#at some point I will design him I promise

[mit0bee]

ℍ𝕌𝕊𝔹𝔸ℕ𝔻!

Calling the twst boys your husband!

Characters: Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia

warnings: fem!reader, no beta we die like men, yuu!reader, harassment (leonas part), pre-book 7 malleus

a/n: hi im very sick take this unfinished work from my drafts (I PROMISE ILL MAKE MORE OF THIS I JUST CANT LOOK AT A SCREEN ANYMORE 💔) plz tell me if theres any inaccuracies since i do not have the energy to read it through

also it got glitched out this morning when i tried to use my phone to finish it so now theres bullet points everywhere

It wasn't actually intentional when you called him your husband, more of a spur of the moment thing.

During a (n unwilling) adventure to Sam's, a guy had come up to you. Of course, being the mysterious transfer from another world had garnered you some popularity. One such consequence were people like him.

"Hey. You're that transfer girl, right?" The boy asked. He looked like a badly designed sleazeball from a basic anime; dyed hair, quite a few piercings, and a look on his face that just screamed incel.

"Uh. Yeah." You looked between the milk you had in your hand, the guy, and Leona, who was out of earshot, eyeing a selection of meat Sam had on display. "Why?" You could practically feel the dread in your gut. He obviously wasn't trying to be friends. Or, at least, not the good kind of friends.

"I was just wondering..." Smirking, he took a few steps to close the gap between the two of you, "Some of my friends and I were going to have a little party down in the woods behind the school. We could use some entertainment."

"Er...." Your head tilted downwards in fluster. This guy didn't seem like the type to take no for an answer. Even if you tried to pull the 'I have a boyfriend', he probably wouldn't listen, "My.... husband and I had plans." You blurted out. It was a split second decision, but there was no way this guy would go after a married woman. Right?

"Oh, husband." You shot Leona a look; one that begged for help. He turned from where he had been very focused, and noticed the sleazy guy pestering you. His ears flattened against his head, and his expression shifted from curiosity to irritation. "Come over here."

The nameless guy looked very close to pissing himself when he saw just who you were referring to. The Leona Kingscholar. But he had a wife? Since when?!

"Oh. Uh. Him?" The guy asked, almost unbelieving. There was no way someone like him would be tied down. He could barely go to class, much less commit to someone!

But, as if by fate, the lazy lion gave a smug smirk and rested his hand over your shoulder. "What's up, wife?" He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the crown of your head. "This guy buggin' ya?"

You smiled knowingly, "I don't know. Are you?" Your tone wasn't one to be underestimated. All three of you knew what was going down. The only difference between You and Leona, and the guy was that the guy couldn't do anything to refute your claim.

"N-No, ma'am!" The guy stiffened, which made Leona let out a huff of amusement, "I'll be on my way now!" He announced, running off with his tail between his legs.

You and Leona were left in silence for the next few moments, both of you not wanting or having anything to say. It was Leona, though, who broke the silence.

"Husband?"

"I don't wanna talk about it." You faced your lover with redder cheeks than before, "He was getting on my nerves, and it was the quickest way for him to leave me alone." You sighed, your eyes trailing from Leonas emerald ones to the wooden floor of the shop, "I know we haven't talked about it. Sorry..."

Leona rolled his eyes at your change in demeanor. You went from confident to bashful in only the span of a minute or two. "Whaddya talking about? I never said I wouldn't mind getting married, so don't apologize." He stated, keeping his arm around your shoulders.

"Wha...?" You gazed back up at him with shock, your mouth slightly ajar. You would accept him not wanting to get married, and it was a real possibility you had prepared for in the past. Now he's stating he might want to?

He didn't explain further, and opted to (surprisingly gently) lead you out of the store. "Let's go." He said, "I'll get Ruggie to finish the trip."

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

"Sam. What is this?"

"It's a wedding present, my little imp!" Sam presented you with a large purple box. It had a glittery black ribbon tied into a perfect bow at its plateau. "Don't think I didn't see what you and the Savanaclaw housewarden were doing in my shop a few days ago!"

You took the box carefully. Knowing Sam, just about anything could be inside. It could be the best thing you could ever receive, but it also could be a load of crap you'd never use.

"Look here!" Sam lifted up two items from inside the box. One was an iridescent stone, while the other looked like a black ticket with gold accents. He held out the stone, "This one is a lucky charm! Perfect for newlyweds, right?" Then, he held out the ticket, "And this gets you a 1% discount at any Sam's Mystery Shop locations in all of Twisted Wonderland! Terms and Conditions apply."

You smiled, but felt the irritation in your body growing. You and Leona weren't actually getting married. It was just a topic of discussion now. But, the items might come in handy around Ramshackle, and you'd take all the help you could get. It wasn't like everything would be useless, right?

You decided to grit your teeth and bear it, "Thank you, Sam. Really." You let him place the two items back in the box, "We'll be sure to use all of this." You quickly turned on your heel to escape.

"Oh, and tell the kitty I said hi!" He called out as you left. Once you were gone, he placed a hand on his cheek with a sigh.

"Ah, young love."

Azul has a lot of business partners.

With all of those partners comes lots of exhausting meetings. His only escape from all of it is you.

Though, that doesn't mean your opposed to playing a prank or two on him to lift his spirits.

Azul dropped down onto his (your shared at this point) bed, and you couldn't help the snicker that you let out at this rare side of him.

"Rough day?" You asked. One of your hands dropped from your book to find purchase in his hair. He let out a relaxed groan, slowly moving his way from the side of the bed to lay on top of you.

"You wouldn't believe. Dozens of grown men and not even one can solve a simple problem." He sighed, remembering the horrid, stale meeting he had to endure, "They're leading me to believe most landers are like this."

You closed your book with a crisp clap, setting it on the safe right by his bed. Instead, you devoted your time to messing with his well-kept hair. "Not all of them. I'm an exception, right? As your wife?"

"That's true-" He paused, your words sinking on him like a heavy weight. His face exploded into a coral pink, and he inelegantly picked himself up onto all fours, looking into your eyes with confusion and maybe a little glee. "What...? Wife..? As in- Us?" One of his hands frantically pointed between the two of you.

"Unless you don't want to get married to a foolish lander." Pouting, you knew he'd take the bait. Hook, line, and sinker. "It's fine. I get it. Species racism, you know?"

Desperately, he shook his head. "No! That's not it at all!" He brought his face dangerously close to yours, "I just wasn't expecting it." As if realizing how close you were, he averted his eyes from yours, "...I was supposed to receive my grandmothers ring. After graduation."

After such an honest confession, you felt your resolve for the prank crumble into a million pieces. You wrapped your arms around him tightly, earning a surprised yelp from him. "Azul!" Is all you could manage to articulate.

"....Y-Yes, my love?" His voice was muffled from being so close to you, but you could still hear the worry in his tone. It didn't make you feel any more calm, though, and you squeezed him even harder.

"I think we need to get married right now."

"What?!"

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

The next morning was surprisingly uneventful. The only thing you could notice of slight difference was the weird looks you got from the twins, and the slightly softer way Azul treated you. It was only that evening that everything shifted on its axis.

You were waiting in Mostro for Azul to finish with some contracts. Not wanting to bother him, you waited in the main dining area, lone in a booth. Only lone for a while, though, as the aforementioned Leech twins came strolling up with knowing smirks.

"So..." Floyd started, "Miss Ashengrotto, huh?" He sat right next to you, "You apparently had a whole spectacle last night. Very romantic."

"Just make sure you both don't forget us as newlyweds." Jade engaged in the teasing too, but didn't sit nearly as close. "We'd be very lonely. Right, Floyd?"

"Yup. Anyway. Baby names."

"Huh?!"

"Floyd Junior has a nice ring to it."

"Or Jade Junior."

"What are you three talking about?"

"........"

"We should leave. Come on, Floyd." Jade stood up, taking Floyd by the arm and dragging him out of the booth.

"Yeah. Have fun, lovebirds."

"So..." You smiled sheepishly, "How is my fantastic husband doing?" You said, just loud enough for anyone in the immediate vicinity to whip their heads around and gawk.

"Please." Azul chuckled, "I'm good. How is my beautiful wife?"

"Ready to give you a baby." You whispered.

"Slow down!"

on one of the rare times idia actually went out of his room, it was for this limited deluxe edition of a game he had been waiting for for months.

problem was, it was an in-store only promo. if he wanted the game, he'd have to endure the stress of other people.

if only to make the trip a little less painful on his cortisol receptors, he decided to invite you to join him.

the store was packed. like the only reason the two of you got in was because you had waited there for at least five hours before it opened.

even then, it took another hour or two to actually get to the checkout with two copies of the game in hand.

it was at the checkout that the incident happened.

after being out and waiting for almost half your day, you had obviously gotten bored.

and what better cure for your boredom than to play a silly little prank on your unsuspecting boyfriend?

"You two excited for the release?" The clerk asked. He looked obviously exhausted, but kept a weary smile and his tone light. "I hear this ones better than the prequel. Bugs and cheeses have all been patched."

You nodded enthusiastically, deciding that now was the time to enact your totally thought-out plan, "Yup! My husband and I are going to have a little gaming date. Right, Id-" You turned to your boyfriend, stopping your sentence midway through. He looked like his entire brain shut off, hair lit up a bright pink and his face dusted with a blush to rival even the reddest tone. If he was a cartoon, he'd have steam coming out of his ears and the top of his skull would come up like a geyser.

"I- Um- My-" He couldn't even utter a single sentence. "My wife-" He gestured to you. Eventually, he gave up on even trying to articulate himself, slammed the required thaumark bills on the counter, and made his way out of there as quickly as he could. Unceremoniously, he shoved you (with surprising gentleness considering how clumsy he was being) into the passenger seat of his rarely used car, and quickly turned to book it into the drivers seat.

The two of you sat there in silence for a minute or two. His expression was unreadable, and you couldn't tell if it was upset, excitement, or anxiety.

He finally broke the silence with a mumble. ".... -married?"

"I couldn't hear you, hun. What'd you say?"

"I said.... -get married?"

"My love. Please speak up."

"I SAID, DO YOU REALLY WANT TO GET MARRIED?!"

"......."

"........"

"What...?"

"You know. Because I'm not very marriage material...?" His statement was more of a question, and he turned away from you in shame, "I mean, there are all of those princes at NRC. SS+ level otome MMC's."

"Idia."

"I was just thinking you'd rather them."

"Idia."

"I mean, there's, like, a million of them." He fiddled with the bottom hem of his hoodie in embarrassment. God, if he could just hide in a hole forever-

"IDIA!" You snapped, taking him by the shoulders and forcing him to look at you, "I don't want them. I want you." Putting on your best comforting smile, you leaned over the gearbox to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. "I woke up at five A.M. for this. If that doesn't make it clear that I'd want you and only you, then maybe me saying it to your face will."

If it was even possible his hair got even wilder and even pinker. It was a miracle it didn't set everything in the car on fire. "A-Are you sure...?" He half-whispered, half-squeaked.

You nodded, placing a hand on his cheek. Your other hand rested on the gearbox so you could lean closer to him. "Dead serious."

Idia's cheeks lit up pink, and all of the blue that had been slowly returning to his firey hair vanished, being replaced by the previous pink once more. "L-Let's just get back to NRC..." He managed to mumble out.

Malleus wasn't the most expressive person. When a simple upset could smite an entire family, the benefits of feeling anger or ecstasy paled in comparison to the concequences.

That wasn't to say he didn't have his moments, though.

Your plan was simple; when Malleus least expected it, you'd call him by the sweet nickname, and watch his head explode. Or, at least, show some more feeling than slightly pleased or slightly upset.

The two of you were walking the halls of NRC almost ritualistically. It had become a routine for Malleus to meet you outside of your classes and escort you to your next one. He was so dedicated that not even most urgencies could prevent him from seeing you. You had asked him a few weeks prior on why he was so devoted, but he only responded with a cryptic 'it's my duty'.

Arriving at your classroom, you leaned up and pressed a quick peck to his cheek. "Thank you, husband." You whispered. You expected him to react in a giddy manner, but quite the contrary, he only reciprocated your smile and leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"You're welcome, my wife." He smiled just a little more than he usually did. "I must get to my own class. I'll see you afterwards." And with that, he waved off a confused you.

He didn't even seem to be bothered by the nickname. What's more, is that he called you his wife! Last you checked, you weren't married! Was he just playing along? Or was he trying to retort your prank in his own way? You were supposed to be pranking him!

-----------

Your mind raced with possibilities for the entire time you were in class. It got so bad that Trein had to reprimand you in front of all of your peers. But, in your defense, how were you supposed to focus?! The only solace you got was the dismissal bell, knowing you'd be able to see your fae lover once more.

When you exited the class, Malleus was waiting in front of the door as per usual. He unconsciously and unintentionally was splitting the student body in half like a stone in a river. They avoided him as best they could, knowing full well he was here for you.

"My beloved." He strode his way up to you, the black current of people moving in reaction, "Was your class satisfactory?" He took your hand in his. The two of you had a little extra time now in your schedules due to your paired spare periods (courtesy of the oh-so generous Headmage Crowley. He was definitely not intimidated by a certain dragon fae into it. No sir, no ma'am).

"Mhm." You peered into his eyes thoughtfully, trying to read just what exactly had happened earlier. If it had been a prank on his part, surely there'd be some evidence of amusement, right? You stared like this all the way into the courtyard, where he finally noticed with a furrowed brow and slight pout.

"Something is troubling you."

Oops. You were caught, "It's nothing. Really." You tried to soothe his worries, but your attempts were in vain and only made him worry more.

"You're lying to me." He stopped in his tracks, causing you to turn to face him. He crossed his arms in an almost childlike fashion, "You shouldn't be trying to suffer alone. As your husband I have a duty to help you, do I not?"

With his final sentence, you couldn't help but sigh. You obviously wouldn't get answers from him by just staring. He was as straight faced as a stone cold killer.

"....Can I ask you a question...?" You requested hesitantly. Maybe it was just nothing. If the two of you were just in an unspoken prank war, it might be best to not bring it up.

"Yes." He answered instantaneously, almost before you got your question out. "Anything."

"Are you calling me your wife as a joke?" You blurted out the entire question at once. Luckily, the courtyard was mostly empty to protect you from your blunder, but it was nonetheless embarrassing, "I mean, I was doing it as a silly little prank. Then you did it too. You sounded so serious when you said it, too." You averted your gaze, wanting to look anywhere but at your lover. In your peripheral vision you saw him grow more confused than worried now. Rather than his brow being furrowed in concern, it was furrowed in thought.

It took a moment for him to speak. He tilted his head, as if it would help in deciphering the code you just tossed in his face, "We are betrothed, are we not? We haven't had a wedding yet, so we aren't in technical terms husband and wife. But, you have begun to call me your husband. In turn, I assumed you wanted me to refer to you as my wife."

You froze. He thought you were what? As far as you could remember, he didn't give you any indicator as to being engaged up until now!

"Hold on." You were so confused and shocked that your embarrassment ebbed away quickly. You looked him up and down. Were cameras going to pop out from behind a bench? A tree, perhaps? "I wasn't told anything about being engaged. When did this happen?"

His tone only grew more confused now, "A few weeks prior. You were accepting my courtship advances. The necklace you received was one of betrothal." He stated simply, "It was one from my personal collection, and you accepted it. Is that not a common proposal where you're from?"

"NO?! Malleus, where I'm from, people propose with a ring and ask if they will marry them!"

".....I see. This is quite the conundrum." He placed a hand on his chin, "Am I to cancel the wedding plans, then?" He looked almost sad at the prospect. You could tell immediately that this was something he had been planning since that night he gifted you that silver necklace.

You sighed again, this time bigger and heavier, "....I mean..." You didn't want to let him down, but it all felt too fast! "Maybe don't cancel them persay..." His mood drastically improved at your words. Optimism was a powerful tool, and he was using it right to his advantage.

"Maybe we can do things from my culture now?" You continued, "Once you propose in the human way, then we can start planning our wedding together." You thought this was a fair compromise. He already proposed with fae customs, but you weren't exactly ready to rush into a wedding dress. If things could be held off for at least a few more months, you'd have time to adequately settle into the reality.

Your words didn't come close to deterring Malleus. He nodded with more enthusiasm than ever. "I shall dedicate myself to the education and study of human ways. I will plan out a human proposal posthaste." He looked at you with a fire in his eyes. One you hadn't seen too often, but enough to recognize, you knew what it meant. He only got this look when he was so hellbent on succeeding that it'd take all of Twisted Wonderland to prevent him from reaching his goals.

You'd let out a monster, and you knew it. All you could do now was pray for your survival.

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

A few days later, you were chatting casually with your regular quartet of Ace, Deuce, Grim in the cafeteria. But, your comfortable conversation was abruptly interrupted by a scream.

"HUMAN!!!!!!" You jumped at the sound, immediately recognizing it to be only one person.

"Sebek? Is something the matter?"

"MY LORD HAS DECIDED TO PROPOSE TO YOU ONCE MORE!!!!" He exclaimed, his volume far too high even in the large room. "YOU MUST LOOK THE PART WHEN HE APPROACHES YOU!" Without a second beat, he started dusting you off, nitpicking your appearance down to the lint on your shoulder.

Being friend with Sebek long enough had let you into his mind. You knew he was happy for you, and just expressing it in his own unique way. He had long since come to terms with your relationship, and had even come to support it (again, in his own way).

"Hold on..."

"No way..."

"Huh?!"

All three of your friends in front of you had gaping mouths, utterly shocked. They all yelled at the same time, their tones fearful and confused.

"My henchman..."

"You, of all people..."

"Prefect is...."

"GETTING MARRIED?!"

Oh lord. This'll be fun to explain.

[kalied0skull]

“ front and center, girly! ”

— “ yeah, I'm hearin'! ”

now playing: Hey Cowgirl — Mac Demarco ♪

★ ramble & extras under the cut !

it was only a matter of time until i got my grubby hands on cowgirl curtis, i have been running around grabbing EVERRYYY SINGLEEE trans headcanon and absolutely eating that shit UP!!!

shout out to @trevination & @broareweabouttoviberightnow because when scrambling around for ideas to draw her I've discovered that she is your guys' collective daughter and it feels only right to show her to you (so sorry for the @'s I'm not prone to tagging people but i take it you both wouldn't mind much 💀)

this is my little take on cowgirl! and AAAUGHHHH I LOVE HERRRRR I DOOOOO!!!! i am holding her so gently in my hands and brushing her hair with a tiny little comb ,, she's my gal. ..

soemthing about transfem curtis brothers makes my heart go wah, i love them really i do they're so lovely to me

I don't have many headcanons of cowgirl at the moment, but i am obsessed with the idea of calling her "girly" (thankyou to my memaw, who uses girly and inspired the idea) — like... pony / girly? the parallels... okay whatever I'm shutting up i promise /j+silly

anyways, whilst trying to make up a little design for her, i got a bit sidetracked and made this drawing of ponyboy and cowgirl sharing a cigarette and having a real short talk

the specific ponyboy i have there IS post-story, his bleached and overgrown hair making a weird appearance in the drawing. i dunno, i like to imagine post-canon pb would have a way more enamored response to cowgirl compared to pre or during.

he's really in love with the girl he becomes in another universe, even if it might not be him. he still loves her no matter what, and i think that's really neat :D

my favorite little detail of cowgirl has to be the little designs i put on her clothes, something tells me she is a girl who is in LOVE with embroidery. i think it might be one of the things she picked up when transitioning, because you always have to be a little punk in terms of being transgender in my opinion — and i take cowgirl to be quite crafty :3c

i just think she'd fawn over tiny flowers and spirals all over her stuff, because "they are so cute n' simple, right?! but they're so complex and cool!" and awawawahhh... she just likes her details in my eyes

anyways i really really REALLY enjoyed making this drawing, mostly digital though – the traditional sketch was a hit of a process, i accidentally made her too tall at some point and was like "??? nuh uh" 💀 but she's beautiful and she's such a doll and wahhh my babyy...

i hope all the transfem pb fans out there can appreciate another addition to the gallery, I'd also like to shout out GLORBIEZ' ART !!! who also inspired me very heavily to make my own version!

please please please go look at it glorbiez is an amazing artist and i really love their take on cowgirl /BEGGING, DESPERATE (/silly)

who am i if not to jump on a trend with a very niche headcanon amirite ;3

[gothamite-rambler]

When Superman First Met Batman’s sidekick I love to imagine it was odd and in a 'holy crap I have to turn him into the cops! Why does he have a kid with him?' way.

Eventually he like everyone else accepts this is just how Batman operates at times. He has a kid sidekick who actually can hold his own in a fight and is always adorable.

...

Superman looked at the young child in a brightly colored costume. He could clearly see this was a child, not just a short man, but he liked Batman as a hero. Still, the idea of him having a child sidekick seemed unbelievable. He hoped it was just a rumor.

Superman (raising an eyebrow): This is your sidekick?

Batman: Yes.

Superman (pointing at Robin): The person sitting on the ground, munching on crackers in a brightly colored costume, is your sidekick?

Batman (slapping Superman’s arm away): Don’t point at him!

Nine-year-old Robin (Dick Grayson) sat cross-legged on the ground, captivated by a bug while munching on his snacks. He felt a gentle nudge on his back from Batman’s shoe, urging him to pay attention. Looking up, he stood to his feet.

Batman (deadpan): He is my sidekick. What’s the issue?

Superman (curious): Hm… how to approach this? Is he really a little boy? Because I’m seriously doubting he’s just a small adult.

Batman (stony-faced): You wouldn’t believe me if I lied. Robin, introduce yourself.

Robin (waving excitedly): I’m Robin! I can do flips and tricks. Hug time!

With that, Robin threw his arms around Superman, catching the mighty hero off guard. Batman looked slightly bothered, his jaw clenching tightly.

Batman (mumbling): Why does he get a hug?

Robin (cheerfully): I’m a big fan, Mr. Superman!

Superman (smiling warmly): Oh… I’m glad to meet one.

Robin: Has anyone ever told you how amazing you look? You’re a superhero, just like Papa!

Superman: I am. And thank you for the compliment. I needed that right now.

Superman patted the kid gently on the top of his head with a smile.

Batman (yanking Robin back to his side, a tinge of jealousy in his tone): Yep, he’s Robin and can do flips and tricks. Not hugging strangers.

Batman gave the boy a friendly pat on the head as well. Superman blinked, trying to process the whirlwind of information. Robin swayed back and forth in his shoes, humming a tune from the circus.

Superman (alarmed): Right… um, circling back then. That’s a child!

Batman (exasperated): He’s my son.

Superman (wide-eyed): That’s worse!

Batman (making it worse): Is it, though? I take care of him, feed him, and even let him design the costume he’s wearing.

Superman: He’s not a doll! Why is he here?!

Batman (indignant): Who are you yelling at?

Superman twitched, turning away for a few seconds to take in this surreal situation.

Superman (returning to the conversation, talking to Robin): He’s your father, and you fight bad guys with him?

Robin (eager bouncing): Yep!

Superman (concerned): Did he kill your parents? Are you a kidnapped child?

Batman: He’s not—

Superman (holding up his hand): Nope, nope, I’m asking the child!

Robin tapped his chin in thought, looking mischievous.

Robin: Hm… I’m not sure. Maybe some candy will help me answer the question, Batman.

Batman (sighing, handing Robin a lollipop from one of the hidden pockets in his cape): After the mission, I will take you to the candy store to get more. I promise.

Robin (grinning, unwrapping the lollipop): You better keep that promise! Mr. Superman, he did not kill my parents. It’s a crazy story that we both agreed to keep secret.

Batman (to Superman, slightly defensive): There, he told you the truth. Are you satisfied?

Superman (frustrated): That doesn’t remove the fact he is a child. A child sidekick?! You have one!

Robin: Named Robin.

Robin giggled, easing the tension, but Superman waited for Batman’s defense. Batman let out a long sigh that turned into an angry groan.

Batman (controlled fury): Why does everyone have this reaction when they meet him? I’ve already dealt with villains in Gotham, and they think, “Oh my gosh, you have a child fighting with you!” Like they didn’t just commit murder or rob a bank! I thought you’d let this go.

Superman (mystified and confused): Why?

Batman: You look ridiculous in that suit and think glasses can conceal your face. This at least is cool.

Superman (crossing his arms): My glasses— nope, not going to have that argument again. I’ll indulge you, Dark Knight. Amazing, you have a child sidekick; how old is he?

Robin (sweet, prideful tone): I just turned nine!

Superman (rage shouting): Nine! What the-What the- WHAT?! No, he’s not! He’s not that young! What the hell is wrong with you, Batman? Have you gone insane? I knew you could be an asshole, but-

Robin hid behind his father’s leg, a little scared by the yelling from the god-like superhero. This made Batman angry in response, radiating the rage of a thousand men.

Batman (shouting, interrupting): Hey! Don’t curse in front of my son! He already has to deal with the Joker, but you, of all people, will not swear in front of my boy! You can criticize me for many things, and I won’t care because they aren’t true. But the one thing you will never criticize me for is how I raise my son! Do you have a son?

Superman: No.

Batman: Do you have to wake up at six in the morning to get a hyperactive child ready for school?

Superman (unnerved): No.

Batman (walking forward causing Superman to backwards walk): And have you ever had to leave your main job to pick up your son from school because he punched a kid who called him a circus freak?

Superman: No.

Batman: Okay then, keep your mouth shut! I have a lot to deal with as it is, and you will not, you hear me, you will not tell me how to raise my son! And don’t you EVER scare him!

Robin nodded enthusiastically at Batman’s words, especially the part about the suit.

Robin (beaming): Yeah, Mr. Superman, we’ve seen all the reactions, but I don’t want you to be mean or mad at Batman.

Batman: Thank you, Robin. Back to you, Man of Steel. If you want to say anything else about me or him, tread lightly. I am not the one! He is my son; I care about him, and I will punch you while holding kryptonite if you scare him again!

Superman (sighing): Okay, okay, geez, I’m sorry. I was thrown off by the fact the rumors about the kid sidekick were true, but you seem very protective of him. I’ll trust that you’re not a psychotic, abusive kidnapper, as other news articles have claimed.

Batman breathed deeply to calm himself.

Batman (calmly): Your apology is accepted. I’m just tired of this reaction and that stupid smear campaign.

Robin (defending his father): Yeah, me and Papa are good heroes! I love crime fighting; it’s fun! I would never want to leave that. Don’t judge us for our awesomeness!

Batman (gently): Robin, I appreciate the awesomeness part, but please don’t call me Papa while we’re on a job or meeting other inferior heroes.

Robin (apologetically): Oh, sorry, Batman. I love you, Batman!

Robin beamed and hugged his father tightly.

Batman (softening): L… love you too. You’re in a hugging mood today.

Robin (excitedly): It’s a good day! I met your future best friend!

Batman flushed with embarrassment while Superman glanced back and forth between Robin and Batman. Batman covered his face, heaving an exhausted sigh that reminded Superman of his own dad. He could see Batman was earnest and not leaning toward any potential CPS calls. Robin took this as his chance to sneak away and climb a nearby tree.

Superman (smirking): I mean… if this kid makes you less of a jerk and actually realizes we’re friends, then I guess I’ll overlook the potential kidnapping charges.

Batman: That’s great, because I didn’t kidnap him. Robin, let’s— Where did he go?!

Superman pointed behind Batman. He turned around, nearly yelping in shock at his son sitting on a tree branch.

Robin (sitting on a tree branch, gleefully): Batman, look how high I climbed!

Batman (frustrated): Dang it, Robin!

Batman rushed to the tree to help Robin down while Superman simply shrugged, accepting that the man in black had a child sidekick.

[vardapilled]

Haint Blue and Indigo: The Colors of Annie and Smoke

This is by no means an extensive history of haint blue and indigo*, but I just wanted to dip a bit into how much is said just by looking at one layer of costuming for Sinners. In this case color—how it's able to convey just how deeply rooted Annie is to her heritage/history, and to me, how this case of colors shows so beautifully Smoke's connection to Annie and his love for her.

"There's that haint blue that Annie lives around as part of a spiritual color. So I took the haint blue and used it in her clothes. I wanted her to have these layers. You first meet her [...] She's a community person. She's a healer, a spiritual leader." - Ruth E. Carter, Costume Design for Sinners (emphasis mine)

Haint blue is a color seen painted on porches, doorways and windows in the American South. As the name suggests, it was believed (though the oral histories are difficult to come by beyond the 30s), to ward off evil spirits. Using haint blue, according to the Gullah-Geechee, tricked evil spirts into thinking they had come across water or sky, bodies they were unable to cross, therefore deterring them from crossing over the blue.

Annie's costume was infused with this color; the blue on her cotton blouse and her skirt belted with feathers and beads. When we're introduced to Annie, her home has a collection of blues: from the wooden panelling, scraps of fabric hanging in the background, and blue bottles strewn about. This infusion of haint blue in her home is also a deliberate choice as talked about by production designer Hannah Beachler.

*Corrections, whether through comments or reblogs, for this post are definitely welcome! I cite my sources at the end of this long post.

This type of blue is not a specific color but rather, it becomes Haint Blue when it is used for the purpose of warding off haints, a belief rooted in Gullah-Geechee beliefs. (Though for technicalites' sake, it is a range of blues -> blue greens). After the 1800s, this way of using blue trickled down from the Gullah-Geechees in South Carolina to places such Louisina where Annie is suggested to be from.

The Old Plantation (Slaves Dancing on a South Carolina Plantation), ca. 1785-1795. watercolor on paper, attributed to John Rose, Beaufort County, South Carolina

Blue has always had a fraught history with enslaved Native Americans and Africans. The production of indigo was a profitable commodity demanded by the British empire as early as the 18th century. This production of indigo however, while it oppressed, was also a way for Black and Native Americans to express their individuality, and for people such as the Gullah-Geechee, their spirituality. Annie continues to draw strength from her roots and it's incredible to see it so profusely in so many aspects of her character, including her clothes.

So here is where I deviate a bit from "canon" per se, or give some interpretation of Ruth E.'s and Coogler's "Smoke is blue." We talk a lot about how the movie does a great job of showing how, though Smoke wasn't completely "sold" on hoodoo, but that he did very much believe in Annie. And that trust between them goes beyond what Smoke's willing to communicate through words (he wears the mojo bag through the war, through Chicago, and removes it only when he's ready to die. How he let's her take the reigns when talking to Cornbread. How he follows through with his promise as painful as it was).

"Smoke is blue. Stack is red." - Ruth E. Carter explaining how Ryan Coogler first posed the characters to her as a jumping off point for costuming.

Whether or not it's a conscious knowledge, I like to think that he dresses in blue as an extension of that trust. That bond between Annie and Smoke and the protection that comes with it bleeds into something as "ordinary" as Smoke's choice of color. One can say that maybe the color reminds him of Annie, and I also think there's some argument to be made about the universe answering Annie's prayers of protection, wrapping Smoke in an extra layer, another ward against evil.

----

Sources:

Blue Roots by Robert Pickney

Red, White and Black Make Blue: Indigo in the Fabric of Colonial South Carolina Life by Andrea Freeser

Haint Blue, the Ghost-Tricking Color of Southern Homes and Gullah Folktales

What the Color ‘Haint Blue’ Means to the Descendants of Enslaved Africans

Interviews of Ruth E. Carter and Hannah Beachler linked in the pull quotes above.

[rottenraccoons]

Okay. Here's the thing. I tried SO HARD not to simp over Oleander. He was somehow simultaneously both the reason why I was interested in Obscura and the reason why I avoided it for months at first. I just fucking knew that the moment this motherfucker opens his mouth and speaks, I'd be completely hooked and I was NOT ready to accept that. Now I'm completely obssessed with him and I love him and he's literally my desktop wallpaper and if he doesn't marry me this instant, I'll explode into a thousand pieces. I need to gently wrap my arms around him and tell him that I genuinely care about his well being but I also need to kick him under the table again cause he's an ass and I hate him but I also love him. Why did you have to make him so cool? Why did you feel the need to create something that will take over my brain for the next ten months? I'm gonna spend the next two years rotating him in my head every single second and I completely place the blame on y'all (affectionately)

Anyway, rambling over. I'm not going insane I promise. Amazing game, can't wait to see what comes next. Have some trash. Bye bye

So I write for Oleander and I gotta say, thank you so much nonny!! ❤️

Making Oleander intolerably attractive to the point it's a little annoying was one of my main goals in designing him, so it's pretty gratifying as a writer to hear that I've done my job well. Hopefully you find him just as annoying and attractive in Chapter Two!

(And there's a fair chance you've noticed, but just in case you haven't, here's a tiny fun fact from his chapter: if you kick him under the table, he'll let Vesper introduce themself as much as possible afterwards. Otherwise, he'll continue introducing them himself. This trend will continue in Chapter Two.)

[starlostlix]

BSD 123 POSES MUCH TO TALK ABOUT!!!

spoilers under the cut!!

FIRST THINGS FIRST A NEW FREAKING CHARACTER!!!!! I got into the manga around chapter 100/101 so this is I think the first time i've witnessed a new character introduced in like real time (besides Gozen if he counts).

And here they are, Ueda Akinari! We've only seen a bit of their design but I loveeee their bob. Served.

(BTW i'm using the wiki mostly here so I do recommend searching up more about the author yourselves! this is just an overview)

So the author Ueda Akinari was a Japanese author/scholar/poet in the 1700s. His writings were often about supernatural powers and creatures - an early pioneer of the genre Yomihon. He has two main famous works, the one inspiring the character's ability being titled 'Ugetsu Monogatari', or 'Tales of Moonlight and Rain' - a collection of 9 short stories adapted from Japanese and Chinese ghost stories. Interestingly the character design has a scar on the left eye, which may link to how the real Ueda Akinari had temporary blindness before regaining vision in his left eye.

We learn that this character is the creator of Amenogozen, and has had no visitors since its creation 1500 years ago. They've likely been trapped in the divine being's core since the creation or not long after. There's a theory this could be 'that man' fyodor mentioned being who he had fought against previously, which i like the idea of. Anyways I am so so excited about this new character and what their lore may be!!! Here's how Fukuchi described the origin of Amenogozen for some more context :)

In other news we do have Atsushi and Akutagawa centric parts of the chapter. Focusing on Atsushi first, he is opening the door to the core and talking to the hallucination of the Headmaster.

I think we now have Atsushi truly rejecting the influence of the Headmaster on his life. For most of the story Atsushi has wanted to get the Headmaster's teachings and memories, and it's great that we could be seeing this happen. Although the way Atsushi reacts to the Headmaster saying he will be gone by even today is interesting. It looks kind of fearful, maybe fearing what would take his place and if something worse is on the horizon, or that he is so used to his presence that he wouldn't know what it would be like without it. But the Headmaster is gone when the door is opened, so maybe he's gone for good now? We will have to see.

Then, Akutagawa! His arc is so interesting right now and this only furthers that.

So Akutagawa is getting beat up by Gozen right now, and he's saying his vampiric healing is slowing and he could be minutes away from death... kind of insane dude. But even at this point he doesn't think of Dazai anymore!!! This chapter seems to have both parts of sskk freeing themselves from their previous abusers which I think it great parallels for them and great character development. Even more interestingly, AKUTAGAWA IS THINKING OF ATSUSHI!!!! THINKING OF HIS PROMISE NOT TO KILL PEOPLE FOR SIX MONTHS!!! THINKING ABOUT ATSUSHI'S ADVICE ON TRUE STRENGTH!!! THINKING ABOUT ATSUSHI'S SACRIFICE FOR HIM!!!

(also thinking of his mouth in the void... thinking of his lips akutagawa I know what you are/j)

And the focus on Akutagawa's eyes!!! THERES MORE LIGHT IN HIS EYES WHEN THINKING OF ATSUSHI!!! He then talks about how Atsushi is 'his ordeal', and he wanted Atsushi returned 'to me'... dude. Akutagawa is finally acknowledging his connection to Atsushi and how much he means to him and it's wonderful!!! The SSKK developments in recent chapters has been so good i'm so excited to see where it can go from here.

[I'm really excited for the direction the story is going right now it looks so interesting! It's late for me tho so I've ran out of more ideas now but I may add more tomorrow if I have any more thoughts.]

[chez-cinnamon]

I don't know if anyone has asked you about this, but.. What about Gummigoo? Have you had any thoughts about him?

I haven't exactly thought of much for Gummigoo, I should though I do like him......

The best idea I have rn is that after he was snapped away by Caine, he was taken back to his world with his memories still somewhat in tact, like he remembers Pomni and the adventure, but he doesn't remember the circus. I also like to think that past adventures are kept in a separate save folder, being deleted after some time.

I like to think that with her new powers, after finding the existence of this save file of past adventures, she manages to take out the Candy Canyon world file for her own use. She uses it to hop into the world to see if Gummigoo is still there. Eventually she'd find him and his buddies and remembering her, he'd hug her and the four of them would spend time hanging around a campfire having fun!!

[strange-daughter-x]

Pookies!! (closeup under cut)

(This is a scene from my Oakworthy situationship fic, which you could read here if you feel so inclined!)

[mobius-abyss]

So i finally watched murder drones

[ambersky0319]

I've committed to this. Now all that's left is the rewatch of the series even though I know I will be disappointed all over again

[failingatlifespectacularly]

hello moots, siblings, and internet strangers, I have a silly 4 u >:3

(this post is no-longer relevant)

This might be kinda long-winded, sorry abt that, and keep in mind that this is all in good fun, and mostly just an excuse 2 post abt out OCs! :3

IF THIS GETS 10,000 NOTES, SOUL WILL GET A TUMBLR BLOG AND POST ABOUT HIS VERY INTERESTING OCS, AND I WILL POST HUNTING DRONES LORE

So my good friend @141n3 is giving up swearing 4 lent, of course I insist on being a little shit abt it :3(all in good fun of course), so I convinced soul(another friend) 2 make a deal with me that is I get this 2 10,000 notes he will get a Tumblr blog, u may recall that I have promised 2 post Hunting Drones lore if he gets a blog, u may see where this is going.

Fuck ton of Latin swears↓

faex deodamnatus cunne filius canis fututus et mori in igni futuere futue te ipsi ede faecam morde meum globes Te futueo et caballum tuum Irrumator Leno Flocci non faccio Mentula Meretrix Bovis stercus Es stultior asino Es scortum obscenus vilis Es mundus excrementi Globos meos lambe Es stercus Moecha Putida Podex perfectus es Futue te ipsum Stercorem pro cerebro habes Caput tuum in ano est Perite Impudens es leno Vacca stulta Tu scronium es Caput stercoris Obesus porcus Matris futuor

HAVE FUN :33333 (SPAM IS ALLOWED!)

(MORE UPDATES 2 COME)

★UPDATE: I have acquired an art sample from soul (see link under tags).

★UPDATE: I forgot 2 give y'all an example of my art(that'll be under the tags as well)

★UPDATE: I just realized, I don't think Soul knows 'bout my nonhumanity... uhhhh, coming out I guess?????

★UPDATE: I've decided 2 add more goals (link under the tags w/ the others)

(no deadline/set end date)

(if u reblog pls tag @141n3 /nf)

★link 2 art sample from soul↓

★some of my art↓

★more goals↓

[seumyo]

husband!bakugou thinks you’re a hypocrite

Photo albums are a way to physically preserve memories. Memories that should’ve been buried with the past—forgotten as the years go by.

Thankfully, Mama Mitsuki lent you Bakugou’s old photo album when you mentioned it in passing. A thick photo album that had “Katsuki Memory” in its title and even a design of a cartoonish bomb, finished in this beautiful silver and gold. Fancy for a baby album, but they could afford it, so you didn’t have much say.

Your husband’s sprawled across the bed with his head in your lap, scrolling through his phone, absolutely oblivious to your scheming.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” Bakugou grunted, not looking up.

“You were… Katsuki, honey, the light of my life��you were such an ugly baby.”

That got his attention. He set his phone aside, sitting up immediately. “The hell?”

You turned the album toward him, pointing at a grainy, slightly overexposed photo of newborn Katsuki. His face was scrunched up, red and wrinkled, his head oddly shaped from the ordeal of birth.

“I mean, look at you!” you said, unable to keep your laughter contained any longer.

He snatched the album from your hands, staring at the photo in question. “Tch, all babies look like this.”

“No, they don’t!”

“Yes they do!”

“Kats, I love you, but I’ve seen plenty of newborns, and most of them are at least kinda cute. You, though? You look like a grumpy little potato that just got yanked out of the ground.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, his ears turning red as he tried to defend himself. “I just got born! Give me a break!”

You doubled over with laughter, clutching your stomach. “Certainly born with a face that only a mother could love.” A face that you also loved.

“Alright, that’s enough!” he barked, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He closed the album with a loud thud and tossed it onto the nightstand. “You’re lucky I don’t blow that damn thing to bits.”

“Your Mom would be devastated. I would be too.”

“Shut.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, your laughter dying down. “I’m sorry, hun. It’s just… I wasn’t expecting that. You’re so good-looking now, but baby Katsuki? He was… something else.”

Bakugou crossed his arms, glaring at you like a sulking child. “Bet you weren’t some perfect baby, either.”

“I was adorable; thank you very much,” you shot back, sticking out your tongue.

“Show a picture or you’re lyin’.”

You showed him a newborn picture of you, and that shut him up. Bakugou had lost the battle and the war—because the gods must have a favorite.

“Fucking unfair,” he muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched, betraying his amusement. You looked so cute and small. Who knew this little spawn would be his wife someday?

You leaned in, kissing his cheek. “Hey, ugly or not, you’re my grumpy little potato, and I love you.”

He grumbled under his breath, but the way his hand found yours and squeezed it gently told you he wasn’t really mad. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t tell anyone about this, got it?”

“No promises.”

Bakugou grunted. Fucking perfect.

-

“Awe, look at him, Katsuki,” you murmured, brushing a gentle finger across your son’s chubby cheek.

The little boy was fast asleep, his tiny fists curled in his adorably tiny mittens near his face. His resemblance to Bakugou was uncanny—he had the same spiky tufts of blonde hair and a natural pout that made your heart melt. The chubbiness of his cheeks was a bonus, seeing that a healthy son was all that you could ever wish for.

Bakugou sighed quietly, his attention drifting to his son. “Tch. ‘Course he is. He’s my kid.”

You chuckled, glancing at him. “I mean, yeah, but he looks just like you. I can’t believe it.”

“Why can’t you believe it?” He can’t help but ask.

“Because,” you began, your voice dropping into a joking tone.

“Remember when I saw what you looked like as a baby? And, well…”

He narrowed his eyes. That again.

“Don’t start.”

“I mean it, though. He’s adorable. He even has your pout.”

Bakugou leaned forward, resting his arms against the crib, although not putting his entire weight on it. “Yeah, and? You callin’ me cute now?”

“Maybe. But only because you look better now than you did when you were fresh out of the womb.”

“Hypocrite,” he muttered.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re sittin’ there, gushin’ about how cute he is,” he said, gesturing toward their son. “But when it was me, you couldn’t stop talkin’ about how ugly I was. And now you’re all, ‘Oh, he looks just like you!’ Make up your damn mind, woman.”

You bit back a laugh, careful not to wake your baby baby boy. “Okay, fine, maybe I was a little harsh about baby you. But come on, Katsuki. He’s the improved version of you.”

“Improved, my ass. He’s just like me, end of story.”

“He got my eyebrows, that’s for sure. See? Improved version.”

“You have a problem with my eyebrows?” He scoffs in mock offense, crossing his arms.

You leaned toward him, a playful glint in your eye. “Well, if he grows up with your temper and your attitude, I’ll definitely know where he got it from.”

“And if he grows up teasin’ people to death like you, I’ll know where that came from,” he replied, though there was no real heat in his words.

You both fell silent for a moment, your eyes drifting back to your son. The little boy shifted in his sleep, letting out a soft coo that made your heart swell—like it could burst any moment now.

“Hun,” you said softly, your teasing tone gone. “He really is perfect, isn’t he?”

Bakugou leaned closer, resting a hand on your shoulder as he gazed down at your son. His usual sharp expression softened into something almost unrecognizable—pure, unfiltered love.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “He is.”

You looked at him, smiling. “You’re going to be such a great dad, you know that?”

“Tch. Of course,” he muttered, though the redness creeping up his neck betrayed him. “I’ll be the best dad the world has ever seen.”

...

“Just… don’t let him see my baby pictures in the future, got it?”

You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

For now, anyway.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[cherryheairt]

Hidden Truths pt.2

Cregan x wife!reader

named reader no description, from house Glover

masterlist

part 1

thank y'all so much for the kind words and eagerness to see this part. Please forgive me for not replying to all asks being sent to inbox, you'll understand with the chap lol. The pressure was so real I had planned to write other things between pt 1 and 2 but I dropped everything to do this between work and sleep lol

changed the og ending because so many people thought it would be more fitting and I agreed lol

anon pointed out my mistake on glover and bolton im so sorry for that confusion yall it is meant to be glover originally. i made too many mistakes im a mess rn

Ernest makes it to Cregan's solar first, Ron not far on his heels. Panting, the younger speaks up first when Cregan Stark shoots them a bewildered look whilst hunched over his oak desk.

"Was Lady Stark due for some business today, My Lord?" He asked, catching his breath as Cregan sat up in his seat, attention fully on the guards.

"Not any that I'm aware of. Where is my wife?" He asked, glancing outside of his small window to the blistering storm outside. There was no way she would be anywhere except her chambers—not after he caught her soothing Brandon to sleep. The sight had melted his heart immediately, glad to see his wife finally finding it in her to go see him, to give him a chance.

Though, he could not blame her, of course. He could still remember the day he brought the Stark babe home, and how he dreaded the meet throughout his months of journeying home to Winterfell.

Aelys had been on the forefront of his mind, even through the slimy politicking of King's Landing. The wait was only made ever longer by the fact that the party Cregan traveled North with had to wait until Brandon was old enough to travel, too. Moons went by painstakingly slow, and Cregan moved to load the carriage for the boy as soon as the Maester gave his word that Bran would not be suseptible to the outdoors during long durations on the road.

Cregan dismounted his grey mare, patting her on the neck in thanks before the stable boy guided her back to her designated place. With a tense sigh, he rolled his shoulders and opened the carriage door that held Brandon and his new wet nurse. Sara, his older sister, would join the family in a few short weeks while she continued her stay at the Blackwood's. He wished she was here to console his wife in the coming days. Gods know that he cannot, not when the news of his betrayal had to come from his own mouth. As he promised himself it should be. The sinner should say his own penance, no one else. A Stark is a slave to his oaths.

Thanking Greya kindly, Cregan picked up Bran in his arms. His onyx black curls shifted against the crook of his arm as he shifted the babe to be held better. The four moon-old babe fussed as he was removed from the woman's comforting hold. As if was, Cregan was more of a stranger to the young babe than his wet nurse was. Unfortunately, the Lord had not spent the amount of time with him as he knew he should have. The thoughts and guilt racked up in his mind and burned at the back of his throat every day, leaving Cregan to promise himself that in Winterfell he would spend more time with him.

Another promise for the list.

Cregan stepped through the courtyard's archway, holding his breath as he watched his beautiful wife standing by the Keep's doors, shivering but still insisting that she come out to meet her husband. Her smile was as lovely and bright as he remembered, a much more contented and relieved smile than she had sent him off to battle with. That day, she could hardly stifle her tears back as she hugged him 'goodbye'. He felt quite the same. Cregan would never leave for Southern business again, not in his lifetime. Once had been enough to last generations, though he was sure the Stark family would not go too long before being summoned again.

Her face shifted from joy to confusion in a matter of seconds. As Cregan continued straight towards her, Bran bundled up in so many wools and pelts that it entirely engulfed the babe. She lifted her skirts to step down to meet him. Originally, Cregan had wished to scoop her up in his arms and place a sweet kiss on her cold lips, but the bundle between them prevented such things. He could not greet her so sweetly and then present the bastard to her. Ripping the bandage off a fresh wound, Cregan would not be deceitful for longer than he had been during his moons of silence in the South.

"Husband," She smiled, reaching out to touch his chilled face, pink in the cheeks and ears from exposure. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." She was antsy on her feet, eager to get inside to proper reunite with her husband, no bystanders gawking.

Speaking of bystanders—Cregan's entire party had separated and dispersed around the courtyard. They met their own wives, parents, or children as they laughed and conversed. Though, the loud and joyous clamor soon died down when whispers had been spread around by those who already knew of Cregan's boy. Wives that knew Aelys well stared in pity, clutching their shawls to their chests and shaking their heads quietly at their Lord.

He fought the urge to hang his head.

She had not yet seen the babe, only the cloth surrounding him.

"Cregan?" She whispered, tilting her head with concerned eyes. "What is wrong?" His sweet, sweet wife. Her first priority had been him over anything since the days of their honeymoon—the days she had confessed to be extremely anxious about during their courtship. She was a Northern woman herself, hardened and shaped like an ice sculpture but retaining her warm heart and spirit. Cregan had intimidated her greatly, according to her giggling confession, and she had feared he may be a cruel and selfish man since he could easily do as he wished to his Lady wife. He proved her wrong, apparently, getting to know his wife throughout their private honeymoon. They had a bond like no other, always at each other's side and filling in for the weaknesses of the other during their duties as leaders.

Cregan's brow furrowed deep, blinking away as he felt his nose start to sting.

Only then, when his glossy eyes met hers silently, did she glance down to the cloths. Slowly reaching up a shaky, gloved hand adjusted the pelts so she could peer past them. Gasping at the pale babe, Aelys' eyes sharply met his. A million thoughts raced through her head, clearly showing in her facial expressions. Not assuming the worst, as she probably should have done, Aelys asked, "has one of your men died? Is this babe an orphan?" Always so trusting of her Lord husband, something Cregan had admired and was eternally grateful for throughout their marriage.

"Aelys..." He cleared his throat when his voice came out much too quiet and hoarse. "This is my son." He declared to her, and to the onlooking crowd who did not bother hiding scandalized gasps.

Her eyes blinked in rapid succession, shaking her head lightly and smiling. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son."

His silence met her words. When he did not cave and admit to messing with his wife, Aelys shook her head more firmly. "No." She said, whispering. Her eyes clamped shut as she breathed in and out deeply, only opening to glance down at the babe, scrutinizing its appearing and comparing every freckle to Cregan's. "Don't do this to me, please. You would never do this to me." Her words were nearly lost to the air.

"It was one time, I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan told her.

"On your name?" She harshly bit, stepping away from Cregan as if he had burned her. "Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods. Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—" She gasped out, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and clutching her stomach. A choking sob rippled through her, and Greya stepped forward to gingerly take Brandon from Cregan's grasp. His arms fell to his side, clenching as he stopped himself from holding his wife in comfort. She could find no solace in the man who hurt her so.

"I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too. Was it just not me you wanted a family with?" She asked, cranking her neck up to look at her shameful husband.

"Aelys, I did—I do!" He started, stepping forward to wipe a hot tear from her cheek.

Flinching away from his touch, she looked up at him with the same mistrust and solemn acceptance that he found in a dying prey's eyes. Suddenly, Aelys looked to become aware of the crowd. Glancing around self-consciously, she straightened herself upright like the people expected of a Lady Stark. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." She loudly adressed the weary party and their families, who awkwardly moved to shuffle inside the dining hall. With a final glance past Cregan's shoulder to the wet nurse, Aelys was gone.

Seeing the shared glances of horror between the two, Cregan cleared his throat. "Where is my wife, boys?"

Ernest swallowed harshly, not daring to look him in the eye. "She—she said that she 'ad business in Winter Town. That you approved of it, I swear!"

Ron nodded so quickly that his head of curls messed about and framed his face further. The snow still on their heads and shoulders had now melted in the warmth of the Great Keep, reminding Cregan of the harsh weather the guards had to bear all day. They were trained and honed for such conditions, Aelys was not.

"Yes, Lord Stark! We couldn't disobey our Lady's words." He insisted.

"You think I'd make my wife go settle business in Winter Town during a blizzard?" He growled out, standing from his seat and storming between them to his doorway, where he turned on them and saw them both flinch in shock. "Which way did she go?"

"Uhm..." they shared another glance. "She said Winter Town, Lord Stark. What other way would she have gone?"

Cursing, Cregan grabbed Ice and lifted the great sword to his shoulder. He left without another word to anybody, knowing every second counted when it came to finding her. "Bloody fools." He scoffed to himself, mind turning and thinking of places she might head to.

Clearly, not Winter Town. She had no business there, not that he knew of, and although they had not been speaking these past moons he still oversaw all of her duties as Lady. Though, her reports of dealings and responsibilities was done through the Maester rather than her own mouth. A middleman, the poor elder had become. Cregan endured the silence without complaint, knowing his own actions brought it upon him.

His actions brought her further away from him than he perhaps estimated. He knew the babe would tear a rift in their relationship, and knew it would take a long time before they could even begin to mend it—but he never wanted it to go this far.

Back to her childhood home, to the Glovers in the Motte? Or, perhaps she found a secret lover that would meet her in the storm like a destined and tragic fairytale. He would not blame her for seeking love in another, though his never faded.

His quickened pace was only interrupted by Sara. "What is the rush for, brother?" The elder woman asked, dark brows furrowed with concern. Other the past four moons she had gained her strength back, looking the picture of health now that she was back home and recovering. Cregan could barely meet her gaze, looking between her and the doors ahead.

"My wife is gone." He told her honestly, shifting impaitiently in place. "I don't know where to, but I'm going to search for her."

Sara's dark eyes saddened, face scrunching up in grief. "This is my fault. I should have—"

Cregan stopped her immediately, taking her firmly by the shoulders and dipping his neck down to level himself. "No. It is mine alone. I made the choice to do this, I shall face the consequences of my actions."

"Cregan..." she sniffed, but did not allow tears to fall so easily.

"I'll be back." He promised. "With my wife."

Was she running away?

Cregan swung open the Great Keep's door, blinking staggardly at the wind gust that slammed into him. Not bothing to close it behind him, Cregan stormed to the stables and tacked his horse up. In a matter of minutes he was off and out of Winterfell's expansive walls.

His only option was to head towards Glover territory. It was a two days ride normally, but the storm would make it double or perhaps longer. She would not be far ahead, not even two hours ahead of Cregan and unknowing of how close he might be on her trail.

There were not even hoofprints left in her wake. The snow immediately covered all tracks and left only pristine fields of white powdery frost.

He would not know where she was until he spotted her amongst the white. Cobalt, her black stallion, was sure to stand out within close enough distance.

Until he did see her, he could only wait.

And it was exactly that; a waiting game. Cregan took only three days to reach the Deepwood Motte, faster than he anticipated. He was weary and exhausted, but still pumping with adrenaline and awake off sheer will. Here, in the safe walls of Harriston Glover's keep, his mare could finally have more than a few measly hours of rest, as well as food and water.

His fingers and toes burned with the edges of frostbite. Even in his thick protective gear, he was not entirely safe. The few, small fires that he built for himself in the cold nights gave him only a semblance of warmth. Each step felt like five as his vision blurred and weaned in and out. He steadied himself on a pole, waiting for his father-in-law to come downstairs to greet him. And, if luck be on his side, his Lady wife.

He owed more than an apology.

Harriston was a stern man, though not unreasonable. He loved his children and ensured they had only the best; education, caretakers, spouses. His eldest two children married long before Aelys was even of age to be wed, both men marrying Northern girls that they'd grown up with. When it came to his youngest and only girl, the man knew Lord Stark would be a most auspicious match. The Houses had long been friends and allies, and keeping the tradition of partnership thriving through marriage was no strange thing. He'd been even happier when Aelys wrote to him weekly, describing how enchanted she had been with her new husband and thanking him profusely for giving her a blessed match.

Now, the greyed man stood in front of Cregan with a deepset frown and a fierce look in his eyes. "Lord Stark. I thought you'd be busy in Winterfell."

Cregan cleared his throat, focusing on him intently. It made sense that the man was cross with him, especially after he assumed that Aelys had sent him a few lengthy letters telling of Cregan's infidelity. "I came to see my wife, and to bring her back home."

Harriston huffed a sarcastic laugh. "You send her back home, only to come yourself first?" He gestured around with his arms up.

Cregan tensed, "first? Is Aelys not already here?"

Lord Glover matched in his seriousness. "Aelys wrote to me three days ago, informing me that you had sent her here to be away from danger."

"I did not send her anywhere."

"You mean you do not know where my daughter is?" He asked, voice low and firm as he stepped closer. Though Harriston was a fine swordsman and a battle-worn fighter, Cregan did not fear the Lord's wrath, for he could easily best him in combat.

He did, however, have the brains to fear a furious father's vengeance.

His heart nearly beat out of his chest. "And she stated that she was on her way here?"

"I think I know what she said, boy." Lord Glover hissed. "Where is Aelys?"

"She must still be out there," Cregan murmured breathlessly, turning on his heel and running out of the fort's doors and back out to the stables. Cobalt was in none of them, confirmed to him that Lord Glover was not simply lying and hiding his wife away from him.

Cregan decided to take another horse—one well rested and ready to travel in the packed snow, unlike his own weary mare. Guiding it to the doors where Lord Glover had exited and looked at Cregan with a fear unlike the learned man usually expressed, he asked: Where are the kennels?"

When Aelys left to brave the storm alone, she had not anticipated the sheer unforgivable nature of it. Living in the North her whole life, she'd long grown used to cold weather and hunting for herself. Hunts often lasted days or weeks, being times of comraderie and companionship when out in the wilderness with your people. She had not been hunting in years, much less alone.

The snow had slowed her travel significantly and clouded her navigational judgment. North became South, and East became West after so long of walking. With the skies so darkened, it was even harder to tell the time of day. With every stop she made and every fire that burnt out too quickly for her to be fully warm, Aelys had grown desperate.

She found shelter in a half-conscious act to preserve her on life. Now, curled up with only her fur-lined dress and the pelt she had brought from Winterfell, she could not help but begin to accept that she would die in this cave.

Aelys thought of her life in a few curt thoughts.

She had only lived twenty and two years. She grew up with loving parents and two elder brothers who doted on her greatly. She married Lord Stark of Winterfell, someone who took her heart quicker than she'd ever thought possible. She would die here, alone and cold because of him.

She thought of all the things she had wanted from life. Not much, for a Lord's daughter. Aelys had always wanted love and gave love in return. Trusted perhaps too much and did not gain from it. She wished for children, eventually, and could never have them now. She wished to see the warm deserts of Dorne and the lush gardens of Old Town in her retirement.

Aelys Bolton would not see anything but the North, nothing but the cold snow and frost-tippes trees around. They had grown familiar and warm.

Warm.

She was so warm, now.

Aelys closed her eyes and fell asleep, dreaming of better days.

"You do not wish to return home to a babe in the nursery?" Aelys asked, voice low and humming as Cregan lay beneath her on their shared bed. Most men did, misliking the process of pregnacy but loving the outcome, for it could only serve to benefit them.

"We will have plenty of time for babes when I come back to you." He replied, brushing his lips over her the crown of her head. "What kind of husband would I be if I left you to deal with the struggles of pregnancy and birth all alone?"

"I won't be alone. Sara is staying, too. I will have a sister to keep me company and complain all my grievances about my missing husband to her." She said amusedly.

Cregan paused in his rhythmic stoking of her spine. "Sara has asked to come, my heart."

She paused, too, lifting her head from his chest and squinting at him. "Sara can come down to King's Landing with you, but I cannot?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "She will be staying at the Blackwood's residence at Raventree Hall, not King's Landing. I would never endanger either of you by bringing you to the capitol. She has been offered guest housing by her friend, Alysanne Blackwood, during my time down there."

She huffed, conceding to his words and dropping her head back down, listening again to his ever-steady heartbeat. "Must be nice to see the Riverlands." She said lightly. "I hear they have fields of flowers growing year-round."

"And the permanent smell of fish and mildew." Cregan added with a snort. "You're not missing anything, I swear it to you. Sara and I will be gone for a short period of time. I intend to leave as soon as things are settled and put to rest."

Aelys hummed her quiet acknowledgment. There was no argument to be had, not when Cregan was set to leave in the morning. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." She said cheekily, though there was plenty truth to the statement. Alone, she would serve as political head to Winterfell and the temporary 'Warden' while Cregan was missing in action. She had her advisors, consisting of Cregan's trusted councilmen, but the hole that she knew would sink itself into her heart already wore her into her.

Cregan laughed at her words, nodding. "Aye, my love, you will do perfectly. I'm sorry to leave you alone for so long, but I have no doubt you'll do great." He said proudly, kissing her nose. She scrunched it up at the ticklish feeling, allowing a girlish giggle to leave her throat.

"Don't be gone too long, husband. Your wife needs you here." She said, tilting her head up to meet his lips.

"I would never dream of it."

The moons passed by with no reprieve for Aelys. As Winterfell's sole head, her days were busy from dawn til dusk. Letters were exchanged sporadically with her husband while he helped Aegon iii ascend to his place on the iron throne.

Until, one day, his letters ceased. It had already been a full year without Cregan Stark, and Aelys was beginning to grow used to the lack of her husband and sister by her side. Routine had grown to be instinct for her, breezing through her duties like she'd done them all her life. The only thing missing was her lover.

Concerned, Aelys checked in with the resident Maester to ensure Cregan's wellbeing.

When he paused, lips pursed and hands clutching at his cane with a stress unlike the calm elder, he rasped out his own fears. "I, too, have received no word from Lord Stark. Though, no news has come of us death in the capitol, so he must simply be occupied."

Occupied at the end of the war? When Aegon had already been named King and all the men put to trial were either declared guilty or innocent? The brunt of the work was over and done with—told by Cregan himself.

So why was he silent for an entire moon?

It was another fortnite before the Stark wrote back to her. The letter was curt and brief.

My dearest Aelys,

Forgive my abrupt silence these past weeks. Please know that you have been on my mind throughout this entire time.

Sara has grown sick in Raventree Hall, and has not been able to travel with the host of men I have sent back home to the North. We will stay behind for another few moons while she is in recovery. I will return to you soon.

With love,

Cregan Stark.

It was shorter than his other letters by many paragraphs, pages even. Cregan left out no details when describing his miserable times in the capitol. Aelys found herself much enjoying his theatrical melodramatic retelling and was rendered bemused by this letter. Still, she continued to lead with no pause for breaks.

Three more moons later, and Cregan wrote that he was mere days away from Winterfell. Without Sara Snow, unfortunately, as she was still not entirely recovered, but his party could be postponed no longer.

Aelys rushed around Winterfell's Keep in a flurry of excitement. She ordered every room to be cleaned spotless, for rations to be saved for days until a feast could be made for their arrival, for hearths to be extra tended to, and for the courtyard to be prepared to clear the way for the host.

Finally, the days of busy bodies floating around the Great Keep came to a stop. The feast was warm and ready at all available tables. The hearths were warm and ready for sleepy heads to rest within the rooms. The tubs were filled with scalding hot water that would warm by the time they were used. Lady Stark stood for hours at the Great Keep's entry stairs in the courtyard.

She wanted to be there exactly when he walked through the archway. Despite the cold biting at her nose, the Lady stood resiliant and tall.

It was nearly in the afternoon when Cregan's party arrived. He came through first, leading as head of the host as any Lord should. A wheelhouse followed, surrounded by a small league of soliders all around it. She bounced on her heels slightly, seeing Cregan dismount from his ride. Though she found herself bemused and slightly hurt when he glanced at her and made his way towards the wheelhouse instead. Had Sara recovered enough to join and perhaps wanted to surprise her good sister? She hoped so, for she had missed her greatly. After growing up with only brothers, Aelys found a best friend and sister in Sara Snow. The whispers about Lady Stark befriending the bastard of Winterfell followed her around like a dark shadow, but she never paid them any mind.

Bastardry had never bothered Aelys before. Not even when she was a woman of noble birth and was taught that bastards were born inherently lustful, evil, and made of sin.

She waited patiently at the top of the steps for Cregan to fetch Sara.

To her surprise, he only pulled out of the carriage with a bundle of clothes in his arms. Pelts and blankets, it seemed. A plainly-dressed woman from the South stepped out after him but stayed trailing behind. A maid of some sort, though she had no clue as to why a Southern maid would need to follow Cregan back to Winterfell.

As he strided towards her, a strange and unhappy look on his face, she forced her anxiety back down her throat and raced to meet him. "Husband," she greeted with a smile. "You should come inside. A feast has been prepared for you—and your men, of course." Reaching out to caress his face and simultaneously brush flecks of snow from his loose hair, she couldn't help but stop to admire her husband's handsome features. It had felt like an eternity that they were separated, and she had begun to forget the full details of his frame. Forgot his scent in the room and his side of the bed. Nearly forgot the warmth that he provided simply from standing nearby.

The very warmth he is giving to her now, in the chilly courtyard.

His eyes appeared to gloss, his nose and cheeks pinking even more so than they had already grown in the biting air. Glancing over Cregan, she assessed quickly for signs of fatigue or illness.

"Cregan?" she asked gently. "What is wrong?" She prayed he did not catch whatever Sara had caught, or hid a wound under his mass of leathers and pelts.

When he shiftly lifted the bundle in his arms to gesture for her to look at it, she finally spared a look to the mysterious ball of cloth. She had completely forgotten about it until now, noticing the maid still behind Cregan a few yards back, head tilted down and looking at her slippers. Peeking over a fur pelt, Aelys gasped at the sight. A babe, only a few moons old by the looks of it. Her mind raced with possibilities. Why would Cregan bring a babe back instead of leaving it in more temperate climates like the Riverlands that he stayed in on the way up North?

"Has one of your men died?" She asked in a hushed tone, assuming first that one of his soldiers perhaps fathered a bastard babe before perishing in a battle or falling to sickness. "Is the babe an orphan?" Cregan did always have a soft spot for younglings, showcased clearly by his time spent personally training young squires of Winterfell. He had lost his own younger brother in their youth, and the hole had never filled from that loss of kin.

"Aelys..." he started, meeting her eyes with a soft and sympathetic look. "This is my son." Was said loud and clear for any listeners to hear.

A jest. Cregan had seldom liked to be humorous in front of crowds, or anyone but herself and Sara, but he must have been in good spirits today. Briefly glancing at the surrounding people, she found only pitiful looks from the women and severe looks from the men. Shaking her head, Aelys forced a smile onto her face and a shaky laugh. "Don't jest, Cregan. We have no son." She emphasized.

He only stared at her back. No words of comfort, no sudden burst of laughter among his men to tell her that the biggest prank in the world had been pulled on her. Just shameless silence.

He had declared her second best in front of all of Winterfell. Her people and his.

"No." She said firmly, shaking her head 'no'. She breathed in and out deeply, trying to clear her blurry eyes and woozy head. Glaring down at the false babe in his arms, she found many similarities that she wished she had not. The same straight brows that Cregan had, the same scattered freckles, the same pale skin. The only difference was the hair color—black as a midnight sky or dragonglass. The mother must be beautiful.

Moving her eyes to the maid behind Cregan, she found that the girl had a mousy blonde color to her tresses. She could not have possibly bore a black-haired babe. She felt sick, like she'd throw up and choke at the same time. "Don't do this to me. You'd never do this to me." She pleaded out, voice small and hoarse.

"It was one time. I swear it on my honor and Stark name." Cregan promised. But every word was like poison, filling her heart with a heavy black liquid and drowning her from the inside out.

"On your name?" She hissed out, uncaring of the onlookers for this one moment. She was allowed to be angry, callous, and spiteful, even. Any self-respecting woman would be. And she'd be damned if she wasn't. Any Stark woman ought to be when ruling over the entire North. Any Glover woman is.

"Your honor? You swore on your honor the day we said our vows under the Weirwood tree. Under OUR Gods! Did that mean nothing to you? Did I—?" Words spilled from her mouth before she can think properly. But she did not regret any of them, knowing she was in the right. Bile rose in her throat, pushing itself past the forced down emotions. She swiftly covered her mouth, stilling herself to prevent any more embarrassing. Subconsciously, she clutched at her empty stomach with her free hand, both mourning the fact that she'd have no children and thanking the Gods for not giving her any previously. A cry finally escaped her lips, watching the plain maid take the babe into her arms again as Cregan looked on helplessly to his wife.

Aelys found her voice again, though it was ragged and tired. "I thought you wished to wait. You told me you wanted it, too." He was a liar, the worst kind of man. "Was it just not me you wanted a family with?"

She'd rather be struck with his hand than his deceitful mouth. It would hurt much less.

"I did, Aelys—I do!" He pleaded, stepping forward to console her. His arms looked like steel traps in her louded mind.

She took a lengthy step back. She would not share his warmth, nor his love. Or his bed, his room, his damned dining room. His children. Not when he had shared it with another woman. Given her his love, his attention, his son.

She could not bear to keep herself calm any longer. Adressing the entire courtyard, who had made themselves the Stark's own personal peanut gallery, she spoke firmly. "The feast is growing cold. Enjoy it while it's warm." Without a second glance back at the Stark, Aelys excused herself to her chambers, where she emptied the contents of her stomach into the chamberpot until she could only dry-heave nothingness. These chambers had not been used since she arrived in Winterfell, instead choosing to sleep and stay in their marital ones. She would not step foot into those again unless she was dragged kicking and screaming.

Aelys awoke to strong arms lifting her from the stone floor. Groggily, she was stirred from her deep and preserving sleep. How long had she been traveling? How long had she been buried under those pelts? Time was a blur when she was in a near comatose state, dead to the world. Limbs were numbed and her body felt warm after so long in the cold weather.

"I've got you, sweet girl. We're going home." A familiar voice rung in the back of her head. Even the jolting movements of a horse trotting could not fully move her to consciousness as she fell back asleep.

When she fully gained her sense of mind, she could clearly hear the sound of two men arguing. The warmth of a hearth was next to her as she lifted heavy blankets and furs off of her body. Glancing around, Aelys found herself back right where it all started. In Cregan's room, formerly their marital chambers that she had long since moved out of. A large oil painting sat over the heart, depicting a newlywed image of her and Cregan. They both smiled brightly in the photo, much to Cregan's complaint that the painting did not make him look 'serious enough'. She only laughed and tipped the painter extra gold dragons for the accuracy.

She loved that painting more than any others they kept in the Great Keep. Now, the two faces looking down at her only served to remind her of the falsehood she lived every day while Cregan was absent. Taking care of Winterfell and the North all by herself, just to come back and be thanked by his uncouth mistakes.

Shakily standing up, she winced at the feeling coming back to her limbs. Wriggling all twenty of her toes and fingers, she ensured they still all had feeling. Miraculously, she did. The numbess still felt vaguely there, and her throat was extremely dry and achy. But at least she was alive. Even if it was back in Winterfell, she could attempt her return to the Motte as soon as the storm died down.

It had been a dreadful blizzard. Not a rare sight in the North, but usually none lasted so long. Aelys could not help but feel it was the Gods punish Cregan and Aelys for their marital spat. Something like this must be so futile and useless in their eyes and the eyes of the people of the realm, but to Aelys it was her world and her life. No one could help Aelys but herself. She'd leave these spoiled halls even if the Old Gods and the New wished otherwise. If Cregan didn't have to keep oaths, why should she?

Opening the large wooden door, Aelys found the source of the faint yelling. Her eyes widened at the sight of her father in front of Cregan, in all his gruff charm with his silver hair and beard. She hadn't seen him in nearly two years. She stayed at the archway under the door, simply listening in as the men shouted further down the hall. If either turned their heads, they would spot her eavesdropping.

"—cannot even keep her safe during Winter! Am I to expect her to stay safe during a wildling attack, or worse? Or will you be prioritizing the safety of your mistress?" Harriston shouted, veins nearly popping out from his forehead and neck in his fury. Snow still gathered on his pelt coat, meaning he had just arrived recently.

"It is my mistake that she was endangered out there—but I would never let such a thing happen again under my protection. This is her home, I cannot allow her to go back to the Dreadfort. She is a Stark." Cregan emphasized, though had a defensive raised tone.

"Was she a Stark when you bed a whore in King's Landing?"

"The situation is more complicated than that." He responded, clenching his jaw.

"Nothing could ever be more complicated than losing your wit at a brothel, Stark. There is no argument to be had. She is staying with her family, where she was intending." Harriston growled out, a tone of finality to his tone. As he swung on his feet to head down the hall, face set in a worried and seething anger, he finally spotted his daughter.

"Aelys!" He yelled in relief, rushing toward her and scooping her up into his thick arms. "We're going home immediately. We will wash our hands of the Starks once and for all."

"I will not allow that." Cregan spoke from behind. As Aelys hugged her father back just as tightly, it was a battle to keep her tears from flowing in his safe arms. She missed her father more than she knew.

Before Harristone could speak, Aelys nodded. "We will settle this." She said flatly. Her father hesitantly let her go, nodding once firmly after seeing the resolve in his daughter's eyes.

"Very well. I will wait in the dining hall for you." He sighed, walking away.

Aelys shivered in the loss of warmth again. In her bare feet and night gown, she felt the cold of the cobblestone walls and floors start to seep under her skin again. "Here," Cregan murmured, gently shifting his mass of brown wolf pelt over her shoulders and clicking the direwolf emblem into place.

She allowed it, though she did not thank him with words. She took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes. "I want to separate. Divorce, I mean." She said tiredly.

Cregan flinched, jaw ticking and heavily considering her words. "That is entirely my fault. It is in your right to ask that of me." He said, voice dimmed and not nearly half of his assuredness. "But please, hear me out."

"What could I possibly hear you out with?" She asked, exhaustion clear in her tone. She'd dealt with this situation long enough.

Cregan nudged the door back open, nodding for her to enter. Reluctantly, she led the way in and watched as he gently shut it behind them. "I swore an oath, nearly nine moons ago." Cregan started.

Her brows furrowed, bemused. "To whom?"

Guiltily, he looked down at her, looking much alike to a kicked pup. "My sister."

"To Sara? What ever for?" She grew frustrated, knowing he was beating around the bush.

Taking a deep breath, he told her everything. "Sara stayed with her friend Alysanne Blackwood in Raventree hall for the entire time I was aiding King Aegon. In that time—she fell pregnant."

Aelys' heart dropped to her stomach. The same sick feeling overtaking her. She did not say a word.

"Davos Blackwood and Sara had built a bond, much like we did." He said. "When she told Davos of the news, they both went to Lord Blackwood to plea to marry each other. He refused, not allowing his heir to marry a bastard."

"And you legitimized Brandon as your own in turn?" She hissed.

"Sara begged me to. She lived her life as a bastard—she did not wish the same for her own son. I swore to her that my nephew would never be allowed the same treatment. I knew Aegon would do it." He trailed.

"So you bring him home, and humiliate me instead? You didn't even tell me, your own wife! You chose Sara over me. She is your sister, I know, but she chose to be with Davos Blackwood." She could have taken a tea, or moved to Essos or Dorne where bastards were more accepted. There were other options, but neither Sara nor Cregan used them. "That is cruel, Cregan. It is heartless." She cried.

"I never wished to hurt you, I only wanted to protect her. It was my oath." Cregan pleaded, grabbing her hands in his.

She shivered again, though unknowing if it was in chill or her own anger. Part of her was happy that he never truly took another woman to bed—never picked another other her. Though he still hid the biggest secret in the world from her for moons. Allowed her to suffer in their shared home and withstand the pitious looks of the people and court.

"I can't trust you. Not ever again. You could not trust me with your own kin's truth, and punished me for it." She stated. She could not allow herself to cave in so easily, to fall back into his arms.

"I understand, sweet girl." He muttered, softly stroking the apple of her cheek almost mindlessly. "I will sign whatever the Maester's conjure up. You will be free to marry whoever you wish—someone who will not lie to you."

The Starks were known for their loyalty and devotedness to their oaths. If Cregan Stark had lied to his wife so easily, no lesser man could ever make her happy with faithfulness and loyalty. Aelys had accepted her life to be one of loneliness from the day Brandon was allowed into the home.

"I will stay in Deepwood Motte for the time being. From there, I will see where my path leads." She said vaguely, unknowing now of what her heart desired. "Wish Sara well for me." Aelys asked of him, leaving him behind as she wiped any straying tears from her face.

"I love you, Aelys." He said, calling softly after her.

"I know." She whispered to herself.

In the dining hall, Harriston awaited her arrival. Perking up when she entered, he knowingly took her into his arms. "I'm tired, father."

"Let's go home. Your mother has missed you dearly." He said, planting a fatherly kiss to her temple.

Aelys would not yet send word for a formal separation to the Citadel or to the King. For now, time apart was what she declared best for herself.

divider by - @issysh3ll

tags - @palomavz @emithefrog @karinalight @johnshelbywife @tojisrealwifey @baddielizzy @pearldaisy @brookiecookie @jessicar401 @hardkiddonut @littlelilly27-blog @nayaniasworld @just-mj-or-not @flaneurpastel @unsweetenedpeatea @blucesita09 @maxmegara @deeeeexx @masschotch @janniepark1997 @spongelistener @margaaaa30 @paracii @lovebabe18 @rey26 @damneddamsy @yunnifer @kenzcarson @glqmmywhqmmy @arizonadesert @blumin8 @its-your-girl-savy @dreamygirli3 @aemondloverr @zaranobiyuyu @nsr-15 @oxymakestheworldgoround @isansstuff @high-speed-r

so many tags dont work 🥲 will try to tell in comment sec

ending is ambiguous. Will she decide to divorce or eventually mend their relationship? Up to you!

might make an alt ending where he really is just a shitty guy but this had been my idea from the start (many guessed it and i could not reply to them because of it lmao)

sorry if those two scenes got repetitive, but I wanted to show the 'cregan bringing brandon home' from both of their more detailed perspectives. Cregan's shame and guilt and her humiliation and heartbreak.

so many people guessed so close (to the sara part at least) only saw Jace thoughts tho, but he's already dead long before Cregan's walk down to the South. Would have been much more dramatic, but I think Jace would never allow a child of his to be apart from him. Many people swayed me to lead them to separate instead of stick together, and it does make more sense to have her leave him in the end. Although he did not cheat he still lied and publicly humiliated her, even unintentionally, but he's a grown man who is smart enough to know consequences.

[eintausendschoen]

POV: It is Valentines Day. You followed an invitation to a bar on Mount Helicon, for an event called "The Blue Hearts Club". A mysterious invite extended by a total stranger... with the promise of a relaxing night out. Some well deserved Me-Time.

At the door, the owner of the place greets you like she knows you. She says her name is Kalliope, one of the Muses, but you do not know her.

When she points you at a crowded table at the back of the room you follow.

There, of course, you realize what the invite meant by...

... "Me-Time. Uh-huh.... riiiiight..."

The Muse winks at you as she pases, distributing another round of drinks. "Welcome to Valentine's!", she laughs, and from across the table laughter joins: "Yeah, with yourself!!"

For @dxwart — sorry to spring this on you but ... ah... that WAISTCOAT just had to be shown around. 💜 (link to the artwork)

🤩Shoutouts to all the beautiful beautiful people who lend me their designs to play with to make this date happen. You are all AMAZING artists and THANK YOU for all the good vibes here and making Poseidonverse happen!!🤩

From left to right, top to bottom and then right to left again (in terms of order 🤌) because life in the sea is a circle: In purple and gold, Poseidon by @rin-sith - he is so much fun to draw it is riddiculous.

Next to him, the cheeky lil' king (who really isn't little at all, believe me, everyone else is just so enormous, there is a sizechart but it blew the scale) with the luscious hair and the prettiest scales: Poseidon in a more mortal-ish form by @ruthlessness69

Okay, you all know him and he's half across the table already. This king is having LA FIESTA tonight, because he got a list, and now he got more names. @messymoonmad - he did that all on his own, I swear by Styx. (I love him so much.)

Yeah, canon Poseidon. He was there first, and now he's having a hard time holding onto his drink. 😘

Seacreature at the back is the lower half of @tagzpite glorious Poseidon. He might have just lost a bet, but he is a good sport. Also, checking out that blue-haired devil across the table already. (I just borrowed him last minute, he got dragged along - hope it's alright. He'll be returned intact.) Next three... most chaotic throuple (if you can call it that) in the history of saltwater. Poseidon of @pink-noah tried to snatch the hand of @kamuch-kommandos hot dark menace. Got snatched in turn and poor him, Tall Dark and Handsome got a death grip. All just because Poseidon by @bigidiotenergytm went to win a dare and smooch the Big Gun at risk of ear-injury.

Guess @melodyartists Poseidon owe's him a drink now. (He squeezed in last minute when I stumbled upon your post where he introduced himself to the popular girls, and of course I had to bring him into this mess. Hope it's alright? :)) ) Poseidon by @anniflamma, but her awesome new design. He wanted a word with @neal-illustrator's (neals not active here afaik but tagging anyway), so they made an appearance. Mostly because...

...you know them, you love them, you windbaarrrghl. Is it Cloudysseus shlepping Cloudseidon in to steal grapes together? Is it Zeus spying on his brother's Valentines date? Nobody knows. @kdpartworks thank you so much for lending them - I'll return them safe and sound when Poseidon gets back home.

To his left... @wukyma - he did the vase-face again. Why is he so cute when he does that? I'm such a big fan this wet grumpy cat, especially with Polites. (And how do you draw his curls??? That was so hard!) Of course he'd sit next to Gorgeous by @arraunean and trade war stories. No armour for the bar, but these two are classic guys and this is Helicon, so the comfy draperies to go with the wine.

And last - your host's 'not-quite-boss': he's mine, :))

Happy Valentine's everyone <3

[sheepispink]

THE TRUTH. (super soldier au part 2)

cw: mentions of telling someone to commit suicide, threats, bullying

guys idk how i feel about this one but here u go 🙏

PART ONE 3 4 5

———-

Happy Birthday

freak.

A present stopped you from walking out at your usual time. It was a week until your birthday, and usually no one remembered other than those who had your file. Although that mostly consisted of blacked out paragraphs now.

It’s wrapped a little messily, not the worst, and you slowly pick it up, noticing a weight inside. You had never got a present before, much less more than a small timeframe to have some sort of celebration— not that you ever took that opportunity anyway. Most years you were too busy hung up with wires and drowning in your mind from drugs. Your thumb brushes over the paper curiously, looking for a name tag but finding nothing to mark the sender. Neatly, you rip a line through the paper which reveals a cardboard box. It’s blank, no branding or anything to attach itself to. When you open it though, you’re quickly greeted by a strange sight; a gun.

A handgun to be more specific, a Browning L941 if you wanted details. It sits neatly in the box, looking clean but you can tell by the small nicks in metal it’s not new. There’s a note beside it, typed— never handwritten.

“If your aim is as good as they say, surely you can prove it by putting it to your head.”

You’re not too surprised, at least more than the initial eye widening. After all, you did deal with the piece of paper on your designated breakfast table every morning. Your eyes flicker down, to the sentence beneath.

“If you’re too scared, we’ll just have to deliver the gift in person.”

That makes you blink, the implications of the clear threat not lost on you. It wasn't the first time you’ve heard them; enemies swore that they’d tear you apart limb by limb, Ghost promised he’d douse you in cold water the next time you caused a bloodbath and even the scientists taunted you with those syringes. The difference was, those were.. well threats you couldn't exactly avoid. Ghost would always get mad at you for making a mess, and you used to be far more rebellious against the scientists— or was that fear? Enemies threatening you was just a farce anyway, you’d have their bodies by your feet soon enough that it wasn't even worth thinking over twice. But this? Comrades, or well they’re supposed to be, who want to kill you? Teammates who would live happier knowing they put you to the grave. It’s no longer the opposing team, no longer the one Ghost points his finger at, no longer the ones that destroy humanity.

No, they only want to destroy you.

For the first few days, you tried to shake it, but you were feeling the weight of the words even more than usual. The stab of pain in your back when they threw the bread roll at you; that could be a bullet next time. Your shoes in the toilet could be your body next time. The fox who whines and whimpers would be you when you were deemed useless.

The truth was, you didnt care about the damn movie, or the cake you were promised, nor even the words “happy birthday” being said to you. It was an excuse, a white lie even, to get the Captain, or Ghost, hoping one of them would actually come into your room. Never have they stepped foot in since your first arrival, never feeling the need to either. The Captain only had time to care when you emailed him, but even that seemed too risky, what if he laughed it off and the surrounding soldiers heard? Ghost barely ever gave you time to talk anyway, and when you did get a moment, there were too many around.

So you invited them over, tried your best act as if you really wanted a birthday to celebrate with them. They’d come, you’d show them the note, the gun. If they laughed, it’d be fine, hidden in your room— you could find a solution before they told the others and it spread around the base. If they didn't laugh, you’d be safe, guaranteed that no one would really try what would happen on that piece of paper.

But you hadn't anticipated that neither of them would come at all. Your eyes brim with tears, unsure how that is even possible as you step into your room, a tenseness sinking into your bones and spreading across your body. With them completely out of the picture, you’re left by yourself until your end surely comes. Maybe you should’ve known, especially when you remember what soldiers call you— a monster.

But it wasn’t in your coding, in your genes or even near your thought process to harm those that threaten you— at least not first anyways, and especially when they’re not explicitly enemies. This was a moral dilemma your tampered mind wasn't capable of handling. Despite the sick growing in your stomach, you had a plan. There were outdoor training rooms, more specifically small cabins that were sometimes used to punish soldiers if they acted up too much.

The gift remains untouched on the dresser, a silent promise watching you at all times. It’s almost four o clock now, and the day isn't getting any brighter in the middle of winter. Opening your closet, your hands pass over the many uniforms there. That’s all they give you, uniforms, it’s why yours are always clean— your only purpose is to fight. So you grab the jacket in the furthest corner, the one usually saved for extreme weather conditions and slip that on. It disguises your figure enough and the hiking boots are exactly what you need to be a new person.

Your hand grazes the knives in your old belt, and you take a few, sliding them into the new holster behind the jacket. Just in case. There’s nothing else to take now, apart from your small radio that you sometimes keep on your person— you dont really use a phone either since it was seen to be a distraction. You’ll likely have to starve for the rest of the day, though with your knowledge you could probably find some sort of food out there. Just in case, you grab an MRE, a spare that stays around in the off chance you get dizzy from eating nothing all day.

Slowly you step out in the hallway, looking around for anyone before closing your door shut again. You didnt dare make it suspicious with a backpack, so your bottle is stuffed into your jacket pocket instead. Same for the untampered gift on the table, they’d assume you’d be back later to open it.

This was your best bet.

You head down the corridors, keeping a confident pace so people wouldn’t even try suspect you— that’s the key to everything, after all. Ironically, that wasn’t the situation at all, in fact they were.. friendly? A few soldiers gave you a nod as you walked past, which wasn’t the craziest thing but, considering no one’s ever done that before, it was exhilarating. You nod in turn, a mask hiked up to your nose but it just looks like you’re keeping your face warm for when you go outside— not that anyone here is phased by a mere mask anyway. Infact, a few soldiers who look particularly boisterous even go as far to fist bump you, likely thinking you’re someone they know. You don't care in the slightest; you’re just happy that for once you get to experience what your life should’ve been like.

The giddiness is temporary though, as you turn the corner to see Ghost stepping out of a room with two crates of drinks in his hands. You falter, stopping in your tracks as he closes the door behind him.

Is this really the right idea? Running away like this?

It’s only for the day, at least that was the idea, but what after that? What if they didn't stop at your birthday— what if it continued? You could tell him right now, pull the mask down that covers your face and confess every little detail running through your head. What would you do if he got in trouble for your foolish decisions? He had shown his stance when he chose not to show up at your birthday party; he clearly didn't care at all.. right?

“Do you need something?” He says lowly, clearly having realised that you’ve frozen in your tracks before him, and giving you a narrowed stare for that reason. Surprisingly, it’s less demeaning and more questioning, considering how harsh his eyes usually go when looking at you. It gives you a bit of hope.

”D-do you need any help with that, sir?” You’re not sure why your voice stuttered, not particularly wanting to think much about the matter either. Instead, you stare right back at him, your eyes widened as you stare in his pupils moving around like it’s searching you.

Did he recognise you?

“No, that’s alright.” It’s gruff, and harsh and yet far more nicer than he’s ever spoken to you before. You manage to force yourself to nod in response, giving a small salute before hurrying off down the corridor.

Trekking through the forest is a little bit of an effort but you eventually meet the small cabin that’s there. It’s almost never used in winter, but in the summer they might do their training in these areas and keep the lunch here. Slowly you step inside, recognising from the get go that there’s not particularly much. There’s a few bedrolls for wilderness training, albeit a bit torn and some dry firewood left discarded on the little fireplace. That’s good, at least you won't freeze anymore than you already have. It’s not like you can use it though— it’s too risky. If anyone sees smoke out here you’re bound to get caught in seconds, and possibly even by your predators.

You lock the cabin door, placing a chair beneath the handle as you let out a sigh and slump against the wall. This would be a long, painstaking night and you cant help but wonder if it’d been better to just defend yourself when they came. But what if you lost control? What if you seriously hurt someone? Even if they were trying to harm you?

The thought makes you shudder, even more than the thoughts you’ve been desperately pushing back. But when there is nothing else to do in this cold place, it’s hard to keep your mind focused. The only way you survived these past three months with Ghost is by not thinking about your situation— at all. It’s probably why he hates you. From how he reacts anyway, you’re more like a robot than you’ve ever been a human. You’ve been monitored all your life, since before you were born you were made for the cause. No clue of who your mother was, you were genetically modified as an embryo for all the traits they wished for you to have. Other children in the program had the same, of course, and for the first years of your life you were blissfully unaware. You didn’t understand that the kids you ran around and giggled with would end up being your own enemies, despising that you turned out to be the successful experiment and not them. It wasn't as glamorous as it sounded, but they complained, saying you didnt have to be sent away like they did, to be fostered and deal with the pain of the experiments for the rest of their lives.

That’s exactly what you had though. You were split from them altogether, coddled by scientists and doctors, personal trainers who felt more like drill sergeants than anyone that wanted to help you. Of course, you were tampered with too, drugged up on strange substances as they tampered with your nerves, always changing you to be better because you were never enough for them. They were supposed to enforce rationality within you by erasing anything that could get you worked up, and so your emotions became suppressed, pushed down and piled with the weight of responsibilities to keep them down. But it clearly wasn't successful, at least when you’re not on the battlefield. When you entered that place, it was like a switch had turned on in your brain, all morality slipping out as you only followed the orders of whoever the handler was. Your mind always enters a haze after you snap out of it and come back from hours of combat, leaving you feeling sick to the core.

But now, things are changing— too fast. You had cried, because they didn't come to your birthday party. For once, your stomach felt sickly with misery and your breath had caught in your throat when you’ve never stopped breathing before, ever. Your hand reaches into your pocket, pulling out a small fox toy. It was a gift from a younger scientist who had just been a mere intern. He had been put forward for the menial task of looking after your post-experimentation state, making sure your vitals were fine. You didnt get to talk to him that much, considering you mostly were deep in sleep, recovering from the new strain on your body. But he stayed beside you, making sure you were okay. When you left to get tested on the field with Ghost, he gave you a small plush, just the size of your hand.

“A little gift.” He chuckled, smiling gently as he rubbed your bandaged arm. “Don't give me that look. I know you’re not actually that unbothered, they just made you that way. You can say you like it, you know, that it makes you happy.”

You could only nod in return, it was the truth, you were very happy.

The sky was already growing dark and without the determination that kept your body distracted from your needs, you were actually feeling your hunger full force for once. The little fox is clenched deep in your hands, a natural predator and yet it’s more common to see them die out in the wild than thriving. Just like you. Your stomach growls, and so you reach for your MRE, eyeing the food within. You were probably supposed to warm it up first, but you’d just have to eat it like this for now. You rip the first packet open, and just try to scarf it down without thinking about the taste too much. It wasn’t the best to say the least. But you’re used to it now; you barely got proper meals apart from missions, and often had to eat one of these after an unsuccessful trip to the mess hall.

You’re about to inspect the other packet when a low scratching noise is heard against the door. Instantly, you pause, mind shifting into something akin to a battle mode already. Slowly, you approach the door, pressing your ear as your hand reaches in your belt for the knife. The windows were frosted up, so it’s unlikely they could see in when it was already pretty dark in here. A low whine echoes out and you realise who's actually stalking you, quickly removing the chair and opening the door. The little fox stands there, looking up at you as it slowly steps inside the cabin.

For once, you let your guard down and just sigh, closing the door and securing it again. “C’mere.” You rarely fear anything, and so you scoop the little fox up without a second thought, even as it squirms initially and its claws are sharp on you. You settle in the warmest area of the room again, next to your mre pack and grab the fork, scooping out some of the food. You didn't need the rest, but he could use it. The fox reluctantly eats the food, and you giggle when you realise it probably doesn't taste much better to him either despite being starving. You took it off by letting him drink half the bottle of your water, which he greedily takes along with a few fruits you packed.

“Your fur is matted, and you’re all banged up but you’re still adorable.” The thought makes you sniffle, a bittersweet smile rising on your lips. The fox rests its head on your lap as you run your hand over its fur, gently scratching every now and then. Why couldn’t people see the truth in you as you did right now? You’ve trained for so long, fought to keep all of them safe on their missions and all you got in return was a scared look, disgust and sometimes even anger. It hurt, more than you allowed yourself to feel.

But this is the first time you’ve been alone without the battlefield before you, or a supervisor staring you down. You could have a gun to your head tonight, and no one will find out until the morning, so for now you just begged that the soldiers were joking, for the sake of everyone involved.

You just wish Ghost and Price would’ve listened, so you could be safe and warm back there, at least getting an early sleep on your birthday. The scientist promised, he said it’d get better, he said there would be others who would care like he did. He said only the higherups were this bad; he lied to you. The tears drip again, unable to stop this time and you bury your face in your hands, mourning everything you’ve lost, and everything you’ve yet to lose. Dead or alive, you may lose it all.

————————-

NEXT CHAPTER

Taglist:

@mellohimmku94 @rafaelacallinybbay

buy me a ko-fi :)

[prettygrlwrld]

Sins of Desire

Pair: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black female reader

Genre: Sinners, angsty, love/hate relationship, horny teenage

Warning: 18+, mostly background/fluff

Summary: the “Smoke Stack” Twins just did a violent robbed the Clarksdale First National Bank and Stack comes to you to lay low for a couple days until their boat leaves for Chicago.

PART 1

It was a muggy day in the Mississippi Delta for it be February. The sky was swallowed up by thick gray clouds, and though the smell of rain was distant, the air was heavy with promise. I was fixin’ a bit of food for the road—some cornbread, cold chicken, and pickles—for Ma to take on her trip to Memphis. She was headed up there to buy new fabrics for the shop.

Ma’s the seamstress ‘round here. Patches up old field clothes and makes church dresses for trade. Lately she’s been dreamin’ of doin’ her own designs, and I been helpin’ her sketch ‘em out.

But we only had enough money for one bus ticket, so she went on ahead, leavin’ me to mind the house and finish up the work.

“Aight now, girl,” she said, slingin’ her pocketbook over her shoulder. “I’ma be gone till Saturday evenin’, back in time for church. You finish the Jones boy’s shoes and Miss Doris’ skirt, y’hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, “I’ll have it done ‘fore supper.”

⸻

Later that afternoon, I was sittin’ by the back window, hand-stitchin’ Doris’ skirt. The light came in just right at that angle. The hum of cicadas buzzed low, and the wind stirred the tall wheat in the field out back. I thought I heard shufflin’—soft, cautious. Didn’t sound like Mr. Jones. That man walked like he was stompin’ on sin itself.

Maybe it was just my nerves. The house always feel different when you’re alone. I muttered a prayer and bent back over my needle.

Then I heard it.

“You sho’ you gon be safe here?”

My hands froze. That voice—low, smooth like molasses—but it curled in my ear like smoke.

I stood up slow and walked to the corner, picked up my daddy’s shotgun, and backed against the wall near the back door. I kept the barrel pointed straight, sweatin’ like a sinner in church.

And then, creak.

The back steps.

I peered through the mesh screen and there he was—Stack.

Sweaty, bloodied, shirt torn, and lookin’ like the devil just kissed his cheek. Elias “Stack” Moore. Lord help me.

He pushed the screen open careful, lookin’ around like he wasn’t sure if anyone was home.

When the door clicked shut behind him, I stepped out from behind the wall, raised the gun to his back.

“Elias, what you doin’ sneakin’ ‘round here?” I asked flat.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even turn ‘round.

A slow grin pulled at his lips.

“Hi darlin’,”he said, voice slicker than church shoes on a wet floor. “I just needa lay low a couple days, ma. Nothin’ more.”

I studied him, tight-jawed. He had that same look in his eye he always had when we were kids—like he already got what he came for and was just waitin’ on you to realize it.

“You bring the law to my doorstep and I swear fo’ God—”

Before I could finish, he spun ‘round, slapped the barrel aside, and pressed me to the wall so fast I barely had time to curse.

“Relax,” he whispered, leanin’ in close. “Heard your mama gon to Memphis… Thought I’d come see ma’ girl.”

My breath caught.

Stack had always been trouble—but the kind you couldn’t stay away from. First kiss, first mistake, first heartbreak. And now he was standin’ there, pressed against me like no time had passed, like the blood on his shirt wasn’t still warm.

I shoulda pushed him off of me, slapped him for even showing up on my doorstep on the run from the law and if I had any good sense I wouldn’t allow him to pull me into his mess.

But all I could do was breathe—slowly taking in his intoxicating scent.

He had my back pressed against the wall staring so deep into my eyes he could see the soul that he’s stolen so many times before. Hovering over me, one hand on the wall above my head, the other lightly applying pressure on my hip as if he was reminding me that he knew my body.

“Why here Stack?” I whispered, not daring to meet his unrelenting gaze. “Why me?”

He leaned in closer, so close I could feel his breath on my neck—sending sinful shivers down my spine.

“’Cause you the only one who ever made me feel like I wasn’t already halfway in hell.”

God, what is this man doing to me?

He knew just what to say to make my knees go soft and my heart stupid. I hated him for that. Hated how his voice made me remember summer nights behind the church, bare feet in red dirt, the way he used to say my name like it was a song he didn’t know all the words to but kept hummin’ anyway.

“You ain’t stayin’ long,” straightening my shoulders, “by sunrise Saturday mornin’ you betta’ be gon and I mean it!” trying to maintain any semblance of control over the situation.

He smiled—half grateful, half smug. “Yes ma’am.”

He lingered for a moment, just staring down at me before he chuckled taking a seat at the table.

“You still got that cot out by the well house?” he asked, eyes driftin’ to the side room.

“It’s dusty,” I muttered.

“I ain’t picky.”

⸻

We didn’t talk much as I fixed him a plate—cold cornbread, beans, and the last of the ham. He watched me move around the kitchen like he used to, like he’d never left, like this wasn’t a damn crime scene waitin’ to happen.

“You still hum when you sew?” he asked after a minute.

I shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’. I’m rememberin’.”

He leaned back in the chair like he owned the place, one leg draped over the other, that same crooked smile that once made me ruin a good Sunday dress behind the tool shed.

I hated how much I wanted to sit on his lap and slap him at the same time.

When he finished eatin’, I handed him a towel and told him he best get washed up before he bled on the floor. He nodded, unbuckled the gun and holster strapped to his back, and laid it gentle on the kitchen table like it was holy. Then headed out back to the pump, barefoot, leavin’ faint drops of blood behind him on the porch wood

I watched him through the screen door as he stripped off his shirt and poured water over his head, muscles flexin’ like sin itself. The blood ran off him slow, pink in the basin. He winced a little—bullet must’ve grazed him—but not enough to stop him.

I quickly diverted my attention, hummin’ ole hymns to steady myself , hands scrubbin’ dishes that were already clean. The heat between my legs said otherwise, but I wasn’t gonna let him know I noticed.

Not yet.

I pulled out clean linens for the cot, tried to busy my mind, but then I heard the screen door creak and that unmistakable sound of him behind me—barefoot, quiet, intentional.

He came back in with just a tank top and some pants—showing off those strong arms that could take protect you from anything, sculpted by defined veins that could carry any burden—even yours.

Your back was turned, but you could feel the sinister smirk on his face.

“You still him when you nervous?”, he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. But he be wouldn’t be Stack if not for his pompous asshole tendencies—like that of a child who teases a girl instead of telling her he likes her.

“You still get on my nerves?” I retorted, attempting to mask my nervous habits that he painstakingly remembered.

He chuckled darkly—causing you to cautiously glance over your shoulder—and there he was sizin’ you up, like he you were standing naked infront of him although you were fully clothed.

“The cot’s ready”, you muttered as you tried to slip past him—but I didn’t get far before I landed in those big, warm arms.

“Two days,” you warned, but it came out softer than I meant it to.

“That’s all I need,” he murmured, still lookin’ at you like you were his last prayer—searching for a sign that you were still his.

⸻

Note: I wrote this at like 2 AM because I couldn’t sleep. We gone see if it’s worth finishing 😂.