#but ashfords stand out

[i-ideate]

i listened to ghost quartet in full no skipping 7 times today what

[adragonprinceswhore]

The Way I Feel Under Your Command

Chapter I: Red Lake I Next

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (she/her pronouns)

Summary: After being forced to spend his summer at Red Lake Resort, a drunk Aemond meets a pitiful dance instructor at a party he did not want to attend.

Warnings: 18+, she/her pronouns, alcohol consumption, intoxication, classism, Aemond thinks he’s better than everyone, Aegon is an awful older brother

A/N: Enjoy 🫶

The lush greenery of the Reach would still be beautiful even if the mid-summer sun didn’t illuminate it. 

Despite the modernisations of Old Town, Ashford and Tumbleton, the southwest region of the Seven Kingdoms still feels reminiscent of a time when Westeros was ruled by noble families. Fields of wildflowers and ruins of ancient castles lay scattered across the vast landscape, instilling a false sense of serenity inside Aemond Targaryen as he steers his fathers car towards Red Lake. 

He had mistakenly assumed he’d successfully dodged his mother’s pleading; begging him to join the family’s yearly resort get-away. Besides his siblings, the only other guests seem to be his father and grandfather's old business associates, making the holiday he’d grown tired of appear even more unappealing. 

Embarking on his final year of university, Aemond had gotten used to the solitude of one-man study sessions and spending his weekends working with his grandfather. It was all worth it in his eyes; the tireless preparation for the position he’s been working towards since he was old enough to walk. 

He’d planned on using the summer holidays to fully submerge himself into the mechanics behind the almighty machinery that was Targaryen Holdings. Unsurprisingly, his father had barely responded when he told him about his desire to spend the summer working, but his grandfather had offered him a nod of approval and a comforting pat on the back. 

The fleeting moment of validation had provided Aemond with enough fuel to cancel all other summer plans in favour of spending his last weeks of freedom soaking up as much knowledge as possible inside the glass-covered skyscraper Targaryen Holdings called their HQ. 

Yet he found himself driving his parents to their usual summer retreat, only two weeks after finishing his last seminar for the semester. 

When Aemond had ignored his mother’s countless requests begging him to join the family one last summer before being completely engulfed by the corporate world, she’d changed tactics and instead reasoned with her father, convincing him that for Aemond to successfully integrate with the top of the company, he needs to familiarise himself not only with the business side of being a Targaryen, but the private expectations as well. 

That entails rubbing elbows and making contacts at exclusive holiday resorts. 

His grandfather and siblings had arrived a week prior, but because of his father’s deteriorating health, hospital appointments and check-ups had held him and his wife back, giving Alicent the perfect opportunity to push her third child into complicity and ask him to join them by acting as a chauffeur. 

After enough nagging, Aemond often gave in to his mother’s wishes simply because he couldn’t stand to disagree with her for long. 

Pulling up to the luxuriously restored ruins of House Crane’s seat, he recognises every detail from his previous summers there; the multicoloured flowers abundantly hanging over the sand-coloured balconies, the brightly yellow lemons ripening in the citrus trees decorating the sides of the villas, the variegating shimmer dancing in the water of Red Lake. 

He hands the keys to the valet diligently standing by the driver’s side of his father’s favourite vehicle as his mother helps the withering elderly man out of the sleek, black car. She offers him a hand to hold and another to steady his trembling body. 

“Mr. Targaryen, what a pleasure to see you again”, a middle-aged man clad in an impeccably tailored suit exclaims enthusiastically to Viserys, white teeth on full display as he quickly signals for two bellboys to grab the esteemed guests' baggage. 

Feeling like he’s gotten his fill of mandated family time for one day, Aemond quietly retreats to the usual villa where the Targaryen’s stay. He slips inside undetected, heads to his usual room, and promptly locks the door behind him. 

It is easy for Aemond to get lost in his thoughts whenever he’s around his family. 

Either it’s his older brother retelling a ‘funny’ anecdote that he doesn’t feel sad to miss out on. Or it’s his younger brother and mother discussing plans for the summer, a topic he knows he doesn’t have much say in anyway, consequently choosing to remain silent. 

As long as he remembers to hum in reply whenever addressed, he can comfortably sink into the depths of work or school related pondering; laying out a plan for when he’s allowed to get back to being productive and useful instead of wasting his time drinking overpriced wine. 

The unbearable sensation of his older brother's wine-soaked breath next to his ear pulls Aemond out of his thoughts, “I’ve been told there’s a staff party happening tonight”

“Have fun” 

Aegon snorts and then smiles at his brother’s instant dismissal and the predictability of it, 

“Oh, come on! I can’t go alone” 

“Ask Daeron” 

Aegon leans in even closer, causing Aemond to recoil further away from his brother as he clicks his tongue in annoyance, “Daeron and I had a little disagreement this morning, he won’t talk to me” 

He hadn’t even noticed the strained tension between his brothers during dinner, the uncomfortable aura seemed to be a permanent companion to the Targaryen-Hightower family. And Aegon angering one of his siblings didn’t come as a surprise to him. 

Aemond’s momentary silence is wishfully mistaken as compliance by his brother, who finishes his glass of wine instantly before standing and thanking his family for the “lovely dinner”. He gestures for his brother to stand as well, flashing a victorious smile at his table-companions before he informs them, 

“Mondo and I have a party to attend” 

Aegon's rough hands shove Aemond into the packed room, following so closely behind that the younger brother has no choice but to walk further into the room.

Rarely in his life had he witnessed such an over-crowded space, sweat flying from intertwined bodies, the heat of the room causing the air to almost taste salty. 

He wrinkles his nose at the scenery in front of him, shoulders stiffening as he feels embarrassed by how utterly out-of-place he is. Afraid that his uncomfortable state will soon become prevalent on his features, Aemond shifts to the side, moving away from his older brother in an attempt to slink off as quickly as he’d been forced inside. 

Before he has a chance to retreat, he feels Aegon’s arm tighten around his shoulder in an aggressive, false sign of brotherly affection. 

“Don’t you fucking dare”, he leans in to scold his younger brother, steering them both towards the wonky fold-up table filled with colourful bottles of alcohol. 

The music’s loud enough to drown out all other noise, and Aemond has to duck his head to speak directly into his brother’s ear, “You really should have brought Daeron”

“He’s not the one who needs to relax”, Aegon replies matter-of-factly. He grabs two clear plastic cups from the table and fills them with what looks like vodka and some type of red soda. Shoving one cup into Aemond’s chest, he swallows half of his own’s content in one gulp. 

Aegon watches how his brother eyes the cup suspiciously, gaze trained on the fingerprints sporadically decorating the clear plastic, evidently reluctant to bring the stained cup to his lips. 

“Oh come on, princess!”, Aegon shouts, catching Aemond off-guard as he grabs his hand to forcefully move the cup towards his lips, “It won’t kill you!”

Aemond slaps his brother’s hand away before reluctantly taking a sip. The drink is sickly sweet, nothing but sugar and food colouring, but with a sharp, bitter aftertaste of cheap alcohol. Quite the contrast to the aged Dornish Red they’d had with dinner. 

The neutral expression he’d schooled his face into falters as the revolting taste of the concoction prompts him to involuntarily grimace. Aegon’s obnoxious cackle follows, face beaming at his younger brother's misery, “So I take it you don’t party at uni then?”

“Not like this”, Aemond admits, once again letting his eyes wander across the room. The space reminds him of the utility room at the Sept he visited as a child, old and worn down without anyone ever bothering to fix the dilapidated space. 

Some effort had been done to zhuzh up the place; hanging thin, blinking strings against the walls in lieu of using the cool-toned fluorescent lamps, and placing a mirror ball by the oversized speakers shoved into the corner. Still, the obscuring lightning couldn’t hide how foul Aemond found his surroundings. 

For their entire lives, his older brother must’ve downplayed his ability to read his younger sibling’s mood, because as soon as Aemond attempts to place the nauseating drink back on the table and leave, he feels Aegon’s alcohol-infused breath warm his ear, 

“It’s your last summer before graduating uni and officially taking up residence in Grandfather’s arse”

Despite his clear intoxication and the playful jab, Aegon sounds uncharacteristically serious as he adds, “Have some fucking fun”

The filthy floor sticks to the soles of Aemond’s shoes, forcing him to aggressively pull up his feet with each step. He doesn’t recognise any of the music playing, and the people surrounding the Targaryen brothers grind on each other in the most depraved excuse for a dance he’s ever witnessed. 

Still, he stays, bracing himself as he downs the rest of his cup, reluctantly readying himself to learn what Aegon’s idea of ‘fun’ entails. 

Despite continuously finishing cup after cup of the sickly sweet concoction Aegon’s forcing down his throat, Aemond fails to see what it is about parties like this that his brother finds so much enjoyment in. 

The crowded room still feels suffocating, the smell of sweat is pungent, and the young staff members Aegon’s been chatting up provide little in terms of being interesting conversation partners. 

“You’ve never had a girlfriend, right?”, Aegon half-shouts into his ear as yet another girl escapes Aemond’s one-word replies to her intrusive question, “You still a virgin?” 

He stares blankly in reply to his older brother’s question. Like he’d tell him of all people about that. 

Before being forced to answer, he’s saved by an excited shriek, 

“Oh Aegon, you made it!”

A clearly drunk young woman appears behind the duo, wobbling a bit to the side as she tries to find a comfortable stance. Aegon flashes her one of his insufferable smirks, surely thinking it’ll impress her. 

He introduces her to his brother, explaining that she’s the sad thing working as the resort’s dance instructor, and thereby spends most days in the arms of soggy, old pensioners. 

She rolls her eyes at his comment, gaze melancholically drifting away as she states, “Hopefully this’ll be my last summer here. If all goes well, I’m enrolling in dance school” 

Aegon’s barely listening to what she’s saying, instead he giggles over how she slurs when she says ‘enrolling’. 

Guess she’s not the only drunk one here. 

“So we’re celebrating tonight!”, his brother happily says before filling another cup to the brim and offering it to the dance instructor. 

“More like grieving”, she mumbles, bringing the cup to her lips to take a large sip, “Just found out I’ll need to bring a dance partner to the entrance exam in three weeks” 

Her unfocused gaze again drifts across the room, to a lean, mousy-haired guy grinding on one of the restaurant’s busboys, “I’ve asked Greyjoy to help me out but he’s not strong enough” 

The older Targaryen’s eyes light up at her comment, leaning in closer to her ear, “You know, I’ve got some experience” 

Her eyes widen in hopeful excitement, “You do? What kind of dance?” 

“Well-“, he licks his lips as he locks eyes with her, “Most of my practising has been horizontally. I’m very skilled with my hips” 

She instantly pulls back, expression thoroughly unimpressed, “I’m fine, thanks” 

Turning around to leave, she’s stopped in her tracks as Aegon grabs her elbow, 

“Oi, what about Aemond here? He works out like a maniac, I’m sure he’s got the stamina”

Aemond hadn’t really been paying attention to the conversation, finally feeling the effect of the alcohol heating up his face and causing his hands to tingle. 

She turns around, eyeing him up and down, “Have you ever danced?”

“No”, he answers truthfully. 

“He used to do horseback riding”, Aegon chimes in, “That’s kinda the same thing, right? Like, girly sports” 

Her eyes stay trained on the statuesque man before her, “I need someone who’s strong enough to lift me over their head”

“I’m not interested”, he curtly replies. 

Her gaze travels between the two brothers, once again rolling her eyes and shaking her head before mumbling something and walking off on unstable legs. 

Unpredictable as always, Aegon releases a roaring fit of laughter, “You’re so fucking dumb, Mondo” 

“Shut up”

“She’s out of your league anyway”, he breathes out between cackles, “You’d probably cum just from touching her” 

Aemond clumsily places his cup on the table, drunken haze elevating the irritation his brother instils in him, “I’m leaving” 

Shoving Aegon out of his way, he hears his brother’s laughter grow louder as he shouts, “You’re so fucking boring Aemond! Live a little!” 

When he’s finally free from the musky prison of the party, he takes a deep breath of fresh summer air and sets sight for the family villa. 

Aegon’s mocking echo in his head, much harder to shake off when he’s not in his usual, sober state. 

Just as he hears Aegon calling him boring for what feels like the 100th time in his mind, he spots her outside one of the more modest-looking cabins on the outskirts of the resort. 

Fuck it. 

Stomping towards her, he blurts out, “I’ll do it!”, a bit too loudly, causing her to jump from the sudden noise, eyes darkening as she recognises who’s approaching her. 

“It’s fine, I’ll find someone else”

Aemond huffs impatiently at her unwillingness to cooperate, “I said I’ll do it”

Her eyes narrow, taking in the stern look on the strange man suddenly insisting he wants to help her out, 

“Fine. Tomorrow morning at 07.00. Meet me by the boathouse” 

She’s by the boathouse almost every morning, thoroughly enjoying the fleeting moments of solitude she’s allowed at the resort. 

None of the residents were ever out and about at this hour, which means no distractions or expectations of politeness on her part. 

Taking a large gulp of water, she’s still feeling the taste of yesterday's cheap cocktail on her tongue. 

Drinking your problems away never works, stupid. 

Like most days here, there’s not a cloud in the sky. 

Early mornings were really the ideal time to practise; the sun’s still hanging low and the air is still chill enough to remind its surroundings of the night that had just passed. 

Starting with stretches, she stands wide while altering between preparing the muscles in her legs. 

Being granted a reserve spot at the school meant she had to perform an original routine, which was clearly instructed to showcase her creativity, as well as taking a written examination, testing her knowledge of dance theory. So, she’d made it a habit to spend the limited leisure time she had before work practising physically, and the evenings in her dorm reciting theory.  

The grass under her feet might not be the optimal choice for stability, but it allows her to take risks, the green softness cushioning her failed attempts. 

Just as she’s about to put on her headphones and begin, she spots a figure emerging from the other side of the large field overlooking Red Lake. 

He walks with pride, broad shoulders pushed back and head held high; a clear contrast to his slightly unstable steps outside of her cabin last night. 

Despite the time it takes his non-rushed movements to reach her, his eyes stay on her, locking her in place with his gaze. She’s almost overwhelmed by his presence; shock, intrigue and fatigue from yesterday's partying swirling in her gut. 

He came. 

[trashpandacraft]

having sat down and spent a bit of time spinning on all the wheels, i have thoughts on them!

our first contestant: a sheridan scandanavian. kinda.

sheridan was an australian manufacturer in the 70s and early 80s, and this particular model is often mistaken for an ashford traditional. one tell that it isn't is the spokes on the wheel—a traddy has eight, and a scandanavian has six.

another tell is its tension knob, which i actually love—this is a lot easier to get a grip on than the ones that are just balls.

...there's also a nameplate identifying the maker and the model. but that's kinda where things get weird, because this? this is not what a scandanavian is meant to look like.

eagle-eyed readers may have already noticed that it's a double drive wheel, which is weird, because the scandanavian was only ever made as scotch tension. sheridan made a similar wheel, the macarthur, that was a double drive. my understanding is that these wheels were sold as kits, so as best i can guess, someone must have had a scandanavian and a macarthur, and at some point, for some reason, they dropped the macarthur's workings onto the sheridan's stand.

whatever she is, though, she spins nicely—works exactly like you'd expect, even after what was clearly a number of years of neglect. i'd like to get some more oil into the leather bearings, but she's in good shape. this one's a surprisingly slow wheel, even on the highest ratio, but will be great for plying and—more importantly—for @binchickencrafts to learn to spin on.

next up is the tarra...something. maybe the evelyn, but maybe the agnes?

she's beautiful, right? another tilt tension, too, which i like. lovely matching orifice hook with a little storage hole, and integrated bobbin storage, which i absolutely love.

so why's she weird? well. the evelyn was the evolution of the agnes, basically. agnes had a block for a mother of all, evelyn was shaped. agnes had a four-part drive wheel, evelyn had six. agnes had eight spokes on the drive wheel, evelyn had six.

this wheel, though. she has a shaped mother of all, an eight-part drive wheel, and eight spokes.

she also has a really neat flyer.

the flyer is part of what attracted me, to be honest, and no regrets. it needs shined up some more—i was eager enough to try her out that i cleaned off the worst of the rust with some vinegar, but it needs some more attention. those hooks, though, are fantastic. i think that they're a curse for a lot of people, because if one's lost, replacements are almost impossible to come by, but if you have them, they're so good. the screw loosens the hook and lets you slide it as needed, and you can get very close to either end of the bobbin—you can use the stationary hook to wind on right at the front, and the movable hook covers the rest of the bobbin easily. all my treadle wheels have been fixed hooks, so this was a new adventure.

this is the wheel in the worst shape, i think. she needs oiled up, but also needs to have the rear maiden reseated—it's loosened and has a fair amount of horizontal play, which doesn't give the best experience. i feel like when that's fixed, which won't take more than a couple hours and some wood glue, she's going to be a sweet spot of a wheel. even with the movement in that back maiden, i can get from worsted down to cobweb on her, so i'm really looking forward to seeing what she's like when she's been patched up.

finally: the pipy saxony.

please clap.

i can't overstate how small this wheel is. she weighs less than five kilos. that's like. a cat. that's a cat of weight. that's how much this wheel weighs. i knew when i bought her that she was a small wheel, but i hadn't realised how small, so i was a little concerned that she wasn't going to be very effective.

turns out joke's on me, because this teeny tiny wheel is an absolute powerhouse—as long as you want to spin finely. which is perfect for me, because i almost never use or spin yarn that's thicker than a light worsted, and even that's kinda pushing it. i'm the kind of person who knits jumpers out of sock yarn and owns multiple pairs of 1.5mm (size 000) circular needles.

this wheel wants to spin fast and wants to spin thin, and I *love* her. the wheel is weighted so it always stops ready to turn clockwise, and it's a string footman, and something about the combination of the two makes this an absolutely amazing experience. i spun for several hours, and my breaking point wasn't knee or ankle pain, but hip pain from sitting in that position too long.

how the heck does a wheel that—again!—weighs like ten pounds manage to weight anything?

it's easy to miss, but in that first picture, there's integrated bobbin storage again, with room for one on each side of the wheel.

the tension system isn't like anything i've used, and can be adjusted both vertically and horizontally. the tension peg does what you'd expect and moves the slider block (and the mother of all on it) closer or further from the wheel, but you can also move the mother of all towards you or away from you to better align it with the wheel.

she's just really nicely designed. look at this incredibly tidy bobbin release!

for the specific things that i spin most frequently, i'm pretty sure that the pipy is going to be my go-to treadle wheel, though i expect the others will see plenty of use, as well. and my eel wheel certainly isn't getting retired—my somewhat broken body is never going to let me use a treadle as often as i'd like, and there's a lot to be said for the ability to spin while watching television in bed. but i'm really excited to have these, and to use them when i can, even if it's not as often as i'd like.

i know that a lot of people are really dubious about buying used (especially vintage used) wheels, but i feel like they're often underrated. there's a lot of cool wheels out there that are as good or better than what you can buy in a store, and it's worth investigating it, if you're able to. (it's also worth noting that buying all three of these cost us less than half of what buying a single new ashford traditional would cost.)

finally, you want to see my favourite thing about the pipy? i saw someone complaining about this the other day, that their wheel's prior owner had 'gouged' it. but look.

that little gouge means someone else loved this wheel so much that their yarn wore a channel into the wood. and as soon as i stop holding my yarn back, it slots straight into place.

right where it's meant to be.

this wheel is older than i am—they're dated, on the bottom, and she was made in july 1972. she's only had one owner, a woman who used to teach spinning, but is elderly now and can't spin anymore. her daughter delivered it to me, and told me that this was her mother's last wheel—she'd gotten rid of the others, slowly, but held on to this until she was physically unable to treadle. fifty years! that woman spun on this wheel for fifty years.

i'm old enough that i don't imagine i'm going to get fifty years with it, but maybe i'll get lucky. either way, hopefully in another fifty years, someone new will be taking their turn, weirdly touched by the idea that this wheel has been so loved.

[januaryembrs]

THE MAKING OF A MAN | Jon Snow x reader

Request: @thingy-mar said — hii!! can i request a jon snow x reader, centered around the reader being a woman and hiding at the nights watch for some reason and shenanigans ensues?

Length: Posing as a man on the night’s watch doesn’t quite go as smoothly as planned when you meet Jon Snow and sweet Sam Tarly.

Trigger Warnings: brief and very subtle hint of the possibility of sexual assault but none happens, I dropped the c bomb twice for the first time in a fic!!, foul language, violence, nudity, fem!body reader.

Author’s note : the way I had make a man out of you from Mulan viciously on REPEAT while I was writing this that was the energy I was going for. I hope you like this! Also! I finally got 1k followers, kisses for every single one of you I love hearing from everyone of you, and I appreciate you all always 🥺❤️

You cursed every god there was for making the North so fucking cold. Mother used to tell you stories of southerners like yourself turning to stone the moment they got too close to the wall, when the air dropped to freezing and the blood in your veins pumped out frost. Usually, you had a thick head of hair to at least keep your neck warm, but that was gone too. Chopped below your ears to give the impression of masculinity. 

It was never supposed to be like this. Your family had been starving for the past year, your farm barely getting on without the help of your father since his condition weakened with the rotting fever he caught last Winter. Your brother did the best he could, and you gave up reading to give him the extra set of hands. But you were just a girl, not nearly as strong and efficient as your guilt ridden father who could barely stand let alone plough a field as he could once. 

You knew how to hunt, proficiently. But with the cold setting in even further down the continent, animals had become scarce, and you were all withering by the day. 

So your meat head of a brother had turned to more drastic measures. He had stolen. Stolen from the wrong wandering lord that so happened to have flashed some silvers. And within a day, the letter had been posted to your door with the midnight black seal, summoning your idiot brother to the Watch as punishment. 

Without him, your crops would perish. Your poor mother would starve. The animals would become fragile and die too. Your father would be seen as a disgrace. You simply couldn’t allow it. So you left in the dead of night, cut your hair and muddied your face, hid every aspect of your body that could give the impression of a womanly figure, and headed to the North stowed upon the Night’s Watch carriage.

You dragged your hood further down your face as you watched over the edge of the wall. Duty had been difficult to settle into since you were careful to not talk too much or get too close to anyone in case they were able to decipher the feminine qualities of your face. But it had been three weeks now, and you and two other ‘men’ were stationed on the top of the wall. The nights only made the air that bit more cold to your displeasure, your torch you stood by did little to nothing to keep you warm.

“Not used to the cold?” It broke you out of your self-pitying daze at the sound of a deep voice to your left. Two boys around your age had been chatting amongst one another, not that you’d paid them much attention, but it seemed in their silence they had taken an interest in you. 

You froze up, lowering your voice as you had been the few times you’d spoken. “I’m from the south. Everything was much warmer there,” You replied simply.

“Where are you from?” The voice pressed, though you hadn’t glanced their way just yet, hoping they’d just leave you be.

“Ashford,” You replied shortly, biting your lip nervously. The more you spoke, the more chance there was of them realising you were not quite who you said you were. 

It was silent for a moment, and you heard the two men shuffling around, as if debating whether to press you further.

“I’m Sam by the way,” You finally turned your head to meet the faces of the two men, not wanting to draw attention to yourself by being completely rude. 

Sam had some of the kindest eyes you think you’d ever seen. They stared at you with a hint of skittishness that you assumed was from being sent to the Watch, but as if to encourage you to talk more. His face was soft with youth, and he flashed you a small friendly smile. “This is Jon,” He pointed to his companion. You were much more intimidated by the shadowy eyes you met. His serious brow and expression looked down on you, a complete contradiction to Sam’s gentle face. Sam caught you gawking at Jon with something close to fear at his dark expression and knocked him on the arm lightly as if to prompt him to say something to you. 

Jon caught himself in his moody presence, giving you the smallest of nods and almost a smile. “Alright?”

“Jack,” You replied, figuring your brother wouldn’t mind you stealing his name since you already posed as him. 

Sam opened his mouth to say something else, when three more men stalked down the length of the wall, your commander leading ahead.

“Shift’s over boys. Go get some supper,” Your superior orders, the men taking over your place at the wall. You walk away before Sam can make any more small talk with you, wishing for nothing but your bed and some quiet.

—

It hadn’t been even two days later when you next saw Jon Snow and sweet Sam Tarly. You were out in the yard sparring under the commander’s watch, and it was safe to say you were not inspiring anyone. Being a girl, though you had been raised doing manual labour, you were not nearly as genetically strong as the grown men around you. Even the boys just turned fourteen were giving you a challenge. 

“Pull yourself together, man! That boy hasn’t even dropped his balls yet, and he’s fucking you over!” The commander screamed at you as a measly teenager had again beaten you to the floor. Your face was feverish with embarrassment. You could feel yourself getting stronger by the day, but it was still null in comparison to the surrounding men. You felt pathetic. “The worms they send us these days,” He tutted, ushering forward another boy for you to fight. 

You huffed out of anger, the lad not giving you any respite before he lunged at you with his steel sword near missing your plated stomach. After beating his blow away, you went in for your own attack. You caught his face by chance, a small slice across his cheek being all to show for two hours of being knocked on your arse in front of them all. The victory was short-lived however when the younger boy shoved forward and with brute strength you landed on your back yet again. 

Your sword went skidding across the cobbles, under the awaiting foot of a large black boot and you felt two sets of eyes on your figure. Laughter resounded throughout your group of weaker men, and you fought back the urge to tear up at the sound. You were purely pathetic. 

“Show’s over, lads,” The commander yelled, silencing the laughs to mere giggles as the boy strode away proudly to his newfound friends. You scurried to your feet in fear of looking even smaller than you felt. The commander’s eyes narrowed on your jumpy frame and he walked over to where you stood, your head held low. “Go wash the shit out your trousers and come back to my yard a bigger man tomorrow,” 

You nodded meekly as he dismissed you for the day. Turning on your heel and heading back to your room to bathe, the tears brimmed your lash line as you willed yourself not to cry. 

Jon and Sam watched you go, the former man reaching down to pick up your weapon from his feet. It was clear you would not last much longer on the watch with your shockingly weak frame, even Sam who was harmless and slow had bested you though he had winced in regret every second. “Poor lad doesn’t have it in him, I know what that’s like,” Sam murmured, your smaller form retreating into the showers. “I’ll take it back to him. Probably doesn’t need the boy top of the class to rub it in,”

“I’m not top of the class,” Jon protested, though he handed the sword over to his friend’s awaiting hand, “I don’t understand how a boy so weak could have made it to the Night’s Watch,”

“Seems like a quiet type to me. It’s them ones you’ve got to watch out for, my mother always told me.” The Tarly boy replied, heading after you with your sword in hand.

— 

Even the bastard showers were cold at the night's watch. At least at home you could warm water in front of an open flame for a bath, you thought. Here there was not nearly enough water for each man to have a bath, instead they collected snow from the roof of the keep and drained it into a storage tank on the roof to fall naturally as a shower when the hatch was opened. It was painful, as if needles were falling onto your skin and burrowing their way in with every drop, but it was the only place people would leave you alone. 

And alone and crying in the freezing showers you were.

That was until you heard the latch unlock on the door, and heavy footsteps enter the small damp room. Oh god, please no.

“Y/n? You left your sword,” You breathed a sigh of heavy relief when you realised it was Sweet faced Sam, not someone more nefarious with heinous intent for the weak boy crying in the shower, that would get a hell of a shock when they realised he in fact had no cock and a pair of tits. Though that relief soon melted into horror when you realised he was coming closer to where you stood. Is this what men did? Invade each other’s privacy so easily? You would have never had another woman come so close had she known you were nude, but here was Sweet Sam Tarly coming closer as if he was simply asking how your mother was or if the crops had been good this year. 

Sweet Sam Tarly that was now behind you, talking to you as if he wasn’t about to find out your best kept secret.

“-and I said to Jon he shouldn’t be the one to bring it to you, I didn’t think it would be nice for the best fighter they have to return your weapon to you. It would rub salt into the wound, wouldn’t it? It would be like-” Sam chattered on happily and you cursed his sweet sweet nature as you looked down at where you stood facing the wall, tits bare and cunt free for the world to see. 

“Sam,” You cut him off sternly, one hand trying to hide your top half, “Just put the sword down there please,” You pointed to where your clothes lay.

“Oh! Yeah, of course.” He did as you asked, and noticed how stiff you stood, as if afraid of him. “Are you okay?” You heard him shuffle closer, “I didn’t frighten you did I-”

“Sam! Stay there!” You ordered, mind racing what to tell the boy who didn’t listen since you could still hear him coming closer to comfort you. You must have turned your head enough for him to see where you had been crying, and it only made the gentle boy even more worried for his new friend’s wellbeing as he stepped closer yet again.

“Oh, don’t cry lad. We all cry sometimes. I cried just last night, thought my toes had dropped off after our night shift and I feared of what I’d find when I took my shoes off.” Another step closer, this time a hand on your shoulder, “But it’s okay, we’re brothers now. And brothers talk to each other about everything,” You could feel him leaning forward as to give you a hug, fully aware that you were still nude. Is this what men do? Men were weird, you concluded.

Either way, your secret was completely fucked if he reached around and saw the two lumps of fat that stood you out from the rest, that you still very much did not want him to feel.

“Sam, no!” You turned around to push him away, and the poor boy looked as though you had slapped him. That is until his gaze dropped almost immediately, as men’s eyes do, and he saw the two enlarged breasts staring back at him in a way no man would normally grow. 

His mouth dropped open into an ‘O’ shape as he trailed down to your wide hips, thick thighs and your very obvious lack of dick that you covered with your hand before he could look for too long. His innocent blue eyes rushed back up to your face and suddenly everything about your face was feminine. He had always thought you had a weirdly pretty face for a man, and even the rounded shape of your arse had startled him when he had entered the bathing room, though he had simply thought it was being surrounded by men for weeks on end fogging his lust. He saw the fright in your eyes, and it all clicked for him your predicament. 

You were a woman, posing on the Night’s Watch as a man. And you were most certainly not supposed to be here. 

“Sam please,” You begged, stepping forward to hold his arm in desperation, “Please do not tell anyone of this,”

“You’re a- You have tits and a - SEVEN HELLS,” He stepped back in shock when he took another look at your cunt as if he didn’t believe his eyes the first time, “YOU HAVE-”

“Sam, please calm down,” He ripped his fur off his shoulder to cover you up despite the fact you had your own clothes.

“I’m ever so sorry, My Lady. I would have never burst in here had I know,” He fussed over you, making sure you were shielded from his view.

“I’m not a lady, I’m just a farmer’s girl,” You ordered as he went to undo his jacket so that he could cover your bare arms. Even when you had thrust a very dangerous secret upon him, he was incredibly kind. Your heart warmed as his rosy red cheeks trailed up to your face, taking in your face as if he hadn’t spent the past three weeks with you. “You can’t tell anyone of this,”

“You need to leave, it’s not safe for you here,” He urged, “Some of these boys will do a lot worse than just come into the showers while you’re here. And even the rational ones haven’t seen a woman in months, you don’t know what they might do,” Sweet Sam Tarly tucked your wet hair over your shoulder so it wouldn’t stick to your face. 

You sighed, knowing he was telling the truth, “If I confess now they’ll behead me for lying and treachery. And then they’ll kill my brother for allowing a woman to serve in his place. I’m only here because my parent’s farm would not survive without him.” 

Sam looked over your pretty face in despair. “Very well. I’ll do my best to keep you safe,” The boy promised, wrapping his furs tighter around you. You looked at his kind expression, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a hug. For the first time in three entire weeks, you felt safe. Secure. Like you didn’t have to watch your back twenty-four seven because you finally had a friend on the Watch who knew your secret.

“Thank you, Sam. You’re a good man,”

“You’re a good man too,” The broad boy joked and the two of you laughed between one another, his enormous arms wrapping around your waist. 

That is until you realised something was pressing in between the two of you that was clearly unintentional on the sweet boy’s part. You gasped and pulled back, and the movement seemed to knock sense into the Tarly boy. 

“Sam!” 

“I’m so sorry, I’ve never seen a woman bare before- I’ve very mixed feelings right now-”

—

For the first time in a month, you felt settled at the wall. You had gained little strength yet, but your fighting skill seemed to almost be improving. You still hated the cold with every ounce of your being, but at least you had a friend. Sweet Sam and his forever grumpy accomplice Jon. 

Unlike Sam, Jon relished in the silence as you did, something you appreciated from time to time. Though it meant on nights like this, when Sam was not on night duty as you two were, there was a prolonged silence between the two of you that you neither liked nor hated. You could tell he scrambled for something to say to you, to be the one to be a friend when Sam was not there to do so, and you appreciated his efforts. 

Finally, after an hour of watching into the inky black darkness over the edge of the wall for any movement, he opened his mouth to speak.

“You have a dainty life back home then?” Jon asked, making your head shoot up at the break in the silence. You must have seemed puzzled as he explained himself. “You don’t seem the heavy lifting type, is all,”

You nodded, noting his dark eyes and how they seemed to latch onto yours in interest, “Oh. No, I suppose not. My older brother did all the farm work since my father got sick,” You said, each breath misting in front of your very eyes in the freezing weather. Fearing it made you sound lazy as his head turned away in indifference, you continued, “I’m much better with a bow, truthfully. I’ve never had to wield a blade when catching rabbits and deers,”

Jon smirked, and you found yourself somewhat proud you had drawn that from him. He was a handsome man. So very handsome in a way that was obvious to a woman surrounded by men every single day. You hoped he did not have a woman at home, though you supposed they would never meet again, nor could you ever do anything about it seeing as it deemed you to behave like a man for the foreseeable future. 

“No, I don’t suppose deers and rabbits would put up a good duel,” He replied, and the two of you fell back into silence. “I could teach you, if you’d like? I taught my younger brothers before I left,”

You looked at him in disarray. The men of the knights watch were not known for their kindness, more so their heathen behaviour and ferocity to the wildlings. Jon Snow was not like them, he was kind and understanding. He did not look at you with scorn at your difficulties. He was offering to help. 

“You would?” Wide eyed, you asked. “You would help me?”

He nodded, shrugging and readying his blade, “I don’t see why not. Come on, arms up.”

And so for two hours Jon taught you. The dark-haired man held the blade as if it was part of his arm, as if he had known nothing but him and that sword, moved swift like the river that cut through your hometown. He was tough on you for your posture, exclaiming he had seen his septa with a stronger back than you to which you told him it was probably the silver spoon he had rammed up his arse that made him stand so stiffly. You had thought briefly you had gone too far when he straightened and gazed at you, before his face broke out into a laugh. Jon Snow had a wonderful smile, you realised.

You continued on for another hour, Jon showing you how your feeble nature could help you become nimble and fast. “As long as you make them bleed, it doesn’t matter where you hit them,” He said, using one of his huge, firm hands to adjust your stance and grip on your sword. You’d be lying if you said it didn’t make your heart race to smell the intoxicating scent of his sweat and old soap rolling off him into the cold air you inhaled. It was just because you had never been so close to a man, lest seen one so close in the past month with your efforts to stay hidden from view. Your heart felt like it was racing as you stepped away from the broad-shouldered man that encompassed your frame with his own, not watching where you were treading so long as it got you away from that terrible siren call of a scent he gave off. 

“In no time at all you’ll be the best in the yard,” He teased, as you moved back even further. You noticed the patch of black ice too late however in your haste to ironically come to your senses. Your footing was swept from underneath you by the frozen cobble, and your body thrown backwards with the weight of your armour sent you tumbling over the edge of the wall’s crenel with a loud yelp, “Perhaps not as- JACK!” 

Jon lunged his body forward, arms outstretched to grab your hands in his own. You felt your body slam into the side of the bricks, legs dangling precariously over the frosty edge and you swore everything seemed impossibly colder on this side of the wall. Your heart raced even more than when you had been near Jon, racing as if this was your last moment on earth which it very well could be. How you were not dead you will never know, but every single prayer you could ever say to the gods ran through your head as you breathed out finally. 

“JON!” You yelled, gripping onto his large hands with a tightness you didn’t know you had. If he was to let go even the slightest amount, it would all be over. 

“I’ve got you!” He called back, two hands grabbing your forearm securely. “I won’t drop you, but you need to pull yourself up,” 

Your free hand grabbed onto an empty alcove in the wall’s brickwork, the ice nestling there biting into your fingertips as though it were a feral dog. You winced as you felt your skin stick to the ice instead of melt it, but you used the wall to kick yourself up further although your legs felt near numb with fear. “That’s it, now grab this part,” Jon encouraged, and you did so, moving to hold the top of the wall as a more secure plane.

One of Jon’s arms wrapped around your waist to give him a better grip of your slack body, and it took all his strength to hoist you, your sodden clothes and your armour back over the wall. The two of you stumbled back with a grunt of effort, and you think you finally exhaled for the first time in five minutes by the time he got you to the right side of the barrier, his arm still wrapped around you as yours never withdrew from grabbing onto his shoulders in terror. 

The two of you stayed quiet for a moment, as if you didn’t quite believe what had just happened. “Are you alright?” Jon whispered, letting you go though you were still quite shaken up.

“I think so,” You reply, though neither of you miss the tremor in your tone, “Thankyou, Jon,”

“Always. We’re brothers now. Brother’s look after each other.” He replied, clapping you on your shoulder heartily, not missing the way you looked away from him when he named you his family, “Now come on. That’s enough excitement for one night.”

— 

Everything came to a screaming halt not even a month later. You had grown in muscle, not nearly as much as a normal man, but your sparring had improved immensely and life was becoming less difficult as you acclimatised to the cold. Sam and Jon were good friends, particularly Sam who always watched your back to help you keep your secret safe from the outside world. 

But you had shaken Jon. He had never felt this way about a man before, never seen a man with such beautiful eyes or such a softness in their gaze. Sam held a kindness to him but not in the same delicate manner you did. Save when you were sparring, something you had put every piece of yourself into since the night you nearly fell from the wall. The way you gazed at him as if he was the greatest warrior you had ever seen, though he doubted a farm boy would have ever seen the bloodshed of war. 

He saw how the other men treated you. He and Sam tried to steer them clear of picking on you for your weaker frame, but on the days they couldn’t be with you they hoped you were tough. He knew you weren’t. 

It was a night as such that they had both been stationed on watch duty where they found you. They had been relieved of duty not ten minutes earlier; the elevator creeping its way down to Castle Black at a frustratingly slow pace. All Jon wanted was his bed, as it seemed Sam did too from the way he ran a hand over his eyes as if the weight of the world held heavy on his shoulders. 

“Is it just me or do the nights seem longer up here?” Sam asked, rubbing his hands together hoping to warm the poor digits up by even a few degrees. It was in vain though, even he knew that. There was no such thing as warmth this far north. 

Jon opened his mouth to answer his good friend, but was interrupted by the sound of a high-pitched scream that was quickly cut off and some loud scuffling around the centre of the training yard. 

The two men looked at one another as the elevator met the cold stone cobbles, somehow both of them having a good idea who was responsible for such a cry. Jon kicked the iron door open, the pair of them rushing out of the metal hold at a surprising pace for two men freezing their arses off. They were confronted with three of the taller men the night’s watch offered surrounding a figure on the floor, mouth and limbs bound with cloth. 

“Get his clothes off boys. Let’s see if a night in the cold air will toughen him up. Commander says even the youngest boy brought here is more of a man than this runt.” The larger one, who Sam knew to be named Derick ordered, and his heart skipped when he saw who it was they had on the floor, squealing and writhing like a shot animal.

Of course, as they’d both suspected, it was you the pig bastards had dragged out of bed in the middle of the night for a practical joke. But he watched as they undid your top buttons and was thankful as Jon made it just in time to shove the man off you.

“That’s enough!” The Stark’s half son yelled, loud enough to wake the superiors of the watch so they could deal with the rats. 

The boys huffed, shuffling away from your limp body as Jon drew his sword and stared at them all coldly. “Snow bastard here to save the day, once again. Does your arse ever tire of you wearing it like a hat?” Derick snapped, eyeing Jon up wearily as if deliberating his chances against the man. But it seemed he didn’t fancy his luck, as he shouldn’t have, and stepped away from your bodyguards in annoyance. 

“Just go back to bed and you’ll be lucky we don’t tell the commanders what you were going to do.” Jon murmured darkly, as Sam also reached for his weapon at his side if they wished for a fight. He knew Jon could take them all on his own but anything to steer them away from you. 

The boys looked to one another in a sneer, before huffing and sauntering off back to the dormitory, muttering curses about the three of you. The moment they turned, Jon was at your side, ripping the gag away from your mouth so you could breathe. It wasn’t until then that he noticed you had been crying and his heart plummeted. You hiccuped as the cloth was removed from your face, Sam cutting free the binds on your ankles as Jon worked on your wrists. 

It wasn’t for another minute that you had shaken yourself out of the fright the awful bastards had given you, and you actually thought to thank the two of them. 

“Don’t mention it,” Jon said, pulling your wrists forward to free the knotted cloth there too. His large fingers brushed along your hands warmly, and you felt a shiver run down your spine at just how easily his body had adapted to the cold. Though you supposed it had always been like that being a boy of Winterfell. 

You were still silent however, not knowing quite what to say as your hands fell free with his quick work and you lifted your arm up to rub away the dried tears in vain. The dark-haired man must have seen your crestfallen expression, and did what Jon did best to all the men he saw struggling. He comforted you. 

“Hey, don’t let them get to you. You’re getting stronger by the day.” He murmured, pulling your arm away from your face to see your bottom lip still quivering in shame. “We made no warrior overnight. Do you think the Mountain woke up one day with the strength of a god?”

“I heard he split his mothers ribs in two the day he was born,” Sam chimed in, though he quickly regretted his chatty nature when the two of you looked at him, Jon with an exasperated glare and you with pure fright. He gathered his words the way Sam did best, and added; “Probably just an old wives’ tale though.”

Jon turned back to you, his eyes falling to where they had unbuttoned your shirt and leaned forward to help, “What I mean is there’s always going to be someone bigger than you. My father once told me how he beat the Sword of the Morning and even he-” Jon froze halfway through his sentence as his fingers brushed against your flesh under your shirt. Something was wrong. Something was different to his own body, to any man he had ever seen before. It wasn’t until you realised why he had gone quiet that you shoved his hands away, your soft feminine hands holding him off as if he’d burned you. 

You had been so enraptured in his words, the comfort it brought you, you didn’t realise just how much of you he could feel until you followed his eyes to where he was staring at your chest wide eyed. His gaze flicked to your face and just like Sam, he took in your guilty eyes, your womanly features that he had always known were pretty. Though he’d always placed his thought as of jealous rather than of lust.

But his mind raced as if confirmed by feeling those mounds on your chest, reimagining your face in a whole new light. 

Your eyes met, and the second they did, you knew he knew. 

Jon stood up fast enough to give him head spin, or was that just the revelation that either you were indeed a man with a startlingly pretty face and tits to match or were you very much a woman?

“Jon!” You shimmied your legs out the rest of the rope that Sam had been struggling with, standing to meet his shocked expression, “Jon, wait,” You reached out for him, though he stepped away as if you were suddenly cursed.

“No- You can’t-” He breathed out, forcing himself to finish his sentence though the thought pained him, “You can’t be a woman. Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is for a woman?”

“Of course I do, Jon! I’ve feared for my life every day these past months, feared for my virtue. I don’t wish to be here, I have no choice,” You hissed back as Sam stood beside you, hilting his knife. 

The lack of shock on the Tarly boy’s face clicked in Snow’s mind, “You knew about this?”

“I walked in on her in the shower unfortunately,” He replied, spinning to look at you with a red tinge to his cheeks, “Not that- I mean I didn’t want to invade your privacy- You have a lovely pair-”

“Sam,” You spat, nudging the boy to stop his mouth that would usually endear, as the two of you looked back at Jon’s aghast expression. Rushing forward to hold on to his arm, a tenderness you could express now, “Please don’t tell the Commanders. They’ll kill me if they know,” Jon’s dark eyes searched your face for any reason as to not take on this potentially fatal secret, but all he found was a scared woman begging for his help. All he found was the person he had been keeping his eye on for months since that first day you met. All he found was a friend. 

“Alright,” Jon conceded, noticing now just how soft your hands were as they clung to his arm in need, “So what do they call you?”

“Actually, what do they call you?” Sam piped up, a puzzled look on his face as you spun to meet his eyes with a relaxed smile. “I’ve been calling you Jack for the past month and you’ve not once said anything.”

You chuckled and told them both your real name, your gaze meeting Jon’s once more as he stuck out his hand to shake, his eyes softening when he saw you looking up at him in hope. 

“Welcome to the night’s watch, Y/N,”

[novembermorgon]

NOVEMBERMORGON TELL ME ABOUT AENYS AND MAEGOR'S BASTARD SISTER AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

anon.. stand up! take back your life!

as per canon Things Happen in 209ac . rip baelor breakspear you were a little too real to be kept alive. 💔 like in canon, aerion gets sent off to lys as a punishment for the whole business with the tourney at ashford - i'm not entirely sure why maekar thought sending his son off to lys without supervision to play with swords with the second sons and hang out in a notably sex work-heavy city would be a good idea . but he sure does do that . maybe he just wants him gone for a bit .

aerion goes off and does whatever a spoiled prince would do in a playground of a city . i think he would enjoy that freedom of not needing to care about his father's constant gaze on him and not needing to care about his marriage even though, by then, it's gotten a little bit better .... he has a blast basically . takes lovers and makes sellsword friends . for the first time ever i guess because i can't imagine aerion ever had that many friends .

meanwhile myrielle is back in king's landing, pregnant and miserable and very very alone . i think in her attempts to get closer to and be more content with her marriage to aerion she unintentionally ends up sort of pushing every other person around her away and then her relationship with aerion also comes crashing down a bit when he goes off . doesn't answer her letters often and doesn't seem especially interested in returning as soon as possible and it's sort of like a really shitty rollercoaster where her mental state and her relationships just go up and down and up and down and up and down . i think after a while she sort of starts sitting around twitching a little bit and tries to find comfort with her ladies and with daeron (oops) and very much projects some bits of aerion onto them . builds up an idea of him and their relationship in her mind by way of pretending other people are him and then he actually returns .... and he's got a bastard with him so every positive thing she's been trying to come up with about him comes crashing down in a split second .

aerea ... :-) hm . it's difficult to say why aerion acts the way he does in any given situation i think but to me he brings her back in part because it's just like, a funny thing to do that he knows will get his wife very heated whether positively or negatively but also because he is a prince that has never needed to take much responsibility and never really needed to face up to much of what he does . his punishment of being sent to lys is barely a punishment. he's never truly had any consequences that make him change or grow as a person . he brings aerea home and gives her a funny name to match with his sons, maegor and aenys, and doesn't really care for what anyone will say . doesn't care for how myrielle will feel about it and doesn't care what court will think because why should he . he indirectly killed baelor and all his father did was give him a nice long luxury vacation so why does it matter if he brings home a little baby that he fathered . my wife always talks about how she wants a daughter and if she doesnt want her just ignore her existence.

myrielle is MAAAAAD mad . first at aerion, because he's the one who shows up and acts like he's done nothing wrong, but i think it very steadily grows into some kind of deep dark resentment for aerea herself . she can forgive aerion in time - because she is, above anything, a noble woman in westeros and as such essentially wholly tied to her husband . she has no choice but to forgive him because she will always be burdened with him, will always need to be pleasant and present for him because that's what she knows is expected of her - whereas she has absolutely no duty to treat aerea well, has no responsibility to her past what aerion demands of her, has no love for her as a mother. it's easy for her to stay mad at aerea, but it's very very difficult for her to stay mad at aerion.

which is sad . because myrielle always wanted a daughter! she wants a child to dress up and play with and teach all the things she knows! but she just can't bring herself to do that for a bastard . can't bring herself to offer aerea that kindness because her entire existence hurts and acts as an element of shame and humiliation. maegor becomes her daughter instead because he is wholly hers, she feels that motherly bond with him completely . he is proof that she is loved and needed and wanted when aerea is a physical manifestation of her thoughts that she isn't any of those things

aerea grows up very lonely and i think to a degree very sad. aerion is not an attentive father to his sons and most definitely not an attentive father to his bastard daughter - she doesn't know who her mother is because, presumably, she's a prostitute with no say in her daughter's life or any means to ever contact or find her and her stepmother is neglectful at best and cruel at worst. while she's definitely got a better life than many other bastards just by virtue of being allowed to stay at the red keep at all, nobody really likes her all that much ..... 😭 westeros is notably so very cruel to bastards and this is not an exception. with that SAID... as much as myrielle hates it i think she would get along with aenys and, to a lesser degree, maegor .. siblings despite the horrors and all . she's soft spoken and kind of quiet so a lot more like maegor than aenys, but myrielle makes more of an effort keeping maegor from hanging out with her LOL so it's never a super close relationship there . aenys likes her . something about being a little bit like maegor i guess

sorry to say that just like these other kids i haven't thought that far with her ... i think she would be very artsy. likes to sing and play music .. kills a harp solo. taps my noggin. thats all i have for now

[weaponizedmoth]

Sweeney Todd fanart finally! This is taken straight from a 2023 Broadway Revival screenshot of Annaleigh Ashford as Mrs. Lovett. I had a lot of fun figuring out what I wanted with it, but yes it nearly killed me. I also listened to the new recording on repeat a lot for this and I can't stand it anymore. Still love it, though. Lineart vers. below the cut, with some color + ref image.

[drkmgs]

Promise, I'll be back FINAL

Jenna Ortega x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Summary: Part 3 of Homecoming and Promise, I'll be back.

Tbh, I wanted to write it longer but with the limited time I have, because of work... this would do for now....

When one of the survived officers showed up on Jenna's doorstep to hand your final letter, she completely broke down. Only with the help of her mother was she able to stand up and settle down on the couch. Her mother engulfed her into an embrace to comfort her mourning child.

"You don't have to read it now, but one day, you would like to know what Y/N's last words are for you. Once you read it, you will feel better and move on. Continue to live for you and for Y/N. I'm sure that's what they'll ever want." Jenna held onto the letter very tight and silently sob against her mom's shoulder.

In the following months, Jenna purposely fully booked her schedule. It has nothing to do with a certain letter, waiting for her to rip open and read it. She knew she would eventually have to open it. She knew as soon as she opened it, that would be your final goodbye to her. That she would never see you again. She would have to accept that you are gone and would never come back to her.

One day, she paces in her trailer, nibbling on her thumb, and keeps glancing at the letter that was poking out of her bag. This is the hardest decision-making that she'd ever had.

Finally, she took the letter and ripped it open.

Hello my love,

I'm sorry. I couldn't keep the promise. I only had an hour to write you this letter. I had so much in my head that I wanted to write down for you to read, and now that I'm actually doing it, I can't remember any of it.

Just remember I love you, and I always will. I'll be waiting for you. Keep achieving your goals for me and you.

yours only,

Y/N Ashford.

That's it. After several months, she accepted that you were gone. The following days are filled with grief and moving on. Fans have noticed her change of mood, and a lot of reporters have asked about you, but she managed to avoid all the questions. Because of that, a lot of people thought Jenna was just going through a breakup.

Jenna was busy filming her next movie when someone in the set let out a loud gasp, which ruined the take. Jenna watched the staff who ruined the take show something on her phone, and then everyone started to take out their phones. Jenna was confused. She only got enlightened when one of the staff showed their phone.

It's a live broadcast from looks like an abandoned building, and two people in military uniform are tied up almost slouching down with black cloths covering their heads. Two men standing behind them with guns. It's clear that they were or are being tortured. Then, a man with a skul mask appeared in front of the camera, talking in a different language, which translates to:

"Give us 10 billion US dollars, and these american soldiers are going home alive."

Then, the two men took off the black fabric from the soldiers. Jenna gasped and almost everyone at the studio, too. Captain Y/N Ashford and their sergeant are being tortured for money by this group of people.

Jenna's tears are pouring nonstop, and she's also shaking. The man with the skul mask kept talking in a different language when suddenly a bullet striked him in the head and dropped on the floor. There were bullets fired from all the directions, and the live stream ended.

The studio fell in silence as everyone was still in shock or silently crying. The director decided to stop the filming and wrapped up for today, as they were cleaning the studio, they heard a helicopter approaching. Everyone exited the studio just to see a military helicopter landing in the wide open space in front of the studio.

You climbed out of the vehicle with fresh tended wounds. Among the crowds, a small figure came out of the studio running with full speed into your arms. She almost knocked you off your feet, but you managed to keep your balance and embraced her tight.

"I don't ever leave me like that!" Jenna says and buries her head onto your chest.

"Didn't I promise you that I'll come back?" You asked, moving an inch away to see her face.

She nodded, looking straight into your eyes.

"I kept my promise." You say and lean in to kiss her on her lips.

The crowds were crying, applauding, and whistling.

[THE END]

[ask-a-w]

Watched Nick Apostolides play Separate Ways and wrote down stuff that caught my attention.

Guests on the stream: Craig (Wesker’s VA) & Andre (Luis’ VA). Andre joins for a short while mid-way through the stream.

- Nick was there when he watched Andre film the cutscene of Luis doing the flamenco. Apparently Andre nailed it in one take.

- Nick says Andre spent months researching the Spanish culture. (Andre talks a little bit more about it later.)

- Craig went to Vancouver three times in 2022 to film RE4R & SW. The main game & DLC were shot together. He couldn’t say he went to Vancouver more than once or else he would give away that there were extra content like SW & Mercenaries.

- Nick was not aware how Ada got infected.

- Craig played RE5 co-op years ago and is trying to play it solo but acknowledged it’s not that fun to play solo.

- Craig’s download for SW took 7 minutes and he was very amused by that.

- Craig can only talk about games that have come out so don’t ask him if there’s gonna be a remake for CV or RE5.

- Craig was not aware who or what he was auditioning for and only knew he was playing Wesker when he was flown to the studio. He asked them if he should play Wesker like previous incarnations or like what he did in his audition. They told him to play Wesker like his audition.

- Craig said when he filmed for RE: Outbreak 20 years ago, the actors only saw stick figures on the screen but now, as you stand in front of the mocap cameras, you can see your entire character model on the screen rightaway and he’s quite impressed how far technology has advanced.

- Craig said he did mocap for Outbreak for 6 months. He did not book a part in Outbreak initially but Alyson Court (Claire’s original VA) actually brought him to work on the game.

- Craig filmed all his scenes together with Lily and only saw Nick 3 times during filming since Wesker & Leon don’t have any scenes together.

- Craig has been a fan of RE for a long time. He played RE1 with his acting classmates and they were happy for him when he booked a part in Outbreak.

- Craig says he has never gotten a copy of any game he has worked on as the people he works with don’t work in game distribution. He only managed to get a copy of the RE4R deluxe edition thanks to an ex-girlfriend who works in game distribution.

- Craig & Nick know both Wesker & Leon are very beloved characters in the franchise and have given it their all for their portrayals.

- Both of them squeed when Wesker says “complete local saturation” and Craig has been waiting for a whole year wondering how fans would react to that line.

- Nick had no idea what would happen in SW since he didn’t get the script for it.

- Craig also had no idea Wesker would be in Mercenaries but put two and two together when he recorded lines for Merc.

- Scenes are filmed out of order. Craig didn’t know if he was filming for the main game or SW. He had to wait till the main game came out to see what scenes were shown in RE4R. Nick also has no idea if he filmed anything for SW.

- While the VAs have their own general idea on how to play their character as they walk into the studio, how they express their lines are based on a combination of what’s requested by Capcom’s Japanese team, how the translator translates Capcom’s requests, and Steve Kniebihly’s (cinematics director) direction.

- Someone asked Craig if he thought when Wesker was a child, would he shine a magnifying glass on ants. Craig said probably yeah and maybe pulling the wings of flies too. (Side note: The Ashford twins did that in Code Veronica)

- Craig was a musician first before he got into acting. In high school, everyone was into music and he made some music with his friends. His then-girlfriend asked him to audition in a school musical and he loved the acting expect of it. He then auditioned in plays before he went to acting school for college.

- Craig applied to both music & acting programmes for college. He always wanted to be a performer.

- Andre joins halfway through the stream. He enjoyed filming the opening flamenco scene even though it took a while to get the steps right. He doesn’t think he can do the dance any more since it’s been a while.

- Andre mimed the reaction to being pulled by a rope in chapter 1. He didn’t have confidence to pull it off and the team also agreed. He doesn’t have stunt training anyway.

- Craig on the other hand, recounted when he was filming being grabbed by a monster for RE Outbreak. He had a rope on his head while filming for that and he didn’t get stunt pay. But things were different years ago.

- Andre said the team took safety really seriously and even for simple things like pretending to fall over, Steve Kniebihly would tell the VAs not to do it and let the stunt team do it instead.

- When Craig auditioned for Wesker, the description was “Villain in a video game”. That was it. All the audition scripts were fake so actors who don’t book the part won’t leak that the game is being made.

- Andre lived & breathed Castellan Spanish culture for months while he filmed RE4R and it drove his family a little crazy. He even spoke with a Castellan Spanish accent for a while too. His family is of Mexican descent and Mexican Spanish pronunciation is different from European/Castellan Spanish.

- Nick was friends with Paul Haddad (OG RE2 Leon VA) before he passed away. He also took some voice lessons from Paul Mercier (OG RE4 Leon VA).

- Craig has not spoken to any previous Wesker VAs. He is long time friends with Alyson and she was his director on one project he worked in before. He has met OG Brad Vicker’s VA before.

- Andre has only met Neil Newbon (RE8 Heisenberg & RE3R Nikolai) in person.

- Craig enjoys playing bad guys since it’s fun to do something he can’t do in real life.

- Nick had to lower his voice for RE4R Leon since Leon in 2004 is a bit “sick of the same shit happening repeatedly” instead of being a newbie cop surprised at everything.

- Craig’s favourite scene to film was the Wesker & Ada confrontation at the beginning of the Island. He had to do the Wesker smirk at the end a few times as the team had to ensure it looked right on the Wesker model.

- Craig has a Guinness World Record for playing in the longest concert which lasted for 19 days, around 437 hours. He was in the planning committee for it and he played 5 times during the concert. To qualify for the record, there were a lot of rules. For example: at least 10 people in the audience had to be awake at all times, each song had to last at least 2 mins, and there can only be a maximum 30 seconds pause between each song.

- Nick got electrocuted in science class when he touched a capacitor with his bare hands. He mentioned that it really freaking hurt and it was almost impossible to let go. He had to force himself to open his hands.

- During the recording of the injury effort sounds for when Leon got electrocuted, Nick clenched his fists and shook them while grunting through gritted teeth.

- For Wesker’s injury effort sounds during Mercenaries mode, the team had to tell Craig to dial back as Wesker responds to injuries in a calmer manner.

- Nick had a lot of fun filming the part where Saddler transforms into his final form.

- Nick mocapped the pilot flying Ada’s chopper.

- Nick was completely mind blown by the stinger at the end.

[allkordelia]

Keep Me Near Your Heart VI

Jaenara was waiting in the great chamber staring into the fire for Aemond's return, it had been a rough few moons, and aemond had kept to his promise and taken Jaenara night and day as well as keeping her trapped in the solar. The last time she was out was when her nameday arrived just around the corner, jaenara was relieved, to say the least when aemond told her of the celebration that viserys wanted to throw for her. She couldn't help but be giddy, after so long she was finally going to see her family.

It felt as if a large stone was lifted from her back making her able to breathe again, nothing could deter her excitement, not aemond, no one. She was so excited to see alys again and her aunt, she had been sending letters but she had yet to have one sent back to her making her wonder if they were mad at her. She wished she could have visited them, she had tried to leave the solar once by breaking the handle of the door only to find Ser Ashford and Ser Krey there standing guard in the corridor.

She remembered the disappointment that spread through her heart and the anger that soon replaced it when Ser Ashford shut the door in her face with a sneer.

But, like everything else that goes bad in her life, a day before her nameday she got a letter from her mother telling her that their family wouldn't be able to make it. It put a damper on her mood, and she spent the whole night sulking at the table while all the lords and ladies danced and had fun.

Deep down Jaenara only wanted her family to come to console her aunt about aemond, and possibly take her back home to Dragonstone.

Jaenara sighed looking away from the fire, she put the palm of her hands against her eyes as she started feeling herself get sleepy. She shook her head trying to stay awake, she needed to stay awake for aemond, hopefully, he get here soon. She thought his lateness would benefit her, and prepare her for what she was going to tell aemond when he came, she hoped he finally is pleased with what she had to say.

The sharp snap of the door made Jaenara flinch, she got up and turned towards her husband, and a sick feeling made its way into Jaenara's gut as she looked at Aemond's callous face. Aemond walks further inside his attention on the letter in his hand, he looks disgruntled and a bit sad.

"Husband." Jaenara greeted softly.

Aemond didn't acknowledge her as he stopped and kept his gaze on the letter, jaenara bit her bottom lip anxious, she was curious to know what it was on that letter that made Aemond look so angry.

"Aemond...I have news." Jaenara says fidgeting with her fingers as she watches Aemond warily, but it seems Aemond didn't hear or just ignoring her, he does that sometimes, "Aemond--"

"What," He pique making Jaenara clamp her lips shut from his heated glare.

Jaenara didn't say anything as she dipped her chin, he was angry and whatever it was that was on the letter made him that way, she knew he was going to be in a sour mood for the remainder of his stay. Maybe, it was best to tell him tomorrow, when he calm down.

"Nothing." She looks up at him, "Just wanted to say, I wish you a goodnight, husband." She said walking up to him, Aemond watched her closely as if at any moment she might pounce, but she just walked past him a headed to her chamber.

She prayed he wouldn't fellow, pray that he was too angry to lay with her, she couldn't handle an angry aemond right now, especially during intercourse. 

"Wait." He commanded, Jaenara stopped just a couple of steps behind him.

She turned to look at her husband to see him clenching the letter in his fist, Aemond was facing her when he began to walk toward her. Jaenara looked away from Aemon when she caught his eye, but Aemond's hand went to her jaw making her look at her.

"Do not think I forgot about you, dove." He said, sending a chill down her spine, "I expect you ready for me once I am finished." Jaenara swallowed as she wondered what he meant.

"I...Aemond, I do not feel very well--" Jaenara gasped when aemond's hand squeezed her jaw painfully, Aemond let out a growl as he stared down at his wife. 

"Do not start, woman. I am in no mood for your perversity, nor am I in the mood for your griping." Jaenara stumbled forward putting her hand on Aemond's wrist, "Now, do as I say, and wait for me in your chamber." He finally let go of her, jaenara's hand went to her jaw looking at her husband as she rubbed her jaw, aemond didn't spare the princess another look as he looked back at the paper in his clenches.

Jaenara was in no mood to deal with him either, she didn't summon him here for his company but to finally put an end to this nightmare.

"Aemond--"

"Are you still here?" He asked harshly looking at her again, Aemond was already dealing with a pressing issue and it seemed this cretinous creature he had the misfortune of marrying was giving him a headache.

"I-I just thought since my condition, we would take a break and talk." Aemond raised a brow at her with an exasperated look, jaenara's teeth gaw at her bottom hoping that he take the bait.

"What condition." He grits out.

Jaenara exhaled softly before taking a step closer to Aemond, the young prince squinted at her before catching her wrist when she moved her hand up to push her hair behind her ear. Jaenara looked at his hand on her wrist before looking back at him, she swallowed the lump in her throat before moving her other hand to gently touch his wrist before rubbing her thumb over his pulse making him look down at the gesture.

"The maester visited. I would have thought he would have spread the news." Aemond looks at Jaenara expectantly with frown brows.

"And what news would that be." Jaenara gave Aemond a small smile, Aemond let go of her wrist as Jaenara pulled at his hand and placed his palm against her stomach, Aemond gulped as he looked down at his hand.

"He confirmed it." Aemond glances up at Jaenara, "I am pregnant with your child, Aemond." Jaenara watched Aemond carefully as he looked back down at his hand against her stomach.

Jaenara's heart pounded against her ribcage nervously as she waited for Aemond to say something, his hand moving along her stomach noticing the small curve.

"How far?" He whispered still looking down in wonder.

"3 moons." Aemond look at her making her give a bashful smile, "I wanted to wait a little long just in case..." She said looking down at her feet.

Jaenara flinched slightly at Aemond hooking his finger under her chin to make her look at him, the young prince surprised himself when he pulled Jaenara forward for a kiss, and Jaenara's eyes widened at the soft lips that were her husband's. She couldn't remember the last time he ever kissed her, that's a lie the last time he kissed her was at their wedding, but the gentle kiss had Jaenara leaning in making aemond wrap his arm around her shoulder pulling her against him. Jaenara couldn't help but melt into the kiss, this was all she ever wanted, her sweet husband, the man who captured her heart and showed her his tenderness and love.

Aemond pulled away making Jaenara stare up at him daze as she clung to him, jaenara fluttered her eyelashes as aemond brushed the tip of his nose against the side of her face.

"You have no idea...how happy you made me," He whispered after pressing a kiss to her hairline.

Jaenara was taken by surprise again when Aemond dropped to his knee to come face to face with her stomach, she couldn't help the smile that came on her face when Aemond gazed at her stomach in awe and cooed as he talked to their babe.

"So...Does this mean I can leave the solar, now?" Jaenara asked meekly, Aemond looked up at her with a look that she couldn't work out.

Jaenara became rigid when Aemond stood from his knee, she shied away when his hand came up to caress her hair.

"Yes, dove." Jaenara exhaled relieved, "You should be out feeling the sun and getting fresh air for the babe," A small smile made its way up to Aemond's lip as she looked down and rubbed her belly, "...I can't wait to tell Mother, she gonna be over the moon." He said slightly giddy.

Jaenara drone, she forgot that they had to tell Alicent, she didn't want anyone to know at the moment. It still felt too early to tell Aemond.

"What's wrong, dove." Jaenara looked at Aemond as he stared at her with a hint of concern, making something deep inside Jaenara flutter.

"I don't want to tell your mother or anyone else for that matter," Jaenara sighs lowly, "I don't want to give anyone hopes up, I was already contemplating on telling you today. I just don't want to be a disappointment again." Aemond frowns feeling a ping of guilt on Jaenara's crestfallen face, he moves his hand to cover Jaenara's hand on her stomach.

"If you wish to wait, we will wait."

"Really?" Jaenara asked surprised, Aemond nodded his head.

"Of course. My mother will understand, but for now, you get some rest and relax." Jaenara smiled gratefully at Aemond.

"Thank you, husband." Jaenara leans up on her tippy toes catching Aemond by surprise as she presses a gentle kiss to his cheek with the scar, when she pulls away she sees how his cheeks grow a light pink.

She bowed her head walking around him, Aemond watched her before looking down at the letter in his balled hand.

"Jaenara." He called looking up at her as she stopped by her door to look at him with a curious look, "Maybe. If you want...I could join you and we can think of names for the babe." Jaenara looked at Aemond with a surprised look before she smiled and nodded.

"That would be most appreciated, husband," Jaenara says trying to refrain from smiling even bigger, Aemond gives a small smile.

"You go ahead. I must take care of something." Jaenara bows her head before continuing inside her room leaving the door open for Aemond.

The young prince played with the balled letter in his hand as he walked over to the fireplace, he looked at the fire that laminated his face, Aemond opened the letter to reread the words his lover sent him.

...I will not return to King's Landing, Aemond, I will not continue to go back and forth from home and there just so you can fuck me and send me away. I deserve better than to be your whore, this a goodbye aemond...

Aemond's heart broke the first time he read it and it hurts still, he wishes she knew how much it pains him that he made her feel like just a whore. But, he had no choice but to have her come back and forth, his mother wouldn't allow her to live in the castle even though she would have been living in his chamber. Too risky, she said. If rumors of Aemond, the good child, being unfaithful to his wife got out, Alicent fears that it would make their house look bad.

Aemond sighs, he tosses the letter into the fire watching it slowly burn. He may never see his lover again, but at least he has Jaenara and the babe. They will distract his broken heart for now, hopefully by the time the babe comes, alys willing fold and come visit him in King's Landing.                            

「                            ⊹₊♚₊⊹                           」

During the past four moons, Aemond and Jaenara have found themselves spending a lot of time together. With the news of Jaenara's pregnancy, their bond grew closer with each passing day. Aemond made a conscious effort to support and protect Jaenara, accompanying her on long walks under the pale moonlight, talking into the late hours of the night, and sharing moments of tenderness and care. Together, they ventured into the realm of parenthood, discussing hopes and fears for the future, and making plans for their growing family.

Despite the challenges and uncertainties, Aemond and Jaenara found solace in each other's presence during this time of change. Their shared experiences have forged a deep, unbreakable connection between them, as they eagerly anticipate the arrival of their child, unified by their love and commitment to each other.

Jaenara thanked the gods for blessing her with her child and making Aemond love her again, it took a while for her to truly let Aemond back in and she was happy she did.

So, when she woke up alone in bed, her heart sank reminding her of the last time she woke up alone, but she shook those thoughts away as she carefully got out of bed, jaenara puffed out as she put her hand on her large belly. She slipped into her flats before waddling to her door, confused and anxious, she walked to her door hoping to seek him out. 

But, rather than seeing Aemond in the great chamber, she sees Enith holding a tray in her hands, "Good Morning, Enith. Have you seen, Aemond?" Jaenara asked standing on the threshold of her door looking at the solar for her husband before looking back at the woman.

Enith's hesitant demeanor made Jaenara furrow her brows as she watched her, a sick feeling in her gut made Jaenara sway as the silence was becoming deafening.

"Enith?" The handmaiden looks from the floor to Jaenara.

"Uh, I haven't seen him this morning, m'lady." She replied, walking up to Jaenara before sliding past her to get inside the room.

Jaenara narrowed her eyes and followed after closing the door behind her, she watched as Enith set the tray on the aemond side.

"Do you have a clue where he is?" She asked again, Enith took a short moment to answer making Jaenara grow suspicious.

"...umm, no...but I could ask around." Enith suggested nervously, jaenara glanced down as Enith played with her skirt before looking back at her.

"Where is my husband, Enith," Jaenara asked crossing her arms over her chest, Enith looked at Jaenara with wide eyes before shrugging her shoulders.

"I-I just told you--"

"What is wrong with you?" Jaenara asked causing Enith to become tongue-tied, "You are acting skittish, are you hiding something from me?" Enith gulped before shaking her head.

"Of course not--"

"Then, where is my husband, you must know something if your acting this way." Enith didn't know what to say, jaenara had become rather observant lately, and the young princess seemed more aware of certain nowadays, "Fine. If you won't tell me then I guess I will have to find out myself." Jaenara turned on her heels making Enith snap back to reality.

"No, wait." Enith nearly screams causing Jaenara to look back at her with a raised brow, Enith sighs sadly before rubbing her hands on her skirt nervously.

"He is in his chamber," Enith said dreary.

Jaenara furrowed her brows at Enith's words, her husband was in his chamber which wasn't surprising nor worrying.

Jaenara scoffed making Enith look at her mistress, "In his chamber? By the gods, Enith. I thought you were going to say something bad, in his chamber." Jaenara shook her head humorous smile as she walked to her side of the bed.

Enith bites her tongue not wanting to finish her sentence, she helps Jaenara onto the bed before taking a seat at the edge. She watched as Jaenara picked berries from the bowl and popped them into her mouth, soon Enith started up a convention trying to distract her mistress from her missing husband.                              

「                            ⊹₊♚₊⊹                           」

After Aemond didn't come back to Jaenara's chamber, she couldn't help but worry about her husband and what he was doing. It was unlike him to be gone for so long without sending word. As the week passed, her concern grew deeper, and she found herself falling into a dark void of fear and uncertainty, unable to shake the feeling of unease that had settled in her chest.

She tried to convince herself that Aemond was simply caught up in some important matter or had lost track of time, but her instincts told her otherwise. She knew her husband well, and something felt off about his absence.

As the days wore on, Jaenara found herself spiraling, her thoughts consumed by anger and despair. She tried going for a walk to clear her mind but was stopped by Ser Ashford and Ser Krey, she was confined in the solar again on aemond's command, jaenara shook her head at the knights.

"For how long?" She questioned them impatiently, they both glanced at each other before looking at her.

"He did not say." Ser Ashford replied, jaenara scowled and crossed her arms.

"I can not stay in this solar, the babe and I need fresh air." She said.

"Open a window." Ser Ashford said tersely with an eye roll, he reached to close the door but Jaenara's hand caught the other handle.

"All I wish is to go for a walk, please, it won't even be for that long." She pleads looking between the men, Ser Krey gives a sympathetic look before looking at Ser Ashford, but the older man ignores the look Krey is giving him.

"No. The prince's orders." He said gruffly making Jaenara pleading eyes turn to glare.

"Well, I am the princess and I wish to go for a fucking walk." She snapped catching both knights off guard, Ser Krey looked between the princess and Ashford as they glared at each other.

Ser Krey stepped between the two and looked at Jaenara with a sincere look.

"I am sorry, princess, but not tonight, maybe tomorrow." Jaenara looked at Krey with a dangerous look making the young knight splutter, "A-And if you wish I can talk to the prince about letting you go for a walk, I am sure if I mention it's for the babe, he would do it, don't you think?" Jaenara thought for a minute, she glanced at Ser Ashford who was still glaring at her, and she sneered looking back at Krey.

"Fine." She said tersely, Krey sighed out of relief before he could say anything else, jaenara slammed the door in their faces.

After that whole ordeal, jaenara's anger turned to despair and desperation, and she missed Aemond lying next to her. She missed his soft kisses, his soothing voice when he read to her, and the babe in high valyrian, even though she was mad at him she still missed his presence around the solar. It seems the only thing that could get her to rest is crying herself to sleep, and she knows, she knows she shouldn't be worrying herself, especially with how close the baby is coming.

Jaenara wiped at her eyes as the door to her room was opened, she looked up to see Enith coming in with an emerald gown.

"What is that?" She sniffs.

"It's your gown to the jubilee," Enith says coming towards the bed and laying the dress out, jaenara frowns glancing at the dress before looking at Enith.

"Jubilee? When is it?" Enith looked at Jaenara with raised bows.

"Tonight," she drawls out, "Did no one tell you?" Jaenara gave her a look.

"And due tell who would have told me this news, Enith. The useless knights or my absent husband." Enith bit her bottom lip as she tried not to smile, she was beginning to like this jaenara, and she gave her mistress an apologetic look before taking a seat next to her, "Do I have to go?" Jaenara asked with a sullen look.

"The queen demands it," Enith says.

Jaenara rolled her eyes before looking down at her belly, she caressed the top feeling a flutter making her smile a bit.

"I can always tell the queen, you not feeling well, my lady." Jaenara drones glancing away from her belly to the emerald gown on the bed.

"No..." She starts, "I'll go but I'm not wearing that gown." She says scootching out of her bed with Enith following suit.

"Okay, what gown did you have in mind." Jaenara looked at the new gowns that aemond brought her, she looked through the various colors and fabrics before stopping at a pretty crimson one that reminded her of a portrait of rhaenys targaryen.

"I think this one will do." Jaenara pulled out the long gown before smiling over at Enith who looked at the gown in awe.

"I think it will do more than just do." Enith giggles taking the gown from Jaenara and heading toward the bed.

As Jaenara took a seat online one of the settees, her hand resting on her belly thinking, she wondered if she saw Aemond.                    

「                            ⊹₊♚₊⊹                           」

Jaenara was proud of herself for choosing the perfect crimson gown to wear to the jubilee, the deep red fabric hugging her baby bump in all the right places. As she entered the great hall, every eye turned to her, admiring her radiant beauty as she made her way to the table where her extended family was seated.

But as she approached, Jaenara's smile faltered. Aemond, her husband, was standing next to a woman with striking black hair, engaged in an animated conversation. Jealousy and suspicion gnawed at Jaenara's heart as she watched the pair, and she felt a surge of discomfort as she realized just how close they were standing to one another.

Trying to shake off her unease, Jaenara joined her family at the table, plastering on a smile and exchanging pleasantries as she tried to ignore the way Aemond and the dark-haired woman kept stealing glances in her direction.

"Jaenara, you look absolutely beautiful," Alicent complimented making Jaenara give her a gracious smile, "But, what happened to the gown I picked out for you?" Alicent asked.

"Oh, you sent me a dress?" Jaenara asked pretending like she didn't know.

"Yes, a gorgeous green gown with jewels around the neckline and wrist, I gave it to your handmaiden." Jaenara made a show of realization before she took a seat beside her younger cousin, Daeron.

"Oh, yes, I saw it pretty dress, but I did not feel like it was for me." She said nonchalantly. 

"Mmmm." Alicent hummed as her sweet smile nearly faltered, she turned away from the girl to take a sip of her wine.

Jaenara glanced away from her step-grandmother to look at Aemond and his guest, they were at the end of the table still talking. She glances away feeling her hands get clammy making her wring out her fingers, she distracts herself with Daeron, who pulls her into a conversation about her dragon, Vermithor.

"...I heard from Mother that you and alys went into Dragonmont to claim your dragons, were you scared?" The young boy asked making Jaenara smirk.

"I was terrified but Alyaena..." Jaenara trail off thinking about her friend, "...well Alyaena wasn't scared, she was brave and she saved my life." Daeron's eyes widen in admiration.

"Wow." He said wonderstruck causing a low giggle to come from Jaenara, "I wish I was as brave as her." Daeron said deflating a little, jaenara put her hand on Daeron's shoulder giving him a sweet smile.

"I'm sure there is a brave bone inside you somewhere, you just have to wait for it to show its face." Daeron smiled back at Jaenara before they were interrupted.

Aemond cleared his throat catching his brother and wife's attention, he glanced at Jaenara who was looking past him at the people dancing on the floor before looking at his younger brother.

"It's getting late, daeron. You should go off to bed." The youngest targaryen frowns at his older brother.

"But, I'm not tired." He whines making Aemond give him a look.

"Mother's orders." He said tersely, jaenara looked at Daeron who pouted, she leaned close to Daeron making the boy look at her.

"If I were you I escape before they start talking politics, I know I would give my left leg just so I don't have to listen to them talk non-stop about boring politics." Jaenara pulled a face making Daeron consider her words, he hated politics they always made him want to go to sleep.

"On second thought, I am feeling a bit tired," Jaenara gives a small smirk as she watch Daeron push back his chair and get up, "Goodnight, Jaenara. Goodnight, Aemond. And good luck." Jaenara covered her mouth with her fingers as she hid her chuckle, Daeron waved back at Jaenara and aemond as he was escorted to his room by a knight.

Jaenara turned her eyes away from the youngest targaryen to her half-eaten plate, a sudden body pressed her side making her glance at Aemond, she looked away trying to find the dark-haired woman he was talking to just hours ago. She turned her eyes to the floor to find her, she watched as the woman was being twirled by a man, jaenara side-eyed aemond to see him watching the dancers as well. She notices how he clenches his jaw before glancing down at his hand on the table that he flexes into a fist before opening his hand, jaenara sighs low putting her hand on her belly.

She looks at the dark-haired woman as she laughs and flips her hair, her heart skips when she makes eye contact with her, jaenara looks away before pushing back her chair. As she stood, Aemond's hand caught her wrist making her look at him.

"Where are you going." He asked, his attention still focused on the floor.

"My chamber." When she pulled her arm, Aemond's gripe tightened a bit before he turned his gaze away from the woman.

"You must stay and keep me company," He said with a glint in his eye, "Leaving now when I just took a seat seems a bit rude, don't you think." Jaenara raises a brow at her husband before glancing around.

"You know what is also rude, husband," Jaenara says looking back to Aemond find him staring at the woman again.

"Mmmm, what." He said remiss, a pit inside Jaenara ignited at his diversion, and she moved her hand over his wrist gently caressing it and making him look at her.

"Having a husband like you that abandons his pregnant wife for days on end, without a word." Jaenara dug her nail into Aemond's wrist over his pulse causing him to hiss before she shove his hand off her.

She absconded away causing Aemond to get up out of his seat with a scowl, he heard someone clear their throat making him turn to see his mother give him a look. Aemond swallowed down his anger and marched after Jaenara, it didn't take long to catch up with her, he grabbed her elbow and pulled her out of sight of the guests.

"Do not touch me." Jaenara chided pulling her arms away from aemond as they stood hidden away behind the pillars.

"How dare you--" Aemond growled.

"How dare I what?" She snapped looking at him with so much anger that could make even the dead shake in their coffins.

Aemond was taken back by his wife's tone for a second before his face twisted into a scowl and put his finger in her face, "Have you lost your mind, talking to me like this--" Jaenara gave an eye roll before turning her back to her husband, Aemond splutter at her action and grab her elbow before she could take another step.

Jaenara turned back slapping Aemond's hand from her arm, the young prince gave her a look that told her he was getting fed up.

"Jaenara." He grits angrily through his teeth, "Whatever is going on with you, you better fix it quickly before you make me do something I might regret." Jaenara scoffs a chuckles out making Aemond tilt his head to the side as he stares at her.

"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots." She mocked making Aemond clench his jaw, "I doubt whatever you do to me is not going to be worse than having me locked in a room all by myself worried sick about you."

Aemond stood quiet, he glanced away mildly ashamed. He didn't mean to leave her there all by herself when he got word that Alys returned to King's Landing. He couldn't help himself but go to her.

"Jaenara--" Jaenara put her hand up stopping him.

"I don't care. Whatever you gonna say I don't care." Aemond frowned slightly at the defeat in Jaenara's voice, "Just go back to your lady friend and leave me be." Aemond swallowed as he watched her walk away from him, he looked over at the crowd of dancers and saw Alys happily dancing with another man, oblivious of his absence.

Aemond caught up with Jaenara catching her hand causing her to snatch it away as if it were a hot stone, she looked back at him annoyed as she hid her sadness, why was he still bothering her?

"Aemond, I am not in the mood. Go back to the celebration--" She commanded, the tone hard and tense, making a stir appear in Aemond'a's stomach before he brushed it away.

"Not without you." Jaenara rolled her eyes.

"I told you I'm going my chamber--"

"Then, I will accompany you."

It was Jaenara's turn to clench her jaw, she didn't want him near her, why was that so hard for him to understand?

"As sweet as that is, aemond. I would rather return to my chamber alone." Jaenara glared at Aemond as he caught her hand again, he tightened his grip when she tried to pull away.

"For god's sake, jaenara. Stop acting like a  brat." The words rang in her head like a bell, echoing in her mind, causing her to glare at Aemond once again.

"The only brat I see is you, my prince." She spat, "Why don't you go back to your whore, I'm sure she's missing you by now." Aemond's hold loosened making Jaenara pull her hand away.

His hand twitched by his side as a thought passed through his mind, Aemond swallowed down his indignant choosing to ignore what Jaenara said about his lover, and instead took a step forward making Jaenara take a step back, Aemond sighed and looked away before looking back at her with the sincerest look he could muster.

"Jaenara...she is no one." He says, making Jaenara roll her eyes before casting her eyes sadly away.

"I'm not blind. I see the way you look at her." She said quietly, "It's nowhere near the way you look at me, she must be someone really special." She looks back at him to see Aemond with a small frown.

"...she is--was...but she means nothing to me now."

Jaenara dipped her chin, she couldn't believe it or maybe she did, it would explain why he changed so quickly and where he had been in the last couple of weeks. Jaenara's heart grew heavy, she wondered how long it had been going on, was that woman the only one or did Aemond have more paramours around? Was it her name that he called that night during their rendezvous?

"Go to her." She whispered making Aemond furrow his brows.

"What?"

Jaenara looked back at him with tears in her eyes, a flicker of pain stabbed him in his heart at her distraught features.

"You love her, so go to her. I won't stop you." Aemond glanced away from her, jaenara took a step closer making him look back at her as she stared up at him with pleading eyes, "Just do one thing for me, please..." She asked making Aemond's frown deepen, "...let me go," Aemond looked at her dumbfounded, before staring at her with an uneasy look.

"Jaenara--"

"Don't please." She stopped him making him purse his lips, "I know what happens to a woman who is put into a loveless marriage, they become depressed, sad, angry, bitter, resentful individuals." Jaenara sighs shaking her head, "My mother..." Jaenara stopped herself as she trailed off, aemond looked at her worried before she continued, "My mother was a bitter woman, she resented my aunt and uncle's love for each other, and that made it hard to live with her." She looks at Aemond with sadness.

"I...I don't want to end up like my mother, I do not wish to turn my hatred onto our child because you couldn't love me back." Jaenara swallowed and reached to grab aemond's hand with both of her hands and placed them over her heart, Aemond looked at his hands and hers before looking at Jaenara," So I ask, no, beg you husband to spare me, spare me the heartache and misery, and if can not do it for me then our child." She gently begged.

Aemond was speechless. He couldn't form the right words to say to her, he loved Alys, she was his whole world but she left him and he tried to move on and when she came back it was like he was under a spell and he needed to see her. Aemond could understand what Jaenara was saying, after all his father did the same to his mother in a way, and his mother put so much pressure on him and his siblings.

Just look at Aegon, the man was a waste of space and didn't deserve to be considered to be next line for the throne. Then, there's Helaena, his sweet Helena, she had no choice but to marry their idiot of a brother just to make aegon seem more appealing to people. And finally, there was him, the good brother, the scholar, the one who lost an eye and became a hideous monster no one can love, until Alys anyway.

But, he couldn't go against his mother, out of everybody in the castle, he was the only one that she could depend the most on. He had to think about his family's reputation and his own, if he wanted to keep the peace between their families.

Aemond bowed his head so he leaned his forehead against Jaenara's, he let out a soft sigh as he brought his other hand up to cup her jaw. Jaenara closed her eyes, can't help but lean into aemond's touch, why was it so easy to melt into him?

Aemond brought his lips to her temple before whispering in her ear.

"My loyalty lies with you, not her not anymore--" Jaenara tried to pull back but Aemond brought her hands against his chest and his other hand mother to the side of her neck.

"Aemond--" She whined looking away as she tried to pull away not wanting to hear his lies.

"Please, dove." He begs to make me look back at him, he looks so genuine, "Please, let me escort you back to our chamber, let me be with you and our child." Jaenara stared at him thinking what she should do.

She didn't trust aemond to not break her again, she wanted so badly to believe him. But, he was with her. All this time while she was alone and worried, he was with her, doing things only they should be doing. While that woman gets the sweet and soft aemond, jaenara must endure the cold and mean him. How is that fair? How can he make love to his paramour, but fucks her like some whore he found in a brothel. None of this is fair. She doesn't deserve to be put through this--

"I love you, dove." Jaenara flutters her lashes as she snaps out of her daze to look at Aemond, "I am so sorry for being a fool and allowing myself to lose sight of you and our family, I will forever live in shame that I hurt you and brought you pain." Aemond's hand landed on her belly making her stomach churn as he rubbed it gently, "I don't deserve your forgiveness, but please let me earn it back, let me be the man that you deserve...that our child deserves." Jaenara couldn't help the tears that blurry her vision, she put her hands on her face trying not to sob, she didn't know why she was crying his words did little to assure her.

"Come now, let me take you to bed." Jaenara couldn't form words so she nodded, making aemond wrap his arm around her shoulder and guide her toward the exit.

As he was about to leave he looked over his shoulder to see Alys looking at him with a small frown as she stood in the middle of the floor while everyone else continued to dance, Aemond swallowed and turned his head away, guiding Jaenara out of the great hall with a clenched heart.

[buttercup--bee]

Burn my Desire

Summary: Aemond Targaryen frightens you, his fearless brutality keeping you at bay. That does not, Gods forgive you, halt the yearning you feel for him. (1/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen/Female!Reader (Lady Ashford)

Warnings: Heavy Implications Towards Sex; Unhealthy Relationships; Dubious Consent; Minors DNI;

Main Masterlist ~ Series Masterlist ~ Ao3 ~ Playlist ~ Next

I do not give permission for any of my works or their included components to be copied, translated, and/or reposted, even with credit.

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

You hold your breath, chest concealed in a nervous thrum. 

It’d only been a moment, a singular moment, that you allowed yourself to look upon your husband. You haven’t been able to stomach maintaining his attention, let alone a conversation, but it was easy to stare if he didn’t notice. If he didn’t acknowledge that his new wife had taken to sampling his person. 

However, it was never out of curiosity, nor the commonplace excuse of affection. 

All you can think is he knows, he knows, he knows. 

“Like what?” 

He meets your intense gaze, matching it tenfold, and you shrink into yourself. A reflection of confusion and doubt crosses his face, interwoven with what you think is disbelief. Perhaps concern? 

You’d have to be a madwoman to believe that. No, a man like him feels nothing but apathy; entitlement, anger, raw and chipped - a nerve waiting to singe his insides. 

Aemond may have dragons blood stirring within him, molten to the core. But he is a sensitive man, one who deems his honor worthy of bloodshed. Someone who could be tempted to blow under such short notice, and consume all that is in his path in a blaze of wildfire.

He knows it. You know it. And now, Westeros knows it. 

“Like you’re afraid of me.” 

Of course he knows. 

You frown, an expression that has crossed your complexion one too many times since your wedding. Once, Kings Landing had been a safe haven from home. Now it is a cage, and you, a songbird awaiting release.

Sucking in a breath, you force yourself to step forward, evading his gaze as you do so. As singular as it is, it makes up for in ferocity. A single glare from your husband sent many into distress. You’d be a liar if you said it didn’t do the same to you. 

Luckily, you’ve never been the source of his ire. Not yet at least, and if you play your part well, never will be. 

You don’t notice how long you’ve been silent for, a mistake on your part. It always is. Your sweet reverie is broken when your peripheral captures motion. 

By the time you realize that Aemond has left his desk - the surface smattered in war delegations, letters, parcels and ink - he is standing before you. Close enough that you breathe in smoke, dragon hide, and notes of lavender.

“Perhaps I should reiterate,” he tilts his head, features cold, as if cut from marble, “you are afraid of me.” 

It isn’t a question. No, the man does you the disservice of exclaiming your own self to you, and is certain he is right. Perhaps there is salvation beyond this? Maybe the Gods would look at you as they do a kicked pup. With pity. 

Gulping down what you assume might have been a whimper, you shake your head. 

“Of course not, my Prince,” the silence is suffocating, ripping at the edges with no end in sight. An excuse was needed, one that didn’t upset him. “I was merely…I like to watch you work.” You blurt it out before you can think. 

Aemond lifts a brow, “Is that so?” 

You look anywhere but him as he inches closer, brushing through your personal space as if it were nothing but collateral damage. “We never speak, and since the war began,” you search for the right words, something to settle your nerves and his…whatever this sudden reaction was. “I like to see you when you are alone, and not worried about how others may perceive you.” 

“I worry about how others perceive me?”

“No, I -” 

“No?” 

Everything inside you screams you escape, find someplace to catch your breath, but you have nowhere to run to. One cannot simply leave their chains to rust in exchange for freedom. Not in King’s Landing. 

Aemond, much to your surprise, captures your chin in his grasp and forces your head back. Its warmth squeezes at your gut, twists your heart in a death  grip until all you can feel is the tingling in your stomach. A flutter that uproots your composure in one instantaneous, vicious tear.

He tilts your head to the side, as if inspecting a new breed of hound, then tips it just enough to meet his gaze, his thumb taut against your underjaw as he leans in. Sapphire glitters in the firelight - pale lilac glimmers beside it, “what must I do to alleviate your worries, Princess?”

Everything in the chamber seems to dull at that moment, and you nearly claim he needn’t kill his own family for one, nor harm those innocent of any wrongdoings in the name of Aegon. But you can’t, and he can never soothe this fear of yours. 

You cannot respond, your throat tight and dry, grinding the words to dust before they can escape. Aemond releases you then, circling you as one does prey. A dragon searching for an opening when in reality, it doesn’t need one. 

He merely needs a strong grip, and a slender throat to squeeze. But he doesn’t, he’d rather tempt fate and allow your terror ground you to the floor. 

Without warning, he palms your shoulders from behind, pulling you inwards and against his chest. Hot, fervid breath sweeps over your neck - you shiver. 

“Nothing, my Prince, I am perfectly fine.” You near stutter, blood on fire when his grip tightens. Blunt nails dig into your flesh, a warning where one wasn’t needed.

“I don’t like liars.” 

His baritone is flat, unfeeling, yet it has you in a chokehold. There is a promise behind his declaration. A promise of what, you don’t know. Perhaps he would have you punished, sent away, killed -

Your eyes widen, breath caught between your lungs; Aemonds teeth pinch your flesh raw, piercing and wet. 

Then, without reprise, laxens the sting with his lips. His fingers still burn. His arms still entangle with your own. 

“Do you know why I called you here?” 

Tremors shoot up your spine, unknowing of how to feel - let alone process what he’d just done. Aemond only touches you when necessary. And that is not often. Already, you are overwhelmed by his presence. His precise squeezing of your shoulders, the circles he rubs there, how his breath skates across your kiss slicken skin. 

You shake your head, a vague attempt to match his question with a response. 

He grunts, a low hum that reverberates against your body. His right hand loosens, slinking down your arm and combing over its intrusion to envelope your lower waist. 

Long, thick fingers cinch your hip, digging deeper and deeper until you fight off a squeal. It releases itself in a tapered whine, unfairly close to a moan. 

You can’t think right now, not like this. Not with your husband practically draped over you, whispering to you, feeling you; he’s never done this. Since your betrothal he has focused solely on bladework, studying, Vhagar and her health - war too, now.

He has yet to lay with you. Your marriage is a farce, though no one in court dares to make a scene of it.

An empty womb after a year as his wife, and with no swell to your stomach nor child to show for it? It's a disgrace to his name many would say, to his lineage and the war itself. 

Your father would have sharply questioned you. As sharp as belts or canes - something that would ensure you remembered your duty. Aemond has been a gentle in that regard. He has never forced himself on you, and has never led you to believe he would.

Perhaps you should be thankful for your fathers absence, or at the very least acknowledge it to be a kindness towards your sanity that you are here. That he is far away and can no longer touch you. 

Aemond runs his lips along the shell of your ear, sparking a questionable heat in your abdomen. It is unfamiliar and pleasing all at once. 

“Aegon believes his sons are not enough to solidify his reign,” the hand still on your shoulder begins to play at the fabric of your gown, “and many still…question the validity of our marriage.”

Stiff and poised and dignified. You return to your normal stature when his admission resonates within the atmosphere. 

Withholding the tremble at your bottom lip, you open your mouth to speak, to say -

“I will not take you to bed however,” shock coincides with the featherlight touch of his lips on your throat, the way his tongue pokes out just enough to have you gasping, “not unless I am invited.” 

“You won’t force me?” 

It slips from you before you can even comprehend what has made itself known. Outward defiance towards one's husband was punishable by the Seven, sometimes severely. 

You grimace, unable to speak further on the subject. Your face is hot, mouth pressed in a tight line as you await his answer. 

Would he punish you? Throw you out of his chambers with a collection of scars to bear forevermore? 

Aemond has yet to move, his fingers still playing with the Myrish lace of your sleeves. Nausea begins to take root in your stomach, head aching in distress. He must delight in your confusion, your frozen terror.

Without warning, he tucks you into himself further, and you’re certain your hip will bruise in due time under the duress. The air is thick with anticipation. Blood rushing, limbs numb and on fire all at once; your flesh sizzles where he breathes. 

The silence is broken beneath a deep, melodic baritone - a smooth consistency that spills over your person in a cascade of goosebumps. You gnaw the inside of your cheek as Aemond draws a deep breath; his nose pressed tight to your skin. Your heart strains, rushing towards a safe haven that does not exist. 

A mirage that you desperately cling to when he murmurs, “No, my little wife,” he towers behind you still, though his touch has become lighter, looser, “I will not force you.” 

Without another word, he untangles himself from you, and returns to his desk as if nothing had just happened. You don’t have the courage to excuse yourself, let alone ask what in the seven hells just happened. 

Your release has the same effect as that of falling leaves. It is beautiful, solemn, yet there is something left to be desired. 

Between your thighs, you throb. It is unlike anything you have felt before, slick and hot and beyond uncomfortable. Clenching your thighs together, you nearly hiss out at the sensation. 

Unsure what to do with yourself, if you should take your leave or pend on his approval, Aemond sighs. 

The sound carry’s your attention back towards your husband, his features neutral, tired even. There is one difference, you think, just beneath the stoicism. 

“Helaena asked for you not long ago,”

Hunger. 

“She awaits your presence in the gardens.” A pause, one that delves between the unsaid and returns with bounties of apprehension; it fills the space between the two of you. “Do be careful, you look…faint.”

Tags: @ephemeralninon​ @ichanelvxgue​ @404slayer404 @themartiansdaughter​

[beanusu]

𝟷

(not sure how this will lead, but here we go) word count: 2k+ part 𝟸 →

Loki walked alongside his manager down the crowded New York street, the autumn wind tugging at his suit jacket. His sunglasses shielded him from the prying eyes of passersby, but inside his mind, everything felt exposed, raw. The meeting for that insufferable TV show had been another performance. Luke Ashford, the world’s perfect actor. How utterly tedious.

He let out a slow breath, trying to focus on the chaos around him—the noise of traffic, snippets of conversation floating in the air—but it wasn’t enough to drown out the memory creeping back into his thoughts.

Eirwen.

Her face, those emerald eyes... too vivid, too real, as if time hadn’t ripped her away from him all those years ago. He couldn’t stop it. Her laugh echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, and for a moment, the sound of New York’s blaring horns faded, replaced by the distant clash of battle and the rush of Asgard’s eternal sky.

Pathetic, he thought bitterly. Dwelling on the dead won’t change the past.

He was about to shake the memory off when something—or rather, someone—cut through the crowd, heading directly toward him. A woman, her gaze distant, headphones firmly over her ears. She wasn’t looking at him, didn’t even seem aware of the world around her, yet as she drew closer, Loki felt the air shift. It wasn’t the noise of the city, nor the sight of her raven-black hair falling past her shoulders—it was her scent. Clary sage and tea rose. His steps faltered. No.

As she passed, Loki’s body reacted before his mind could catch up. His hand shot out, grabbing her arm. The touch startled him as much as it did her. For a fleeting moment, his breath caught in his throat, and he half expected to look down and see Eirwen standing before him, alive. Ridiculous, and yet... that scent, those eyes...

The woman blinked, pulling down her headphones. She turned, surprised but not fearful, her emerald eyes—her eyes—narrowing slightly as she looked at his hand on her arm. Loki couldn’t breathe, his heart pounding against his ribs. It can’t be.

She glanced up, her reflection faintly visible in his sunglasses. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice calm, steady, as if she wasn’t remotely affected by the sudden intrusion.

Is something wrong? His grip loosened, but his gaze lingered on her face, searching for... what? Recognition? A sign that this was another one of Fate’s twisted jokes? He lowered his sunglasses slightly, wanting—needing—to see her more clearly. It has to be her.

The woman’s expression shifted for the briefest second as she realized who stood before her. “Wait—” she said softly, and with a gentle but firm hand, she pressed his sunglasses back into place, her touch lingering just long enough for him to feel the warmth of her skin.

“I’d keep those on if I were you,” she said with a faint smile. “Unless you want a mob chasing you down for autographs.”

Loki blinked, momentarily thrown off by her casual demeanor. Who the hell is she? She wasn’t panicking, wasn’t fawning over him like the usual sycophants. And yet, there was something about her... something unnervingly familiar. He released her arm, but his eyes never left hers.

“You—” His voice faltered, catching on a memory. Eirwen. No, this wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “You remind me of someone I once knew.”

Her smile softened, but she didn’t push further. Just a nod. “Well, I hope that’s a good thing.”

Loki's manager, oblivious to the weight of the moment, stepped in with a hushed, urgent voice. “Luke, what the hell are you doing? We’ve got another meeting. You’re gonna end up on the front page if this keeps up.”

Luke. Luke Ashford, Loki reminded himself. The facade. The performance. He gave the woman one last look—searching, still hoping for something more.

She didn’t linger. “Take care, Mr. Ashford,” she said, her voice as gentle as her smile.

He watched her walk away, disappearing into the sea of people, her scent lingering in the cool air. His manager, clearly irritated, demanded an answer. “Seriously, what the hell was that? Grabbing strangers on the street? You’re lucky there aren’t cameras around. That could’ve gone real bad.”

Loki didn’t answer, couldn’t. His thoughts were spinning, the past and present colliding with brutal force. Eirwen is dead. This is someone else. But gods, she looked exactly like her. The scent, the hair, the eyes—how is this even possible?

As his manager continued to rant, Loki remained silent, his gaze fixed on the spot where the woman had disappeared. He should’ve walked away, should’ve shrugged it off as some cruel coincidence. ⠀🗡️⠀ Loki sat on the leather couch, sunglasses still perched on his face, blocking out the harsh overhead lights of the meeting room. Across from him sat the director, producer, and writer, all throwing out their best sales pitches for the next big movie. His manager sat next to him, nodding along, pretending to care.

Loki didn’t care. This whole performance was mundane, another attempt by the mortal world to capture something larger than life. He was here in body, but his mind? Far elsewhere.

His fingers lightly drummed against the couch as the projector clicked through slide after slide—co-stars, crew, box office projections. Boring. The only thing keeping him grounded in this meeting was his sunglasses, a convenient shield for his eyes and emotions.

Then it hit. A slide appeared that made his pulse stutter.

Luna Hayes.

The candid photo of her appeared on the screen, in a setting that made Loki pause. A lush, green forest, likely an outdoor set. She was smiling, hair messily tied into a bun, her headphones casually hanging around her neck, holding onto them like it was second nature. The sunlight hit her just right, capturing her mid-laugh, her eyes soft but distant. She looked so alive. So unlike the woman he had grabbed on the street. The contrast slammed into him like a wave.

His chest tightened. The same scent, the same eyes. Why does she keep reappearing?

Loki’s fingers stilled on the couch, but he forced himself to stay neutral. Not a flicker of emotion escaped. But inside? His thoughts churned. He couldn’t get away from her. It was infuriating.

“She looks too young,” his manager remarked casually, leaning forward to glance at the screen. “Is she even qualified to be head of sound?”

The producer immediately jumped in, as if prepared for the criticism. “Luna’s incredible. Dedicated, fast, and precise. Everyone who’s worked with her raves about her work. I mean, yeah, she’s only been in the industry a few years, but she’s already got award nominations. She’s one of the best.”

Loki didn’t respond to the praise. He was too busy trying to figure out why fate—or whatever cruel hand was at play—kept putting this woman in his path. First the street, now this?

Sliding his phone out, he typed a quick text to Thor. We need to talk. His fingers moved smoothly, hiding any sign of unease. He couldn’t explain this away on his own. He needed someone to bounce it off, and Thor was just stupid enough to help him think through this without judgment.

As the rest of the presentation dragged on—potential co-stars, plans for the sound department, more forgettable details—Loki let it wash over him. His thoughts kept returning to her. That face, the warmth in the photo, the sharp contrast to their strange encounter. This is no mere coincidence.

The meeting finally ended, and Loki’s manager stood, shaking hands with the producers. “We’ll think it over and get back to you in a few days,” he said, keeping the negotiation open, just as planned.

Loki rose from the couch, smoothing out his jacket. His eyes were still hidden behind the sunglasses, but his mind was racing. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Luna Hayes.

They walked toward the elevator, the sound of their shoes clicking against the floor cutting through the silence. As they waited, his manager gave him a sidelong glance. “Who was that woman?”

Loki tightened his jaw but kept his voice measured. “No one important.”

The manager raised an eyebrow, unconvinced but unwilling to push further. “You sure? You seemed... distracted back there. I mean, if you’ve got history with her, we need to be careful. The press would love to tear into something like that.”

Loki turned his head slightly, just enough to convey that he wasn’t in the mood for further questioning. “I said it’s nothing,” he snapped, a subtle edge of irritation in his voice. His manager was still clueless. There was nothing to discuss here. Not with him. Not now.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped inside. His manager adjusted his tie, giving Loki a brief glance in the mirrored elevator walls. “The movie seems the better option than that TV show, don’t you think? Faster track to bigger projects.”

Loki barely heard him. His mind was still on her. “Yes, faster,” he said absently. But it wasn’t about the career. It was about her. ⠀🗡️⠀ Slide into the back seat of the car, Loki settling into the leather with his usual detached grace. His manager, still standing outside, leaned against the doorframe, making sure he wasn’t fully off the hook just yet.

“You need to think about it,” the manager said, his voice professional but with an edge of impatience. “Movie or TV show? I’ll call you in a few days to get your decision.” His eyes were expectant, waiting for some sign of engagement from Loki.

Loki nodded, but his mind was far from career choices. “Of course,” he murmured, not bothering to make eye contact. He held onto his phone, thumb hovered over the screen, but he hadn’t pressed it yet.

The manager lingered for a second longer, watching Loki with thinly veiled suspicion. “You sure everything’s fine? You were a little... distracted in there.” His words hung in the air, the unspoken question about the woman—Luna—clear.

Loki glanced up, his face unreadable behind his sunglasses. “Everything’s fine,” he said smoothly, his tone final. He shifted slightly, a silent signal for his manager to back off. The man hesitated, then nodded, stepping back and closing the door with a quiet thunk.

The moment the door clicked shut, Loki exhaled softly, relief at the small bit of solitude. He looked down at his phone, tapping the screen. Thor’s message sat there, waiting: Come to Jane’s. You know the address.

Loki stared at it for a moment longer before typing, On my way.

He hit send, then leaned forward, speaking quietly to the driver. “Take me to Jane Foster’s residence.”

The driver nodded without question, pulling the car smoothly away from the curb, the hum of the engine filling the brief silence. Loki leaned back into the seat again, still holding his phone, though now his focus shifted.

Luna Hayes. The name still echoed in his mind like an unsolved puzzle. Something about her gnawed at him, refusing to let go. She wasn’t just a fleeting face on the street. There was more. He could feel it. He unlocked his phone again and, with a few taps, began searching for her online.

Nothing.

No social media. No obvious digital footprint. It was strange. These days, everyone has something nowadays—anything. But Luna Hayes? She was a ghost.

His fingers moved faster, irritation growing. He finally stumbled upon a few work credits—her name attached to various projects as head of sound, as the producer had said. But they were cold facts, just names on a screen. Nothing that told him who she was. Nothing that explained the strange pull she had over him.

After a few more fruitless searches, he finally found something: a video, listed as her graduation project. The thumbnail showed her standing in a forest, her hair much longer than in the candid photo from the presentation, flowing loosely around her shoulders. The title of the project was simple: Element.

He hesitated for a moment, then tapped play.

The screen filled with soft, natural sounds—water trickling through a stream, the rustle of leaves, the distant hum of wind through the trees. The scene unfolded slowly, showing Luna barefoot, walking along a forest path. The camera lingered on her feet as they pressed into the soft earth, her fingers brushing lightly through the foliage as she passed.

Loki watched, entranced, as the scenes transitioned from nature to the city. Luna moved through both worlds, never speaking, only existing within the soundscape she had created. In the city, she walked barefoot on concrete, her hand trailing along cold metal railings, her eyes distant and thoughtful. The sounds were harsher now—car horns, the hiss of steam from a subway grate, the echo of footsteps against pavement. Yet there was a subtle beauty to it, a connection between the two worlds that was undeniable.

Then the camera shifted back to her face—a close-up of her emerald eyes framed by the long, dark waves of her hair. The camera captured the softness in her gaze, a quiet intensity that made Loki’s chest tighten. She was present but somehow distant, as though she existed on the edge of both worlds, belonging to neither.

Loki’s grip on the phone tightened. There was no narration, no explanation. The video didn’t need it. The visuals and sound—the elemental contrast—spoke volumes. Nature versus the city, the organic versus the artificial. It was a meditation on how disconnected people were from the world around them yet how deeply they longed for that connection.

He watched as Luna stood beneath a waterfall, her hair drenched, droplets clinging to her skin. She reached out her hand, letting the water flow through her fingers, her expression calm, almost serene. Then, just as easily, the scene shifted again, back to the harshness of the city, where she stood under a cold, metallic overhang, rainwater dripping from the edges, barely touching her.

Loki watched the final moments in silence as the video ended, the screen fading to black.

Who are you? he thought, his mind racing. She was more than just a sound engineer. She was something else entirely, something he couldn’t quite place but felt drawn to.

The car came to a stop, and Loki realized they had reached Jane’s place. He glanced out the window, then back at his phone, the final image of Luna still lingering in his mind. Her emerald eyes, those quiet, intense eyes, stared back at him as though they knew something he didn’t.

He slipped the phone back into his jacket, exhaling slowly. There were more questions now, and he hated unanswered questions.

Stepping out of the car, he felt the weight of what lay ahead. Thor would have his opinions, no doubt. But something about Luna was pulling Loki in a way that was both frustrating and compelling.

He wasn’t sure whether he was chasing a mystery or if the mystery was pulling him along. part 𝟸 →

[cho-aaacho]

There are only two souls in this room.

Masterlist I Archive of Our Own

Summary : You're a young professor at the university where Albert studied. He almost annoyed you for most of the time, drawing you deeper and deeper into his playful game. He loved seeing you blush in humiliation and seeing the scarlet flush on your cheeks.

But at that time, when the sun dimmed, you and Albert agreed to take shelter from the rain in the classroom. While waiting for the storm to pass. Sharing a room with him...

Rain falling to the ground creates a calming atmosphere around the world. Some people run through the streets, dancing with the raindrops as if they were fairies, and the aroma of moist soil fills their noses. It always leaves a pleasant, romantic impression.

You leaned against the classroom window and sighed. A peculiar feeling began to invade your mind, pleading for assistance in escaping these situations. It was dark and cold, like a horror movie night scenario; all you could hear were raindrops, the air conditioner in the room, and the ticking of the clock, creating a blue atmosphere.

As you turned around at the door, you noticed someone standing there with a familiar smile. He grinned pleasantly as he stood there magnificently with his charismatic aura as if something special was teasing his thoughts with its warmth.

You couldn't see him properly from this distance, but the smile that curled on his tiny, delicate lips was always something you recognized about him.

"Professor?!" He called you.

It's Albert Wesker, a bright student of yours. A golden man in his generation, one of billions of people who could make a difference in the future. He was almost like an angel that descended from heaven and made everyone kneel before him.

Albert chimed in and entered the classroom where you were teaching. The colorful aroma of lahana leaf begins to dance between your nostrils, slowly and magically dropping, the scent becoming stronger as Albert approaches.

There is no one in the classroom. No one. There are only two souls in this room. Albert and you.

You laid the glasses down and attempted to hide your fatigue from your students.

As he approached, a gleam in his eye flashed; his eyes were like watercolors, with blues and greens blending like paint on a canvas. You couldn't help but be taken in by their attractiveness. His eyes were something beyond description.

He stepped in confidently as his pride shone through. When he got closer, you could detect a faint scent of masculinity wafting towards your nose. A small smile appeared on his face, and he slicked his blond hair with a mischievous grin.

"You aren't home yet? Are you struggling with correcting an essay?”

Strands of his blond hair were still falling across his forehead, and his blue eyes were pulled to the page with a smile that curled on his gorgeous lips, making him appear more mature than he was. He scoffed and chuckled as he examined the heaps of documents on your desk and read out the titles.

"Mind if I help you, Professor?" He replied with a cheeky grin remaining on his face.

He stifled the term professor to mock you. Making you fall deeper and deeper into his playful game. He loved seeing you blush in humiliation and seeing the scarlet flush on your cheeks.

He had a mocking sneer on his face and was going to say the next line to tease his classmate. "Whoa, they'd get an F with a red pen on their essay."

You stroked your nose as you sighed. "Why would you say that, Albert?"

"Because... well, you know, Professor. No one can answer these questions; only William Birkin and I can." He remarked triumphantly, winking. "...do you know what I mean?"

You almost laughed at his joke, chuckling in his presence, but as a good professor, you aren't permitted to laugh in the presence of a failed student. It's illegal and not cool at all. You are not one of those awful professors who merely lecture for money.

Albert, along with William Birkin and Alexia Ashford, was undeniably one of the brightest students at the university. When you first taught him in class, he demonstrated to everyone how good he was at answering every question and quiz and receiving a decent mark. If there was a higher score than S++, he’d get it.

You had no idea why he was so intelligent and yet so mischievous. Beneath his lovely face belied his mischievous character. It’s extremely unfair for someone like him.

Most of the time, he offers to take you for lunch at the cafeteria, asking you to go out to karaoke with him and Morpheus. Of course, this leaves a little death glare from Morpheus and, as a bonus, a protesting voice from William in the background.

When he has your email address, he starts spamming your inbox with a hilarious message filled with this ♪⁠～⁠(⁠´⁠ε⁠｀⁠ ⁠) emoticon. You didn't even know what that meant. Maybe it's something popular among the younger generation. He does that tentatively at first but becomes more active when you reply to his messages with a simple "Thank you."

Well, you are five years older than him. But he treated you like you were younger than him. He always did it, like it was a daily routine, and he would willingly write them in his diary, repeatedly doing that the next day.

He's cute. Too cute for someone like you to bear. Every time his eyes were drawn to your presence, he would treat you in a childish manner.

It's weird, to be honest.

Because, from what you know, he always gave another person a stern and uninterested look. Like something bad disgusted him and made him vomit in pain.

His smile… the way he looks at you is different; it’s like a sunny winter day. It’s warming the coldest part of your heart.

“I can't go home because of the rain…” You turned at the window, and Albert followed your gesture.

“Yeah, the rain is so annoying. But, who are we? We can’t control the weather.”

He sat on the table and tapped a vacant place beside him. Ordinarily, you would act uninterestedly and give him an excuse to reject that offer. But this time, you simply followed your heart and leaped to the table, sitting near him until your knees touched his.

"It's going to be a long rainy day, Professor." He said it with a sly grin. "I don't think standing under an umbrella will keep us safe, at the very least..."

He paused and leaned into your ear. "You seem to enjoy a romantic situation, hmm?”

“What?!” You mockingly chuckle. "We're not teenagers; things like that only appear in romance comic books. It's not romantic at all to stand together under an umbrella."

He draws at your eyes, and you look at his.

“How about this, Professor…”

He turned around, revealing a white earphone in his palm. You gaze at him, confused. "What do you mean, Albert?"

"I'll share some of my favorite songs, and you'll do the same! We'll wait and listen to our favorite songs until the rain stops!"

You chuckle and gently slap his shoulders. When he saw that wonderful moment of yours, he blinked twice and laughed softly.

“Why?” He inquired.

“No. I had no idea you were a fan of something like that, Albert. That's very kind of you."

He was embarrassed and moved his face away from you. “Ah… yeah.”

As he began scanning through his smartphone, he handed you the other pair of earphones. He couldn't stop smiling, his eyes beaming, and he looked more attractive under the classroom light. The way he looked at the smartphone is something you've never seen before.

He paused his scrolling, and with each click, a quiet and exquisite instrument flowed into your ear. He hummed and softly shook his head, following the instrument from the song.

Oh, this is a love song.

You scoffed and looked at his side profile while he was still listening to the song and thoroughly hypnotized by the lyrics. You're not sure if he chose that song on purpose or not, but his music taste is too sweet for someone like him.

The second track is played, and it simply has a piano and a violin instrument on it. His shoulder weakened as he leaned in softly to your shoulders, and his golden-glow hair nestled between your shoulders.

You giggled. While your fingers and his are interlaced...

"You're correct, Albert. It'll be a long, rainy day..."

He scoffed and responded sleepily. "Are you mad, Professor?"

“Why would I do something like that?" You stroked his golden hair. "You're..., yeah, I don't have time to be mad at you. However, if another professor sees us in this state, they will fire me."

“Aaaa… It’s illegal to date their students, right? So, how about if I marry you then? I’m 21 and you’re 26; there's nothing wrong with that.”

[leveragehunters]

I've been weaving on my new Ashford Katie loom, Babygirl, just playing around with a bunch of different patterns (2/2 twill is my fave), and it's so cool!

The Katie is a super nice loom, compact, beautiful, and really nice to weave on, but there's one massive issue: height.

I was stoked to finally get to use my super snazzy fold-out table, but it's 75cm tall. The front of the loom is about 20cm tall. That puts my hands WAY too high to weave without a ton of ouch. Even grabbing my office chair and cranking it as high as it goes, it's not doable.

It's not just a Katie problem; it'd be an issue with any table loom. I'm so used to my rigid heddle on it's perfect-height stand I just didn't think about it. Luckily, because of the way the Katie is constructed I can wiggle it forward and drop the front legs off the edge, but it mucks up the weaving a tad. So another solution must be found.

Thankfully I've been able to source a desk/table thing that's only 65 cm tall, but man I'm really feeling for the short people right about now, given how hard it was to find.

With the bad news, however, comes the good. I'm about to come into possession of an Ashford four shaft table loom. Second hand, through a friend of a work friend, but it's apparently still in its box sitting in their garage. No clue how big it is, but they only wanted a hundred bucks for it, so I did not ask any questions beyond cash or bank transfer and when can we come pick it up. Exciting!

[stargazing-sapphire2]

Command Me To Be Well

Summary: Hesh finds himself unable to cope with the loss of Logan, but Beth is unable to allow him to stew in his misery alone.

Character(s): David "Hesh" Walker, Elizabeth "Beth" Ashford (OC)

Crossposted from my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58213972

**************************************

It had been a month.

Barely a month since Logan’s disappearance, and Hesh’s subsequent fall into despair.

For once, Beth was unsure of what to do. As for the rest of the Ghosts, they all had chosen to give the eldest Walker brother a wide berth, as they themselves were all still reeling over the death of Elias and the “defeat” of the Federation; however, they were still dealing with small pockets of stragglers.

Their work was far from over…but at this moment, Beth was not too concerned with that.

Instead, it was Hesh she had been worried about.

He had been wounded and inconsolable when they found him on that beach. He was alone, with Logan nowhere to be found, but the drag marks in the sand suggested he had been taken.

She would never forget that moment for so long as she lived, seeing Hesh bleeding out in the sand, his anguished cries rattling her to her very core.

Beth could not imagine what he was going through, having lost both his father and younger brother in the span of a short time, and having almost no time to mourn for them properly, given the precarious situation they had been in.

Since then, Hesh had become something of a recluse. He stopped speaking, and barely even mustered the energy to pull himself up from his bunk to do even the most basic of tasks.

That made her heart clench tightly.

I have to do something, she thought.

And here she was, standing in front of the closed door. For a moment, a cloud of doubt formed in the back of her mind, and she thought to turn away, unsure if she should go through with it.

No.

She grimaced, gripping the tray of food tightly in her hands.

I have to do this, she thought. Just because the others are unwilling to step up doesn’t mean I should too.

Taking a deep breath, she carefully held the tray on one hand, and used her free one to slowly knock.

“Hesh?” She called out softly.

There was silence on the other, but she expected it.

She waited for a few moments, before she knocked again.

“It’s Beth,” she said, with a small pause. “I, uh…brought food.”

The silence dragged on, and as worry began to bubble in, she heard shuffling on the other side of the door.

“It’s open…”

She was relieved to hear Hesh’s voice, and with a deep breath, she opened the door and stepped inside.

The first thing she took note of was how disorganized everything was, a huge contrast to the usual clean freak attitude Hesh had. Clothes were strewn on the floor, and papers were scattered all over the desk in the corner. 

But when Beth saw Hesh, her heart dropped. 

He was sitting on the bed, elbows resting on his knees while his head hung low, his eyes staring at the floor. His hair was disheveled, and his facial hair had grown out over his face, suggesting he hadn't shaved in the past few days. 

He lifted his head to look at her, bloodshot green eyes meeting her blue gaze. There were stray tear tracks on his face; no doubt he had been crying. 

But Hesh looked so...tired, defeated. As if all of the energy was sucked out of him and he was only a hollow shell of himself. 

Her heart clenched the longer she looked at him, and she swallowed thickly. Stepping forward, she set the tray of food down on the bedside table, just within Hesh’s reach.

An awkward silence permeated in the air, and Beth struggled to find the right words to say. A part of her wanted to run out of the room, unable to stand the sight of her friend in his pitiful state. But she kept her feet planted where she stood, disgusted that she even entertained those thoughts.

Instead, she spoke, “You should eat.”

Hesh looked up at her, his expression empty as he shook his head.

“I’m not hungry…” He mumbled, reaching over to gently push the tray away.

Frustration crossed her face at the action, and she set her jaw, immediately containing any potential anger that threatened to bubble over.

No need to yell at him. Yet.

I swear to God, Merrick is rubbing off on me…

Beth could recall the looks she had gotten from him and Keegan when she had informed them that she had been going to check on Hesh. Neither men were the most open with their feelings, and while Beth considered herself somewhat of a hardass, she did not find it fair to just…leave Hesh alone like that.

“Just leave him be,” Merrick had gruffly said to her, Keegan nodding in silent agreement. “He’ll come out of there eventually…”

She swallowed thickly, glancing back at Hesh as she fiddled with the front of her shirt.

“How are you feeling?” She decided to ask.

His answer immediately made her regret even asking that.

“…I don’t know,” he said quietly.

He glanced at the tray, at the floor, and then back up at her, and he went back to looking defeated.

“I don’t know,” he repeated, his voice wobbly now. “I don’t know what to do anymore. I-I just…”

He trailed off, dropping his gaze down.

Beth stared at him, her stomach clenching as she struggled to speak. What do you even say to someone in a situation like this?

“Hesh-“ She started to speak.

His head snapped back up, and that was when he stood to his feet, hands clenching; face set in a mixture of grief and anger.

“Everyone’s always dying on me!” He shouted, and Beth took a few steps back in alarm. “My parents, Ajax and so many others, and now my brother is gone! And there’s nothing I can do about it!”

His voice cracked, and the tears he fought so desperately to hold back broke through the dam, silently running down his face. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor, burying his face in his arms as his shoulders shook with barely contained sobs.

“I don’t…” He hoarsely spoke. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I can’t take it anymore, Beth…”

Beth stood there, frozen as she watched all of this spill out. Guilt began to gnaw at her, and she mentally cursed at herself for leaving him alone, letting him stew in his thoughts and misery.

He needed a rock to retreat to, and Beth knew she needed to fill that role.

She slowly approached him, kneeling down in front of him. She held her hand out, but hesitated and lowered her arm when he did not react to the gesture.

“Hesh- no, no. David,” she said, using his real name this time. “You haven’t lost everyone. You still have Riley, the rest of the team, and-“

She stopped herself, the words dying on her tongue. Breathing heavily through her nose, she swallowed her pride right there and then.

“-You have me,” she continued. “I’m here for you, David. You’re not alone in this.”

You have me…

Hesh did not reply at first, and Beth felt a bout of anxiety start to rise up at his silence. Finally, he lifted his head, eyes red from crying and visible tear tracks on his face.

“What if I lose you too?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head, reaching over to grasp his elbow tightly.

“You won’t,” she said firmly, giving his arm a small squeeze to reassure him.

Or herself, perhaps.

“It won’t come to that,” she continued. “We’ll find Logan. And we’ll find Rorke, and we’ll send that bastard to Hell where he belongs.”

Motivating words, but that was all they were in that moment. Her old man always told her that words usually meant nothing regardless of your intent, and it was better to prove it by committing to that through physical action. Only then, it would mean something.

Hesh remained silent, as he gazed at Beth. The two sat there on the floor for what seemed like an eternity, although it could not have been more than a few minutes.

The ice only broke when he lifted his arms and slowly held them out to her. A pleading look crossed his face, but there was no need for him to vocalize what he wanted in that moment.

Beth’s heart skipped a beat, and she slowly leaned in to his embrace.

Hesh’s arms closed around her tightly, and he buried his face in her hair. He clutched her tightly, almost desperately.

“Don’t leave me,” he said quietly. “Please…”

“I won’t,” she reassured him, just as softly.

I promise…

The silence returned, and all he could do was hold her tightly. 

[ashfordlabs]

CURSED BODIES.

CURRENT PROGRESS / first draft. GENRE / paranormal, mystery. POV / split pov between five characters, past tense, third person. WARNINGS / death, blood, murder, torture, arson, manipulation, violence, guns, homophobia, drugging, sexual assault, suicide/suicidal thoughts, mental and physical abuse, mentions of a past eating disorder, kidnapping, sexual scenes + more to be added.

SUMMARY.

the ashford brothers were at war, regardless of whether or not the eldest of the two knew of the fact. but when theodore ashford returned to london and witnessed the death of mayumi sakamoto at the hands of his own brother, it changed everything. no longer could theo stand at his brother’s side and not see the murderer that nathaniel ashford had become. theo couldn’t look at himself without thinking, without knowing that she was dead because of what he couldn’t do. he wanted to make it right to her, but in doing so, unwillingly stepping into london’s criminal underground where he’s faced with the city’s most notorious criminals. and where most would’ve run, theo found an opportunity in their presence, because if theo wanted to take down a criminal, the best way to do so was to work alongside london’s most infamous.

CHARACTERS.

theodore theo ashford / THE SPY ─ the one who would do anything to take his brother down, not caring if all that he kept buried would be exposed or if he couldn’t see it through to the end. elijah eli clarke / THE HITMAN ─ the one with lies dripping from his tongue that the line between what is truth and what isn’t continues to blur. even he doesn’t know the difference anymore. henry bohen / THE HACKER ─ the one who holds everyone’s secrets within his grasp that all would do anything they could in order to keep it hidden, but it means nothing in the end. dorothea bohen / THE SEDUCTRESS ─ the one who has every man in london at their knees for merely a glance at the beauty that she was and yet the one person she wanted was just out of reach. mayumi sakamoto / THE GHOST ─ the one who found herself in a early grave after promises of a better life had turned to poison right in front of her eyes and when she didn’t stay dead, revenge is all she desired.

LINKS.

tag / character introductions / inspo

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Unfinished - Part Two : Spirits Follow Everywhere I Go

A/N: Let's keep spooky season going a little longer, shall we? First of all, I want to shout out a huge thank you to everyone who had read the first part of this story. The response has been wonderful and I am especially thrilled to know that people are enjoying the historical element of this story - there's a lot more about Eliza, Cal and Henry coming! This part is decidedly darker than the first, so I will go ahead and warn you that if you're not into scary stories, this might not be the one for you. But if getting spooked is your jam, then grab a snack because things are about to get haunted up in this bitch.

READ PART ONE HERE

*Chapter title comes from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron*

Warnings: death, murder, haunting, mention of loss of parent - ** Death of Reader's mother & immediate aftermath ** grief, language because Xander's coping mechanism is to swear like a sailor (if you are at all unsure about the content of this chapter, please feel free to message me with any questions!)

Word Count: 5,239

Summary: Henry's murderous jealousy leaves him with quite a mess to deal with... and moving Cal's body ends up being the easy part.

Meanwhile, you and Marcus arrive back at Maplewood to comply with the investigation involving a murder victim and a mysterious painting.

Maplewood Manor - Midnight, October 30, 1868 

Henry Ashford’s limbs ached as he eased himself into bed that night. 

Cal was heavier than he looked lying in a heap on Eliza’s bedroom floor, and he had to be moved down three flights of stairs into the cellar. By the time he’d finished stashing the artist where he wouldn’t be found until he could be further dealt with and had trudged back upstairs to get himself cleaned up, Henry was bone tired. The adrenaline that flooded his system when he snuffed out two lives as thoughtlessly as candles had left as quickly as it came, and as soon as his head hit the pillow he felt consciousness slipping away. 

The fact that his dead wife was lying in a bed one room over didn’t seem to hinder his ability to find sleep. Peace, though, proved to be more elusive. 

It began around midnight. Silver blue light from the full October moon shone through the sheer white curtains and directly onto Henry’s sleeping form, waking him from the heavy slumber he’d fallen into. Groaning, he blinked against the intrusion and sat up. In the haze of his exhaustion he figured that he must have forgotten to pull the thick drapes closed before collapsing into bed, so he swung his legs over the side and stood to remedy that, hoping that once the room was dark he would be able to fall back to sleep. 

But as soon as the plush velvet drapes were pulled shut and he had turned away from the window, he heard the scrape of the curtain rings along the rod, and watched as a sliver of light splashed onto the bed, widening before his eyes. Henry froze, standing stiff and rigid as a statue, as the familiar shape of his wife’s silhouette joined his shadow on the wall in front of him. Wheeling around again, he saw only the window and the moon shining beyond it. Rattled, he reached shakily for the drapes to pull them closed once more. It must have been a trick of his mind and the moonlight, he assured himself. A side effect of the night he’d had, or a dream that lingered after his feet hit the floor. 

Eliza was dead. He’d seen to that himself, so she couldn’t be at his window, messing with the drapes. Taking a deep breath, Henry climbed back into bed. Again the heavy weight of fatigue sent him sinking into sleep, the room pitch black and silent around him. 

It didn’t stay that way. 

“Henry.”

A fierce gasp tore at Henry’s throat, hands wildly clawing at his neck as though trying to free it from a noose. He bolted upright, chest heaving and eyes bulging, the drapes and sheer curtains thrown open. Stark moonlight poured into the room, spilling over him and bringing an icy chill with it. Terror gripped his heart as he tried and failed to blink away the image before him. 

There in the center of the frame stood the shadowy figure of Eliza Ashford. She was faced away from him, staring out at the moonlit grounds of Maplewood Manor. Though her form did not appear solid - more wispy than a living human being - her presence felt more powerful than ever. And more angry. 

“E-Eliza?” His own voice sounded foreign to him, fear and confusion shrinking its normally robust tone. “How… You cannot be-” 

He scampered back into the pillows, knocking the base of his skull hard against the backboard in an involuntary effort to flee as Eliza slowly spun towards him. Only her eyes were visible, glowing an otherworldly whitish blue out of her otherwise blurred and featureless face. Her lack of a mouth didn’t stop her from speaking, though, her words reverberating inside Henry’s eardrums as her ghostly eyes pierced him straight through. 

“You thought it was so easy to be rid of me? Thought you could stamp me out? Stamp Cal out?” 

In a whoosh of frigid air the panes of glass shattered inward, and Eliza suddenly shifted so that her spectral eyes hovered only inches from Henry’s. He yelped and shook, wincing away from her as she tilted her head. 

“You thought that you could hide what you did?! Hide his body like animal bones?! Desecrate the only man I ever loved and walk free?!” 

“No.” Henry’s hands came to his ears and he shut his eyes as tight as he could. “No, no, no.” He repeated the word over and over, refusing to accept any of what was happening. “No! This… This is fantasy! You’re not here, Eliza. You’re dead! You’re dead!” 

Without opening his eyes, he burst from the bed and ran to the door, moving right through the shadowy shape of his wife and feeling the blood crystalize in his veins with the cold. Stumbling through the hall with his arms outstretched, he made his way to the room where her body lay. He ran to the window and pulled open the drapes to shed light on the space, and as he knew he would, found his wife to be still in her bed. Right where he had left her so that she would be found in the morning. 

Releasing a sigh, Henry slumped onto the cushioned bench under the window and stared at the corpse across from him. It was a small comfort to see that she was still there and that whatever he’d witnessed - or thought he’d witnessed - had just been a misfire of his imagination. It was a short lived relief when he considered what it might mean for his sanity. But even that worry didn’t have time to grow roots in his brain, because from the hall, an eerie silver glow moved toward where he sat. 

“You took me away from my children, Henry. How could I ever forgive you for that?!”

“No…” He whimpered. “No, please… Leave me…” He wasn’t sure who he was pleading with or how he would be able to move past this moment if it were to simply stop - because how on Earth could he explain what had happened without admitting to the illogical? Henry didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t believe in souls. So even if the haunting were to suddenly cease, he’d either have to change his mindset entirely, or concede that he had lost his mind. Neither sounded good to him, but both were preferable to the horror he felt watching Eliza’s shadowy specter follow him into the room where she died.  

Her eyes were still her only visible feature, and they bore into him as she hovered near the bed. “You cannot run from me, dear husband. Not from me, and not from what you’ve done to Cal! I will never leave you. I will never let you have peace. You will never be free from this night, Henry Ashford!” 

With another gust of air powerful enough to break the glass behind him, Eliza’s ghost slashed through the room in a cyclone of screaming rage. She flew directly at Henry, the man shouting out in terror before she turned and changed course for the last of Cal’s works.The unfinished portrait that still hung on an easel in the corner of the room radiated the same silver light as she was absorbed by the canvas, and then Henry was alone once more. 

The windows were back in pristine condition, as though they’d never shattered in a storm of shards. The curtains were closed, as they were before he had rushed in, and the candlestick on the bedside table sent a halo of warm orange light flickering across the floor. Henry crossed the room slowly, one trembling hand closing around the metal candle holder. Carrying it with him, he walked back to his bedroom and peeked inside, shining the light to see that his window had also been restored to its original state, the glass back in the panes and the drapes secured shut. 

But the return to normalcy did nothing to settle his fear or ease his racing pulse back to a place where he could once again find sleep. Instead he went down into the parlor and poured himself a brandy. Using the candle he took from Eliza’s room, he lit every candle he could find so that he would not be in the dark, and he sat awake with a drink in his hand until the housekeeper returned in the morning. 

She, of course, assumed that Henry had been in a state of shock due to the grief of Eliza’s untimely - but natural - death. The poor man, she thought, taking pity on him. She never could have known that his insomnia had been brought on by the curse that his murdered wife had put upon him, or by the visitation of her ghost. 

He had one trick up his sleeve, though, one thing to try in order to stop Eliza from torturing his nights. His wife had made it known how much she hated his obsession with postmortem photographs. She had stated on several occasions that her soul was not to be trapped on film, that when she died she wanted to do so as she lived - having never been photographed, only painted. So after the doctor had come and officially proclaimed her dead, but before the undertaker could remove her body for burial preparations, Henry took his camera to her room and loaded the photo plate. 

He wouldn’t know the outcome until later that night, when he developed the image in his darkroom. In the cellar. 

– – – 

Maplewood Manor - 10:30 pm, October 30, 2023 

Red and blue lights glared off the carved pumpkins that lined the porch steps as Marcus pulled into the Manor’s circular driveway. 

Everything about the way the age old house looked, surrounded by emergency vehicles and personnel, was wrong, and it sent a twisting sensation through your stomach. It reminds me of the night that- You felt the breath in your lungs grow stale at the sight of two EMTs rolling a covered stretcher through the front door and into a waiting van. It made your blood run cold. Shit.

It reminded you of the night that your mom died. 

It was December of your senior year, and you were home for winter break. Your house had looked wrong then, too, as you stared at it from your front lawn. You could remember the cold grass against the skin of your knees and the way the chilled air felt like frost on your tear stained cheeks. You couldn’t be inside until everyone had gone. It was easier to breathe outside, even if the temperature had dropped to just above freezing. And Marcus was there with you. He’d been staying with his grandparents who only lived twenty minutes from your place. When you called him in hysterics he got immediately into his car and came straight to you. You were outside already when he got there, on the ground in front of the house, and wordlessly, he joined you, putting his arms around you, holding you to his chest and speaking directly into your ear, telling you that he was right there, that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

In that moment, he was the only solid thing in your world. 

Either the scene in front of you reminded him of that night, too, or he saw it on your face that you were lost in that memory, because he cleared his throat and spoke your name. Blinking, you tore your focus from the closing van doors and turned to face him. His eyes locked with yours, and in them you found the same sense of comfort that you always had. “Hey.” He reached across the center console and gripped your hand where it rested in your lap. “You okay?” 

Your fingers linked with his and squeezed as you nodded. “Yeah.” You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah,” you said again. “Just… thinking about…” You trailed off with a shrug and brought your free hand up to swipe at your eye. 

Marcus sighed. “I know.” His thumb moved back and forth over your knuckle, and then he brought his other hand up to finish off the tear you’d missed. Fingertips skating over your cheek, he kept his hand on your face as he continued. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be right here with you.” 

Swallowing, you sniffed and nodded again. “I know.” He dropped his hand, watching as you fixed your makeup in the rearview mirror. You blew out a slow breath and turned to look at him again. “I know this isn’t how you want to spend your time off, so I’m sorry that-” 

“Stop.” He shook his head. “That’s the last thing on my mind right now, okay? I mean that. I’m here for you, and right now that means helping you through whatever this is.” 

You never took his friendship for granted, but an overwhelming wave of gratitude for him rose in your chest at that moment as you tried to imagine facing what awaited you inside the manor without Marcus by your side. Even without his FBI training, his presence alone would have bolstered your nerve as you answered questions and complied with the investigation. It was enough just to have him - your closest and oldest friend, someone who you trusted completely and who always made you feel safe. 

“Thank you, Marcus.” Your voice was quiet but you knew he heard you. 

His lips pulled up to one side as a small smile lightened his eyes. “Anytime.” 

With that, he withdrew his hand from yours and opened his door. You followed, walking around the front of the car to where Marcus stood waiting for you. Though you knew he wouldn’t stop you from taking his hand again, he didn’t offer it immediately, and you knew it was because he was giving you the chance to make a completely professional impression on the officers you were about to meet with. Instead, he walked side by side with you, arm dangling close enough for his sleeve to brush yours. 

Before you made it halfway up the walk, Xander rushed down the porch steps to you. “Thank fuck you’re here. This shit is weird and I am freaking the hell out!” There were deep, worried creases between his eyebrows, and he was taking big open mouthed gulps of air. 

“Hey. I’m sorry, X.” You put your hands on his arms the same way Marcus had done to you earlier at the diner, and demonstrated a slow, even breath in and out, trying to get the frazzled 20-something in front of you to do the same. He did, and you nodded. “You alright? Did you already talk to the police?” 

Xander blew out a breath and eyed Marcus before turning back to you. “Yeah. They cleared the building, made sure no one was still inside, and then they asked me a bunch of questions. I told them everything and they said I was okay to go for the night and that they’d call me if or when they had any more questions but I wanted to wait until you got here.” His eyes shifted back to Marcus. “Shit, did this bust up date night or something? I-” 

“Uh-” You cleared your throat, eyes going wide. “Um, no, we just - This is my friend Marcus. He came for the lecture tonight and he-” 

“I’m just here for moral support.” Marcus smiled warmly at the jittery kid. 

Xander nodded. “Well, good. Wish I had some of that.” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “No way I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight. Not after seeing…” He trailed off, blinking off into the dark distance beyond the house. 

Your heart ached sympathetically. You knew what it was like to be the one to find someone dead. It feels like the walls are collapsing. Holding your breath after your next question, you hoped the answer would be a no. “Xander, did…did you know who it was?” 

“No. I’d never seen ‘em. I mean not before…” He gestured to one of the second floor windows and released a sigh. “Far as I can tell he wasn’t a student.” That’s good, at least. This is gonna be hard enough for the kids to handle, at least it wasn’t one of them. Xander went on. “Cops found his I.D. on him. Turns out he was just some dude who came for the lecture, and-”

“Wait, what?” You tilted your head, eyes darting over to momentarily meet Marcus’. “They came for the lecture?” 

Xander nodded. “Yeah. Cops asked me for a list of everyone who bought tickets so they could cross check it I guess and he was on there. Some guy named Hank Elkins from right outside Philly.” He shrugged. “Why? You know him?” 

The name meant nothing to you personally, but you recalled it as one of the first to populate on your attendee list, meaning that Hank Elkins had been planning on coming to the event for months. A shiver ran through you at the thought that he had no idea that a night learning about incomplete artwork would ultimately be his last. “No, I don't know anyone by that name.” You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. “Do they have any idea who did this?” 

“Nah, the security guard on duty didn’t have access to the camera playback so they had to wait for the director of campus security to get here and he just got here like two minutes before you. So they’re probably in there lookin’ at it now.” 

As he finished speaking, a uniformed officer exited the front door of the house and strode down the steps. “Mr. Paulson?” The officer addressed Xander, who answered with a ‘yeah’. “I’m here to escort you back to your apartment, make sure you get home safe.” He didn’t look much older than the college student, but you were still glad that Xander would have someone keeping him safe on the way back to the main area of campus. The young officer turned to you, greeting you by name. “The detective is inside, she’d like a few words with you.” He turned back to Xander. “We should get moving.” 

Xander nodded. “Yeah, alright, thanks.” He wrung his hands and looked at you. “Keep me posted, yeah? I… I wanna know what’s going on with this since… Since I-” 

Again you felt that twist of sympathy in your chest. Since you were the one who found him. “I will, X. Try to get some rest, okay?” 

He scoffed and shook his head. “Told you, no way in hell. But yeah.” 

You watched as Xander followed the officer assigned to him, and then turned to Marcus. “If it was someone who came for the event then… then maybe the killer was here for it, too. ”

Marcus nodded, concern written all over his face. “Maybe. Those security cameras are new, right? Didn’t you tell me the restoration committee put new ones in a few years ago?” Of course he remembered that. You confirmed that they were new within the last two years. “That’s good. Footage should be nice and clear. If the killer is on there we should be able to see their face and-” 

A woman’s voice speaking your name interrupted his sentence, and you looked up to see the detective Xander mentioned standing in the doorway. “I’m Detective Allison Sharpe. Thank you for coming back so fast.” 

You swallowed and glanced at Marcus before heading up to where the woman stood, your friend following you. “Of course. Anything I can do to help, I will.” 

“We appreciate that.” She looked at Marcus next. “And you, sir? Do you also work with the University?” 

“I don’t.” Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge to show the woman. “Agent Marcus Pike, FBI.” You watched Sharpe’s expression change slightly as she looked over Marcus’ credentials. “I’m with the art crimes division.” 

“Well now there’s a stroke of luck. Maybe you’ll be able to help us, Agent Pike.” The woman directed her focus back at you. “I’m sure your assistant, Xander, told you about the mystery painting?” 

“He did.” You narrowed your eyes. “Do you know where it came from?” 

Detective Sharpe raised one eyebrow and clicked her tongue. “We have no idea. But hopefully one of you two can shed some light on that. It appears to be quite old, but I’m no art expert.” 

You cleared your throat. “Can I… take a look?” 

“You can. But first I’ll need you to give your statement and take me through the evening from your memory. If you were here as well, Agent Pike, we’ll need you to do the same.” Sharpe gestured to the front door. “Officer Fromer is waiting in the dining room to take care of that. I need to get back inside to review the security cam footage, but as soon as you’re finished he’ll bring you into the other room where the artwork is.” She spread her hands wide. “Again, anything you can tell us about the piece, anything you can remember about the night, anything strange that happened, any weird questions your audience asked… it could all be helpful.” 

“Of course.” You nodded and followed her into the house. 

Though your brain was buzzing with adrenaline and your stomach churned with unease, both of those sensations were dimmed as you felt the warmth of Marcus’ hand on the small of your back. 

– – – 

After you answered all of the questions that the officers had for you, and gave your account of what happened that night from the time you arrived at Maplewood to the time when you and Marcus left, you were escorted into the parlor room, where your presentation had been.

Your eyes went immediately to the six easels that you had set up. All of the paintings that you brought with you were there, and all intact. None of them seemed damaged or meddled with in any way, and you let out a small sigh of relief at that. But then your eyes traveled to the seventh canvas. When they did, your mouth dropped open and you sucked in a gasp. 

I… I think I know that painting. 

It had been taken off of its frame and draped over a chair that someone had dragged up to the front of the room. From the upholstered backrest, a pair of eyes looked back at you, light and emotion already present in them despite the fact that the portrait was far from finished. The shape sketched out was that of a woman, her chin and cheekbones just barely hinted at, her hair only depicted as a brownish splotch to show where more detail was needed. But her eyes, clearly the feature that the artist deemed her most striking, were so complete and lifelike, it felt as though the featureless woman was looking straight through you. 

“Eliza Ashford.” You muttered the name that you’d read on countless documents throughout your time with the Maplewood Manor restoration society, certain beyond doubt that you were looking at her missing portrait. 

“What?” Marcus stepped up next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You recognize this?” 

You licked at your suddenly dry lips, gaze still fixed on the pair of painted eyes in front of you. “Yeah. Marcus, I think that’s…” Mid-sentence, you turned away and crossed the room to where a large portrait hung over the marble fireplace. The click of footsteps on the hard floor told you that Marcus was following close behind. “It is. Look.” 

Pointing up at the family of four that had called Maplewood home over a hundred years ago, you directed him to the woman shown standing beside her husband, their two children in front of them. 

“It’s Eliza Ashford. The Ashfords were the last family to own this place. Their family portrait has hung here for years. When the university took over the property they found this in the attic along with individual portraits of Henry Ashford and the two children, Josephine and Edwin.” You shook your head and turned to look at Marcus. “But there wasn’t one of Eliza. She died young, so everyone assumed that was the reason that she didn’t have her portrait done. But-” You lifted your eyes back to the family above the mantel and saw the same life and light in Eliza’s as you were struck with in the unfinished painting. It’s the same artist. It has to be. “But I think it just wasn’t finished in time.” 

Marcus frowned up at the family portrait. “Where was it then? If it wasn’t with the others in the attic?” 

You shrugged and let out a breath. “No one knows. No one even knew for sure it existed. There’s no record of the family paying to have it done, even though there are records for the other works that were commissioned around the same time.”

“You’re right. No one knows where the painting has been for the last 150 years-” Detective Sharpe’s voice startled you. You hadn’t heard the woman come into the room, and when she spoke you jumped. Marcus shifted closer to you, reassuring you with his presence. You relaxed slightly as Sharpe continued, but noticed that she looked shaken, and that left you nervous. She cleared her throat. “But we know how it got into the house tonight. Hank Elkins brought it in under his coat.” 

“Elkins?” Marcus questioned. “The victim? What was he doing with a piece of missing, unfinished artwork? Was he involved in the art world? A dealer, or collector?” 

Detective Sharpe nodded. “All valid questions, Agent Pike.” 

Something told you that whatever was about to come next was going to be shocking, but that didn’t stop you from asking anyway. “If you know that Elkins brought it with him, then you must have seen him with it on the security cameras.” Sharpe nodded again as your heart pounded. “Then… Did you see what happened to him after he displayed the painting?” 

Did you see how he ended up dead on the second floor? 

“Yes.” Detective Sharpe “But I still can’t… explain it.” Her tone sounded almost hollow, and you knew that couldn’t be good. 

“Would we be able to view the tape, Detective?” Marcus asked the question politely despite the fact that you knew that he could pull strings and make a few phone calls to grant him - and you - access to any part of this investigation that he wanted. 

“You can,” Sharpe replied after a pause. “But I’ll warn you it’s…” She wrinkled her nose. “Unsettling.” 

You swallowed and blew out a shaky breath. “Alright.” You looked at Marcus and chewed your lower lip. “Let’s take a look.” 

Sharpe nodded. “In here, please.” She gestured for you to follow her back to the dining room. 

Before you could cross the room, Marcus caught your wrist and gave you a slight tug to turn you to face him. “Hey, you sure about this? You don’t have to… If you don’t want to see that, I can watch and-” 

You brought your hand up to cover his where it wrapped around your wrist and gave him a tired smile. “It’s okay, Marcus. I need to… If I’m going to be any help with this, I need to know what happened.” 

He inhaled through his nose, chest rising and falling as he let the air back out. “Okay.” 

“Okay. Let’s do this.” 

Without hesitation, you walked across the room and into the dining room to view the footage. 

–  –  –

Twenty minutes later, you could barely breathe. Allison had told you that what you were about to see was impossible to explain, and she had been right. Even knowing that going in wasn’t enough to prepare you for what you saw happen to Hank Elkins in that bedroom upstairs. 

Cameras in the foyer had caught him come in. He’d even taken his seat and listened to your entire presentation. But after you had finished with your Q&A and you’d directed visitors into the next room for refreshments, Elkins had slipped past you to go back into the parlor to set up the canvas he’d smuggled in. After that, he was picked up by a different camera - the one in the back stairwell. That door had been locked, and you had given Xander the only key. But Elkins shockingly had a key in his pocket, and he used it to gain access to the second floor. Once he was upstairs he made his way into one of the bedrooms, and that was when things got really strange. 

He began talking to the walls. But not just rambling. He was gesturing wildly. Pleading, almost, making begging motions with his hands. And then the room went dark and a sound like a rush of wind ripped through, and when the lights flickered back on, Elkins had been flung across the room like a rag doll, head smashed against the wall so that he landed in a heap on the floor. 

“What the hell was that, Marcus?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as the two of you walked out into the night and made your way back to his car. Your hands and knees were shaking, and you felt hyper aware of every cricket and frog making sounds on the grounds of Maplewood. You turned to face him and saw the same terrified shock that you felt mirrored back at you. “What the hell happened to him in there?” 

He shook his head and opened the passenger side door for you. “I don’t know. But I know it wasn’t good.” His frown deepened. “You mind if I crash at your place tonight? I booked a hotel room, but-” 

“Jesus, Marcus, mind? After that? Please, like I’d let you leave me alone tonight. What’d you book a hotel room for anyway? You know you’re always welcome at my place.” But as soon as the words were out you wished you could take them back. He was always welcome at your place. But the last time he was in town, it wasn’t just your place, and your ex hadn’t been thrilled about the closeness of your relationship with Marcus. “Shit, I’m sorry. I know Bill wasn’t exactly great to you. But…” You shrugged. “Bill’s history. It’s my place again. And I want you there.” 

He stared at you for a few seconds, something unreadable in his eyes, even to you, even with as well as you knew him. It seemed almost melancholy, but then he blinked and his expression was back to even. “Well then that’s where I’ll be.” 

“Good.” You reached for his arm and gave him a light squeeze. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I’m really spooked.” 

“Yeah.” He waited for you to get into the car and then closed your door. “Me too.” 

The numbers on the dashboard clock switched to midnight as Marcus turned the car around the circular drive and headed for the road. If either of you had been looking at the house, you might have seen the glow of a pair of eyes watching you from the second story bedroom window. But you didn’t. Instead, those eyes watched you go, and then they blinked into darkness. 

-- -- --

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