she is very excited for this new opportunity. As am i, and thank you for giving us such a gift.” their new principle seemed to fully take in endeara then, all elegance and playful smiles as she dressed in her small red bottomed pumps and silk black blouse. 

“Nevermore doesn’t usually accept students mid-term, but given their perfect grades and your family’s long history with the school, I’ve spoken with the board and we’ve made an exception.” Weems said simply as the addams parents joined hands in satisfaction, “what about their um,... therapy sessions? The court ordered them.” morticia eyed her daughter as she spoke, hesitant to ask. “The school school has a relationship with a therapist in jericho, she can meet twice a week.” they all looked to wednesday as gomez spoke,” did you hear that my little storm cloud? Youre in excellent hands.” 

“We’ll see if she survives the first session” wednesday quipped back, her gaze unwavering to the woman in front of her as mortica and endeara grinned at her as well. 

The principle resumed again, unbothered. Truly impressing endeara as she spoke again,” ive assigned wednesday to her mothers old dorm. Ophelia hall.” morticia gasps and chuckles excitedly as wednesday turns to her and says,” refresh my memory. Ophelia’s the one who kills herself after being driven mad by her family, correct?” morticia nods happily as the principle leans forward with a plastered grin 

“Shall we go meet your new roommate?’

Endearas POV

We go to wednesdays new dorm and its… something. The family is stunned as morticia speaks,” its so… vivid.” The girl, the new roommate, looks at me and gasps excitedly “Howdy roomie!” and i have to bite my lips from cackling. I mean this is just beautiful, but our principle steals all the fun and introduces wednesday. “wednesday , this is enid sinclair.” Enid looks to from me to wednesday confused, maybe even disappointed, as she asks,” are you okay? You look a little pale.” and mortica smiles as she explains,”wednesday always looks half dead.” “its genetic” i whisper, smiling at the girl. Enid goes in for a hug from wednesday as we both step back, she looks disheartened as she mumbles,” not a hugger. Got it.” morticia pipes up again,”please excuse wednesday. She’s allergic to color.” enid looks shocked,” oh wow. What happens to you?”

“I break out in hives and then the flesh peels from my bones.” this is when our principle speaks again,” luckily weve special ordered your and endears new uniforms. Enid, please take them to the registrar’s office to pick it up along with her schedule, and give them a tour along the way.”

I whisper quietly to Wednesday, ”If they dare put me in cheap, scratchy, suffocating material…i will raze this school to the ground.” Wednesday almost smirks as the Addams look at me in pride and the other two look at me in horror. This tour better be good. 

[ang3lfluids]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: underage smoking .. implied forms of DV .. mentions of kidnapping .. ED's .. implied child abuse and neglect..

𝐞𝐯𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫: FIRST CHAPTER YAYYYY!!! feedback is greatly appreciated !! :D enjoy my angels!

"What are your relations to Mr. Woods..." Your eyes flicked up, the gears in your brain turning. The courtroom was so quiet you could most certainly hear a pin drop, never mind the fact you were certain the Jury, attorneys and the Judge could hear your rapid sharp intakes of air. A weak attempt to calm yourself.

"Um... he's my, my boyfriend..." You stated, voice warbling as you shifted your gaze to the man sitting across the room from you before shifting your gaze to look at your hands that were settled in your lap.

"Were you two together before or after Mr.Woods abducted you from your home?" The attorney asked as she walked closer to the witness stand. You swallowed and blinked a few times, hot tears filling your eyes. Yes? No... No you weren't. You opened your mouth a few times and shifted in your seat.

"Miss... can you tell me please." The other woman's voice was soft but you could barely form a sentence in your head. Your eyes met his, and they narrowed back at you. Well, as well as they could with his... mutilations.

"We dated back in highschool..." You started looking back down at your lap. "We broke up when... he uh..." You swallowed thickly wiping your face with your hands. The cuffs around your wrists clinking softly.

The loud cheering from the field brought you back, your arms above your head as you shook the red and white pom-poms in the air. Your white teeth glistening under the flood lights settled around the football field. They must have scored, not like you were even really paying attention. You hated football anyways...

You easily fell into step with the other girls beside you, shaking your pom-poms like your life depended on it. Your stomach puckering as your eyes glanced over your mothers figure in the stands, your father next to her engrossed in an animated conversation with your best friend's father.

You also chose to ignore the way your stomach growled and bubbled with hunger. So in a way... your life truly did depend on it.

Your team had won. And after being pushed into a large group "hug", you had pleaded with your parents (more like just your mother) to go with your girls to the local McDonalds to celebrate your teams victory. Rolling your glitter coated eyes as the way her face soured as you mentioned the fast food place.

"Mom please, Julia won't have me out late..." You mumbled crossing your arms over your chest rocking on your heels. Rubbing the bridge of her nose she sighed, deep within her lungs. "Fine. Text me when you get there, and be home by ten-thirty. I don't care if it's a weekend." She smoothed our your hair and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You swallowed a suppressed gag.

You and three other girls all clambered into your best friends cherry red jeep, music blasting from the speakers as the vehicle sped off towards the hovel of choice. Your fingers twitching against your lap as you chewed on the inside of your cheek. A horrible habit that arouse when you hadn't smoked in a prolonged period of time. You had gone all morning, through your 12 periods, cheer practice, and a whole fucking football game without touching a lick of a cigarette.

Maybe it was childish to yearn for the red and white package that was tucked in your front pocket of your backpack, but with everything in your life it was nice having something you could actually control for once.

You tuned out the conversation around you, indulging in the cool fall air washing over your hot skin. Your eyes falling shut as you breathed.

"Can we please eat insideeee" One of the freshmen in the back seat asked leaning forward to meet Julia's gaze in the rearview. She hummed and nodded as she pulled into one of the parking spaces. Everyone going to unbuckle, Julia leaned over the center console and nudged your arm. You opened your eyes, sticky with makeup, and turned your head to look at her.

"You wanna take a sec?" She asked, her gaze flickering between your bag and you. You nod with a grateful smile and stretched out your sore limbs. Clambering from her jeep you dug into your bag and yanked free your lighter and the carton of cigarettes.

You leaned against the side of the jeep, whacking the pack against your hand and fishing one out. You placed the end in your mouth and attempted to flick the lighter to life, brows furrowing and a frosty look overtaking your face as it struggled to light.

"Motherfuckin' piece of shit..." You hissed teeth clamping down on the orange end of the cigarette to keep it in your mouth. Shaking the lighter a few times you began to grow frustrated at the fact that it wouldn't fucking work. So angry that hot tears of frustration began to fill your eyes. Your stomach growling angrily in protest as you swallowed at the lump in your throat.

"Hey." Your gaze shifted up and you flinched back as you met the eyes of another guy, way too close for comfort. You narrowed your eyes at him in a way of asking him what the fuck he wanted. He gestured to the cigarette in your mouth, then the pack in your hands. "Can I bum one off of you?" He held up a lighter and shook it softly, smirking down at you.

You eyed him and pushed yourself off the jeep stepping closer. He flicked the lighter to life and you leaned closer allowing the end to start burning. Batting your lashes up at him as he smirked down at you. You passed the cigarette carton over to him and took a long drag of the one in your mouth.

Blowing the smoke from your mouth you looked him up and down. "Do I know you?" You tilted your head, giving him a frosty look. He cupped a hand over the other as he lit his own cigarette, tucking his lighter into the back pocket of his skinny jeans. You watched as he blew the dark gray smoke from his chapped lips and look down at you.

"English, seventh period." He said. You blinked before flushing in embarrassment. "You're the new kid right? You and your brother?" You asked. He made a noise which sounded like a 'Yeah' as he took another drag.

"Took ya long enough princess." He muttered. Your stomach fluttered and you looked down at your cheer sneakers. "The names Jeffrey, Or Jeff I don't give a shit." He pushed some of his dark brown hair from his face, and you flicked some ash off the end of your cigarette.

"**" You offered your own name and leaned back stubbing out the half burnt cigarette on the heel of your shoe. "S'nice meeting you Jeff" You said brushing past him. "You as well, doll" He muttered pushing off the back of your friends jeep towards the sidewalk. You stole one last glance, suppressing the giddy feeling twirling in your gut.

[maskedlotus65]

HERE ME OUT!!!! I MADE A SMURF AU!!!!

(admittedly I got the idea while on Char. Ai, BUT STILL!)

What if...

Neither Gargamel OR Papa Smurf...

Changed Vexy and Hackus into real smurfs?

What if instead they were found by....

I'm calling it my Mother-Willow AU, still working on it a bit.

For some context:

The AU starts before the events of the Smurfs The Lost Village movie.

Gargamel makes Vexy and Hackus using the Smurfette recipe, hoping to make his own smurfs instead of catching them all the time. However, due to either a smudged ingredient or failed memory, he is unable to repeat the results. So he ends up with, as he says; "Two utterly useless failed experiments."

Vexy and Hackus don't have the best first months or years with Gargamel, since, as expected, he isn't the world's best father. He insults, ignores, and pushes aside their issues at any chance. But since they don't have any other role models, or at least a positive one, they take whatever pride Gargamel very rarely shows. Other than that, they spend their days tormenting Azrael or looking for anything to do that would make their creator proud.

One day, while Gargamel is out collecting mandrake, Vexy and Hackus leave his hovel to explore he forest, but end up lost. As they wonder what they should do, wandering the forest, Willow stumbles upon them. Taking pity, Willow brings them to Smurfy Grove, and is able to change them from a dull grey to a Smurfy blue.

She takes them in as her daughter and son, making sure they come to no harm after hearing how they described their past life with Gargamel, and the two never returned to Gargamel's hovel, living in Smurfy Grove instead. They learn the ways of the village, and soon the others accept them.

Vexy and Hackus are very close to their new mother, having never felt such caring love in their lives. Though it took some time, the two are able to put what they know and do to good use. Vexy is often helping Willow with her natural remedies, magic, and spells, while Hackus takes on more heavy lifting duties like building or self defense. Vexy has also taken a liking to stork and dragonfly flying. The two still occasionally prank others, but it's no longer out of maliciousness.

I'm planning on doing some doodles of the AU with more details, maybe even a comic version of the movie with Vexy an Hackus in it. Though it may take a bit since the AU's a little work in progress, I don't want it to be a "and Bumblebee" situation.

I imagine Gargamel, when his future captures Smurfette instead of a different Smurf, he makes an offhanded remark of "Would've been worse if you had gotten the other two," making Smurfette think about that in the back of her mind. I'm also working on how they'd react to Smurfette as well, since Gargamel would occasionally mention to them about having a sister who "abandoned" him when they were still living with him.

Anyways, hope you like my little au, I hope it's not too much.

[ficzhub]

The Foreign Woman

Part 4

(Art credit to @kevvidile )

Aemond Targeryen x Older Myrish OC (Alexyse Majeríz)

✨✨✨✨

CW: hurt/comfort, obsession, dysfunctional family, mommy issues, comforting a child as an older child, duplicitous OC, creepy crush, jealous Aemond Targaryen, envious Aegon II Targaryen, emotional manipulation, spying, possessive Aemond Targaryen, jealous Aegon II Targaryen, power imbalance, power dynamics.

✨✨✨✨

Chapter 4: Troublesome

"Oh, my prince-" she began while facepalming before he'd cut her off

"No! Not 'your prince', your Aemond!" He nearly yelled

"Shh!" She pleaded, pressing her index finger to her lips before pressing her hand on his cheek "My Aemond," she calmed "what are you doing here?"

She still felt drowsy from being woken up so suddenly, and mildly irritated with him. He's a sad, scared, lonely little boy, terribly misunderstood but it wasn't really her place to watch over him like he wants her to. Though that's her own fault, she could've left when she saw him crying, or when she threw something at her and screamed at her to leave. But she didn't and instead got into bed with the boy, wrapped her arms around him and let him cry until he fell asleep on her chest. She told herself later that it was because he may know something she doesn't, being the quiet listener he is. But that wasn't true. She did it because he needed her to, because no one else had bothered to.

"I told you, I couldn't sleep." He said

"Why? What happened?" She asked

"I had a nightmare." He lied.

He didn't want to lie to his Maery, but what else could he say? He knew he'd have one if he'd been able to go to sleep anyway. "I couldn't stop crying."

That part was true, from the moment she left his chambers until he'd decided to leave them and find her. It embarrassed him, but he felt he should tell her this. It could only work in his favor, in any case.

"Honey, I can't keep you here and I can't stay in your chambers." She explains again, softly "Come, I'll walk you back to yours. You can't be out here, it could even be dangerous."

He didn't care obviously. The worst thing that could happen to him already did. He was deformed, permanently irreparable. The only good thing that came of this besides his dragon was his Maery.

"If it's so dangerous then you certainly shouldn't be out here either." He pointed out, not realizing she was likely the most dangerous thing out there. "Not to mention how rubbish the accommodations seem to be."

He looks back at her little hovel in disgust.

"Dangerous for you, baby. Perfectly fine for me." She explains "And the accommodations are more than adequate for a woman in my station. I don't deserve any more than any other maid working for your family."

"That's not true." He immediately disagrees, liking her loving pet names for him "You're no mere maid."

Her blood runs cold, but she tries not to panic. Has she been doing such a terrible job hiding who she is that even a half-blind ten year old could tell she wasn't who she said she was?

"What do you mean, sweetheart?" She asks

"You shouldn't be working as a maid, picking up other's filth and working yourself ragged. You could do so much more." He says

"You think so?" She asks smiling "Like what?"

"You should be a lady, a grand lady or a maester. If they allowed women to be maesters." He suggests excitedly

"Oh, if only..." she says knowing there are maesters, robes heavy with links who don't know half what she does.

He holds onto her hand firmly, not to keep his balance but to make sure she doesn't stray from him. He wants the least distance possible between them. She smells rain approaching and tries to walk to the castle as fast as she can without making Aemond trip but by the time they get inside it's already too late. The drizzle becomes a storm in mere seconds and she turns to see Aemond smiling widely.

"You could hardly go back to that hovel now."

She puts her hands on her hips and smirks "The rain won't kill me Aemond, I am not made of sugar."

"But you could get sick!" He exclaimed

"I'm not quite so delicate."

"Please don't go." He drops the pretense of being worried of the rain and reverts to begging. "Please."

"Darling, if they catch me in here I'll be reprimanded. I can't stay." She says, squeezing his hand and walking him to his chambers.

"Then I'll make sure you won't get caught." He promises

"You can't be sure of that my love, and even if you could it's not your responsibility. I'm a maid, I have my place and you have yours."

"Your place is with me!" He insists loudly and rushes into a hug, wrapping his arms so tightly around her waist it almost restricts her breathing.

"Shhh, honey you can't be so loud." She says quietly and rubbing her hand on his back to calm him. From his short she is, no taller than 158 cm, she presses her cheek to the top of his head.

"They can't say anything to me, even if we get caught." He retorts stubbornly, not letting go, enjoying the feeling of her softness against him, making him feel better as she tends to do, intentionally or otherwise. He inhaled deeply, trying to memorize the scent of her.

"I meant more so because people are sleeping and we need to be considerate of them." She elaborates in a whisper "Come, let's get you to bed."

They both start walking towards his chambers but his hands never leave her arm and hand, holding onto it with a near vice grip. Scared she'll leave him, scared he'll have to go back out and search for her again only to not find her anywhere. They reach them and she makes sure to tuck him into bed and leave, only to be held back by his hand on her forearm.

"Honey, please." She begs now

"They won't reprimand you, I swear it. Please, Maery." His little eye fills with tears threatening to spill over and she knows he must hate being in the position of begging an underling to hold him so he could sleep.

She thinks of her own parents, her wonderful mother who never let her feel alone and babies her even now as a grown woman for all intents and purposes. Her father, who while firm, made sure to protect her and teach her how to protect herself in case he may not be able to. How could the king not at least ask about this little boy's well being? How could the Queen be doing anything other than fretting over him? What the fuck kind of family is this? Both of their fingers are changing color from the force with which Aemond is holding her hand. She practically slaps the other on her own forehead and sighs, feeling unbearably guilty and unable to deny this sweet boy something so basic, so primal as comfort.

"What makes you so sure you could keep from having me punished? Or fired and made so you could never see me again?" She asks, seeing what plan the little prince has up his sleeve.

He gives you a small smile and looks down shyly. "I've already told the Queen Mother about you, I told her how much I enjoy your work. I'd asked to have you moved to the chambers next to mine so I wouldn't have to call on you so often and have someone else take on the responsibilities that don't pertain to me."

He states these things proudly, but it only makes Alexyse's heart sink. This boy has gotten too attached and because of him she may never complete the assignment. She already can't move about the castle as she used to because of how he keeps following her around. Now she'll have to spend every second of every day attached to his hip as his own personal maid instead of a general family maid?

"And Lady Mochel has approved already?" She asks

"She doesn't need to, she doesn't make those choices." He says, pointing his nose up.

"Well sure honey, but I meant as in she's already had other people take over my work load?"

"I don't know, to be honest I don't particularly care. They'll take care of it."

'And I'll be able to keep you to myself.' He thinks

"There are something's I'm the only one who knows how to do, we don't have anyone on staff who can do them. They're hiring new people?" She asks

"I don't know! I don't care!" He cries "I've done what I've needed to do to keep you safe, just stay

with me."

"Alright, alright." She says, "Move over, sweetheart."

He tries to contain his glee with a small smile that hurts his wound, but he scoots over and makes room for her next to him. He snuggles up next to her with his head on her chest, trying to get as much of his body to connect with hers. The sound of her steady heartbeat quiets his anxiety and the fear that she'll leave him is assuaged, she can hardly leave without him noticing. He pressed himself to her as tightly as he could to the point where she felt his little fingers digging into her ribs.

She tries to make herself comfortable while holding the boy, trying to find a solution that won't hurt his already delicate feelings, allow her to finish her job and leave unnoticed. Trying to work out a way she'll be 'forced' away from him, perhaps. That it's not her choosing to abandon him, never! Just that circumstances are working against them both. But that'll have to wait for tomorrow. Right now she'll just comfort the little prince. No matter how unexpected his attachment to her became, she can't deny he's a sweet boy. Neglected, and maybe a little spoiled, as is to be expected from a prince in the royal family. But sweet, and in desperate need of motherly affection.

She doesn't envy his position. Alexyse loves her life, the life her family has granted her. Thanks to them she's a certified weapon, someone to fear, someone to respect. She doesn't have to be a whore, or a damsel who's only good for getting married and birthing children. Instead she can protect women like them, make sure they're being treated fairly. She can't count high enough to the number of how many monsters disguised as men have been killed by her tiny, unthreatening mother. How many pompous, arrogant cunt lords and merchants have been disposed of by her bastard father. Alexyse herself is now responsible for sentencing quite a few lowlives to very painful deaths by just her word, but she couldn't wait to get her hands dirty.

Still, the whole time they were training her, sculpting her to be someone capable and strong, she never felt like she wasn't cherished by her family. Her father taught her to sharpen his blades and treat his leathers, but also played with her and sang her the Dornish lullabies his father taught him before she fell asleep. Her mother taught her to synthesize more poisons than most people know even exist by the time she was as old as the little boy she's holding now, but she always brushed out her hair and let her play with the other children that lived near them in the water springs.

What childhood was this little man allowed to have? The spare to the spare to the heir of a man who neglects them all but one? Everyone knowing of him, watching him as they watch his whole family, training him in histories and philosophies and with the sword but not letting him behave as a little boy should. It's too dry, too frigid. No child could grow up well of mind in this type of shit, it's no wonder she's only ever seen him smile in the last two days despite being here for a quite a while now. She's the only one who's done anything worth him hurting himself by smiling.

She feels him snuggle his face against her chest and smiles down at him as he falls asleep, unaware that his presence wasn't the only one apart from hers. Aegon had been observing uncharacteristically quiet that day, seeing his little brother mope around following the pretty maid like a lost puppy. He thought he'd call him out on it and make the 10-year-old's cheeks red at the mention of his little crush, until he'd seen what he did to the ranchhand. Now, seeing his little brother clinging desperately to this girl after sneaking off to look for her in the dead of night, he wonders what's so special about her.

Aegon keeps watching them, surprised at his own envy. He can’t remember the last time anyone’s held him like that, anyone he hasn’t recently started paying. Can’t remember the last time a woman made sure he felt warm and safe, touched him because she wanted to, not because he’d forced or paid for it. Aemond was always the favorite, for everyone, even his own. He should’ve been the first born, he does everything the way people would expect of him, from claiming the biggest dragon, to his studies to even taking the loss of his eye with dignity. Aegon is more sensitive than people know, than people give him credit for. He just wants to know what it feels like to be in Aemond’s current position. To have someone, someone genuinely care for you, someone of your own.

AO3 link:

(Part 3 \/)