#but i have gone from uncertainly about the book

[nightlark100]

The List

I had an idea for a silly fanfic about the teen wolf pack making a list of rules for their pack to follow but i never got beyond the list itself and a tiny bit of story. So i thought i'd post it here.

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

It had started as a joke. After another brilliant Scott plan gone wrong, Stiles had scribbled 'SCOTT IS NOT ALLOWED TO MAKE PLANS' in big letters on a piece of paper which he then stuck beside the front door.

"This is ridiculous," Scott protested, moving to take it down. "My plans aren't that bad"

"Yes they are. And no touching the paper! That is an official document"

"What."

Derek, drawn by the discussion, hovered in the doorway to the living room.

"Stiles… what is that and why is it on my wall?"

"This is the official Hale pack list of rules. We must all abide by it."

Scott scoffed and looked to Derek, expecting the alpha to side with him. Instead, he just narrowed his eyes before nodding.

"Alright"

"What?! But… Derek!"

"Sorry Scott. It's on the official list of rules, we have to follow it. No more plan making for you"

Scott is not allowed to make plans

No one mentioned the list again for a while and when they did, it was in a teasing way whenever Scott tried to suggest something, whether that something was what they should do that weekend or how best to combat a flurry of pixies in the preserve. The reminder of the ‘no plans’ rule was met with a good natured groan and an eye roll from Scott but little else.

One day however, Stiles was brought out of his latest research binge by the lid of his laptop being sharply closed. He looked up, blinking a few time as his eyes adjusted to the room after hours of staring at the bright screen.

“What the hell?”

The rest of the pack was sitting nearby, having been occupied by their own activities, with Isaac hovering uncertainly beside Stiles’ chair with a sheepish look on his face.

“Isaac?” Stiles prompted.

“Sorry Stiles but you’ve been researching for a day straight.”

“And?”

“Well… i mean… it’s on the rules.”

“What rules?”

“The official pack rules. By the door.”

Their conversation had drawn the attention of the others, most looking confused. Stiles set his laptop aside and went to the door. There beneath his scrawl was a new addition. 

2. Stiles' laptop and phone must be taken away after 24 hours of continuous research.

“Who put that there?” he asked. The others stayed silent. Scott looked slightly smug but Stiles knew that wasn’t his writing. He let out an irritated noise and fished his phone from his pocket, intending to retreat to his room. If Isaac wouldn’t let him back on his laptop, he could still access his work that way.

Derek reached over and plucked the phone from his hand.

“Sorry Stiles. It’s on the list. You can have them back tomorrow.”

“Derek! Come on!”

He moved to grab at the phone but was struck with a wave of dizziness that sent him stumbling. Hands reached out to steady him, he wasn’t sure whose.

“Stiles, when did you last eat?” Lydia asked.

“Ermm… breakfast maybe?”

“Today?”

“No… yesterday…”

“Hmm. And drank something? That wasn’t full of sugar?”

“Errr…”

“Kitchen. You’re going to eat, drink some water and then you are going to get some sleep.” She guided him out of the hall with a firm hand, pushing him into a chair at the kitchen table while Isaac retrieved some leftovers from the fridge and filled their largest glass with water.

Both of them stayed in the kitchen with him until he was suitably fed and hydrated, then Lydia took him upstairs and put him to bed, giving him a dark look as she promised that if he got up to get one of his books instead of sleeping there would be consequences.

Stiles reluctantly obeyed.

He wouldn’t admit it but he did feel better the next morning. Until, as he headed downstairs, he noted a new line had been added to the paper by the door. 

3. Stiles must be made to eat something and drink water after 6 hours of continuous research

After the first few additions, it seemed that some kind of dam had been broken and the rest of the pack didn’t hesitate to implement their own rules (although no one would admit to putting the limits on Stiles’ research time)

4.  Newly turned betas are not allowed to partake in team sports until they have proven they can control themselves (e.g. no eye flashing, no claws, no fangs, no doing backflips over other players or any other feats of sudden athletic ability that may draw attention to the pack)

5.         All of Derek's dates must be vetted. THOROUGHLY

“That's it. I'm putting a ban on Derek dating” Stiles said, picking chunks of viscera out of his hair. “This is the third time! At this point it's just negligent of us not to investigate anyone inviting you out.” A thought occured and he spun around to face Derek. “oh my god. You're a Xander!”

“What?”

“A Xander! Right Peter?”

“I would have to agree. He does have Xander like qualities when it comes to dating.”

“Again I say… what?”

“Buffy the vampire slayer. Peter and I have been watching it together.”

“Really Peter?”

“It's good!”

“It has its moments”

“Yeah you're just mad cause they got rid of Ethan. Who is 100% you. Just in it for the chaos.”

“Would that make you the Giles?”

“No! Why?”

“Oh come on, they were definitely a couple.”

“If i’m anyone, i’m willow.”

“Wouldn’t Lydia be Willow?”

“No, Lydia is Cordelia.” he glanced around, fearing the redhead would appear and yell at him. “On the surface, superficial cheerleader type. But goes through a bunch of character development and has a power that sucks.”

“Flawless logic. Why are you Willow?”

“Magic. Bi. Brief fall to the dark side. And then Scott would be Xander,”

“I thought I was Xander?”

“No, you’re just Xander when it comes to dating. Scott’s Xander the rest of the type.”

“And I suppose Allison is Buffy?”

“Noooo… Allison is Faith. "

6. Peter and Stiles are not allowed to watch Mythbusters anymore 

“Really Derek?”

“Yes. Really. Last time you watched that show, you ended up building a trebuchet.”

“I believe it was just Stiles who built the trebuchet.”

“Yes but you helped load it.”

7. No Sex in the common areas! Erica this means you! (poor Isaac)

8. When offered a boon by a faerie BE SPECIFIC

9. Stiles is not to be left unattended in the vet clinic

10. Stiles is not to be left unattended around witches

11. Stiles is not to be left unattended around magic users

12. Stiles is not to be left unattended

13.  Lydia and Peter are not to be left alone in a room together.

14. In the event that Stiles is transformed into a small furry animal, he is to be given into the custody of the Sheriff or Derek. Or Peter. Most importantly, Erica is banned from going near him (OH COME ON! YOU LOOKED INSANELY CUTE IN THE BATMAN COSTUME)

15. The Notebook is a great film and whoever keeps hiding the disc will stop immediately. OR ELSE. I think the or else was implied here Stiles…

16. Stiles is not to be given coffee

17. Stiles is not to be given extra Adderall

18.  Anyone who gives the Sheriff food not on the approved list will face the wrath of Stiles

19. Peter is not allowed to comment on how attractive he finds Melissa McCall

20. Peter is not allowed to comment on how attractive he finds Chris Argent

21. ~Peter is not allowed to comment on how attractive he finds Stiles Stilinski~ (Stiles objects to this rule)

22.  When throwing items at people, do not throw any of the books or Peter will eat you

23. No Stiles, having sex with a male werewolf won't get you pregnant. Even if it's an alpha. (That we know of)

24. No one is allowed to drive the Camaro except Derek

25. No one is allowed to eat in the Camaro

26.  Alison is not allowed to take her crossbow to school

27.  Alison is not allowed to take her knives to school

28.  Seriously Alison, stop taking weapons to school!

29. Stiles is not allowed to touch any of Alison's weapons

30.  If you bleed in the jeep, you are responsible for cleaning it

31. Do not enter the kitchen when Stiles is cooking. (This is for your own safety)

32. If you enter the kitchen while Stiles is cooking, do not attempt to steal food he is preparing. Werewolves cannot regrow fingers

33.  If Stiles declares someone is evil, he is probably right and should be taken seriously.

34.  If someone new starts working at the school, they are probably evil

35.  If Peter offers to kill someone for you, he is not joking and it is not okay (no matter how tempting it is)

36. Do not ask Derek about dating Cora

37.  Do not make dog jokes, especially to Derek, Stiles! (Not my fault he has no sense of humour)

38. ALWAYS CALL STILES FIRST IF YOU FIND A BODY

39. Stop asking where our eyebrows go when shifted

40. Stiles is not allowed a pet dragon

41. Stiles is not allowed a pet griffin

42. ~Stiles, stop trying to adopt baby mythical creatures~

43. Peter stop leaving dead animals on Stiles porch seriously dude, my dad thinks I've got a budding serial killer after me ~well, I wasn't technically wrong…~ minus the budding part

44. Stiles is not allowed to use his PowerPoint when telling people about werewolves (I don't care how many slide transitions you put in)

45.  No Stiles, giving your PowerPoint to Peter or Lydia to present is not a loophole (oh come on! I even put a bibliography at the end! it's not my fault you're technology adverse!)

46.  Derek is not allowed to lurk around abandoned buildings. It really doesn't help with the serial killer vibe you give off

47. If you kill someone, please make sure you chop them up or find another method to ensure they don't come back! We shouldn't kill people at all! I said IF! ~Stiles, please remember I'm an officer of the law~

47B. AMENDMENT TO THE PREVIOUS: If you kill someone, please make sure you chop them up or find another method to ensure they don't come back AND make sure you dispose of the body so that dad doesn't have to do extra paperwork

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

By request, here is a legend to tell who is writing what:

Stiles

Peter

Derek

Scott

~Sheriff~

Erica

Lydia

Isaac

Allison

Boyd

[muletia]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏] ⊹₊⟡⋆

[tfp] yandere!soundwave x human!reader

summary: you were meant to be just a bargaining chip for the decepticons, someone who could be easily discarded. but soundwave has other plans for you. (consider this snippet as a base for further stories.)

cw: obsessed!soundwave, kidnapping, isolation, stockholm syndrome?? not really but reader does have a soft spot for him, reader's pov, soundwave is fucking terrifying, this is just an excuse to write about soundwave interacting with you lmao

word count: 750

[part 2]

The automatic doors hissed open, announcing the arrival of the owner of these small quarters. You lifted your head from the tablet, wanting to confirm that your routine remained unbroken — that you would survive one more day. Seeing the familiar silhouette, you exhaled in relief. The same titan as always had returned. You’d live to see tomorrow.

“Hi,” you greeted, well aware you’d never receive a verbal response. The titan was fiercely silent.

He nodded, and that was the end of your “conversation.”

Your interactions hadn’t always been like this. They weren’t always this warm. Going from trembling in fear at just the sight of him to saying “good morning” of your own free will had taken some time. Not that you had much choice in terms of social interactions, which the reptilian part of your brain still craved. You’d only seen other members of his species once, on the day of your abduction. Accepting that this was now your life, indefinitely, hadn’t been easy, but after many months, you’d adjusted. Humans were made to adapt to new conditions, and you were no exception. The will to live had won.

You returned to reading an e-book on your tablet (a reward for good behavior) but quickly paused, noticing the robot had stopped at the desk, right by the small corner arranged just for you. You looked up—he seemed to be looking straight at you. Even with the screen covering his face, you could feel his optics on you.

He was enormous, terrifying, and the lack of human-like facial features, which you’d noticed on others, only heightened the fear factor. He looked like a xenomorph. But your alien was real. And he wanted something from you.

“What’s up?” you asked, uncertainly.

He moved his hand, slowly, calculatedly, and pointed at the tablet as if he genuinely cared about what you were doing, as if he cared about your existence. By now, you understood perfectly what he meant, having gone through this countless times when he returned to you after a few, sometimes several, hours of absence. This was your little ritual, a remnant of normalcy in a world where nothing was normal.

“I didn’t manage to read much,” you sighed. He tilted his head slightly. It was almost cute. Almost. “I just can’t concentrate today. I’m having kind of a rough day.”

It would certainly be better if you were spending your time at home, with family and friends, rather than as the pet of your captor, but of course, you couldn’t say that to him. Not when you’d worked so hard for the privilege of a tablet and your own little human corner.

“But it’s nothing big,” you continued, fearing he’d decide it was his fault. “Humans sometimes have days like this. Tomorrow should be better.”

He shook his head.

Did he not believe you? That was a terrifying thought, one with unpleasant consequences, and it sparked a flash of fear. Fortunately, that spark faded as quickly as it had appeared when an image popped up on his face — a silly meme of a cat holding a rose with hearts around it. You stared at the absurd sight for a moment, trying— and failing —to understand where, why, or how. Finally, you gave up. Laughter escaped you for the first time in a very, very long time. You knew you shouldn’t be laughing; this creature should never be a source of comfort, shouldn’t make you feel better by doing the bare minimum of showing you a silly meme made by some grandma.

But, unfortunately, he succeeded. For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel so miserable, so pathetic and dull. You felt human.

“Okay, that was actually funny.”

The cat was replaced by a smiling face. His strange, flat hand moved toward you, but slowly, so as not to scare you. A slender finger stroked your head, gently, with silent affection, then slid down to your chin. It lingered there. The gesture was almost romantic as if performed by a lover rather than a giant, silent robot. The image on his face flickered, showing another picture—a heart.

There were so many things you didn’t know about this being. You didn’t know his motives or intentions, the reasons for his actions. You didn’t know what he was or what else he was capable of. But this intention was unmistakable.

Beneath his tenderness, beneath every gentle gesture, laid feelings for you. And that was more terrifying than unfamiliarity — because now you knew you’d never escape this place. You'd never escape him.

this is what he showed you btw:

[hollowed-theory-hall]

i remember you mentioned Harry loves spending time with Diary bc of his connection with Voldemort (or i think so) but what about Voldemort in his head? does he loves it or not? i also think after death-and-rebirth he kinda feel more lighter and even sad about it

Like, it's canon Harry likes to just hold the diary becouse he feels drawn to it, even before knowing how it works:

Harry couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he didn’t just throw Riddle’s diary away. The fact was that even though he knew the diary was blank, he kept absentmindedly picking it up and turning the pages, as though it were a story he wanted to finish. And while Harry was sure he had never heard the name T. M. Riddle before, it still seemed to mean something to him, almost as though Riddle was a friend he’d had when he was very small, and had half-forgotten. But this was absurd. He’d never had friends before Hogwarts, Dudley had made sure of that.

(CoS, Ch13)

That's an actual quote from the book.

Also, later on, Tom has to literally spell out that he's Voldemort because Harry was just completely unwilling to accept that his new BFF Tom who he might have a baby crush on is evil:

“Tom — Tom Riddle?” Riddle nodded, not taking his eyes off Harry’s face. “What d’you mean, she won’t wake?” Harry said desperately. “She’s not — she’s not — ?” “She’s still alive,” said Riddle. “But only just.” [...] “Are you a ghost?” Harry said uncertainly. “A memory,” said Riddle quietly. “Preserved in a diary for fifty years.” He pointed toward the floor near the statue’s giant toes. Lying open there was the little black diary Harry [...] For a second, Harry wondered how it had got there — but there were more pressing matters to deal with. “You’ve got to help me, Tom,” Harry said, raising Ginny’s head again. “We’ve got to get her out of here. There’s a basilisk . . . I don’t know where it is, but it could be along any moment. . . . Please, help me —” Riddle didn’t move. [...] But his wand had gone. “Did you see — ?” He looked up. Riddle was still watching him — twirling Harry’s wand between his long fingers. “Thanks,” said Harry, stretching out his hand for it. A smile curled the corners of Riddle’s mouth. He continued to stare at Harry, twirling the wand idly. “Listen,” said Harry urgently, his knees sagging with Ginny’s dead weight. “We’ve got to go! If the basilisk comes —” “It won’t come until it is called,” said Riddle calmly. [...] “What d’you mean?” he said. “Look, give me my wand, I might need it —” Riddle’s smile broadened. “You won’t be needing it,” he said. Harry stared at him. “What d’you mean, I won’t be — ?” “I’ve waited a long time for this, Harry Potter,” said Riddle. “For the chance to see you. To speak to you.” “Look,” said Harry, losing patience, “I don’t think you get it. We’re in the Chamber of Secrets. We can talk later —” “We’re going to talk now,” said Riddle, still smiling broadly, and he pocketed Harry’s wand. Harry stared at him. There was something very funny going on here. . . .

(CoS, Ch17)

Like, it takes Harry forever to get to the realization something is wrong even though Tom steals his wand and says mysterious evil shit because Harry was so desperate to keep Tom as his friend.

I mentioned here, how Harry does like his mental connection to Voldemort in DH in a way because it gives him a sense of purpose.

Harry is the one to decide they should be wearing the locket after he sensed life from it:

“Can you feel it, though?” Ron asked in a hushed voice, as he held it tight in his clenched fist. “What d’you mean?” Ron passed the Horcrux to Harry. After a moment or two, Harry thought he knew what Ron meant. Was it his own blood pulsing through his veins that he could feel, or was it something beating inside the locket, like a tiny metal heart? “What are we going to do with it?” Hermione asked. “Keep it safe till we work out how to destroy it,” Harry replied, and, little though he wanted to, he hung the chain around his own neck, dropping the locket out of sight beneath his robes, where it rested against his chest beside the pouch Hagrid had given him.

(DH, Ch14)

He's also the one of the trio that insists they should be wearing the locket even after they learn of it's effects, while Hermione suggests that maybe they really shouldn't:

“Hmm,” said Hermione, looking down at the heavy gold locket. “Well, maybe we ought not to wear it. We can just keep it in the tent.” “We are not leaving that Horcrux lying around,” Harry stated firmly. “If we lose it, if it gets stolen — ”

(DH, Ch15)

Ron is also against wearing Horcruxes, while Harry didn't seem to mind keeping the cup in his pocket:

Harry pulled the Horcrux from the pocket of the wet jacket he had just taken off and set it down on the grass in front of them. Glinting in the sun, it drew their eyes as they swigged their bottles of juice. “At least we can’t wear it this time, that’d look a bit weird hanging around our necks,” said Ron, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

(DH, Ch27)

So, yeah, I think Harry definitely could feel his connection to Tom and the various Horcruxes.

I do think, once he comes back to life, he feels emptier, like a part of him is gone in a way. He'd feel lighter like a weight was taken off his shoulders, but I think he'd also feel off and aimless. I talked about it more here.

It's why I think Harry should've gone back for 8th year, I think getting his NEWTs and the familiar environment at Hogwarts would do him good after everything. Give my boy a break.

[wileys-russo]

blurb request: here me out right. Less begs you to go on a couples holiday with Beth and Viv and Ella and Joe at first you’re apprehensive because you only know ella, barely know joe and beth and haven’t even spoken to Viv. You’re quite a shy person when it comes to meeting new people but once you know them then that’s when you break out of your shell, Less finds it adorable, she assures you that everything will be fine and that everyone loves you, you agree to go on the holiday. you get there and everything’s fine, Less accidentally booked everyone an anniversary room even though it’s no one’s anniversary, so the room is all romantic for them and you couldn’t help but kiss alessia’s lips when her face looks so angelic in the light of the sunset, you all meet up for dinner and you’re say talking to viv and joe and that’s when you realise that everything’s gonna be okay. (and ella films it laughing at how “all the Wags are getting along”)

decided to add in leah and jordan because i miss them dearly

wag club II a.russo

"baby please say yes i promise you it'll be really fun." alessia begged trying her hardest to convince you as you glanced to her uncertainly, stirring the pot of soup on the stove.

"less i hardly know them i mean i know ella of course and i've met joe a few times, but the others-" you shook your head nervously, alessia staring back at you with a small pout from where she sat at the counter watching you cook.

"-the others really want to meet you, its why beth suggested a little holiday in the first place! and its a great opportunity for me to spend a little bit of time with leah and beth to talk about you know what." your both shared a look at her last few words, alessia having been open with you from the very start about looking into other clubs during transfer season.

you'd been by her side throughout everything that had gone down behind closed doors the last few months at united, and if alessia was honest she wasn't sure if she'd have been able to get through it without your unwavering support.

"alessia-" you began with a hesitant sigh, words falling short as her hoodie clad arms wrapped around you, pulling your back into her front as her chin rested on your shoulder.

"i know you're shy around new people and although its adorable you can't go through life just avoiding it." alessia mumbled into your shoulder, placing a tender kiss to your exposed collarbone.

"i am not shy! i just get cautious about what people think of me and the first impression i give off and then i overthink and close off a little." you defended with a frown, feeling the blonde wrapped around you smile into your neck as you moved the soup off the heat.

"you're shy and it's cute, but you don't need to be nervous they'll love you to bits just like everyone else whose ever had the pleasure to know you. i think the girls are just being extra supportive because you're the first real partner i've had since they've known me." alessia explained softly as her hands intertwined with yours and you messed around with the rings on her slender fingers.

"first real partner? okay miss independent." you turned around to face her, wrapping your arms around the back of her neck with a teasing smile. "very funny. soo.." alessia trailed off suggestively, a hopeful glint in her eyes.

"okay!" you gave in with a defeated exhale, alessia's face lighting up at the simple word. "you'll come then?" alessia pushed her body further into yours, lips curled into a beaming grin as your stomach fluttered, adoring nothing more than seeing the italian so sincerely happy.

"of course, how could i ever say no to you." you chuckled, pecking her lips a few times. "true, silly of you to even try." the striker winked as you playfully shoved her away, grabbing out some bowls and dishing up dinner.

"its gonna be great and everyone will love you, i promise!"

~

and sure enough, of course alessia had been correct.

day one had gotten off to a rocky start and the first few hours had been uncomfortable to say the least. you hadn't said much when the others tried to engage you in conversation, and really only made an effort to speak with ella having known her as long as you'd known alessia.

though with a gentle push from your girlfriend, and some well timed excuses for her and ella to leave you alone with the group, you'd eventually mustered up some confidence and began to feel a little more at ease.

it had been an added bonus that alessia had accidentally booked everyone anniversary suites, misunderstanding the spanish translation for the rooms when she was planning everything.

you were sat on the floor finishing your makeup as alessia sat outside on the balcony sipping on a glass of wine, already ready to shortly join the rest of your group for dinner.

the afternoon bordering on dusk the sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, the shift in light meaning that it shone a deep rich orange, bathing everything it touched in a radiant golden glow.

this had forever been your favorite time of day, you could sit in silence forever watching the sky slowly turn from a radiant cobalt blue to a soft cotton candy pink, the clouds a symphony of red and yellow around it.

your heart swooned as you glanced back to your girlfriend who had tilted her head back with her eyes closed, welcoming the tender touch of the late afternoon as is golden rays struck her face.

quickly on your feet your lover cracked one eye open hearing your footsteps approaching, opening her arms without a moments hesitation. feeling them wrap tightly around you, you leant your head on her shoulder, the two of you bathed in the gentle warmth of the fast fading sun.

you pressed a sweet lingering kiss to the blondes lips hugging her even tighter, the two of you unable to be any closer to one another unless you cut her open and climbed inside.

"i love you." alessia murmured as the two of you split, you repeated back her words without a single beat passing, the two of you staying there wrapped up in the cocoon of one anothers love for as long as you could.

admittedly the last ones to arrive to dinner not that either of you minded, you happily took the teasings from the group which followed.

~

by night two alessia was beaming with pride watching on as you cracked jokes and teased her friends which you were now happy to call your own, clearly out of your shell and carrying on as if you'd known them for years.

it had surprised both alessia and beth to see how much you and viv seemed to click, the two of you seemingly glued to one anothers side always engaged in some sort of passionate conversation, having quite a few common interests.

"you've got yourself a good one here less." leah smiled sincerely, leaning back in her chair as beth nodded along encouragingly, the three of them having stepped away for a more private chat at alessia's request.

"yeah she's absolutely lovely less, though you might need to be careful viv doesn't whisk her away. i've not seen her so enamored with anyone except maybe mccabe!" beth grinned, taking a sip from her drink as alessia hummed, too engrossed in staring at you like a lovesick puppy as her national team mates shared an amused look.

"so, have you spoken to anyone else about what you're thinking?" leah gently nudged the italian with her knee, returning her attention to their previous conversation. "just my family really, no one from united." alessia smiled sadly, the thought of having to have those conversations making her physically recoil.

"and..." beth nodded over to you, cocking an eyebrow curiously. "yeah she's been really supportive. i don't think i'd have been able to get through all of this without her, she's even said she'd make the move to wherever i end up." alessia smiled softly, watching as you threw your head back at something jordan said, you and viv clearly laughing at the poor girl rather than with her as jordan gestured her hands around defensively with a frown.

"really? just like that?" leah asked in surprise, alessia nodding and turning back toward the two blondes. "she works remotely so it doesn't really matter where she is, her families in manchester but that's...complicated." alessia hesitated at the sore subject, knowing you'd not want her talking about it as she quickly changed topic, resuming her questioning about arsenals program.

wrapping up their chat as to not arise any suspicions they returned to the group right as ella appeared having dipped off to the toilet. jordan and joe were busy in a heated debate about which of the mens teams they tipped to win the league this year, yourself and viv engaged deep into a conversation about astrology, alessias heart warmed to see you so comfortable.

"well well well look at all the wags getting along then!" ella teased loudly, filming the four of you as joe flipped her off and jordan scoffed. "viv and i play football thanks very much tooney!" she defended as leah sat down beside her, kissing her cheek with a grin and whispering something in her ear which seemed to appease the wound up midfielder as she fell quiet.

"if it means i need to do the cooking and the cleaning then i am already the wag in the relationship, beth does nothing!" viv quipped bluntly as the group errupted into laughter and beth argued the point with an offended frown.

"what about you then? happy to be a wag?" alessia slid in beside you, stealing a kiss and a sip of your drink. "if it means being your number one fan forever then sign me up." you grinned, a little tipsy as alessias face softened and she practically melted into a puddle right then and there.

"gag!" ella chimed in with a fake retch at your answer, you quick to point out that since joe also played it really made her the wag. the shorter girls face flushing red she began to argue your point passionately as you leant into alessia with a satisfied smug smile at how much the comment got under the brunettes skin.

it would seem that your unofficial wag club had officially been born.

[rickktish]

Some unsolicited Harry Potter Thoughts and Headcanons

Ron Weasley is one of my favorite characters. Ron Weasley should have died from the poison in Slughorn's office when he was 16 so that y'all would treat him with the respect he deserves instead of shitting on him and replacing him with Draco in Leather Pants.

The entire reason Dumbledore is so fucked up actually has nothing to do with his sordid past; it comes from the (Doylist) fact that he was a plot device in a children's book until the main characters (and thus the audience) got old enough that it needed to become a YA series, and then had to find ways to justify is plot device-ness after being magically transformed into a character. The justification did not succeed.

Harry and Ginny were fine as a ship. Not spectacular, but fine. But if the series had come out 10-20 years later than it did I would be frothing at the mouth that Harry ended up with Ron's sister instead of Ron.

Draco Malfoy was a victim of circumstance in that he was raised by racists to be a racist. Draco Malfoy did not change his mind about his racism by the end of the series, but he did change his mind about the cult leader his parents had raised him to worship, and he deserves credit for that. Do not give him credit for what we do not have evidence of him doing, namely becoming not racist. No one in his family did that. Don't pretend that they did just to make them look shinier.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all bad friends at different points in the series, but as far as I can recall only Harry and Hermione exhibited actively toxic behavior. Ron had his disagreement with Hermione in book 3 and with Harry in book 4, but he had valid points in PoA (owner of a pet is responsible for that pet's actions) and was operating under false assumptions which he clearly communicated in GoF ("I thought you might've told me if it was the Cloak... because it wouldn't covered both of us, wouldn't it? But you found another way, did you?") before getting his head out of his ass ("Harry," he said, very seriously, "whoever put your name in that goblet -- I -- I reckon they're trying to do you in!") Followed by a sincere apology, interrupted though it was ("Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. Harry knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly found he didn't need to hear it. "It's okay," he said, before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it." |"No," said Ron, "I shouldn't've--"| "Forget it," Harry said. Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back.) Ron also apologized after leaving in DH. If anyone can remember a single instance of either Harry or Hermione apologizing to Ron for something they did that was wrong or for direct harm rather than accidental harm they've done, would you please add it to this post? I'm hoping it's just been too long since I did an in-depth read of the series and I've forgotten something, because I genuinely can't remember a time and I haven't been successful in locating one by my cursory searches through my ebook editions. I would genuinely like to be wrong about this, please and thank you.

I believe with my whole soul that the reason Dumbledore didn't get Sirius out of prison was because he was having Grindelwald flashbacks. Person I trusted with my whole soul turned out to be pro-enslavement/genocide? Person my students trusted with their magically concealed location appears to have turned out to be pro-Voldemort (and everything he uses to justify his pursuit of power)? He literally did not believe any doubts he might have held about Sirius' guilt, because he hasn't trusted his own judgement since he was 18 and his little sister died. also he 1) canonically did not know that Sirius wasn't the secret keeper and 2) probably did not know that Sirius never had a trial, so there's also that.

Harry and Ron 100% should have gone to the Yule Ball together. I would forgive their not ending up together so long as they had gone and had a fantastic time. Unfortunately, GoF was written in 2000, and we missed out for it.

Hermione would be an emotionally (and potentially physically) abusive spouse to Ron, not because I feel any need to put her down or bash her in any way, but because she wasn't willing to tell him that she was into him and instead conjured birds to attack him when she caught him kissing another girl. I think with time, effort, and a decent dose of humility, they could work it out, but at some point their kids are going to be chatting with friends and reveal the most casually fucked up shit about their parents' relationship to someone who's going to look utterly horrified and poor Rose and Hugo will have no idea why because to them it will be completely normal.

Childhood is thinking Dumbledore is the good guy and Snape is the bad guy. Angsty teenhood is thinking Snape is the good guy and Dumbledore "raised Harry like a pig for slaughter." Maturity is realizing that Snape did good things for really fucked up reasons like "I'm obsessed with the woman whose husband and child I would have seen killed so I could have another chance to get in her pants but unfortunately she's dead so I guess I have to keep her child who I hate alive" while also actively causing (directed) severe harm to the children under his care, and that Dumbledore did fucked up things for some good reasons like "I can't let this person who tortured animals as a child and committed murder in his teens destroy the world" and for some bad reasons like "I would literally die right now but unfortunately I have shit to do" (I honestly think everyone somehow missed the fact that Dumbledore was suicidal?? in spite of the fact that he committed assisted suicide?? I'm not quite sure how, but I suspect it has something to do with the woobification of Snape, so. there's that) while also causing (mostly indirect) moderate to severe harm to all who were in his care including, but not limited to, the government officials who asked him for advice, the staff and children at the school he ran, and his own family. The essential difference comes because Snape acted as he did toward others because he hated the world and everything in it, especially children, whereas Dumbledore acted as he did toward others because he couldn't make up his mind whether or not the ends justified the means and his life was entirely defined by the practice of both intentional and unintentional self-sabotage.

This absolutely might be giving Rowling too much credit, but I grew up with fairy tales of goblins who stole and guarded gold and didn't learn that goblins were a racist caricature based in antisemitism until I was in my late teens or early twenties by reading a post about how writing goblins as bankers meant that Rowling is antisemitic. I also genuinely didn't believe it at first, because I grew up in a culture that reveres Judaism and the Jewish people as God's chosen and the source for the foundation of mankind's relationship with God, and I had to seriously work to believe that the slightly goofy, slightly gross fairy tale creature I was familiar with could have such a disgusting connotation. I strongly suspect that Rowling herself had no idea until she started being accused of racism, at which point she pulled her classic schtick and doubled down, radicalizing rather than being open to being told she might be wrong. Sometimes you grow up with something being so normal and part of the regular zeitgeist that it never occurs to you that it could have its origins in racism. (I experienced this myself recently from a post about the origin of the popularity of private pools in the US, which I always thought were just a rich people status symbol. Even though I've known about the issue of pool discrimination since my mom, who attended a formerly black-only middle school in Alabama as a child, read me picture books about it when I was in elementary school, I didn't put it together until I read the post.) The quality of your character is determined then by how you respond to the criticism rather than whether or not you knew before the accusations began. The end result is the same, but I feel like holding her responsible for knowledge we have no way of telling if she knew before she started being accused of having it is bad-faith criticism, and I'd much rather hold her accountable for wrongs I know she's committed rather than ones I can only speculate about.

Dudley Dursley deserved his redemption. He grew up with the rule "Don't be like Harry" and figured out by the end of the series that Harry was a person, which is better than either of his parents managed. I honestly think a good dose of the real world-- maybe university or something-- would give him the foundation he would need to separate himself from his parents' beliefs and become a halfway decent human being. I wish the best for Dudley Dursley.

Neville Longbottom deserved better. In every possible way.

[dimonds456]

animatic i'll never finish

Book of Bill spoilerssss, cw physical/psychological torture

I also put it below the cut in case you can't/don't wanna click the link(s)

(also also if you wanna do something with this just gimme a tag, I wanna see fgshdj)

[Opening]

Credits. We see Ford alone in his house; in his study; walking down the hall; approaching the front door with a crossbow.

Don't mind the noise outside the door It's just a phantom, nothing more

Ford ducks his head out of the house, looking around for something he thinks he heard.

No need to give yourself a scare When you glance and no one's there

Once he's confirmed nothing's there, he shuts the door and sits up against it, breathing weirdly. Then, we see a Bill-shaped shadow moving around the room with him, though he doesn't notice.

I don't wanna have to hurt you

Ford takes a breath, then stands back up

It's not your fault, I felt his rage Just a child about your age

Flash back to the science experiment gone wrong, except it's wrong. Stan is actively ripping into the machine. The camera pans out to show it was Bill telling him this; the visions were in his eye the whole time.

But something drives me to this place I can see him in your face

Ford looks doubtful. He knows that's not how it happened, but instead of confronting the realization he was wrong about Stan, he chooses to keep it buried. He keeps going down the hall, towards the living room.

You'll never know the hell I've seen

He collapses on the chair, exhausted. His eyes slip close... then snap back open again. Uh oh.

Don't fear what's coming We can't fight off the urge inside

Bill, possessing Ford, basically prances through the house. He heads over to the secret door and punches in the code

It's dark and you're afraid of The devils that come out at night

He goes down the elevator, making it to the portal room. It looms ominously over him.

Let's make this easy

He pulls up all three journals and aligns them

Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

Bill is looking at Ford's six-fingered hand (the implication being he's talking about the people who made fun of Ford before)

No need for sleep tonight Sweet dreams are overrated

Bill pulls the lever, but the portal flickers uncertainly. He shakes his head, then heads back to the desk. He grabs sticky notes and a pen.

[Instrumental]

Ford wakes up in bed, finding a sticky note stuck to his face from Bill. He's confused, reaching up to grab it, and we see that his knuckles are bruised. Concerned, he gets up and heads to the kitchen. He makes himself a mug of coffee, downing it pretty fast, then glances back at his hand. It fades to a shot of the hand being bandaged up. Ford slips one of Fidd's gloves over it, then frowns, a mix of concerned and scared.

I'm just a whisper in the void No one's there, you're paranoid

At the diner, Ford is trying to order something, but he's clearly anxious. His foot is bouncing, and he keeps glancing at all the people around him warily.

I'm just a trick of your own mind

The people all become shadowy. They turn to look at Ford, yellow, slitted eyes gazing at him unblinkingly.

Blink your eyes once and you'll find I'm just a ghost inside your head

Ford slams his eyes shut. When he opens them, everyone is looking at him, but in concern now. it'd been a hallucination from Bill. Ford gets up as the waiter comes over with his order and guns it out of there.

Don't fear your fate that soon arrives

Ford's sitting on the floor of his study, hands on his head. He's breathing heavy.

It's a deadly lullaby

He looks up to see dozens of Bills watching him- drawings and other decor HE put there.

You'll be with us very soon Another spirit in the room

The bathroom. He's looking at himself in the mirror, noting the deep eyebags under his eyes. One could say he looks dead.

Take your place among the lost

He's alone. He's all alone and there is a demon in his head who wants him to end the world.

Don't fear what's coming

Bill again. He's possessing a bunch of zombies this time

We can't fight off the urge inside

Ford snipes him hell yeah

It's dark and you're afraid of

Ford gasps awake, finding ANOTHER sticky note.

The devils that come out at night

He slaps it on the bedside table next to a BUNCH MORE.

Let's make this easy

Ford pushes furniture in front of the secret door, even though he knows that won't do shit. it makes him feel like he's doing SOMETHING

Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

He downs an entire pot of coffee someone help this man

No need for sleep tonight

His heat has turned off. He's huddled in the living room, where puffs of air appear when he breathes- harder now.

Sweet dreams are overrated

He's fighting sleep so fucking hard right now

[Instrumental]

We see a montage, but centered around Ford as the camera spins around him. He's looking up, watching his world spin, then is falling. He catches himself on the kitchen table, downing more coffee. He stumbles back to his feet, before Bill circled around him. Sticky notes, sticky notes, sticky notes. There's hammers, the Memory Gun, the crossbow, various other weapons (all pointed at Ford), before the camera spins just right to point at Ford head-on again. Now, he's holding a VHS. He bends towards the camera and slips it into a VCR

You can't wake From this dream

Bill is taunting him. Ford grabs the edges of the TV in panicked anger.

No one will hear you screaming

Ford throws the VHS into a fire.

So hold on For the ride

Bill takes over forcefully. The world goes black around the two of them.

I'll take you with me tonight

PAIN. Pain, pain, pain. Ford falls.

This nightmare This prison

Bill floats in front of him, almost gloating, but moreso just upset

Inside the suits we live in

He grabs Ford's shirt collar and yanks him closer

Don't fear me Together

Bill suddenly lets go. He drifts backwards, throwing his hands out.

We'll have sweet dreams forever

Close-up on his eye. He looks excited to the point of being unhinged.

[Instrumental]

Ford sits bolt upright, hands immediately going up to his eyes. They're still there. He stiffens, sorta going numb. After a moment, he drags himself to his feet. He heads down to the basement, grabbing the journals and a postcard. He scribbles something down, then heads out. He drops the postcard in the mailbox, then puts Journal 3 in the ground.

Don't fear what's coming We can't fight off the urge inside

Bill in possession of Ford. He opens the front door and steps out into the snow

It's dark and you're afraid of The devils that come out at night

Ford wakes up, but he's on the roof of his house. He panics, falling to his knees to prevent himself from sliding off. He's breathing heavy, and finds himself pulling another sticky note from his coat pocket

Let's make this easy Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

Bill is holding a hammer. He positions a nail right above Ford's hand. He raises the hammer, then brings it down.

No need for sleep tonight Sweet dreams are overrated

Ford is holding his hand close, bandaged as best as he could, and he's shaking BAD. But, he's also tossing around a bunch of Bill-related shit. The bags under his eyes are designer.

Don't fear what's coming We can't fight off the urge inside

Ford with the crossbow. There's been a knock on the door. He looks wild and unkept. He grabs the handle and opens the door.

It's dark and you're afraid of The devils that come out at night

It's just Stan dw. Ford yanks him inside and checks his eyes.

Let's make this easy Soon you'll haunt these beasts you hated

They head downstairs to the portal room.

No need for sleep tonight Sweet dreams are overrated

Ford shoves Journal 1 in Stan's hands, and Stan gets upset. We know where it goes from here.

[Instrumental]

The fight starts, though it's portrayed in still images. Around them is the interesting part. We see Ford's initial deal with Bill, the good times, the laughs, the vulnerability, before it turns into the horror we know it as today.

(Sweet dreams are overrated)

Notes. More things from this animatic. Journal pages. TRUST NO ONE. It devolves into paranoid screaming, basically.

[Music box]

Stan shoves Ford into the portal. It's caught in slo-mo, with Ford assuming he's going to die here. After all, *Bill's* on the other side. This lasts about halfway through, before it snaps back to normal speed. Ford's gone. Stan can only look up at it, before reality snaps back. He runs to the lever, but he can't pull it. Ford's gone.

[densi-mber]

Aunt and Uncle

“Come on Sophie, come see Auntie Nell,” Nell encourages Sophia, holding out a star-shaped cookie.

“Fank-ou!” Sophia said sweetly, snatching the cookie up and scooting backwards until she sat on Nell’s lap.

“I’m not sure how I feel about you luring my child with baked goods,” Deeks teased.

“Don’t take sweets from strange people,” Nell instructed Sophia, who happily nodded while eating her cookie.

“Unless it’s from your Aunt Nell or Uncle Eric,” Kensi clarified.

“You know, Caleb has really good dexterity for a one year old,” Eric said. He had Caleb perched next to his side on the floor, tapping away at a tablet.

“Yeah, we’ve been working on fine motor during meals and whenever we play.” Deeks reached over to ruffle Caleb’s hair. “Their favorite activity at the moment is throwing peas at each other. So that’s fun.”

“Peas?” Caleb asked excitedly, looking for his favorite projectile.

“Sorry, no peas today,” Kensi said. “Just carrots and green beans.”

Finished with her cookie, Sophia got and toddled over to a cloth bin of board books, getting out one about a pet pig. She brought it back to Nell, proceeding to point out every object she could name.

“How do you feel about kids and technology in general?” Eric asked casually.

“It’s fine in small doses?” Kensi answered uncertainly. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Eric said quickly.

“Eric Bartholomew Beale, do you have a ridiculously expensive computer or tablet in one the packages you brought with?” Deeks squinted at Eric, who just shrugged innocently.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out when we open presents later.”

“And if there’s a a couple of tiny Lamborghinis in there or leather jackets, that’s just between the four of us,” Nell added.

“Croissant and doughnut, your aunt and uncle are gonna spoil you worse than Grandma Deeks.”

Caleb looked up at Deeks with a slobbery grin, as if he understood every word.

“Dee-dee,” he requested, holding his arms out, and Deeks happily picked Caleb up, tossing him over his shoulder, and pretending to eat his tummy.

“Dain! Dain, Dain, Dain!”

“Sorry we’re not very exciting,” Deeks apologized a few minutes later after Caleb had been thoroughly tickled and lay draped over his legs.

“Yeah, you probably didn’t expect to become babysitters the second you walked in,” Kensi said.

“It’s ok,” Nell assured them. “Why do you think we decided to stay for three weeks? We want to spend time with all of you.”

“And we can still go out and do things, right?” As Eric spoke, Caleb decided to climb his shoulder, using his hair as a handhold.

“Of course. It’ll just take three times as long and require lots of snacks. You ok there, Beale.” Deeks reached out to help him, but Eric waved him off.

“No, it’s fine. It’s adorable actually.”

“Oh, they have the baby fever bad,” Deeks stage whispered to Kensi.

“That’s because they’re the best babies,” Nell responded, talking to Sophia. “Aren’t you? And extremely smart too.”

“So far gone,” Kensi whispered back, grinning at their friends, totally smitten with the twins.

[flowerandblood]

Wicked prayers, sweet penances (3)

[modern! priest • Aemond x Strong • female]

[warnings: sex content, smut, domination, religious guilt, incest, fluff]

[description: Aemond, a deeply religious person, enters the seminary, wanting to fight the thoughts, that have been poisoning his mind for years at the sight of his niece. He returns home as a priest, but the desire he has been running away from returns to him again. A story full of incest, sexual tension and religious guilt.]

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

_____

Aemond watched in disbelief as his niece hurriedly adjusted her dress as he buttoned his trousers. What they had just done was beyond his comprehension. How bad it was. How wonderful it felt.

They looked at each other uncertainly, feeling that they had crossed the line from which there is no turning back. Even if they wanted to, they couldn't pretend to each other that nothing had happened.

When she asked if he would give her his phone number, even though he knew he shouldn't, he agreed. They quickly exchanged numbers and left the room. They agreed that she would go first and he would wait a while, so as not to arouse suspicion.

He watched thoughtfully as she hurried down the stairs, entering the wedding hall. He wondered if anyone had noticed their absence and what his niece thought of him now. That her uncle, who is a priest at the same time, wants to fuck her.

Now that he thought about it, it seemed unreal, disgusting. But he knew deep down it was just a cover for his true desires. Never in his life had he felt so fulfilled as with her, fifteen minutes earlier in bed. He wondered how something so obscene and evil could be such a wonderful, almost heavenly experience at the same time. If this was God's test of his willpower, he failed miserably.

For the rest of the wedding, he and she tried not to look at each other. His mother noticed his disappearance, she thought he had already gone to the parsonage. He told her that he felt worse after drinking. It amazed him how easily he lied to her. He wondered if she really knew him at all.

Several days have passed since the wedding party. Aemond checked his phone more than ever before. He had a feeling she would text him soon. The truth was, that he had been waiting impatiently for it. He got rid of any illusions - he lost the fight with himself the moment he saw her come before his eyes.

His intuition did not fail him. One evening, while reading Aristotle's Ethics, his phone lit up and a notification appeared on the screen, that someone had texted him. He unlocked his phone with his heart beating fast and saw her message.

"How do you feel?"

He pursed his lips. He felt immense excitement at the thought, that he could communicate with her this way without anyone else knowing. It was their secret. Even though he knew he should end the relationship eventually, he wanted the complete opposite. He wanted to make up for their lost time. He thought for a moment what he should write to her.

"Sinful. And you?"

He wrote quickly. He stared at the screen expectantly, his heart pounding wildly. He felt a pleasant tension, like a child who snacks on sweets while his parents are away, hoping that they won't notice when they return. He shuddered and quickly unlocked the keypad when he saw, that he had received an answer.

"Me too."

He sighed, putting the book to the side. He stared at his phone, wondering if he should text back. He thought he was a corrupt sinner, but he didn't have to drag her down with him. If he loved her, he should separate her from himself.

"You should delete my phone number."

He texted her finally, putting the phone down. He picked it up again when, literally seconds later, he got an answer.

"We both know I won't, uncle."

He tapped his tongue against the side of his cheek, looking at the display deliberately. His fingers typed an answer on the phone keypad.

"Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into? I'm not a good person."

She didn't reply to him for a long time. He looked at his phone expectantly, no conversation with anyone had aroused so much emotion in him in a long time. He wanted to call her and tell her to meet him at the hotel. Spend the night with her, exploring her whole body. He shuddered when he saw her answer.

"I want it."

***

From then on, they wrote to each other every day, at the appointed time, after his evening prayer. His niece told him about her day, about her events at university, about the new books she was reading, about their family situation, and anything else she could think of.

Aemond told her of what he had seen and heard in his ministry. About what he heard in the confessional, what problems and scary stories people came to him with. Of course, he was bound by the secrecy of confession, but he could tell about what he heard, if it was impossible to recognize the person about whom he was talking.

She advised him and comforted him, as she had when they were children. He found himself thinking excitedly all day about spending the evening talking to her again.

They only saw each other face to face on Sundays. She began to attend masses where he would preach the homily. The sight of her always pleased him. He believed that since he had started talking to her again, he had delivered better, more real, and more human sermons. As if his fall allowed him to understand other fallen people, to look at God's mercy from a different perspective.

After Mass, his niece waited patiently for him. It was agreed that she would not stand by the church itself, so as not to arouse suspicion. She waited for him by the park next door. He would come out to her and they would walk together, talking among the trees. It was a private area of the presbytery and practically no one else ventured there.

He loved looking at her and hearing her voice. The sight of her was for him the crowning of that holy day, the greatest grace from God. Sometimes, when they stood among the bushes, hidden from the world, he would take her face in his hands with tenderness and piety.

He looked at her adoringly, then leaned in and kissed her softly, caressing and massaging her lips. She returned all his kisses with the greatest delight, clasping her hands on his cassock, opening her mouth for his wet lips.

He thought with surprise that he had never been happier in his life. Neither she nor he had any illusions - they were together. They had the most forbidden and unethical relationship he could imagine. And he didn't care at all. He felt great. He had more energy to devote himself to the faithful and their problems.

For some time, both of them had been thinking about going somewhere together and wondering how to do it. He just wanted to spend some time with her. In one room, in one bed. Forget who they were to each other and make love to her all night long.

The opportunity presented itself a few weeks later. He was to be delegated to a village near their town, where the parish priest had to go to his family's funeral on the other side of the country. Aemond was to replace him for a few days. Apart from him, there was no other priest in the parish. He invited her to go with him.

She told her mother and stepfather that she was going to her friend who lived in the town next door for the weekend. She did it often, so neither of them even asked for details. They arranged for Aemond to pick her up from a specific point she had walked to. They decided to go there at night so that no one would see them entering the presbytery together.

They entered the building and turned on the light. The parsonage was in an old noble country manor house and was beautiful. They both walked through the rooms, examining old furniture and bookshelves full of dusty books. Of course, there were plenty of holy pictures and devotional items hanging everywhere.

Finally, they both went up the stairs, where they saw several bedrooms. His niece put her backpack in one of them and he followed her in, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe. He was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt with a clerical collar and long black pants.

"Here?" He asked casually.

She looked at him, embarrassed, and nodded. She knew they would sleep together for the duration of their stay.

He followed her into the room and turned off the light. They stared at each other for a moment, feeling the tension between them hang in the air. They've both been waiting for this moment for a long time. He thought that knowing how bad what they wanted was, made them want it even more.

Aemond took his clerical collar off his neck and placed it on the desk next to the entrance, still staring at her intensely. He heard her swallow hard, her mouth parted in lust. His throat went dry as he saw her lie down on the bed and pull her pants off in one gentle motion, leaving only her oversized T-shirt and panties.

He slowly walked over to her and sat next to her on the bed. His hand gently stroked the skin of her bare leg. She shivered at the feeling, her chest heaving uneasily. Her hands were placed on either side of her head, her loose hair wonderfully framing her face. He swallowed silently at the sight.

"Have you ever done this before?" He asked softly, running his fingers from her thigh to her knee and back again. She shivered all over and after a moment shook her head, breathing unevenly. Aemond pursed his lips and looked down at the thought, that he was going to take her first time with a man from her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He asked uncertainly, shooting her a look full of pain, lust and desire. He heard her swallow softly, her body shift uneasily.

"I want it to be you." She whispered. His lips parted slightly at her words. He was defeated.

"Take off your panties." He instructed softly, getting up from his seat, undoing the belt on his pants. His niece looked at him in shock, her lips quivering with desire. She obediently did as he asked, setting her underwear aside. He thought he shouldn't completely undress her, leaving her with some sense of safety and protection.

He slowly unbuttoned his shirt and took it off, exposing his chest and arms. He heard her gasp at the sight, clenching her thighs. He licked his lips in satisfaction. He got on the bed, laying on top of her. From his neck hung a small silver chain with a cross. He stroked her cheek and flinched as he felt her involuntarily spread her thighs in front of him.

"My sweet girl. I'll make you feel good, I promise." He whispered and leaned over her, kissing her lips tenderly. She reciprocated his gesture immediately, pulling him closer, obviously needing it as much as he did. They kissed greedily, their lips sucking each other with a wet, perverted sound.

Aemond involuntarily began to rub bulge in his pants against her. She moaned into his mouth at the sensation, her hips beginning to respond to his movements. His hand slid between her thighs, finding an incredible amount of her juices flowing from her entrance. He grunted in satisfaction at the feeling, rubbing her clit with solemnity.

"So wet for your uncle, for the servant of God himself" He purred in delight, her wet, hot cunt clenching helplessly around nothing. He felt she was desperate. She clasped her hands on his back, breathing heavily, moaning softly into his mouth.

"Please…I want it so much" She whispered pleadingly, her hips rubbing and pressing against his cock tucked in his pants. He pulled away from her lips with a wet sound. He gave her a look full of satisfaction as he undid the button and fly of his pants.

"Is that what you want? You want your uncle to make you feel good?" He asked teasingly, looking down at her.

Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as she nodded. She pursed her lips as she saw him unleash his swollen, throbbing cock from his pants. He crouched in front of her and opened her legs wider in front of him. His thumb ran admiringly over her hot, throbbing entrance. She threw her head back and moaned loudly as she felt him insert his tip into her.

"Shh. Easy, my sweet niece. We'll take it slow. Were you taking your pills as we spoke?" He asked softly, stroking her thigh tenderly, his cock throbbing all over with excitement. He teased her with his dick, wiping his tip in her juices. He heard her sweet moan of pleasure.

"Yes." She sobbed helplessly as he slid a little more into her, panting heavily, his fingers gently parting the skin around her entrance to the sides, helping himself and her. She was so tight he could barely get inside her. He thought, that two thrusts in her and he would come.

"Does it hurt a lot?" He asked in a shaky voice, looking at her face tilted to the side, her eyes pinched shut, her mouth slightly parted.

"N-no, I'm fine." She whispered, breathing heavily, he felt her whole body tremble under him. He slid out of her slightly, then entered her again, this time deeply, all the way. She clasped her hands on his shoulders and arched back with a helpless moan, panting heavily.

"It's okay." He whispered, leaning over her and kissing her gently, subtly, brushing her lips. "It's okay."

They lay like that for a while, just kissing, getting used to this new feeling. Aemond had never felt anything like this before. He did a few one-offs with high school friends, wanting to see what it was like and forget about wanting his own niece. Nothing could compare to her heat, the wetness running down her thighs to the sheets beneath them. He was panting heavily as he throbbed all over inside her tight cunt.

He slid out of her again and thrust into her gently. She moaned loudly, throwing her head to the side. He began to move slowly inside her, panting with pleasure, mouth parting in disbelief that this was really happening. He looked down at her, soft moans escaping from her lips every time he rubbed against a specific spot inside her hot core.

He began to thrust into her harder, his hands tightening on her thighs, rubbing exactly where she wanted to, and she moaned loudly, throwing back her head, surprised by the intensity of the sensation.

"Here? Do you feel good when your uncle rubs you here?" He asked in delight, seeing how greedy her thighs responded to his every thrust, tightening on him more and more. She looked at him with a hazy gaze, her mouth slightly parted, her hair tossed in a wonderful mess. She looked more beautiful than ever.

"Yes, please, it feels so good" She moaned softly, her hands clenching the fabric of the pillow beneath her head, panting heavily with him.

"Do you want your beloved uncle to fuck you? To cum inside you?" He asked in a shaky, low voice, feeling he was on the brink. Seeing her as she was, just as he had imagined at night for years, made him know he couldn't hold out much longer. The tension and heat in his lower abdomen was unbearable.

"Yes, please, uncle, cum in me, cum in me as many times as you want" She whimpered helplessly. He groaned and she sobbed sweetly as he began to fuck her fast and brutally, holding her buttocks tightly in his hands. Their wet bodies slammed against each other with a loud, wet sound, both of them moaning and panting loudly in pleasure.

"Yes, please uncle, fuck me, fuck me!" She sobbed helplessly and arched, her voice stuck in her throat. She suddenly felt a wave of pleasure spread over her body. Orgasm shot through her like fire, and she moaned loudly, unable to believe how intense and unreal the feeling was.

"Oh, God, yes, yes, yes" He groaned, fucking her mercilessly and brutally, tilting his head back, cumming hard inside her. Her walls pressed against him, his hot semen flowed out of him in waves into her.

"That's right, that's my good girl" He whispered in delight, panting heavily with her, thrusting in her for a moment longer, unable to stop.

He finally collapsed on top of her, the two hugging tightly, their bodies sweating. They were breathing heavily, unable to calm down, their hearts pounding hard. With the last of his strength, he placed gentle kisses on her temple and cheek, stroking the other side of her face with his hand.

"My sweet girl."

_____

Thank you for such a warm welcome to the first part! As always, if you like it or you want to be tagged, leave a comment, I'll be very happy. ♥

@zenka69 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @letmeloveyouuuu @malfoytargaryen

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Alayne I (Sansa I)

My little lovebug! ❤️

She's finally here! 🥺

To celebrate, I might just copy and paste the whole gosh darn thing. You've been warned.

Ladies and gentlemen, brace yourselves for the mind-blowing, heart-stopping, epic conclusion of Operation Stumpy Re-Read Project!

Before we dive in, we need to revisit a theory that I proposed in Jon X, ADWD.

The last time we saw Jon's and Sansa's points of view in the same book was A Storm of Swords. You might recall the deliberate placement of their back-to-back chapters was anything but subtle.

The text was often copied verbatim, the situations were perfectly mirrored, and the topics of love, marriage, and family were prevalent in both.

You can view a quick summary of it all here.

That brings us to this chapter. Some of you might not be aware, but George was originally planning to put Alayne I in A Dance with Dragons.

That Sansa chapter I talked about finishing, for instance. It's still finished, but my editor and I decided it belongs in THE WINDS OF WINTER, not A DANCE WITH DRAGONS, so it's been moved into the next book. Sansa will not appear in DANCE. - Not a Blog

Based on the intentional placement of previous Jon and Sansa chapters, I have hypothesized that it should be possible to determine the original planned position of this Alayne chapter.

Below, I will do my best to argue Alayne I, TWOW was originally indented to appear directly before Jon X, ADWD.

Alright, it's time!

She was reading her little lord a tale of the Winged Knight when Mya Stone came knocking on the door of his bedchamber, clad in boots and riding leathers and smelling strongly of the stable. Mya had straw in her hair and a scowl on her face. That scowl comes of having Mychel Redfort near, Alayne knew.

I'm so slow, I'm only now picking up on the vague hints of Jon and Sansa's connection from the highborn-lowborn divide between Mya and Mychel Redfort.

She sounded so like Sansa, so happy and innocent with her dreams. Catelyn smiled, but the smile was tinged with sadness. The Redforts were an old name in the Vale, she knew, with the blood of the First Men in their veins. His love she might be, but no Redfort would ever wed a bastard. His family would arrange a more suitable match for him, to a Corbray or a Waynwood or a Royce, or perhaps a daughter of some greater house outside the Vale. - Catelyn VI, AGOT

She even had a king for a dad!

+.+.+

Why did she have to mention Harry? Alayne thought. We will never get Sweetrobin out of bed now. The boy slapped a pillow. "Send them away. I never asked them here." Mya looked nonplussed. No one in the Vale was better at handling a mule, but lordlings were another matter. "They were invited," she said uncertainly, "for the tourney. I don't…" Alayne closed her book. "Thank you, Mya. Let me talk with Lord Robert, if you would."

Oh look, 13-year-old Sansa is acting 24 again, and can I just mention she's absolutely fantastic at managing her son cousin.

+.+.+

"I hate that Harry," Sweetrobin said when she was gone. "He calls me cousin, but he's just waiting for me to die so he can take the Eyrie. He thinks I don't know, but I do." "Your lordship should not believe such nonsense," Alayne said. "I'm sure Ser Harrold loves you well." And if the gods are good, he will love me too. Her tummy gave a little flutter.

Back to 13.

Just like Arya and Mercy, you can still find traces of Sansa in Alayne.

+.+.+

"I don't want you to marry him, Alayne. I am the Lord of the Eyrie, and I forbid it." He sounded as if he were about to cry. "You should marry me instead. We could sleep in the same bed every night, and you could read me stories."

In the future, it might be a good idea to ensure that Jon and Sweetrobin are kept apart at all times.

+.+.+

No man can wed me so long as my dwarf husband still lives somewhere in this world. 

I don't know about that.

"Hush, you'll be the death of us. I did nothing. Come, we must away, they'll search for you. Your husband's been arrested."

"Tyrion?" she said, shocked.

"Do you have another husband? The Imp, the dwarf uncle, she thinks he did it." - Sansa V, ASOS

x

When Her Grace suggested that she would be pleased to help arrange marriages for his sons to the daughters of great southern lords, Lord Stark refused brusquely. "We keep the old gods in the North," he told the queen. "When my boys take a wife, they will wed before a heart tree, not in some southron sept." - Fire & Blood

+.+.+

Alayne stroked his fingers. "There, my Sweetrobin, be still now." When the shaking passed, she said, "You must have a proper wife, a trueborn maid of noble birth." "No. I want to marry you, Alayne." Once your lady mother intended that very thing, but I was trueborn then, and noble.

Trust me, this is less than nothing, we're only warming up. I can do way better than this.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"Who brings this woman to be wed?" asked Melisandre.

"I do," said Jon. "Now comes Alys of House Karstark, a woman grown and flowered, of noble blood and birth." - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

Alayne smoothed his hair. Lady Lysa had never let the servants touch it, and after she had died Robert had suffered terrible shaking fits whenever anyone came near him with a blade, so it had been allowed to grow until it tumbled over his round shoulders and halfway down his flabby white chest. He does have pretty hair. If the gods are good and he lives long enough to wed, his wife will admire his hair, surely. That much she will love about him. 

Mounting evidence that Sansa is plotting to kill Robert Arryn.

Why would he fear a blade?

+.+.+

"The Lord of the Eyrie can do as he likes. Can't I still love you, even if I have to marry her? Ser Harrold has a common woman. Benjicot says she's carrying his bastard." Benjicot should learn to keep his fool's mouth shut.

Lmao.

+.+.+

"Is that what you would have from me? A bastard?" She pulled her fingers from his grasp. "Would you dishonor me that way?" The boy looked stricken. "No. I never meant —" Alayne stood. "If it please my lord, I must go and find my father. Someone needs to greet Lady Waynwood." Before her little lord could find the words to protest, she gave him a quick curtsy and fled the bedchamber [...].

Masterfully done!

This is why I can't have children, I would have locked him in a closet.

+.+.+

When she had left Petyr Baelish that morning he had been breaking his fast with old Oswell who had arrived last night from Gulltown on a lathered horse. 

Did you know that the number of references to Oldtown gradually increases from book to book until it surges in A Storm of Swords, right before the city is formally introduced at the beginning of A Feast for Crows?

Gulltown is on a similar trajectory. The city is referenced nine times in this chapter alone. Nine.

+.+.+

Though snow had blanketed the heights of the Giant's Lance above, below the mountain the autumn lingered and winter wheat was ripening in the fields.

For timeline purposes: Sansa is lagging behind where Brienne and Jon currently are in the story.

Snow in the riverlands. If it was snowing here, it could well be snowing on Lannisport as well, and on King's Landing. Winter is marching south, and half our granaries are empty. Any crops still in the fields were doomed. [...] "I know," Jaime said, "there has been a white raven from the Citadel. Winter has come." - Jaime VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Alayne loved it here. She felt alive again, for the first since her father… since Lord Eddard Stark had died.

Stop.

+.+.+

She hoped they might still be talking, but Petyr's solar proved empty. Someone had left a window open and a stack of papers had blown onto the floor. [...] She closed the window, gathered up the fallen papers, and stacked them on the table. One was a list of the competitors. Four-and-sixty knights had been invited to vie for places amongst Lord Robert Arryn's new Brotherhood of Winged Knights, and four­ and-sixty knights had come to tilt for the right to wear falcon’s wings upon their warhelms and guard their lord.

It is widely speculated she saw something she shouldn't have, but hasn't fully grasped the significance yet.

Did you know there's 64 squares on a chessboard?

+.+.+

The competitors came from all over the Vale, from the mountain valleys and the coast, from Gulltown and the Bloody Gate, even the Three Sisters. Though a few were promised, only three were wed; the eight victors would be expected to spend the next three years at Lord Robert's side, as his own personal guard (Alayne had suggested seven, like the Kingsguard, but Sweetrobin had insisted that he must have more knights than King Tommen), so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

We love a petty king.

so older men with wives and children had not been invited.

Perfect for Blackfish! Where is that former Knight of the Gate? I know he's coming, the ellipsis of truth tells no lies.

And if Ser Brynden should survive this siege, he might be inclined to claim Riverrun in his own name . . . or in the name of young Robert Arryn. - Jaime V, AFFC

Where else is he supposed to go?

Edit:

Oh! @decadelongsummer reminded me that Jaime I, ADWD would have come before this. (<- <- <-)

"Might the Blackfish seek refuge at Raventree?"

"He might seek it, but to find it he'd need to get past my siege lines, and last I heard he hadn't grown wings. [...]" - Jaime I, ADWD

+.+.+

"They're young, eager, hungry for adventure and renown. Lysa would not let them go to war. This is the next best thing. A chance to serve their lord and prove their prowess. They will come. Even Harry the Heir." He had smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. "What a clever daughter you are."

I will turn your liver into paste, and feed it to cats.

+.+.+

"What a clever daughter you are." It was clever.

✨ Clever girl! ✨

Dontos chuckled. "My Jonquil's a clever girl, isn't she?" - Sansa IV, ACOK

x

"There's a clever girl." He smiled, his thin lips bright red from the pomegranate seeds. - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"[...] It was clever of you to see it. Though no more than I'd expect of mine own daughter." - Sansa I, AFFC

x

Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

The tourney, the prizes, the winged knights, it had all been her own notion. Lord Robert's mother had filled him full of fears, but he always took courage from the tales she read him of Ser Artys Arryn, the Winged Knight of legend, founder of his line. Why not surround him with Winged Knights? She had thought one night, after Sweetrobin had finally drifted off to sleep. His own Kingsguard, to keep him safe and make him brave.

Sounds like something a queen might be responsible for planning.

Unreliable narrator Sansa Stark (or George R. R. Martin). Ser Artys Arryn was not the legendary Winged Knight from the Age of Heroes. Two different people.

I don't know if this is important or not, but while reading the history of Ser Artys, a few things stuck out.

Leading the attack was a champion in silvered steel, with a moon-and-falcon on his shield and wings upon his warhelm. Ser Artys Arryn had clad one of his knights retainer in his spare suit of armor, leaving him in camp whilst he himself took his best horsemen up and around a goat track that he remembered from his childhood, so they might reappear behind the First Men and descend on them from above. - The World of Ice and Fire

While fighting King Robar II Royce, Ser Artys used a decoy of himself, while he snuck up and around a goat track that he remembered from his childhood.

What's interesting about that is that Roose Bolton uses a decoy in ADWD, which fools Ramsay.

When the rider in the dark armor removed his helm, however, the face beneath was not one that Reek knew. Ramsay's smile curdled at the sight, and anger flashed across his face. "What is this, some mockery?" - Reek II, ADWD

But what really stands out is the goat tracks. I know a character who has deep appreciation for goat tracks being used during war.

"Goat tracks?" The king's eyes narrowed. "I speak of moving swiftly, and you waste my time with goat tracks?"

"When the Young Dragon conquered Dorne, he used a goat track to bypass the Dornish watchtowers on the Boneway." - Jon IV, ADWD

I don't know. It involved knights from the Vale, so it made me pause.

+.+.+

Lord Nestor was showing Lady Waxley his prize tapestries, with their scenes of hunt and chase. The same panels had once hung in the Red Keep of King's Landing, when Robert sat the Iron Throne. Joffrey had them taken down and they had languished in some cellar until Petyr Baelish arranged for them to be brought to the Vale as a gift for Nestor Royce. Not only were the hangings beautiful, but the High Steward delighted in telling anyone who'd listen that they had once belonged to a king.

It's the conclusion of the most anticlimactic side plot in the entire series.

"Not as yet. In truth, he seems quite unconcerned. His last letter mentions the rebels only briefly before beseeching me to ship him some old tapestries of Robert's." - Cersei IV, AFFC

x

Petyr laughed. "Perhaps I shall. Or better still, to our sweet Cersei. Though I should not speak harshly of her, she is sending me some splendid tapestries. Isn't that kind of her?" - Alayne I, AFFC

This is nothing. It's only meant to showcase how Littlefinger purchases the loyalty of others.

+.+.+

At the north end of the yard, three quintains had been set up, and some of the competitors were riding at them. Alayne knew them by their shields; the bells of Belmore, green vipers for the Lynderlys, the red sledge of Breakstone, House Tollett’s black and grey pily. Ser Mychel Redfort set one quintain spinning with a perfectly placed blow. He was one of those favored to win wings.

Showing off, as per usual. She's only doing this to make Arya look bad.

+.+.+

"The Lord Protector's daughter," the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see." Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms." It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest. "And have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?" Alayne asked him. "You are young to be so widely travelled."

"You are even lovelier than I was told, princess," he declared. "The queen has told me much and more of your beauty."

"How odd, when she has never seen me." - Jon XI, ADWD

+.+.+

Alayne could not help but shutter. Myranda's husband had died when he was making love with her. "Those Sistermen who came in yesterday were gallant," she said, to change the subject. "If you don't like Ser Ossifer or Ser Uther, marry one of them instead. I thought the youngest one was very handsome." "The one in the sealskin cloak?" Randa said, incredulous. "One of his brothers, then." Myranda rolled her eyes. "They're from the Sisters. Did you ever know a Sisterman who could joust? They clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater." “Well,” Alayne said, “at least they're clean.”

"Some of them have webs between their toes. [...]"

Uh huh.

Listen to me. Listen to me.

You know why this is here.

Davos: I:

Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

Remind me, what did we learn in Davos I?

To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down.

[...]

Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward.

[...]

That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true … but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.'" - Davos I, ADWD

Right, exactly. Go ahead and remind us of the Three Sisters in a Sansa chapter, George. Nobody can figure out where this is going.

+.+.+

"Some of them have webs between their toes. I'd sooner marry Lord Petyr. Then I'd be your mother. How little is his finger, I ask you?"

Alayne did not dignify that question with an answer.

Totally normal thing you might ask his daughter.

+.+.+

"Is that a promise or a threat?" Myranda said. "The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? If I were ever to wed a Waynwood, he would have to swear a vow to don his helm whenever he wished to fuck me, and keep the visor closed." She gave Alayne a pinch on the arm.

Um, I have a theory!

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest . . . it might have been a Templeton, but . . ." - Catelyn V, ASOS

+.+.+

"My Harry will be with them, though. I notice that you left him out. I shall never forgive you for stealing him away from me. He's the boy I want to marry."

"The betrothal was my father's doing," Alayne protested, as she had a hundred times before. She is only teasing, she told herself… but behind the japes, she could hear the hurt.

We can't be certain, but she doesn't give off the same vibes as the other Myranda on the show.

+.+.+

Alayne could not see the front of his shield from where she stood, but his attacker bore three ravens in flight, each clutching a red heart in its claws. Three hearts and three ravens. She knew right then how the fight would end. A few moments later and the big man sprawled dazed in the dust with his helm askew. When his squire undid the fastenings to bare his head, there was blood trickling down his scalp. If the swords had not been blunted, there would be brains as well. That last head blow had been so hard Alayne had winced in sympathy when it fell. Myranda Royce considered the victor thoughtfully. "Do you think if I asked nicely Ser Lyn would kill my suitors for me?" "He might, for a plump bag of gold." Ser Lyn Corbray was forever desperately short of coin, all the Vale knew that.

Based on my powerful foresight, I predict that Lyn Corbray will exhibit violent tendencies in the future, possibly while utilizing his Valyrian steel sword.

Don't ask me who the victim will be.

+.+.+

There is truth in that, Alayne thought, but some demon of mischief was in her that morning, so she gave Ser Lyn a thrust of her own. Smiling sweetly, she said, "My lord father tells me your brother's new wife is with child." Corbray gave her a dark look. "Lyonel sends his regrets. He remains at Heart's Home with his peddler's daughter, watching her belly swell as if he were the first man who ever got a wench pregnant." Oh, that's an open wound, thought Alayne. Lyonel Corbray's first wife had given him nothing but a frail, sickly babe who died in infancy, and during all those years Ser Lyn had remained his brother's heir. When the poor woman finally died, however, Petyr Baelish had stepped in and brokered a new marriage for Lord Corbray. The second Lady Corbray was sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, but she had come with an immense dowry, and men said she was a tall, strapping, healthy girl, with big breasts and good, wide hips. And fertile too, it seems. "We are all praying that the Mother grants Lady Corbray an easy labor and a healthy child," said Myranda. Alayne could not help herself. She smiled and said, "My father is always pleased to be of service to one of Lord Robert's leal bannermen. I'm sure he would be most delighted to help broker a marriage for you as well, Ser Lyn." "How kind of him." Corbray's lips drew back in something that might have been meant as a smile, though it gave Alayne a chill. "But what need have I for heirs when I am landless and like to remain so, thanks to our Lord Protector? No. Tell your lord father I need none of his brood mares." The venom in his voice was so thick that for a moment she almost forgot that Lyn Corbray was actually her father's catspaw, bought and paid for. Or was he? Perhaps, instead of being Petyr's man pretending to be Petyr's foe, he was actually his foe pretending to be his man pretending to be his foe.

Uh oh, Nostradamus senses something. There she goes leaking the plot again!

The king's own fool, the pie-faced simpleton called Moon Boy, danced about on stilts, all in motley, making mock of everyone with such deft cruelty that Sansa wondered if he was simple after all. - Sansa II, AGOT

x

Sansa shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, she shivered. - Sansa III, AGOT

x

Varys was wringing his soft hands together, Grand Maester Pycelle kept his sleepy eyes on the papers in front of him, but she could feel Littlefinger staring. Something about the way the small man looked at her made Sansa feel as though she had no clothes on. Goose bumps pimpled her skin. - Sansa IV, AGOT

x

For his sigil he had taken a bloody spear, gold on a night-black field. The sight of it raised goose prickles up and down Sansa's arms. - Sansa V, AGOT

x

Ser Boros was short-tempered, Ser Meryn cold, and Ser Mandon's strange dead eyes made her uneasy - Sansa I, ACOK

x

"I don't want to." Lollys clutched at her maid, a slender, pretty girl with short dark hair who looked as though she wanted nothing so much as to shove her mistress into the dry moat, onto those iron spikes. "Please, please, I don't want to." - Sansa V, ACOK

x

Besides, the lords of the Trident were sworn to Riverrun and House Tully, and to the King in the North; they would never accept Littlefinger as their liege. Unless they are made to. Unless my brother and my uncle and my grandfather are all cast down and killed. The thought made Sansa anxious, but she told herself she was being silly. - Sansa VIII, ACOK

x

Yet the more she thought about it all, the more she wondered. Joff might restrain himself for a few turns, perhaps as long as a year, but soon or late he will show his claws, and when he does . . . The realm might have a second Kingslayer, and there would be war inside the city, as the men of the lion and the men of the rose made the gutters run red. - Sansa I, ASOS

Believe in Sansa. The bottom line is that Lyn Corbray is a problem, and he's not as loyal to Littlefinger as Littlefinger thinks. Where this goes, I couldn't tell you.

(I desperately wanted to highlight every instance of Daenerys incorrectly reading someone, but I chose to be an adult.)

+.+.+

Alayne turned abruptly from the yard… and bumped into a short, sharp-faced man with a brush of orange hair who had come up behind her. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could fall. "My lady. My pardons if I took you unawares." "The fault was mine. I did not see you standing there." "We mice are quiet creatures." Ser Shadrich was so short that he might have been taken for a squire, but his face belonged to a much older man. She saw long leagues in the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, old battles in the scar beneath his ear, and a hardness behind the eyes that no boy would ever have. This was a man grown. Even Randa overtopped him, though. "Will you be seeking wings?" the Royce girl said. "A mouse with wings would be a silly sight." "Perhaps you will try the melee instead?" Alayne suggested. The melee was an afterthought, a sop for all the brothers, uncles, fathers, and friends who had accompanied the competitors to the Gates of the Moon to see them win their silver wings, but there would be prizes for the champions, and a chance to win ransoms. "A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that's not likely, is it?"

Speaking of problems.

You know who Varys is, I trust? The eunuch has offered a plump bag of gold for this girl you've never heard of. I am not a greedy man. If some oversized wench would help me find this naughty child, I would split the Spider's coin with her. - Brienne I, AFFC

The following is speculative, but also highly rational in my opinion.

It would be incredibly illogical for the author to introduce Ser Shadrich in Brienne's first chapter, reveal his objective to the reader, have him show up in the Vale near the same book's conclusion, clearly signal to the reader that he's correctly identified Sansa, and then proceed to not utilize him in any meaningful way. This is not what a red herring looks like.

There's probably a reason why Brienne's been gifted the knowledge of his appearance, and his objective. Brienne may not know what Alayne looks like, but she does know what Ser Shadrich looks like.

There's probably a reason why Brienne gauges both of their fighting skills while anticipating a potential encounter. (Come on.)

The Mad Mouse, she thought, at her first sight of him. Somehow he's followed me. Her hand went to her sword hilt, and she found herself wondering if Ser Shadrich would think her easy prey just because she was a woman. [...] If it was Ser Shadrich dogging her heels, she might well have a fight on her hands. She did not intend to partner with the man or let him follow her to Sansa. He had the sort of easy arrogance that comes with skill at arms, she thought, but he was small. I'll have the reach on him, and I should be stronger too. - Brienne II, AFFC

We watched Brienne intercept a Stark daughter three different times on the show.

None of these scenes can happen in the books, but we already know the show creators drew inspiration from canon events, and assigned different characters to the roles.

They gave the role of Biter to the Hound and made Brienne fight him, do you not think it's also possible one of these scenes is inspired by Brienne intercepting Shadrich and Sansa in the books?

"But Brienne's currently captured by Lady Stoneheart near Pennytree, and has a broken arm and face!"

Sansa's 👏 and 👏 Brienne's 👏 storylines 👏 aren't 👏 synchronized.

He told us what Brienne would do! He told us!

The Eyrie would be simpler, and Lady Lysa would surely welcome her sister's daughter . . .

Ahead, the alley bent. Somehow Brienne had taken a wrong turn. She found herself in a dead end, a small muddy yard where three pigs were rooting round a low stone well.

[...]

"I was looking for the Seven Swords."

"Back the way you come. Left at the sept."

"I thank you." Brienne turned to retrace her steps, and walked headfirst into someone hurrying round the bend. - Brienne II, AFFC

Brienne 👏 will 👏 escape! She'll 👏 turn 👏 back!

+.+.+

They made a race of it, dashing headlong across the yard and past the stables, skirts flapping, whilst knights and serving men alike looked on, and pigs and chickens scattered before them. It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.

Always nice seeing her act her age.

+.+.+

Harry the Heir, Alayne thought. My husband-to-be, if he will have me. A sudden terror filled her. She wondered if her face was red. Don't stare at him, she reminded herself, don't stare, don't gape, don't gawk. Look away. Her hair must be a frightful mess after all that running. It took all her will to stop herself from trying to tuck the loose strands back into place. Never mind your stupid hair. Your hair doesn't matter. It's him that matters. Him, and the Waynwoods. Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought. Harry, though… My Harry. My lord, my lover, my betrothed.Ser Harrold Hardyng looked every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle. Men old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look, she knew. He had a mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an aquiline nose. Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that’s what he was. Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was.

Wow, how much do you love that?

Sansa directly compares the horse-faced Waynwoods, who have Stark lineage and were once potential heirs to Robb, to the more attractive Harry Hardyng (aka Joffrey).

I'm sorry, you have to see this:

Un-fucking-real. So close. They're always so close.

Yeah guys, why isn't she thinking about Arya? It's obvious we're supposed to be thinking about Arya during this passage. The author's intentions here are clear, the subtext is Arya. Sansa comparing these Stark-ish, likable Waynwood men to the comely yet rude Harry the Heir is totally about Arya. Arya's written all over this. We're so clever to see it.

Side note,

Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, that's what he was.

x

"Beauty can be treacherous. My brother learned that lesson from Cersei Lannister. [...]." - Jon XI, ASOS

Love when my babies both learn about beauty's hidden dangers!

+.+.+

"I look forward to a spirited discussion." Ser Roland swung down from his horse, turned to Alayne, and smiled. "I had heard that Lord Littlefinger's daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief." "You wrong me, ser. I am no thief!" Ser Roland placed his hand over his heart. "Then how do you explain this hole in my chest, from where you stole my heart?"

Man, these horsey Waynwoods are crushing hard on Sansa. hehehehe.

Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

"You are in the Falcon Tower, Ser Harrold," Alayne put in. Far away from Sweetrobin. That was intentional, she knew. Petyr Baelish did not leave such things to chance. "If it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself." This time her eyes met Harry's. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn't need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. "Why should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefinger's bastard?"

+.+.+

A lady's armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled. Near the keep, she ran headlong into Ser Lothor Brune and almost knocked him off his feet. "Harry the Heir? Harry the Arse, I say. He's just some upjumped squire." Alayne was so grateful that she hugged him. "Thank you. Have you seen my father, ser?"

Oopsie daisy, Nostradamus has returned.

The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one. - Sansa II, AGOT

x

"Look at that upjumped oaf," Joff hooted, loud enough for half the yard to hear.

[...]

I hope he falls and shames himself, she thought bitterly. I hope Ser Balon kills him. When Joffrey proclaimed her father's death, it had been Janos Slynt who seized Lord Eddard's severed head by the hair and raised it on high for king and crowd to behold, while Sansa wept and screamed.

Morros dropped his lance, fought for balance, and lost. One foot caught in a stirrup as he fell, and the runaway charger dragged the youth to the end of the lists, head bouncing against the ground. Joff hooted derision. Sansa was appalled, wondering if the gods had heard her vengeful prayer. - Sansa I, ACOK

x

At the last possible instant, Ser Humfrey's [Hardyng] stallion reared away from the oncoming point, eyes rolling in terror, but too late, Aerion's lance took the animal just above the armor that protected his breastbone, and exploded out of the back of his neck in a gout of bright blood. Screaming, the horse crashed sideways, knocking the wooden barrier to pieces as he fell. Ser Humfrey [Hardyng] tried to leap free, but a foot caught in a stirrup and they heard his shriek as his leg was crushed between the splintered fence and falling horse. - The Hedge Knight

A knight from the Vale.

Correctly predicting it will happen to an upjumped oaf.

A Hardyng.

There are two certainties in this life: death and Harrold Hardyng falling off his horse. (Plenty of people don't pay their taxes.)

+.+.+

The vaults were large and dark and filthy. Alayne lit a taper and clutched her skirt as she made the descent. Near the bottom, she heard Lord Grafton's booming voice, and followed. "The merchants are clamoring to buy, and the lords are clamoring to sell," the Gulltowner was saying when she found them. Though not a tall man, Grafton was wide, with thick arms and shoulders. His hair was a dirty blond mop. "How am I to stop that, my lord?" "Post guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale." "These prices, though," protested fat Lord Belmore," these prices are more than fair." "You say more than fair, my lord. I say less than we would wish. Wait. If need be, buy the food yourself and keep it stored. Winter is coming. Prices must go higher." "Perhaps," said Belmore, doubtfully. "Bronze Yohn will not wait," Grafton complained. "He need not ship through Gulltown, he has his own ports. Whilst we are hoarding our harvest, Royce and the other Lords Declarant will turn theirs into silver, you may be sure of that."

I smell converging storylines!

Our best hope may be the Eyrie. The Vale of Arryn was famously fertile and had gone untouched during the fighting. Jon wondered how Lady Catelyn's sister would feel about feeding Ned Stark's bastard. - Jon IV, ADWD

Someone cut Littlefinger's head off, so everyone can eat.

Anyway, there's more Gulltown. Gulltown, Gulltown, Gulltown!

She might do better to take ship for Gulltown or White Harbor. I could do both, though. - Brienne II, AFFC

x

If the Stinking Goose yields nothing, I will take passage on a ship, she decided. Gulltown was only a short voyage away. From there she could make her way to the Eyrie easily enough. - Brienne III, AFFC

x

"Gulltown next," her captain told her, "thence around the Fingers to Sisterton and White Harbor, if the storms allow. She's a clean ship, 'Strider, not so many rats as most, and we'll have fresh eggs and new-churned butter aboard. Is m'lady seeking passage north?"

"No." Not yet. She was tempted, but . . . - Brienne V, AFFC

NOT YET. NOT YET! GULLTOWN -> SISTERTON -> WHITE HARBOR. HE TOLD US. HE FORESHADOWS EVERYTHING. IT'S RIGHT THERE.

+.+.+

"And is Ser Harrold with them?" Horrible Ser Harrold. "He is." Lord Belmore laughed. "I never thought Royce would let him come. Is he blind, or merely stupid?" "He is honorable. Sometimes it amounts to the same thing. If he denied the lad the chance to prove himself, it could create a rift between them, so why not let him tilt? The boy is nowise skilled enough to win a place amongst the Winged Knights."

Gosh, since his introduction, it seems like we've been constantly reminded that this upjumped squire is rather inept when it comes to sports.

"Our cousin Bronze Yohn had himself a mêlée at Runestone," Myranda Royce went on, oblivious, "a small one, just for squires. It was meant for Harry the Heir to win the honors, and so he did." - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

"Come," Petyr said, "walk with me." He took her by the arm and led her deeper into the vaults, past an empty dungeon.

I will cut your eyelids off.

+.+.+

"Yes," she said, "but why must he be so cruel? He called me your bastard. Right in the yard, in front of everyone." "So far as he knows, that's who you are. This betrothal was never his idea, and Bronze Yohn has no doubt warned him against my wiles. You are my daughter. He does not trust you, and he believes that you're beneath him." "Well, I'm not. He may think he's some great knight, but Ser Lothor says he's just some upjumped squire."

Sansa's acquiring a new perspective through experiential learning: understanding the bastard experience. Aww. <3

+.+.+

Petyr put his arm around her. "So he is, but he is Robert's heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

Getting to the good stuff.

I'll tell you one thing, I have more faith in Sansa successfully accomplishing this than 6-year-old Alys Karstark.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how."

Aye, but now you're almost six-and-ten, and we must pray you will know how to charm your new husband. - Jon X, ADWD

I've said it a million times in other Sansa chapters, so I won't elaborate, but if you truly believe Littlefinger's plan is to wed Catelyn 2.0 to imitation Brandon Stark, you might be out of your mind.

Petyr put his arm around her.

I will pluck every hair from your head, and genitals.

+.+.+

"I don't know how," she said miserably. "Oh, I think you do," said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes.

Excluding the instance where she copied Harry's words, that is the only time she calls him Littlefinger in this chapter.

She hasn't forgotten.

+.+.+

"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor." "Who would ask to wear a bastard's favor?"

"Harry, if he has the wits the gods gave a goose… but do not give it to him. Choose some other gallant, and favor him instead. You do not want to seem too eager."

I'd be hesitant to allow fire to shine in Sansa's hair.

This feels like a developing story. I'd love to know who is getting this favor if it's not Harry the Arse.

He had worn her favor in the Battle of the Blackwater, where he'd slain a Myrish crossbowman and a Mullendore man-at-arms. "Alyn said her favor made him fearless," said Megga. "He says he shouted her name for his battle cry, isn't that ever so gallant? Someday I want some champion to wear my favor, and kill a hundred men." - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"Saving yourself for Lord Robert?" Lady Myranda teased. "Or is there some ardent squire dreaming of your favors?" - Alayne II, AFFC

x

Edmure escorted her up the water stair and across the lower bailey, where Petyr Baelish and Brandon Stark had once crossed swords for her favor.  - Catelyn XI, AGOT

+.+.+

"Lady Waynwood will insist that Harry dance with you, I can promise you that much. That will be your chance. Smile at the boy. Touch him when you speak. Tease him, to pique his pride. If he seems to be responding, tell him that you are feeling faint, and ask him to take you outside for a breath of fresh air. No knight could refuse such a request from a fair maiden."

The above won't happen, but in her next chapter, I'll be super on edge whenever she's exposed and there aren't many people around.

+.+.+

Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."

I will make you deepthroat a cactus.

+.+.+

The feast proved to be everything her father promised. Sixty-four dishes were served, in honor of the sixty-four competitors who had come so far to contest for silver wings before their lord. From the rivers and the lakes came pike and trout and salmon, from the seas crabs and cod and herring. Ducks there were, and capons, peacocks in their plumage and swans in almond milk. Suckling pigs were served up crackling with apples in their mouths, and three huge aurochs were roasted whole above firepits in the castle yard, since they were too big to get through the kitchen doors. Loaves of hot bread filled the trestle tables in Lord Nestor's hall, and massive wheels of cheese were brought up from the vaults. The butter was fresh-churned, and there were leeks and carrots, roasted onions, beets, turnips, parsnips. And best of all, Lord Nestor's cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant's Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar. For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out. Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more.

A splendid subtlety, lol.

Nice, Littlefinger gifted her a giant penis. I wonder if the ones from Dorne taste any better. (I'm sorry.)

Look, it's a feast!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

The stewards began to bring out the first dish, an onion broth flavored with bits of goat and carrot. Not precisely royal fare, but nourishing; it tasted good enough and warmed the belly. Owen the Oaf took up his fiddle, and several of the free folk joined in with pipes and drums. The same pipes and drums they played to sound Mance Rayder's attack upon the Wall. Jon thought they sounded sweeter now. With the broth came loaves of coarse brown bread, warm from the oven. Salt and butter sat upon the tables. - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

When the last course had been served and cleared, the tables were lifted from their trestles to clear the floor for dancing, and musicians were brought in.

[...] "As am I," Coldwater said. Rising, he offered Alayne his hand. "Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?" "You're very kind," she said, as he led her to the floor. He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda's stout dull brother and Lord Nestor's heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

Oh my goodness, they're dancing! Ser Jon Waynwood sounds like a hoot.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

The queen's men outnumbered the queen's ladies three to one, so even the humblest serving girls were pressed into the dance. After a few songs some black brothers remembered skills learned at the courts and castles of their youth, before their sins had sent them to the Wall, and took the floor as well. That old rogue Ulmer of the Kingswood proved as adept at dancing as he was at archery, no doubt regaling his partners with his tales of the Kingswood Brotherhood, when he rode with Simon Toyne and Big Belly Ben and helped Wenda the White Fawn burn her mark in the buttocks of her highborn captives. Satin was all grace, dancing with three serving girls in turn but never presuming to approach a highborn lady. 

[...]

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

"My lady should dance with her husband." - Jon X, ADWD

Dance with me, Jon Snow! You'll dance with me anon.

Don't be offended Alys, you're not the right partner.

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

His mouth twisted. "I think we have already given them sufficent amusement for one day, don't you?" - Sansa III, ASOS

And neither was he.

I won't get too deep into each dance partner, because this post is long enough, but I'm sure you can see there's more than a few allusions to Jon (Coldwater, Tollett, Ser Byron, Royce, etc.).

Read more here:

Allusions to Jon in The Dance Partners of TWOW, Alayne I (@cappymightwrite)

+.+.+

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. "Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?" She considered for a moment. "No. I don't think so." Color rose to his cheeks. "I was unforgivably rude to you in the yard. You must forgive me." "Must?" She tossed her hair, took a sip of wine, made him wait. "How can you forgive someone who is unforgivably rude? Will you explain that to me, ser?" Ser Harrold looked confused. "Please. One dance."

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist."

Boo, hiss. Wrong dance partner!

She'll talk circles around you if you let her.

+.+.+

He nodded, offered his arm, led her out onto the floor. As they waited for the music to resume, Alayne glanced at the dais, where Lord Robert sat staring at them. Please, she prayed, don’t let him start to twitch and shake. Not here. Not now. Maester Coleman would have made certain that he drank a strong dose of sweetmilk before the feast, but even so.

Oh good, the doctor who keeps tempting fate is back.

Just give him a cup of the sweetmilk before we go, and another at the feast, and there should be no trouble."

"Very well." They paused at the foot of the stairs. "But this must be the last. For half a year, or longer." - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Instead she said, "I have heard that you are about to be a father." It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie. "For the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old."

Your bastard daughter Alys, Alayne thought, but what she said was, "That one had a different mother, though."

What a totally unique name we've given this kid!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?" - Jon X, ADWD

Did I say he's Brandon Stark? I meant Brandon Stark with a little hint of Robert Baratheon.

+.+.+

"Yes. Cissy was a pretty thing when I tumbled her, but childbirth left her as fat as a cow, so Lady Anya arranged for her to marry one of her men-at-arms. It is different with Saffron." "Saffron?" Alayne tried not to laugh. "Truly?" Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. "Her father says she is more precious to him than gold. He's rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices." "What will you name the babe?" she asked. "Cinnamon if she's a girl? Cloves if he's a boy?"

That roast is worthy of applause.

Fun words are everywhere!

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

"Hobb's mulled some wine with cinnamon and cloves. That'll warm us some."

"What's cloves?" asked Owen the Oaf. - Jon X, ADWD

+.+.+

"Saffron is very beautiful, I'll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey." Alayne raised her head. "More beautiful than me?" Ser Harrold studied her face. "You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father." "Little pointy beard and all?" Alayne laughed. "I never meant..." "I hope you joust better than you talk."

I am extremely confident he does not.

Are tall girls with honey in their hair his type? Too bad.

+.+.+

For a moment he looked shocked. But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh. "No one told me you were clever."

✨ Clever girl! ✨

Melisandre closed her eyes, remembering. "West."

"She is not coming up the kingsroad, then. Clever girl. [...]" - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek. "Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I'll be all the spice you'll want." He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?" "You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

Before I get to the last bit, can I tell you something?

I read a sizeable amount of fandom commentary on this chapter, and not one single person contemplated who she's saving her favor for. It didn't come up once.

People are either deliberately avoiding asking themselves that question, or they believe the ending of this chapter is insignificant, and the topic won't resurface again. I'm not sure which one annoys me more.

+.+.+

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

Now turn the page.

(-> -> -> Jon X?)

It's the Alys Karstark x Sigorn wedding chapter! Yay.

Interestingly, in the first few pages of that chapter, the author intentionally creates an initial impression that it's Jon Snow who is marrying Alys Karstark. Curious, isn't it?

Let's discuss what we know about the bride, who the author led us to believe Jon Snow was marrying.

According to the fandom, Alys Karstark is Jon Snow's girl in grey. Small problem with that, she never wears grey, and never travels near a body of water to get to Castle Black.

"I saw water. Deep and blue and still, with a thin coat of ice just forming on it. It seemed to go on and on forever."

"Long Lake. What else did you see around this girl?" - Melisandre I, ADWD

However, she was fleeing from a forced marriage. Her great-uncle has assumed the role of Lord of Karhold, and made her a match, despite lacking any rightful claim to the land or castle.

Your uncle … would that be Lord Arnolf?" "He is no lord," Alys said scornfully. [...] Uncle Arnolf is only castellan. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Lysa was murdered before the document could be presented for her signature, so I signed as Lord Protector. I knew that would have been her wish." - Sansa I, AFFC

The marriage is to her uncle, Cregan Karstark. Sorry, I should clarify this uncle isn't actually her uncle, it's just what they call him.

He's my great-uncle, actually, my father's uncle. Cregan is his son. I suppose that makes him a cousin, but we always called him uncle. Now they mean to make me call him husband. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Wed?" Sansa was stunned. "You and my aunt?" - Sansa VI, ASOS

x

"I am Alayne, Father. Who else would I be?" - Sansa I, AFFC

Perhaps you're wondering how we arrived at this point. Long ago, Alys' father desired her to marry the future Lord of Winterfell. Unfortunately, at that time, she was too young to captivate him with her charm.

"It is my own fault. My lord father told me I must charm your brother Robb, but I was only six and didn't know how." - Jon X, ADWD

↓

Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. "If you insist." - Alayne I, TWOW

Instead, she was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood, and they were patiently awaiting her coming of age.

Before the war I was betrothed to Daryn Hornwood. We were only waiting till I flowered to be wed - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

If they do that … why, then we shall know that there is no taint in your blood, and when you come into the flower of your womanhood, you shall wed the king in the Great Sept of Baelor, before the eyes of gods and men. - Sansa IV, AGOT

Sadly, Daryn Hornwood died in the war. Rickard Karstark was forced to find her another lord to marry.

My father wrote that he would find some southron lord to wed me, but he never did. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. - Sansa III, AGOT

Of course all that went to shit when Rickard Karstark got his head cut off.

Your brother Robb cut off his head for killing Lannisters. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" - Arya V, AGOT

Now, it's worth mentioning that Alys' older brother Harrion is the rightful heir to Karhold. However, if he were to die, Alys would inherit Karhold, which ambitious men like her uncles are aware of.

Should my brother die, Karhold should pass to me, but my uncles want my birthright for their own. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"But he does not know you," Dontos insisted, "and he will not love you. Jonquil, Jonquil, open your sweet eyes, these Tyrells care nothing for you. It's your claim they mean to wed."

[...]

She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. - Sansa II, ASOS

x

"The man who weds Sansa Stark can claim Winterfell in her name," his uncle Kevan put in. "Had that not occurred to you?" - Tyrion IV, ASOS

x

"Winterfell has withstood fiercer enemies than me. It is Winterfell, is it not?"

"Yes," Sansa admitted.

He walked along outside the walls. "I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold." - Sansa VII, ASOS

Thankfully, most people in this story are familiar with the rules of succession.

If her brother is dead, Karhold belongs to Lady Alys. - Jon X, ADWD

↓

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa." - Jon IV, ADWD

Hence, the arranged marriage. Enter Cregan Karstark, a dangerous man who covets her birthright. He has a dark history, having buried multiple wives, and he would no longer need Alys if she ever had his child.

Once Cregan gets a child by me they won't need me anymore. He's buried two wives already. - Jon IX, ADWD

↓

"Only Cat." He gave her a short, sharp shove.

Lysa stumbled backward, her feet slipping on the wet marble. - Sansa VII, ASOS

x

Arya's gone, the same as Bran and Rickon, and they'll kill Sansa too once the dwarf gets a child from her. - Catelyn V, ASOS

Fear not, for this story finds a happy ending. Before her not-uncle can get his hands on her, our hero Jon Snow intervenes and arranges a marriage between Alys and a wildling, ensuring her safety and happiness.

"So," said Alys, as Jon poured, "I am now a woman wed. A wildling husband with his own little wildling army." - Jon X, ADWD

↓

I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. - Jon X, ADWD

The guy is such a white knight, he even daydreams of gifting her Cregan's head! (Thank you @that-plo-koon for that one.)

I should make his head a wedding gift for Lady Alys and her Magnar, Jon thought, but dare not take the risk. - Jon X, ADWD

↓

[...] wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. - Sansa VI, AGOT

x

"Tromp tromp I'm a giant, I'm a giant," he chanted. "Ho ho ho, open your gates or I'll mash them and smash them." - Sansa VII

[...]

A mad rage seized hold of her. She picked up a broken branch and smashed the torn doll's head down on top of it, then pushed it down atop the shattered gatehouse of her snow castle. The servants looked aghast, but when Littlefinger saw what she'd done he laughed. "If the tales be true, that's not the first giant to end up with his head on Winterfell's walls." - Sansa VII, ASOS

Isn't that a great story? Other than a few amusing nuggets, that mostly covers everything.

My brother Harry is the rightful lord - Jon IX, ADWD [Brother Harry]

↓

"Harry the Heir?" - Alayne II, AFFC [Father Harry]

x

Jon turned to Alys Karstark. "My lady. Are you ready?" - Jon X, ADWD [Sister Alys]

↓

Your bastard daughter Alys, Alayne thought - Alayne I, TWOW [Daughter Alys]

So that's Alys Karstark, the girl George had us believing Jon Snow was marrying, in a chapter likely intended to follow this one.

While we're on the topic of that Jon Snow fakeout wedding, can I tell you what my favourite passage was?

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. - Jon X, ADWD

Ha ha ha! Me too, bud. I am also reminded of your little sister.

Boy, what a ride that was.

Final thoughts:

Fam,

WE DID IT!

I can't believe I finished.

-> return to menu <-

[hannahmcne]

Look Up

One of the best moments of Ben’s life happens outside the Auradon West Central library, off 1200 South, beside the black SUV he and his new wife have driven there to meet Evie, Jay, and Carlos. There’s an animal rescue event happening on the main road, with vendors and street stalls set up.

Carlos is volunteering with a local rescue shelter, partly because it will look good on his resume for Vet school. Dizzy is selling items from Evie’s Four Hearts. And Jay is wearing his tourney outfit, signing autographs in exchange for donations to the shelter. Ben and Mal are… mostly wandering… but occasionally also signing autographs. Mal gets a henna tattoo from someone from Agrabah, supporting both their work and the shelter organising the event. Ben tours the art, finds a few things for birthdays and Christmases, and enjoys being in the crisp late-September weather.

After the event, the eight – Dizzy, Doug, and Jane end up joining them – wander into the library to pick up some requests from Belle. Some of the books are on hold. Others they wander for.

Exiting the library with about three pounds of books each, Mal pauses only a second, then says, “Race you to drive.” She’s gone before he can blink, but his feet begin moving before he can command them to.

They sprint to the SUV and Ben, though he gains considerably, is one second too late. Mal cheers, puts the books on the hood of the car, and jumps with her arms outstretched. Victory is a fleeting taste for her in their footraces. His fairy is not gifted in the length of legs department.

Ben mocks disappointment as he digs in his pocket for the key fob. She is smirking as he drops it into her outstretched hand. She’s laughing and smiling.

And Ben gets an idea.

He follows her to the driver’s seat, making as if he’s going to open the door for her, but in reality, he’s scheming.

See, his mouth is level with the top of the car. He’s able to see clear over the black plastic mounts on the top of the car and to the other side. Mal is eye level with the middle of the window. More than a head shorter.

Mal unlocks the car. He takes the handle with his right hand.

His left hand he plants on the top of the door. When he pulls the handle, the door stays closed.

Mal’s victorious smile vanishes. “I thought I unlocked it,” she says uncertainly, clicking the open button on the fob again. The car lights flash.

Ben pulls the handle again. “It’s not opening,” he says, doing his best to sound confused.

Mal moves to take the handle and he moves his hand. She tugs. The door pushes against Ben’s left hand, but does not open. Mal tries the fob again.

Jay, Carlos, and Jane walk by to their car and pause to see what’s going on. “You okay?” Jay calls.

“We can’t get the door open!” Mal calls. She still has not looked up yet. Instinct doesn’t direct her to do that. She forgets she is short.

The three – Carlos, Jay, and Jane – hurry over to help. Ben keeps his expression neutral. Evie, Doug, and Dizzy come around from the front, so he and Mal have three friends on either side.

He doesn’t expect his Auradon friends to figure out what he’s doing right away. But his Isle friends…

Evie is tall. Jay is tall. Carlos is… getting there. And all three of them examine the situation and he sees the moment when their eyes all flit upwards to the door. Carlos tilts his head like a confused puppy. Jay covers his mouth with his hand. Surprisingly, Doug gets it before Evie and he can hear him whisper to her behind his back.

Carlos pulls his phone out of his pocket and begins filming, looking as if he’s just googling for help.

Mal looks down at the fob in her hands, locks the car, and then unlocks it again. While she is distracted, Ben gestures to the people in the direction of the camera firmly, brings his finger to his lips, and then makes a motion like a knife across his throat. “Don’t you tell her!” he mouths.

This clues Jane into the fact that something is going on and she moves to stifle a gasp behind her hand. It comes out a squeak. Ben sends her a severe look, then wipes his expression back to neutral before Mal looks up.

Mal is more confused still. “Do the other doors work?” she asks.

“Let’s check,” Ben says. She moves to the passenger side and he slides his hand over to block that one as well. She tries the handle. The door does not open. They go to the other side. Jane has to walk away because she’s gasping for air trying not to laugh. Ben is positive she’s going to give him away. Mal still has not looked up.

“We can’t break a window!” she says. “How are we supposed to get home?”

“It was working just fine on the way here,” Ben says, as if he is not the problem. “Here, let me see the fob.”

He hands it to her, takes his hand off the door, and locks it discreetly. Just once, so it doesn’t beep. She pulls at the handle. Jay very nearly loses his composure and walks back towards his own car quickly. Ben tries the handle. Same response.

Ben clicks a button on the fob and a physical key snaps out of the handle. He puts his hand back on the top of the door as he twists it in the slot in the door. The door unlocks, but doesn’t open when he pulls the handle. Mal is examining the little light in the window. “It looks like it’s unlocking,” she says, sounding somewhat desperate. The heat beats down on Ben’s neck.

He cannot believe he’s getting away with this. It’s been over seven minutes now.

Mal finally sighs and pulls out her phone. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“I’m calling Lumiere,” she admits. “We need to get back somehow, right? And we’ll need a tow for the car or a locksmith or something.”

Ben pulls his phone out of his pocket and hits the speed dial button for Lumiere on his phone. Evie creeps up behind him and snoops over his shoulder as he quickly texts, “Ignore Mal.”

Then, in the precious few seconds while Mal is finding his contact, he writes, “I’m teasing her.”

Lumiere reads the message – probably in the instant Mal begins dialling him. Ben slips his phone back into his pocket nonchalantly. This is great. Like pretending he was under a love spell back in High School.

“Hi, Lumiere,” Mal says. “We kinda have a situation… we can’t get the car door open. Yeah. Ben’s here – he tried too. Can you send someone? Thanks.”

She sighs as she turns the phone off. “Well, okay then.”

“It’ll be okay,” Ben says, noticing Carlos is very close to breaking behind Mal. “At least we have people we can call.”

“Yeah,” she agrees.

Carlos looks to the sky in exasperation. Ben pinches his lips, but he’s cracking now too. “Mal, darling?” he asks, fighting to keep the laugh out of his tone.

“Hmm?”

“Look up.”

Her eyebrows knit together and she does – straight at the sky. He takes her chin and directs her to view where his hand is still clamped over the car door’s frame. It takes her about 27 milliseconds, and her mouth falls open. Doug and Dizzy can’t hold back anymore. They begin to laugh, and so does Ben. The look on Mal’s face is more than shocked. She looks scandalised. Betrayed.

“Have you had your hand there the whole time?” she demands, face going bright pink.

Jane and Jay and Carlos begin laughing and Mal turns, hopefully giving Carlos the best expression to go on film since the camera was invented. He is falling over, trying to keep the camera straight when he’s laughing hard enough to double-over. Ben bends straight over at the waist for a second. He has tears in his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mal demands of her friends. “You’re my friend, not his!”

“Ben threatened to ‘off-with-our-heads’,” Jay says, cheekily.

“Plus it was funny,” Carlos said.

“Really funny.”

Ben laughs and opens the door for his sulking wife. She glares and stomps her foot and then gets into the car.

“There’s the video, Ben,” Carlos says, before Ben can request it is sent to him. “Drive safe!”

[morgan-va]

Chapter 16: Real Eyes Realize (Serial Designation N x Reader)

Masterlist

Your alarm buzzes, pulling you from the depths of sleep. But instead of groaning and burying your head under the pillow, you sit up almost immediately. You don’t feel the usual urge to mope in bed, you’re actually excited to start the day.

After your usual routine of brushing your teeth, washing your face, and getting dressed, you head out to the kitchen, ready to greet N and enjoy another morning with his infectious cheer. Except… the kitchen is empty.

You blink, glancing around in confusion. “N?” you call out. No response.

You check the living room next, but it’s just as empty as the kitchen. A small pang of worry settles in your chest. Where could he have gone? N isn’t exactly the type to wander off without saying something.

It’s then that you notice the sliding glass door to the backyard is cracked open, a sliver of the morning breeze sneaking in. Frowning, you step closer and peek outside.

The sight that greets you completely wipes away your concern.

N is upside down in the garbage can, his legs sticking out and flailing comically in the air.

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing, the sound startling a bird off the fence. You walk over, shaking your head at the absurdity of the scene. Grabbing his legs, you lift him out of the can with ease, his body dangling in your grasp.

He tilts his head up at you, banana peel stuck to the side of his face, and gives you a bright smile. “Good morning!”

You laugh harder, barely managing to set him down gently. He stands and brushes himself off, tossing the banana peel back into the can before looking at you sheepishly.

“I’m really sorry!” he says, his hands waving around as if to emphasize his point. “I thought I saw a squirrel trapped inside, but it was just an old banana peel.”

You wipe a tear from your eye, your grin still wide. “It’s okay, really. That was a pretty funny way to start the day.”

N brightens at your words but suddenly gasps, his hands flying to his head. “Oh no! I didn’t make breakfast! I completely forgot, and now it’s so late! I—I—”

You stop him with a hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring smile. “N, it’s fine. I’ll just grab a granola bar. Seriously, don’t beat yourself up over it. It’s not a big deal.”

He looks at you uncertainly for a moment before nodding. “If you’re sure…”

You grin and ruffle his hair playfully. “I’m sure. Now, let’s head inside before you end up finding another ‘squirrel.’”

He chuckles at that, following you back into the house, his usual cheer quickly returning.

You grab a granola bar from the cupboard, unwrapping it as N begins to recount his morning.

“I started reading a new book while you were still asleep,” he says, bouncing slightly as he follows you to the table. “It’s about this robot who wants to be human—super relatable, right? Anyway, I was really into it, but then I saw this bird land in the front yard, and I had to try and catch it!”

You freeze mid-bite, slowly lowering the granola bar as you stare at him. “You… tried to catch a bird?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Yeah! It was just sitting there, so I thought, ‘Hey, maybe it wants to be friends!’ But then your neighbor saw me crawling across the lawn, and they gave me this look.” He pauses to imitate a wide-eyed, horrified expression, his hands framing his face for emphasis.

That mental image hits you like a truck, and you burst into laughter, nearly choking on your granola bar in the process. You cough and quickly take a sip of water, tears pricking your eyes as the visual refuses to leave your mind.

“N! Oh my god,” you wheeze, still laughing. “Crawling across the lawn? What were you thinking?”

He tilts his head, blinking innocently. “Well, I thought birds liked breadcrumbs, so I was trying to scatter some and sneak up on it. I guess it didn’t work…”

You shake your head, laughter bubbling out of you again. “That’s—okay, that’s definitely the weirdest thing you’ve done yet. Please tell me the bird flew away before the neighbor called animal control.”

“Oh, it did!” N says quickly, raising his hands defensively. “But they were still staring, so I waved! I think that made it worse, though…”

You bury your face in your hands, still laughing. “N, you’re going to give the whole neighborhood a heart attack.”

He grins at your reaction, clearly pleased to have entertained you, even if unintentionally. “But it’s worth it if it makes you laugh,” he says earnestly.

You shake your head, finally catching your breath as you finish your granola bar. “You’re ridiculous,” you say with a fond smile. “But thanks for starting my morning off with a laugh.”

N beams. “Anytime!”

Grabbing your car keys from the counter, you turn to N, who’s still grinning from your earlier conversation. “Alright, I’ve got to head out. You behave yourself today, okay?”

“I’ll be on my absolute best behavior!” he promises, straightening up and giving you a salute.

You laugh softly. “Good. Have a great day, N.”

“Have an even better day!” he replies, his enthusiasm making it sound like a genuine challenge.

As you walk toward the garage door, a thought crosses your mind, and you pause, looking back at him. “Oh, and after work sometime this week, I’ll take you to the bookstore. Sound good?”

N’s eyes widen, and he practically vibrates with excitement. “Really?!”

You laugh again, nodding. “Yeah, really. Just try not to scare any of the staff this time.”

“I’ll be so friendly they’ll love me,” he declares confidently, his excitement nearly lifting him off the floor.

Shaking your head fondly, you wave him off. “See you later, N.”

He waves back with both hands as you step into the garage and start the car. Even as you pull out of the driveway, you can still see him standing at the window, waving excitedly as you head off to work.

The drive to work is quiet, save for the faint hum of the radio playing a song you don’t recognize. Your thoughts drift to J and what she might have planned for the day. Something about the way she emphasized "change" in yesterday's meeting lingers in your mind, but you brush it off. It's probably just more corporate fluff, you reason, parking your car and heading inside.

You step into the elevator, the familiar ding echoing as it climbs to your floor. The doors slide open, and you’re immediately greeted by an unexpected sight.

Everyone is gathered in the center of the room again, like yesterday, but this time, standing at the front of the group are several Worker Drones—dressed in office attire. Some wear ties, others have ID badges clipped to their torsos, and one even has a pair of glasses perched on their face despite not needing them.

You freeze in the doorway, your brain short-circuiting for a moment. What… is this?

The room is eerily quiet except for the hum of the lights above. Your human coworkers stare, some with confusion, others with thinly veiled unease. One of the Worker Drones catches your eye, giving you a hesitant wave, their glowing white eyes flickering slightly.

Automatically, you raise your hand in return, offering a small wave back.

Before you can process further, J spots you and gestures for you to come forward. "Ah, there you are," she says brightly, her usual corporate cheeriness tempered by something sharper.

Swallowing your apprehension, you step into the room, feeling dozens of eyes following you as you make your way to the front. J positions you next to the group of Worker Drones, standing just beside the one who waved.

You glance at the drones beside you, then at J. She’s smiling, her hands clasped in front of her, waiting for the room to settle.

You can’t help but wonder what exactly you’ve just walked into.

J takes her place in front of the assembled employees, her heels clicking against the floor with an air of authority. Standing tall, she surveys the room for a moment before beginning.

“As part of JCJenson’s forward-thinking initiative, I am pleased to announce a groundbreaking step in our company’s operations,” she says, her voice crisp and confident. “Starting today, Worker Drones will officially join the corporate workforce, helping out around the office and performing jobs just like you.”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd. Humans exchange worried glances, some with furrowed brows, others with barely masked grimaces. You catch the flicker of nervousness in the white eyes of the drone who waved at you earlier.

“Quiet,” J snaps, her voice cutting through the whispers like a whip. The room falls silent almost instantly.

“These Worker Drones,” J continues, gesturing toward the group of robots, “are part of JCJenson’s new goal of complete unity. They are here to work with you, not against you. Let me make one thing abundantly clear—no humans currently employed by this company will be replaced by drones. Your jobs are safe.”

The tension in the room lessens slightly, but it doesn’t fully dissipate. J’s eyes narrow slightly as she looks over the crowd.

“However,” she adds, a sharp edge creeping into her tone, “these drones are now your coworkers. All HR policies will apply to them just as they do to you. So, if anyone here has a problem with working alongside them—” She leans forward slightly, her smile turning razor-thin. “—you can kiss your job goodbye.”

Her words hang in the air, suffocating and final. You notice a few of your coworkers shifting uncomfortably, their expressions ranging from quiet resentment to barely concealed fear.

J straightens, her posture commanding as ever. “JCJenson’s future is one of progress, not stagnation. Anyone stuck in the past will find they no longer have a place here.” Her last words carry an ominous weight, her smile fading into something colder.

You glance at the Worker Drones beside you. The one who waved at you earlier stands perfectly still, their hands clasped nervously in front of them. It’s hard to read a robot’s emotions, but you could swear they’re just as uneasy as the humans.

“Dismissed,” J says abruptly, turning on her heel and striding back toward her office without waiting for questions.

As the room begins to disperse, the tension lingers in the air like static. You can’t help but wonder how this is going to play out in the days ahead.

J heads confidently into her office, her heels tapping sharply against the floor. She gestures for you and the group of Worker Drones to follow, closing the door behind you. Once inside, she turns to face you, her expression as sharp as ever.

“You,” she begins, pointing directly at you, “are going to be responsible for getting these Worker Drones situated in their new roles. They’ve already had the appropriate training, but they’ll need guidance, particularly when it comes to navigating this office’s... unique culture.”

Her eyes narrow slightly as she continues. “Some of your coworkers might cling to rather antiquated views about drones. It’s your job to ensure that doesn’t become an issue. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” you reply automatically, though the weight of the responsibility is already pressing down on you.

“Good,” J says curtly. She points toward the group of Worker Drones, all of whom stand quietly, their glowing eyes fixed on you with varying degrees of curiosity and nervousness.

J steps forward to gesture at one drone in particular. She’s dressed immaculately in a neatly pressed work dress, her glowing yellow eyes peeking out from behind a pair of stylishly rounded glasses. A bow in place of a tie completes her look, giving her a touch of personality that feels oddly endearing. She lifts a hand in a shy wave, her movements precise and almost human-like.

“This,” J announces, her tone slightly softer but still authoritative, “is V. She’ll be serving as the... Assistant to the Assistant to the Regional Manager.”

You blink, certain you’ve misheard. J glances down at a stack of paperwork on her desk, her eyes squinting as she flips through a page or two.

“Wait,” she mutters, holding up a hand as if to pause reality itself. “Let me double-check that. Surely that title can’t be...”

Her voice trails off as she finds the relevant document. Her eyes scan it quickly before she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Of course it is,” she mutters under her breath, her frustration barely contained. “Why would we name positions with any degree of efficiency?”

V fidgets slightly, her hands clasping together in front of her as her glowing eyes meet yours again. There’s something undeniably charming about her awkward demeanor, as though she’s just as nervous about this arrangement as you are.

“Well,” J says, snapping the folder shut and straightening. “That’s your first task. Get her started. And while you’re at it, try to figure out how the hell we ended up with that ridiculous title. Dismissed.”

She waves a hand toward the door, clearly expecting you to take it from here. You glance at V, who steps forward hesitantly, offering a small but genuine smile.

“I-I’ll do my best to help,” she says, her voice quiet but steady.

Looks like this is going to be an interesting day.

You step out of J's office, the group of Worker Drones trailing behind you like an awkwardly quiet parade. V walks closest to you, still clutching a neatly bound notebook, her glasses catching the fluorescent lights. The rest of the drones glance around the office curiously, their glowing eyes taking in every detail.

“Alright, everyone,” you begin, clapping your hands for attention. “Welcome to the thrilling world of corporate life. Try not to fall asleep during the tour.”

A few of the drones chuckle politely, though one near the back seems to be writing down your comment in a little notepad.

You lead them down the main hallway, pointing out various landmarks.

“First up, the break room,” you say, pushing open the door. “This is where you’ll find coffee, snacks, and the occasional meltdown about quarterly reports.”

One drone tilts his head, staring at the coffee machine as if it’s a piece of alien technology.

“You’ve been trained, right?” you ask.

“Yes,” he replies, his voice monotone but polite. “But… is it true the coffee here tastes like despair?”

“Absolutely,” you say, grinning. “But don’t worry. If you don’t like it, there’s a vending machine over there that occasionally eats your money instead of giving you soda. A real treat.”

A ripple of polite laughter passes through the group. V looks at the coffee machine with cautious curiosity, jotting something down in her notebook.

Next, you lead them to the copy room.

“This,” you announce dramatically, “is the heart and soul of the office. The copy room.”

The drones all lean in slightly, as if expecting some grand revelation.

“It’s where you’ll spend hours of your life trying to fix paper jams, only to realize you’ve made twenty copies of your own frustration.”

One of the drones—a taller one wearing a slightly crooked tie—raises a hand.

“What is a ‘paper jam’?” he asks.

“Oh, you’ll know,” you reply cryptically. “It’s like a rite of passage around here. If the copier starts flashing random error codes, just call IT and pray they show up before you lose your mind.”

You continue the tour, showing them the rows of cubicles.

“And here,” you say, gesturing with a sweep of your arm, “is where dreams come to die.”

The drones exchange glances, clearly unsure if you’re joking.

“These are cubicles,” you explain. “Little personal spaces where you can work, answer emails, and try not to eavesdrop on your neighbors’ loud phone calls.”

One drone points to a cubicle decorated with colorful streamers and a small cactus.

“Is it customary to decorate these?” she asks.

“Some people do,” you say. “It’s mostly to distract themselves from the crushing monotony. Feel free to add some flair if you want. Just, uh, maybe avoid anything that involves glitter. Trust me. It gets everywhere.”

V makes another note in her book.

The next stop is the conference room.

“This is where all the big decisions are made,” you say, holding the door open. “Or at least, that’s what they want you to think. Mostly, it’s a place for people to argue over PowerPoint slides.”

The drones file in, staring at the long table and the projector hanging from the ceiling. One drone taps the top of the projector with a curious finger.

“Will we be using this?” he asks.

“Only if you’re really unlucky,” you reply. “Just remember: the more slides, the less anyone actually listens.”

After a few more stops—including the supply closet (“Your new best friend if you ever need staples or an excuse to avoid someone for five minutes”) and the mailroom (“Home of misplaced packages and passive-aggressive Post-it notes”)—you finally bring them back to the main office floor.

“Well, that’s the tour,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Any questions?”

One of the drones raises a hand.

“Where is the emergency escape route in case of catastrophic failure?”

You blink. “Uh… let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that. But if it does, follow the screaming.”

The drones nod, seemingly satisfied. V adjusts her glasses, offering you a small smile.

“Thank you for the detailed explanation,” she says softly. “I feel much more prepared now.”

You give her a thumbs-up. “Great. Now, let’s get you all set up at your desks. And remember: if anyone gives you trouble, let me know. I’ll… well, I’ll probably send an email about it. But it’ll be a stern email.”

The group disperses to their respective areas, their glowing eyes bright with determination. You watch them go, wondering how long it’ll take for them to realize just how weird office life can really get.

As the other Worker Drones disperse, V remains by your side, clutching her notebook tightly to her chest. Her glowing yellow eyes dart between you and the pages as though debating something. You notice her nervous fidgeting and decide to break the silence.

"Got any questions?" you ask with a reassuring smile. "It’s okay if you do. You’re my new assistant now, remember?"

V blinks and adjusts her glasses, glancing down at her notes. “Oh! Um… no, I think I’ve got it,” she says hesitantly.

You tilt your head, unconvinced. “You sure? It’s fine to ask. Really. I’d rather clear things up now than have you stressed out later.”

Her posture relaxes just slightly at your words. “Well… actually, I do have a couple of questions,” she admits, flipping to a page in her notebook. “First, what’s the appropriate protocol for handling interdepartmental email threads? Specifically, when there’s conflicting instructions from two supervisors.”

“Good question,” you say, impressed. “If that happens, forward the email to me. I’ll sort it out and make sure we’re following the right directive. Never hurts to double-check before acting.”

She nods, quickly jotting something down. “Got it. And… about the printer. If there’s a jam, is it really necessary to call IT, or is there a guide I can reference to resolve it myself?”

You chuckle. “Ambitious, huh? Okay, so there is a troubleshooting guide taped to the side of the copier. But I’d say call IT if it looks like something’s melting—or if it starts making a noise that sounds like it’s about to take off into orbit.”

V’s eyes widen slightly at the last part. “I see. That’s… good to know.”

"Anything else?" you ask, leaning against the edge of a desk.

She hesitates, flipping through a couple more pages of notes before closing the notebook. “No, I think that covers it for now. Thank you for being so thorough. I’ll do my best to assist you properly.”

“You’re doing great already,” you assure her. “And hey, if anything else comes up, don’t hesitate to ask. It’s my job to help you, too.”

V’s face brightens at the encouragement. “Thank you,” she says softly, tucking her notebook back under her arm.

You smile at her, already feeling like you’ll make a solid team. "Alright, let’s get to work. I’ll show you where your desk is."

You guide V to her desk, which is situated conveniently right next to yours. It’s been set up with the basics: a computer, a small stack of blank notepads, and a cup filled with pens that seem suspiciously prone to leaking. V looks at the space with wide eyes, her hands clasped tightly around her notebook.

“Well, here it is,” you say, gesturing to the desk. “Not too shabby, right?”

V places her notebook carefully on the desk, then takes a seat in the chair. She adjusts herself for a moment, her legs swinging slightly before she looks up at you. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Glad you like it,” you say, watching as she powers on the computer. “Go ahead and log in. Your credentials should already be set up.”

As V types, you notice her movements are quick but precise—almost unnaturally so. It’s clear she’s been programmed for efficiency, but there’s still a hint of hesitation in her actions. Once the desktop loads, she leans back slightly, staring at the screen with a mix of determination and uncertainty.

“Everything working okay?” you ask.

“Yes, I believe so,” she replies, glancing at you for reassurance. “What’s the first task?”

“Well, I’m about to dive into today’s emails,” you say, moving to your own desk. “You can start by going through the inbox I showed you earlier. Flag anything that looks urgent, and I’ll handle those first.”

“Understood,” she says, straightening up as she starts clicking through the messages.

Settling into your chair, you boot up your own computer and open the endless flood of support emails. For a few minutes, the office is filled with the quiet sounds of typing, broken only by the occasional click of a mouse.

It’s nice, having someone else nearby for a change. Every so often, you glance over at V. She’s focused, her glowing eyes darting across the screen as she works. You can’t help but smile a little—despite her nerves, she’s clearly eager to prove herself.

You take a sip of coffee, then crack your knuckles. “Alright, let’s tackle the day.”

You open the email V flagged as urgent, quickly scanning its contents. It’s from a disgruntled client complaining about an order delay. The tone is, unsurprisingly, passive-aggressive, with just enough courtesy to make their frustration clear without outright hostility. Typical.

With practiced ease, you begin typing a reply:

Subject: Re: Order Delay

Dear Valued Customer,

Thank you for reaching out and bringing this matter to our attention. We sincerely apologize for the inconvenience caused by the delay in your order. Our team is actively working to resolve the issue and ensure that your shipment arrives as quickly as possible.

In the meantime, please feel free to reach out if you have any additional questions or concerns. We appreciate your patience and understanding.

Best regards, Customer Service

You hit send, leaning back in your chair. “Alright, first one down.”

V glances over, tilting her head slightly. “Did I flag that correctly?”

“Perfectly,” you assure her, offering a small smile. “That was exactly the kind of thing I needed to see first.”

She nods, seeming pleased with herself. “Good. I’ll continue sorting through the inbox.”

“Thanks, V,” you say, returning to your own screen.

The morning flows smoothly, with V forwarding messages your way and you handling them in your usual corporate fashion. Every so often, she asks a clarifying question—usually something about which types of emails to prioritize or how to handle duplicates—and you’re happy to guide her through it.

It’s a surprisingly pleasant rhythm, and before you know it, you’ve cleared out a significant chunk of the backlog. Things really do seem to be going well.

You step into the break room, ready for your mid-morning coffee break, but immediately pause at the sight of one of your human coworkers gripping a drone by the arm, leaning in close as they bark out something about "stealing jobs" and "not belonging here." The drone, a smaller model with a meek posture, seems frozen in place, glowing eyes dim with what could only be interpreted as fear.

Before you even think about it, you're moving.

"Hey!" your voice cuts through the tense moment like a blade. Both the coworker and the drone turn to face you, the former glaring as though you’ve interrupted something important. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The coworker lets go of the drone, straightening up. "Teaching it a lesson. These things shouldn’t be here. They—"

You cut them off. "They think just like us. They feel just like us. What gives you the right to treat them like they’re beneath you?"

The coworker stammers, searching for a retort but finding none. They settle for a scoff, brushing past you on their way out. "Whatever," they mutter under their breath.

You turn to the drone, who’s still standing there, stiff and uncertain. "You okay?"

The drone’s eyes brighten slightly. "Yes. Thank you for intervening. I didn’t know what to do…"

"Don’t worry about it," you say, giving them a reassuring nod. "If anyone gives you trouble again, let me know."

The drone hesitates before nodding. "Thank you," they say softly, then scuttle off to wherever they were headed.

You sigh, continuing into the break room and finally pouring yourself a cup of coffee. As you stand there, waiting for the caffeine to kick in, a thought gnaws at the edges of your mind.

You rewind the scene in your head. Just a few weeks ago, the idea of defending a drone like that would’ve been… laughable. Something you’d never imagine yourself doing.

But now? You didn’t even think twice about it.

You sip your coffee, leaning against the counter as the realization settles in.

What happened to me?

You linger in the break room, letting the steam from your coffee swirl upward as you stare into the dark liquid. The scene you just walked away from replays in your head, and with it, another thought bubbles to the surface.

Why did I care so much?

You sip the coffee, warm and slightly bitter, and your mind drifts. N.

It always comes back to N.

He wasn’t just a drone, was he? At least, not in the way you used to think of them. You’d never considered a drone could be… well, alive. But he was. He laughed at your jokes, listened to your worries, cared for you in a way that no one else—human or otherwise—ever had.

You set the coffee cup down, gripping the edge of the counter as you stare out the window.

I’ve never been this close to anyone before… let alone a drone.

It was strange, wasn’t it? You’d gone through life surrounded by people, coworkers, acquaintances, strangers on the street. Yet, none of them had ever made you feel the way N did. You used to think it was you—too reserved, too awkward, too… something. But now, you weren’t so sure.

With N, things just clicked. His kindness, his goofy, earnest charm, the way he always seemed so genuinely happy to see you. He made you feel… seen. Like you mattered.

Your thoughts flicker back to the drone in the hall.

Was it N who made you realize that they all deserved to be treated with dignity? That it wasn’t just about circuits and code, but something deeper? Or was this something you’d always known, buried under years of apathy and routine?

You take another sip of coffee, glancing at the clock. There’s no time to dive too deeply into this now. But the question lingers, quietly demanding your attention.

You shake your head, straightening up and leaving the break room.

I’ll figure it out later, you think. For now, there’s work to do.

You make your way back to your desk, settling into the familiar hum of the office. The faint click of keyboards and quiet murmurs of conversation drift through the air. Taking another sip of your coffee, you decide you’ll pick something up for N on the way home—a small surprise to show him just how much you appreciate everything he’s done for you.

But for now, there’s work to tackle.

You dive back into your emails, clearing through them with an efficiency you’re almost proud of. Each message feels like a small victory as you chip away at your inbox, handling the usual corporate requests and inquiries.

Every so often, V leans over with a hesitant, “Um, excuse me?”

You glance at her with a reassuring smile. “What’s up?”

She fidgets slightly, holding her notebook like a shield. “I just… wanted to double-check this email. I think I got it right, but…”

You slide your chair over to her desk, glancing at her screen. She’s drafted a polite yet firm reply to a request from another department. It’s almost perfect, save for a minor detail.

“This looks great,” you say, pointing to one sentence. “Maybe just rephrase this part to make it clearer. Other than that, you’re spot on.”

V nods, her glowing yellow eyes brightening. “Thank you! I’ll fix it right away.”

“No problem,” you reply, returning to your seat.

The morning flows smoothly, with V growing a bit more confident with each passing task. You can’t help but feel a small sense of pride watching her adapt so quickly.

By lunchtime, you’ve made significant progress. As you take a moment to stretch, your mind wanders back to your plan for N. Maybe something from the little bakery near the house? Or a new book? Whatever it is, you’re sure it’ll make his face light up—and that thought alone is enough to make your day just a little brighter.

As the clock nears the end of the workday, you hear the familiar ding of an email notification. It’s from J, summoning you to her office for a report. You sigh, knowing she’ll want every detail and possibly more. With a final glance at your desk, you get up and make your way down the hall.

You knock on her door, and her sharp voice calls out, “Enter.”

Stepping inside, you find J standing behind her desk, arms crossed, her piercing yellow gaze fixed on you. The faint sound of the city outside filters in through the window behind her.

“Well?” she asks without preamble, her tone as sharp as ever. “How’s the first day of our ‘groundbreaking initiative’ progressing?”

You clear your throat and begin your report. “Overall, things went smoothly. The drones have settled into their roles and seem to be adapting well to the office environment. V has been especially proactive—she’s already assisting me with emails and taking notes like a pro.”

J nods slightly, her expression neutral but her eyes scrutinizing every word. “And the humans?”

You hesitate for a moment, then continue. “There was… some resistance from a few employees. I had to step in once to prevent an incident, but it was resolved without escalation. Most of the team seems to be adjusting, though some might need more time.”

Her lips curl into something resembling a smirk. “Typical. I expected a few small-minded complaints. Let me make this perfectly clear: anyone who causes issues with this program will answer to me. And trust me, they won’t enjoy it.”

You nod, choosing your words carefully. “Understood. I’ll keep an eye out and handle anything I can before it reaches that point.”

“Good.” J uncrosses her arms, leaning forward slightly. “Anything else?”

You think for a moment before mentioning, “I’ve noticed the drones are eager to prove themselves, but they might need some guidance when it comes to office culture. For example, V had some great ideas but hesitated to speak up until I encouraged her. I think they’ll benefit from consistent support during this transition.”

J raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your softer approach. “Support,” she repeats, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose that’s why I put you in charge of this, isn’t it? Fine. Play mentor if you must, just don’t let it interfere with productivity.”

“Of course,” you reply.

She sits back in her chair, studying you for a long moment before waving a dismissive hand. “You’re dismissed. Keep things running smoothly, and don’t make me regret trusting you with this.”

As you step out of J’s office, the door swinging shut behind you, you nearly collide with someone standing just outside. You quickly stumble back, an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Sorry about that—”

“It’s alright!” the woman interrupts with a cheerful tone, her Australian accent catching you slightly off guard. “Got a bit ahead of myself there.”

She’s young, with dark hair neatly styled and wearing a sleek, official-looking dress. A corporate lanyard hangs around her neck, the name “Tessa” printed in bold letters beneath the JCJenson logo. Despite her professional appearance, her warm smile makes her seem approachable.

“Ah,” she says, tilting her head slightly, “are you the employee J’s put in charge of the whole drone integration effort?”

You nod, still recovering from almost knocking her over. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Her face lights up, and she clasps her hands together. “That’s fantastic! I’m so glad to hear someone’s fully embraced the program. We need more people like you.”

Your face flushes a little at the compliment. “Uh, thank you. It’s been… a bit of an adjustment, but I’m starting to see the potential. Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you—I’m sure you have important business with J.”

You step to the side, giving her space to pass, but just as you’re about to head back to your desk, she speaks again.

“Oh, before you go,” Tessa says casually, rummaging through her briefcase. “I was reading this book last night and you might find it interesting.”

She pulls out a paperback titled “100 Ways to Take Care of a Golden Retriever,” the image of a smiling dog adorning the cover.

Your eyes widen slightly as she holds it out to you. “I, uh—”

Tessa chuckles at your reaction. “Call it a hunch,” she says with a wink. “Figured it might come in handy.”

You hesitantly accept the book, feeling a little bewildered. “Thank you, Ms. Tessa. That’s… very thoughtful of you.”

She smiles again, her tone as cheerful as ever. “Don’t mention it. Keep up the good work with the drones!”

With that, she strides into J’s office, the door clicking shut behind her. You glance down at the book in your hands, the colorful cover almost surreal in contrast to the sterile corporate world around you.

Shaking your head with a small smile, you tuck the book under your arm and start grabbing your things, wondering just what Tessa knew, and why her encouragement felt so genuine.

As you grab your coat from the rack and head out to your car, a sense of eager anticipation fills you. The day was long but productive, and now all you can think about is getting home and seeing N. You slip into the driver's seat, the book Tessa gave you resting on the passenger side, and start the drive home, humming along to the soft music playing on the radio.

The journey feels shorter than usual, and before you know it, you're pulling into the garage. Shutting off the engine, you grab your things and head inside, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly on the floor. The moment you open the door to the house, a familiar and comforting aroma greets you, something savory and warm.

Sure enough, N is standing in the kitchen, finishing plating up dinner with an almost suspicious level of timing. He turns at the sound of the door opening, his glowing yellow eyes lighting up even more.

"Welcome home!" he says enthusiastically, wiping his hands on a dish towel before making his way over to you.

You can’t help but laugh as you drop your bag by the door and meet him halfway. Without a word, you wrap your arms around him in a soft embrace, pulling him close. His frame is warm and comforting, thanks to drones dissipating internal heat through their plating, it’s almost like JCJenson wanted them to be nice to hug.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says softly, his voice full of warmth.

You tighten your hold on him for a moment before pulling back slightly to look up into his face, a grin spreading across yours. “Thank you, N. You’re incredible, you know that?”

His smile somehow grows even brighter, and he sheepishly rubs the back of his head. “I just wanted to make sure your evening was perfect!”

“Well, it’s off to a great start,” you reply, your tone full of fondness.

You linger in the hug for another moment before finally releasing him, letting him guide you to the dining table where he’s already set everything up. As you sit down, you feel a sense of peace settle over you. Home never used to feel this inviting, but now, with N, it’s becoming your favorite place to be.

You take a seat at the dining table, eyeing the plate in front of you. It’s enchiladas—perfectly rolled and smothered in a rich sauce, with melted cheese bubbling on top. Your eyebrows lift in surprise, and you glance over at N, who’s already sitting across from you, practically vibrating with anticipation.

“Enchiladas?” you ask, clearly impressed. “This is... ambitious.”

N grins, his hands clasped together excitedly. “I found the recipe in one of your cookbooks this morning and thought I’d give it a try! I mean, how hard could it be, right?”

You chuckle, grabbing your fork. “Well, let’s see if they taste as good as they look.”

The moment you take a bite, you pause, the flavors hitting your tongue all at once. The sauce is savory with just the right amount of spice, and the filling is perfectly seasoned and cooked. You glance up at N, who’s watching you expectantly, his glowing eyes wide with curiosity.

“They’re... delicious,” you say, slightly surprised.

N practically beams, his smile so wide it looks like it might take over his whole face. “Really? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

You shake your head, taking another bite. “I mean it. You absolutely nailed this.”

N relaxes into his chair, clearly relieved. He grabs his own fork and starts eating as well, his enthusiasm evident as he takes a bite and hums happily.

As you enjoy the meal together, the two of you fall into your usual rhythm of conversation. N animatedly talks about his day, how he rearranged the bookshelf in alphabetical order and then decided to reorganize it by genre instead because it looked more fun. He even mentions attempting to make the bed with a fitted sheet he found in the laundry and finally admits, “I think it’s a lost cause. It’s like wrestling a massive elastic band.”

You laugh, sharing stories about your day at work. You tell him about the drones adjusting to the office and how V is slowly gaining confidence in her role. N listens intently, occasionally chiming in with questions or comments, his bright demeanor making the entire meal feel lighthearted and comfortable.

By the time you finish eating, you’re full and content, your earlier stress completely melted away. “Seriously, N, you’re going to spoil me with meals like this,” you say, leaning back in your chair.

His eyes practically sparkle. “That’s the plan! I want you to look forward to coming home every day.”

“Well, mission accomplished, but that’s just because you’re here, the food is a bonus.” you reply with a grin.

He starts clearing the plates, insisting that you relax while he handles the cleanup. You watch him for a moment, the sound of running water and clinking dishes filling the room, and can’t help but feel grateful. Even after everything that’s happened, N somehow makes your life feel just a little bit brighter.

As N hums to himself while scrubbing a plate, you reach into your briefcase and pull out the book Tessa gave you earlier. The title, 100 Ways to Take Care of a Golden Retriever, is bold and inviting, the cover featuring a cheerful dog wagging its tail. You can’t help but smile as you run your fingers over the glossy surface.

Walking up behind N, you clear your throat to get his attention. “Hey, N,” you say.

He pauses, turning off the water and glancing over his shoulder. “What’s up?”

Without a word, you hold the book out in front of you so he can see the cover. His eyes widen immediately, the glow intensifying as he takes in the image of the dog. For a moment, he’s completely frozen, as though his circuits are trying to process what he’s seeing.

“Is that...?” he begins, voice rising in excitement.

You grin. “Yup. I thought you might like it.”

N spins around so fast he nearly drops the dish towel he’s holding. “You—! This is for me?!”

“Of course. Who else would it be for?”

In an instant, N closes the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug. The book is squished between you as he practically lifts you off your feet. “You’re the best human ever!” he exclaims, his voice bubbling with pure joy.

You laugh, patting his back as he holds you. “I figured you’d like it. You’ve been talking about Golden Retrievers nonstop. Now you can read all about them and maybe even teach me a thing or two.”

N pulls back slightly, still holding onto you, his glowing yellow eyes practically sparkling. “Oh, I’m going to read every single page! Twice! And then we can talk about it together! And then maybe—maybe we could even get a dog someday!”

The sheer enthusiasm in his voice makes you laugh again, and you nod. “We’ll see, N. Baby steps.”

He nods eagerly, taking the book from your hands and holding it close to his chest like it’s the greatest treasure in the world. “Thank you,” he says softly, his earlier energy now replaced with a quiet, heartfelt sincerity. “This really means a lot to me.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, smiling warmly.

For the rest of the evening, N is glued to the book, occasionally pausing to read out random facts about Golden Retrievers, his voice filled with awe. Watching him like this, you can’t help but feel like you’ve made his day—and, honestly, that makes yours, too.

You stifle a yawn as N continues reading aloud from the book, his voice soft and animated as he dives into yet another fascinating fact about Golden Retrievers. His excitement is infectious, but the warmth of the room and the comfortable rhythm of his voice are starting to lull you into a state of peaceful drowsiness.

An idea pops into your mind—something unorthodox, but strangely comforting. Whether it’s the sleepiness clouding your judgment or just the natural progression of how much you’ve grown to enjoy having N around, you don’t think too hard about it.

You stand up suddenly, drawing N’s attention. He tilts his head, the glowing light in his eyes brightening in curiosity. “What’re you doing?” he asks, hugging the book close to his chest.

You don’t answer, slipping your hands under his arms before he can react. In one smooth motion, you lift him off the couch and into your arms, holding him close like a teddy bear.

“Whoa—!” N exclaims. “You’re really strong!”

You don’t reply, too focused on navigating to your bedroom while carrying him. N’s body is light, his mechanical frame making the task surprisingly easy. He doesn’t resist—in fact, he seems to melt into your hold, leaning his head against your shoulder.

“This is...nice,” he murmurs as you step into your room, his voice soft with contentment.

Reaching the bed, you gently lower yourself onto it, still holding onto N as you roll onto your side. You shift him so that he’s facing forward, his back pressed against your chest, and wrap your arms securely around his middle.

N looks back at you, his eyes glowing softly in the dim light. “You’re...holding me,” he says, his voice almost bashful.

“Yup,” you reply simply, nuzzling your face against his shoulder as you sink into the soft sheets. “It’s comfy.”

He blinks, then giggles—a warm, happy sound. “I like this! You’re like a big, cuddly human pillow!”

You chuckle, tightening your hold just slightly. “Keep reading, N,” you murmur, closing your eyes. “I like listening to you.”

N’s fingers twitch in excitement, and he quickly adjusts the book in his hands. “Okay! Where was I...? Oh, right—did you know Golden Retrievers were originally bred in Scotland to retrieve waterfowl?”

His voice carries on, animated and sweet, as you relax into the bed. The steady sound of his words and the comforting warmth of holding him lulls you further into a peaceful haze.

As you listen to N’s soft voice continue to narrate from the book, your thoughts begin to wander. Just a few weeks ago, the idea of having a drone in your home would have been laughable—no, downright terrifying. You remember how you used to scoff at the notion, brushing it off as a dangerous and unpredictable idea.

All those horror stories you’d read while handling customer complaints played like cautionary tales in your head. Drones malfunctioning, turning hostile, or simply spiraling out of control. It all seemed like a risk too great to take, and you’d prided yourself on avoiding that kind of chaos.

Yet, here you are now, cuddling N under the warm covers of your bed. His lightweight frame rests snugly against you, his glowing eyes tracing the words on the page as he reads aloud with unshakable enthusiasm. You can feel his body gently shift with his movements, and his synthetic warmth radiates against your chest, dispelling the chill of the night.

It’s almost laughable how quickly things changed. What had once been fear and hesitation has now been replaced with something else entirely. Comfort. Companionship.

You let out a soft sigh, your grip around him tightening ever so slightly. His frame fits against yours perfectly, as though you were two puzzle pieces meant to come together. There’s no longer that sharp ache of loneliness that had haunted you for so long, no more void left to fill.

N shifts slightly, tilting his head toward you as he pauses his reading. “You okay back there?” he asks softly, a note of concern in his tone.

You hum in response, nuzzling your face against his shoulder. “Yeah,” you murmur, your voice laced with contentment. “I’m good.”

He chuckles lightly, the sound warming you even further. “That makes me happy.”

And it makes you happy too—more than you thought possible. Here, in this quiet moment, you finally feel like you’ve found something you hadn’t even realized you were searching for. Someone who truly sees you, who makes your days brighter, and who fills the empty spaces in your heart.

With that thought, you let yourself drift back into the steady rhythm of N’s voice, your mind settling into a state of peace you hadn’t felt in years.

[somethingclevermahogony]

Last Line Tag

I was tagged by @elsie-writes !

This is the last thing I wrote, though certainly not line by any means, it's a whole scene, but I felt like sharing the whole thing. Sorry I suppose. Narul having his first experience with oysters in Makora.

This is from Book 2

Narul turned in a circle. Stands sold various kinds of bread, alongside dried meats, sausages, and more of that mysterious yellow substance. One particular stand caught his attention. Arranged on the wooden plank which constituted the counter, were strange cups or containers, slightly flat and misshapen. Inside each was some strange pearly white thing, swimming in a clear liquid of sorts. Narul had never seen the likes of them before, though he thought the cups were somewhat familiar. He approached the vendor, an elderly man, his hands calloused and crooked. “Um, what are these?” He gestured at the strange fare. “Oysters…” The old man muttered uncertainly. Narul had heard about oysters from Istek, the old sailor had craved them incessantly, though he had never quite managed to get his hands on them. Oysters were a rarity in Labisa, a product which required the molluscs to be shipped over great distances by foot and boat, a delicacy available only to the most elite. Hutbari had never been particularly fond of shellfish, as such Narul had never had the opportunity to see them. “Are they…cooked?” He asked uncertainly. The vendor blinked. “No?” The old man seemed confused. Narul shuffled awkwardly. He seemed to remember that Istek had said they were eaten raw. His stomach growled. “Worth a try.” Bop said with a chuckle. Narul had no idea how much a single oyster cost. After a moment of hesitation, he placed one of the silver coins on the counter. The vendor’s eyes widened. Immediately he started to prepare the shellfish, sprinkling them with some sort of dried seaweed, some sort of chopped allium, and a yellow oil that Narul was unfamiliar with. Before Narul could stop him the old man had already prepared no less than two dozen. The old man bowed and waited anxiously for Narul to eat. “Do…Do I eat all of it?” Narul asked Bop. “I don’t know, I’ve never eaten before.” The spirit replied. Narul grimaced. He lifted one of the cups to his mouth, and after a beat, tossed the whole thing into his mouth. He quite enjoyed the flavor, briny and yet somewhat sweet, the seaweed added some much needed contrast and slight vegetal note. He was not a fan, however, of the shell. He had no issue crunching through the brittle material, his powerful jaw rendering it to a chalky dust, however its taste was somewhat bitter and coated his tongue. When he looked at the vendor, the old man’s face had gone pale, his jaw was slack, eyes bugged from his skull. “I don’t think you were supposed to eat the bottom part.” Bop laughed. “Oh…” Narul muttered out loud. He sheepishly scooped up the rest of the oysters, balancing them in his hands as he shuffled away to find somewhere he could eat them. It took some time for the giant to master the art of eating them. At first he tried to place the entire morsel into his mouth, to remove the edible part with his tongue and then spit out the shell like an olive pit. He then switched to plucking each individual mollusc from its shell, though the tiny delicate bits of flesh were far too delicate and slippery, and wound up either in the dirt or squashed between his index finger and thumb just as often as they found their way to his mouth. Finally, he stopped to watch how the locals ate them, sliding them from the shells into their mouths, slurping them like wine from a cup. He dumped the empty shells onto a nearby pile of waste. The shellfish had been tasty, though they hardly satisfied his hunger. He started to look for something else to eat when his search was interrupted by a booming roar which echoed from the direction of docks. “You!”

Tagging @revenantlore , @kosmic-kore , @jakkon-and-rose-topic , and @illarian-rambling

[disgurrr]

But if Peeta is so extremely flawed, he is the one who froze her out after the first games and Katniss was right to react the way she did during the hijacking what is good about them ending up back together? I'd hope Katniss runs in the opposite direction from that kind of person lol. Of course you can have whatever opinion you like I just am asking to understand better.

Peeta isn’t extremely flawed, or that he’s a bad person because of what he did. He actually doesn’t have a lot of flaws, but he is flawed nevertheless. But he is nowhere as flawed like other characters such as Katniss, Gale, Haymitch.

I was pointing out him distancing himself from her to show how he can be an immature teen. I think given his trauma with his family life, and what he just what through in the games, I can understand where he’s coming from. But he was being totally unfair. I think people have this misunderstanding that Katniss pushed him away, or didn’t want him in her life. And that’s not the case. His reaction to Katniss’s uncertainly is understandable, but it has ground to criticize. And that is what makes the books more compelling and interesting to analyze. He makes up for it when he apologizes and offers just his support and friendship. So oh yeah, I will 100% offer that same empathy and sympathy for Katniss, who has gone through so much. I think some readers should also realize they’re not normal teens, they’re traumatized teens with years of trauma.

Katniss and Peeta have moments where they hurt each other, painfully so, Katniss maybe more. But they both make up for it in so many ways. it outweighs all of the bad, so much more. They have this strong, unbreakable bond, even when they’re not on good terms or when their relationship is strained/ruin. And I think that bond is what gets them through their sorrow and grief after the war.

They also miscommunicate, so it’s annoying to read at times bc like talk!? but I think they finally do learn to communicate towards the end lmfao

[my-brothers-corrupted]

My Brothers, Corrupted

Book Five: Section Ten

A familiar figure from Chase's past shows up at their doorstep. Marvin reunites with several old friends and tries to have calmer discussions with his brothers. Masterlist

Tws for alcoholism, self-hatred, and discussion of kids missing their dad. Tws may not be completely exhaustive - keep in mind the heaviness of the fic and look out for yourself.

Thank you to @lehhoh7822 for taking the time to compile this book!

.

“So he’s medicated?”

“Yeah, he’s doing a lot better!”

“Okay, but he needs to be seeing a clinician too. Is he seeing a clinician?”

“Um. You’d have to check with Jackie. I think he was handling that side of things.”

“Oh, Jackie is not good with appointments, Chase.”

“Haha. Well, you’ll have to ask JJ, I don’t know anything about it. But Jackie did go see a therapist and he was talking about maybe going again.”

“Good, he should. What about you?”

“Me? What, in therapy? I - ”

There’s a knock on the door of the apartment. Chase and Henrik both freeze, halfway through getting out of their jackets and shoes.

“Who is it?” murmurs Henrik.

“How should I know?” hiss-whispers Chase. “What if it’s the landlord again to kick us out for being too loud? Or - oh, shit! The hospital social worker! If she sees JJ’s black eye - ”

“Okay, don’t worse case stereo right away.”

“Scenario, Dok.”

“Whatever, just be grateful I’m talking, fucker. Don’t see you speaking German, anyway.”

“Okay - ”

“Is a girl,” says Schneep, peering through the peephole on the door.

“Like a kid?”

“No, a girl as in a woman, not that you’ve ever interacted with one of those before.”

“Marvin?” calls her voice through the door. Henrik and Chase both re-freeze, turning wide eyes towards each other. “It’s me. Are you there?”

“It’s Anti in disguise, like in Singapore,” gasps Chase. “Holy shit, he’s back, he’ll - holy shit. Nobody knows Marvin’s name.”

Schneep looks nervously through the peephole. “She sounds anxious, though.”

“He’s going to kill us.”

“Can we call Jackie?”

“No, we only have one phone and it’s here! The gun, where’s the - ugh, we couldn’t get it through airport security, shit, we’re - ”

“Who’s there?” calls Henrik through the door.

A long pause.

“It’s me,” she says again, more timid still. “Chase? It’s… it’s me.”

She has black hair and blue acrylic nails.

crystalninjaphoenix asked:

It's her, right? Well... let her in. Keep in mind this is going to be awkward at first. We don't know that much. Go slow. Don't expect it to all be fixed right away. And good luck.

“It’s her?”

“Who’s her?”

“Well, if you take a look - ”

“What if it’s Anti?”

“It’s not Anti!”

“You don’t know it’s not Anti - ”

“Jackie burned his corpse, but whatever, just - ”

Chase shoves his eye to the peephole and goes silent.

“Chase?”

“It’s her,” he whispers.

“Trick, you’re shaking.”

He turns to Henrik as white as candle wax.

And then sprints back towards his room and slams the door behind him.

“Chase. Chase?” she’s calling through the door.

Henrik touches the handle. He pulls the door open, just a crack.

Onyx eyes look up at him. His eyes flicker towards a flash of silver. She has a knife in her purse. His tongue wets his mouth.

“Chase?” she asks weakly.

He shakes his head, straightening up.

“Anti?” she asks.

He pulls the door open a little more. She steps back, gripping that pocket knife. As if it would do anything against him if he were really here.

“Schneep,” she croaks. “You’re… alive.”

“I’m alive,” he parrots quietly.

“You didn’t come back. You were just supposed to get groceries.”

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

The wind rushes past them. Her hair flutters into her face and away over her shoulder.

She steps forward. He doesn’t move.

Soft hands wrap around him.

She’s tiny. Shorter than he is. Not fragile, just… small.

She hugs him. Her hands grip his hair at the back of his skull, gently.

He hugs her back. His hands settle uncertainly on her hips. In the open door of the apartment, they’re still.

Anonymous asked:

Jackie, Anti is gone. Why do you still feel the need to grieve later?

“Are you sad?”

“What?”

JJ looks at him for a moment before repeating himself.

“Oh. No,” says Jackie, kicking a rock as they walk back towards the apartment. “No, I’m fine.”

JJ doesn’t push it, just watches him out of the side of his eye. Jackie gives the rock another kick, sending it skittering in front of him.

It’s true, of course. Anti’s gone.

Why do I still do this to myself? he wonders, keeping that rock in front of him. He doesn’t want to have to let it stop. JJ’s allowed to cry but you aren’t? What, you don’t want to think about it? All I do is… push things back.

He kicks the rock.

I work so I don’t have to think about anything. Work and run and repeat. Don’t have to think about how Blue and I are fighting, or how he’s gone, or how we’re so broke I can’t even get them beds, or how sometimes even I wish Anti were here - that structure he gave me. That feeling of knowing my place in the world. And sometimes, just every once in a while - that feeling of being useful to anyone. What, are you going to break down and show them you’re just as scared as they are? I wish -

A hand grabs his arm and pulls him back before he can walk into the street. A car moves past them in a rush of red and gold lights.

JJ’s signing at him rapidly, but Jackie can’t quite follow. He’s suddenly so exhausted.

“Jackie, come on, watch where you’re going!” JJ wraps his arm into Jackie’s and pulls him forward, the vanity mirror held under Jackie’s free arm. “Let’s just get home, okay?”

“Sorry,” Jackie mumbles.

Grieve later so you don’t have to think about it now. Grieve later because if he stops to think about how he’s feeling at all, it’s going to break him in half.

If he stops to think about just how bad he wants - just how much he misses -

JJ wraps their fingers together, squeezing Jackie’s palm through his glove. Jackie wipes at his face and shakes his head, letting JJ lead him.

Grieve later. Or better, don’t ever grieve at all, because if you do, you might just never stop grieving.

Anonymous asked:

Stacy is here! Chase, you absolutely must go see her, and let these emotions happen. You can't hide away from this, this has to happen in order for you to heal. She's your family. She won't hurt you or run from you or think any less of you because of what you've gone through. Go see your partner, Chase, I'm sure she's missed you greatly.

Chase stands by the door to his bedroom, his hand gripping the handle like he might just go back out there. But he doesn’t move. Listens at the door, breathing short and thin. His eyes flicker over to you. Away again. He paces beside the door for a moment, scraping at the old scar at his hand.

“I’ve dreamed about this girl for a year,” he whispers, fingers drifting to the crinkle paper in his pocket. “About her hand on mine, and the way she smelled, and the warmth when you wake up next to her. And then, just now, when I saw her, I didn’t feel - I didn’t feel like in my dreams. Like everything was okay, and nothing was ever going to move her from my side. I felt - ”

He closes his eyes. Shudders out a breath.

“I felt bad.”

scunneredzombie asked:

Well Chase, you and Stacy did get divorced at one point, and we're unsure what the relationship status was when you were last on the run together. So you might have some buried anxieties and pain surrounding that.

“Holy shit, holy shit!” He slumps down to the floor, dragging his knees to his chest and hiding his face in them. “I can’t - ”

“Chase.” Henrik is rapping at the door, voice clear and familiar through the wood. “Are we hiding?”

“Yes, we’re hiding,” he mumbles into his jeans, tugging at his hair. “Forever, maybe.”

Henrik lets out a low hum of sympathy. “I don’t think she’s angry, my dear.”

“I don’t feel good. Tell her I don’t feel good.”

Henrik slips open the door beside him and sits down next to him, touching his arm.

Anonymous asked:

Jackie don't be startled when you get home, Stacy is there and Chase is a bit spooked. As far as us cameras know there's no reason to go on the defensive.

“Wait, what?” shouts Jackie, and if it weren’t for JJ’s hand in his own he’d be sprinting down the street already.

“Jackie, no, stay calm!”

“There’s someone in my apartment I barely know, with my little brothers - ”

“Jackie, she’s the mother of your nephew and niece, don’t freak out! We might be able to see them if we play our cards right! The cameras say there’s no reason to get defensive.”

“She scared Chase!”

“Yeah, it’s Chase, he has anxiety. Dok’s there. He’s fine. Come on, we’ll get home, just don’t freak out…”

scunneredzombie asked:

Even if it feels bad and painful, talking to her is worth it for the chance you'd get to see your babies again, right Chase? Like Schneep said she doesn't seem angry, just nervous and scared. I think you can do it, you're so so strong Chase. You deserve to see your family again, and it's going to be a painful process, but at least you have your brother here with you to help you through it.

“The kids,” breathes Chase. “Fuck, they’re… are they safe?”

“Go ask her,” says Schneep, patting his arm.

“I don’t remember her name,” Chase whispers.

“Go ask her,” repeats Schneep, chuckling flimsily. “You must explain to her what has happened… where you have been.”

“I have to tell her what he did to me?”

“It doesn’t have to be everything. But I think she probably wants to know why we have no memory of her. And why we did not return.”

Chase breathes out.

He’s faced worse things than this, right? He fought Anti. Fought the dark part of himself. Fought off hypnosis, struggled against androids and vigilantes, sprinted down the mountainside to get his brother’s medication before Anti beat Dok to hell and back.

Facing his ex can’t be worse… probably?

“Come with me,” pleads Chase.

“Sure,” says Henrik. “Anywhere. Get up, then.”

Chase pushes himself to his feet and steps out into the living room, twisting his crinkle paper in his hands.

There’s no couch or anything to sit on, just bare space, so Stacy stands by the door, playing with a button of her jacket and frowning. She’s so pretty it almost takes Chase’s breath away. He sees her eyes flicker across his body - his cheap, torn jeans and his supermarket t-shirt. He wonders if she can see all his scars from here - the burned hands and gun-calloused fingers. The cuts along his arms and legs, so old and frequent he doesn’t even remember where each one came from.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” she says.

“I, um. How are you… here?”

She clears her throat and takes a step closer. “Friends got a call from Marv and Jackie. They told us you were here. The magicians were going to come with me, made all these plans… but I snuck off to come see you. Couldn’t wait any more.”

“Oh.”

“So… is Anti going to jump out and kill me in a few?”

Chase shakes his head. “Um. He’s dead.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“Are the kids - ?”

“I just don’t understand - ”

“Sorry, I’m totally messed up and I - ”

“If it was something I did I - ”

They cut off halfway through their rambling, meet each other’s eyes, and burst into giggles.

She’s stepping towards him, tears in her eyes, and he thinks he’s probably crying too.

“Hey, I have amnesia,” he chokes out. “We all do. And I’m really sorry for everything.”

“Oh,” she says weakly. “That explains it.”

“But I - I remembered you, moment to moment. Even when Anti would try to make me stop.”

“Thanks,” she says. “Well. I’m Stacy.”

“Stacy,” he breathes. “Nice to, um. Re-meet you.”

“Can I - can I give you a hug?”

“Okay,” he manages.

And she’s in his arms again.

She still makes him feel scared. But this - the warmth of her arms, the smell of her -

This is something worth remembering.

“Tell me everything that happened,” she begs. “Please.”

“It’s a long story,” he warns.

Her hand squeezes against his, pressing into that faded old burn.

“We have time.”

Anonymous asked:

Oof, that's a long story to tell. Well, to help out, us cameras can explain something. When Chase and Henrik didn't come home from the store, it was because Red, Anti, and Dapper kidnapped them in the parking lot, leaving Marvin scared and alone before he was taken too.

“I always figured Anti must have caught you,” she says, sitting at the table with Henrik and Chase. “When we realized Anti was close, Marvin told me he had to draw him off. He ran off somewhere and said he would let Anti get a hint of him. Just a hint, though. He was supposed to come back once things were more safe. But he never did.”

“So… what did you do?” asks Chase.

“Rebuilt my life in Sweden,” she sighs. “Just… stayed there with the kids. We felt safe with the magicians Marvin trusted. We still do. Leah and Colin and the rest have all made sure we had what we needed. Except the kids’ dad, of course.”

“So they’re okay?” Chase asks.

“Yeah, they’re okay,” says Stacy.

Chase slumps back in his chair, going pale again. If the answer had been no, he thinks he would have broken in half. “Can I see them?”

“Of course,” she answers. “They’ve missed you so much. I didn’t even tell them you all might be alive. Didn’t want to get their hopes up. But I don’t know how they’ll take it, either. But just - you know I’m going to be there through visits, right? And I’m not comfortable with you keeping them overnight or - ”

“Oh, no, Stacy, that’s fine,” breathes Chase, rubbing his face. “Shit, I don’t even know if I would be able to do that now anyway. Yeah, we gotta take this real slow.”

She smiles at him, earnest and sad at the same time.

“It’s really good to be on the same page as you for once.”

“We’re… we’re divorced?”

She reddens a little and nods at him. “But we’re going to make this work as parents, right? That’s what we were working on before all this happened.”

“We were figuring out how to get along?”

“Um, we were actually pretty much tearing each other apart before this all started,” admits Stacy, only turning redder. “But you’d be surprised how much being chased out of the country by a supernatural being who wants to kill you makes you realize just how unimportant most of those fights were. Like, who cares if you let Hunter watch PG-13 movies? There are a lot more important things.”

“I get that.”

“So… he really kidnapped you. And - like he did with Jameson and Jackie. He made you… puppets.”

Chase stares down at his feet for a long moment. “Yeah. He did.”

“It - did he treat you badly?”

Chase closes his eyes. “He… tried to make me believe that he didn’t. But he was a monster. And in the end he - ”

He can’t stop his eyes from flashing over to Henrik. Coated in scars that will never go away.

“It’s over now,” he tells Stacy. “That’s what matters.”

She puts her hand out. He reaches up and wraps his fingers around hers.

“I’m really glad you’re alive,” she says, very quiet. “And I know you don’t remember, but… I’m sorry for how things went down between us. Anything you need now, I will help with.”

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Anonymous asked:

Stacy seems a lot nicer than I was expecting! How are you doing Chase? Not getting too overwhelmed right? Remember to take this all slowly for your emotion's sake.

“Yeah, it’s pretty overwhelming,” breathes Chase. “But, um. I still want to try this. And I know this is probably even more overwhelming, but - but I want to see the kids as soon as I can. Is that - ”

“I’ll see how they react when I tell them you’re here,” says Stacy. “I think Izzy might need a little time.”

The door pushes open with a slam and all three of them jolt up to see Jackie and JJ in the doorway. Henrik and Chase exchange glances.

“Is she cool?” asks Jackie thunderously.

“She seems cool,” answers Chase weakly.

“Hmmmm.”

Anonymous asked:

She's cool Jackie, don't worry. She offered to let him see the kids and she's been very nice so far! Don't get too defensive, it'll be okay, she's family just like your brothers are.

“If Marvin were here, he’d tell you I’m cool,” Stacy insists.

“Yeah, well, he’s not,” snaps Jackie.

Stacy looks at Chase and Henrik, who give her shrugs in answer.

“Whatever,” mutters Jackie, throwing his shoes by the door. “I’m going to go lie down.”

Henrik and Chase blink at him. “What, just like that? You don’t mind?”

“Just call me if you need me.” He stalks down the hall, rubbing his hands across his scalp. Honestly, he’d rather be keeping an eye on her, but he knows he was about to blow up again, and he’s not having a repeat of last night. Screaming at Blue like that… scaring everybody…

He slams the door to his room, leaving the mirror in his closet, and flops onto the bed, letting out a deep sigh. Here, the grief threatens to catch up with him - the grief and the hurt and the anger. He rubs at his face and keeps his breathing steady. He needs something to distract himself. His computer, maybe.

Anonymous asked:

The computer seems like a good distraction Jackie! Maybe you can practice your coding, or watch Into The Spiderverse again? Or torrent some more movies for all of you to watch? There's lots you can do when it comes to computers, which is why it might be good for distracting from a possible meltdown/burnout.

“We can’t afford internet, but I can steal some from the apartment downstairs if I really want it. But yeah, maybe I’ll just code for a while. Anything to avoid thinking about - you know. Everything.”

Anonymous asked:

Chase, what do you expect to happen when you see your kids? I know they'll be sad that you don't remember them, but hopefully it can all work out.

Chase chews at his lip, shaking his head. “I… don’t know. What is that even like? Your dad just disappears and then - then he just shows back up? But he doesn’t remember you? I don’t know anything about them. Maybe it’s better if I don’t see them at all.”

“Chase,” says Stacy. “Uncle Marvin promised them he’d come back. They never stopped hoping you all would. They knew that it was because of Anti that you disappeared… they knew that was why we had to run away and go somewhere new, and why JJ and Jackie never came home. Hunter cries for you all the time. They want to see you. It’ll be hard, yeah, but not as hard as never having Papa back.”

Chase wipes at his face, breathing out shakily. “Do you have any pictures of them?”

“I left my electronics with the magicians. Just in case Anti was here.”

“Oh, yeah. How old are they?”

“Izzy’s eight,” she says. “And Hunter’s five.”

“Five, wow,” he breathes. “I really just… forgot. I just remembered bits of when they were babies. But they’re so big.”

“Hunter just remembers that he loved Daddy and he wants him back. But Izzy - she’s big enough that she still remembers the divorce, and everything that led up to it. I think she’s a little angry, Chase. That she never got a chance to see you better. You were drinking a lot the last time we tried visits. She remembers that. She was the one who would have to go find one of her uncles to bring her home if she smelled it on you. Little kids, they remember that stuff.”

A deep shame opens up in Chase’s stomach like a chasm. He’s stiff and shaky against the table, rubbing at his crinkle paper.

“How’s your drinking now?”

“Anti didn’t allow that stuff,” Henrik comes to his aid easily. Maybe even proudly. “It’s not a problem anymore.”

Oh, fuck. Chase nods tersely and avoids their eyes.

“Good,” says Stacy, relaxing.

Oh, fuck, he’s a horrible father.

“Look, I need to get back before the magicians notice I’m gone and follow me here. I’m sure they’ll want to be there before you can meet the kids or anything. They’re good people, though, really. If you guys are really okay and Anti is dead, I’m sure we can convince them that you’re safe. Right?”

“Right,” says Chase weakly. He tries not to think about whiskey and bruised black eyes, about screaming and magic fire burning out of Marvin’s control. About Henrik staring listlessly out of the window and Jameson carving eyes into the walls.

They’re going to get it together. They have to.

Henrik and Stacy talk plans. He catches her up on what she needs to know and she provides him with her phone number. Chase thinks about how different things could be if Anti was here. How he could get inside his head and force him to trick her. Force her to give up the kids.

He was just a slave. And he’s still just a fucked-up drunk with nothing to offer them.

“Chase.” Henrik is gripping his hand, pulling him back to the present. “What’s the matter? Come, let’s say goodbye.”

They see Stacy out the door before Henrik turns back to him, worried. Chase slumps back into his chair and puts his face in his hands.

“Overwhelmed?” asks Henrik.

Chase nods.

“You did well. It’s going to be alright, Chase.”

Anonymous asked:

Chase, you still struggling with alcohol doesn't make you useless or make it mean you have nothing to offer them. You're an addict, it's true, but you don't become worthless just for being one. You have worth, you have value, and your family and your kids love you. Don't feel like a fuck up for relapsing, you're under a ton of stress. One step back doesn't erase the millions of little steps forward. -🎒

He nods to himself, cooking something in the kitchen while Henrik and JJ play cards on the floor of the living room. He’s trying to distract himself with spices and bread, but the truth is he’s going to have to face this, or it will just keep getting worse. He has to find a way to handle it.

“We’ve got to do something about the stress around here,” he mutters. “I - I can’t risk going back. You’re right, I’ve taken too many steps forward. If Anti locking me up was what it took to make me stop drinking the first time, it’s not like I can just go do that again. I have an addiction but… I want to be a good dad. I can’t let myself drink like that again. Fuck, I don’t even know what I was thinking, I just… gah. Stupid.”

He stirs the pot on the oven, glancing over at JJ and Henrik. He should tell someone, but he doesn’t think he could admit it to Henrik when he can imagine the look on his face. Jackie would be angry but try to hide it, because he hides everything these days. Jameson would probably be helpful, but Chase has never really confided in him before. He can’t really picture it at all.

He wishes Blue were here.

Anonymous asked:

Chase, you're still seeing a therapist right? They can probably recommend you to a local rehab group or group therapy to talk about your alcoholism. It could be helpful to talk to people who understand the feeling, yeah?

Chase shrinks in on himself slightly. “I… have not seen a therapist, no. I was supposed to. Jackie saw one, like once, before he got so bummed out. And JJ sees a psychiatrist at the hospital. That’s all.”

He runs his hands through his hair. Just the last bit of yellow at the end of his fringe, now. He’ll be all back to brown next time he cuts it.

“I guess I know I should see a therapist,” he says. “Like, I’ve always known. Anti really fucked me up. But I’ve been so busy trying to help Dok. Maybe him coming back to himself and Stacy showing up - that’s my cue that I need to start going. Even if it’s scary to think about. They could recommend me to more stuff.”

He lets a long, deep breath out of his chest.

“Okay. Yeah. I’ll try it.”

Anonymous asked:

Blue, are you doing okay? Stacy came to visit the others and if... if you want you could head home to meet her and the magicians within the next few days? You must be getting lonely in that old bus. I know it was a really low point for you, running away. You would be better off being with your family, being where you can be safe and healthy.

Stacy walks back through the city towards the library, lost in her thoughts. She gets cat-called and replies with a half-hearted middle finger, barely registering it.

In a way, she supposes there are good things about this. Chase doesn’t have to remember everything that happened between them - the screaming fights, the words they exchanged, how quickly they seemed to turn on each other, the shitty things that he did and the shitty things she did too. How their friends and his brothers ended up having to play mediators between them, getting involved in all their drama. They can move past that.

But he’s also forgotten the good times. What it was like to dance in their pajamas at midnight on New Years, playing old love songs from the computer. What it was like to be mum and dad together. Fuck, they were young. How she came to him sobbing and admitted she was pregnant, expecting him to freak out or leave her or yell - and instead he dropped to his knees and kissed her stomach and asked her to marry him with tears in his bluebird eyes, and wasn’t he so beautiful there in the afternoon light? And isn’t he still beautiful, more grown, more scarred, just as gentle as he ever was despite everything?

She arrives at the fountain beside the library and pulls a piece of paper out of her pocket, unfolding it to reveal an image that is familiar to you: a lapwing bird, the same image tattooed onto Blue’s arm. When the reflection of the bird touches the water, the other dimension opens like a doorway before her, and she can press her hand through the water, and step out on the other side.

Maybe it’s because she’s so lost in her thoughts that for a moment, she does not recognize the person speaking with the magicians.

“It was like being half of who I was at the time,” he is saying, voice loud and confident. “I was so ill every day I thought I would die. And when it was given back to me - I was alive again, and none of the skill had left me. Like a limb was reattached. And I tore the darkness apart with that flame. Rebuilt the trees of the forest. I felt like a part of the earth again, and the earth listened when I spoke.”

Several of the Irish magicians who make their home base here in this mirror dimension and her Swedish friends, Leah and Colin, are crowded around him, listening intently and asking questions, occasionally reaching out to touch his arm or hand like they can’t believe he’s real. He has soft white hair and eyes blue as flame. His hands rise and fall as he speaks, and she sees the glitter of rings on his fingers and the swirl of tattoos. He seems to have his own internal light source. He seems to gleam.

“Couple days after that, my brothers and I went head-to-head with his mind tricks and tore them the hell apart. It made him weak enough we could beat him down, and when he was finally weak enough and begging like a coward, I put a knife in his goddamn heart and we burned what was left of him. Since then? I’m free of him, yeah.”

There’s excited shrieking from his feet as the magicians continue to quiz him and the person leans down and scoops up Stacy’s son into his arms, eagerly rocking Hunter up and down, up and down, fast enough to make him howl with laughter. Stacy steps out into the grand hall of the magicians and recognizes him.

“Marvin,” she breathes.

He turns to her smiling. Goddamn. Goddamn. He seems to glow.

“Hi,” he whispers, and the others around them fall silent too, in honor of the reunion. “I think I knew you once.”

“I think you did,” she answers quietly.

“It’s Uncle Marv!” screams Hunter, throwing his arms around his neck. “You found me!”

“I found you!” He kisses Hunter’s face and throws him into the air only to catch him again. “Here I am.”

Stacy steps up to him and touches his arm. Marvin smiles at her again, perhaps a little nervous closer up. She realizes Izzy is here too, just clinging to Marvin’s leg. But while Hunter is shouting and celebrating, Izzy is just hiding her face against his pants and clinging to him, silent. Stacy strokes her daughter’s hair, but she can’t pull her eyes off her sibling-in-law.

“I can’t believe this,” she says. “How did you lot find him?”

“We didn’t,” laughs Colin. “He remembered that his tattoo lets him into this place and just came down the stairs all of a sudden.”

“Unbelievable,” a second magician joins in. “He’s been missing for more than a year and then just comes back, just like that, alive.”

“I took some time away from my brothers,” says Marvin, a little shyly. “And I should go home, too - I will, soon. But I just… remembered a part of myself that existed outside of them, I think. Maybe I needed that. I’m safe now, though. And I’m not alone.”

“I can’t even believe my eyes.”

“Ah, am I that bad?” asks Marvin, a little red in the face.

“No,” she chuckles, touching his cheek. “You’re as beautiful as ever, pretty boy.”

Marvin smiles so wide his teeth seem to shine too.

“I missed you, Marv,” she confesses. “I really have.”

“We all have,” laughs Leah, beaming at him. “Can’t lose a great friend and a great magician without missing you.”

“You found us!” shrieks Hunter, throwing his arms around his neck. “You found me, Uncle Marvin!”

Marvin lifts him and catches him. Lifts him and catches him. Hunter is laughing and shouting and holding him.

“I love you, Marvin,” says Hunter, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “I love you.���

Blue holds him and spins him and picks Izzy up too, kissing her face, and she clings to him like all that matters in the world is there against his shoulder.

Marvin.

Coming from them, it really doesn’t sound like too bad of a name at all.

Anonymous asked:

I had no idea images could be used as passwords! That's honestly really cool, could the magicians explain how something like that works? Tattoo passwords seem awesome.

“I didn’t know that either,” says Marvin, turning to the nearest magician, a bear of a man with a wildly impressive beard. “How does that work?”

“You did know it, just forgot it,” replies the man genially, clapping his shoulder. “You helped create that magic, Marvin.”

“Mirror magic is an old art of magicians,” continues a young girl with a shock of red hair. “While most of us have our own unique Talent, there are certain spells like that that can be written down, passed on, and performed by anyone with magic. For the longest time, we just used passwords.”

“Right, spoken passwords,” says Colin. “But then your little brother developed mutism.”

Marvin blinks. “Yeah? So… we figured out a way around it?”

“Yeah! It was our first time trying out things like gesture passwords and imagery passwords. It took a couple years, but we figured it out. Now there’s really no way to get the secret password out of someone. You can’t torture or mind-control someone into revealing an image.”

Marvin brushes his fingers over the tattoo in his shoulder. “Must have meant a lot to me, I guess. To look into it that much.”

“Ugh, we spent the whole year hearing about how sweet your baby brother is,” chuckles the red-haired girl. “By the time we figured it out, you were practically an expert on mirror magic.”

Marvin smiles down at his shoes for a moment. He has a lot to make up for. A lot to rebuild.

But today, he actually feels like it’s possible.

Anonymous asked:

Magicians, why have you broken off contact with other groups of magicians? Were you in hiding after what happened to Marvin?

“Oh, yeah, what the fuck?” he cries.

“Marvin,” scolds Stacy, cupping Hunter’s ears.

“Oh, sorry. But seriously! My brother was in England and he said that the magicians there said they had heard nothing from you for more than a year. They thought Anti might have killed you all!”

“Ohhh, England,” says the bearded man. “Yes, there’s a very simple explanation for that, actually. They’re - ”

He pauses to cover Hunter’s ears.

“They’re DICKS.”

Marvin bursts into laughing, rubbing his head. “Are you joking?”

“No, we cut off all communication with the British magicians. I mean, it’s not that all of them are terrible, of course, but in the past decade or so they’ve become overrun by these monsters you wouldn’t believe. Old leaders who never grew out of outdated, discriminatory practices, young men and women who think they’re entitled to the world… it’s a mess.”

“What, and we’ve just left them to it?” asks Marvin, frowning. “Shouldn’t something be done? Jameson is British.”

“Unfortunately if we set out to correct every magical order with outdated practices we’d be at work in many of the countries in the world. Magical orders are notoriously independent - we barely communicate as is, and largely leave each other to our own devices. But still, there has been talk of it. Sending ambassadors, joining with other nations, and so on. We do communicate with a few British magicians who are not terrible and who want to improve things - the people on the inside who actually understand what’s going on with them - and we try to help if we can. But of course we’ve been so scattered this last year plans haven’t gone far.”

“Why scattered?” asks Marvin.

“Because you were missing,” answers the man, like it’s obvious. “Our leader disappeared.”

Anonymous asked:

Marvin you're their leader?! Holy shit!

“But this must be a lot to take in!” cries Leah. “You don’t have to go back to being in charge if you don’t want to, Marvin.”

“No, you do have to, actually,” protests the bearded man. “You do.”

“David here has been in charge since you vanished.”

“I’m dying, Marvin. I’m dying.”

“No, he’s not,” scowls the red-haired girl, elbowing him in the gut. “He just doesn’t like having to work. Marv, take your time.”

“We have a lot to go over, I guess,” laughs Marvin weakly. “Um. Was I a good leader?”

“Very good!”

“I liked you.”

“Yeah, chill.”

“Do I get to be called, like, High Witch or Dumbledore or something like that?” Marvin asks.

“If you want!”

“Oh, Marvin, stay for dinner! We’ll put something together quickly. I’ve got to call everyone! Sit, Marvin, tell us everything. And we’ll tell you everything. And just - everything!”

Anonymous asked:

Would it be possible to contact the Ravens? Just to let them know that everyone's okay and Anti is gone? Or is that not a good idea right now?

“Is that something I could do?” asks Marvin. “The Peruvian magicians? My brother made some friends over there.”

“Sure thing. I bet we have a contact method somewhere.”

“Dok will be happy,” says Marv, clapping his hands together. “I’ll talk to him about what he wants to say and then - yeah! We can let them know. That’s a good idea.”

Anonymous asked:

Welcome home, Marvin the Magnificent. Welcome back to yourself.

Soon people are starting up food and Leah and Colin are sharing baby pictures and new magicians are coming in from different portals across the country. Marvin tries to take it all in at once - he does not want to miss a moment of it. Glowing candle-light and friends he has forgotten, now coming back to him. Teenagers introducing themselves with awe in their eyes while the old women greet him like a child come home. The warm smell of everyone’s magic spun together and the unfamiliar familiarity of this place where he once worked and lead. He does not want to miss it.

But in the middle of all this, he has a smile just for you.

“Thank you,” he says, and in the light he is gold and white and blue, glowing like a star.

“Yeah,” he says. “This - this is the start of something. And at long last, I feel ready to start it.”

In a flame-lit hall set apart from the rest of the world, he sits down with his nephew and his niece and his sister and his friends, and he recognizes a part of himself he thought was gone forever, and for the first time in more than a year, he is able to see that Marvin the Magnificent was someone worth loving.

Like you told him all along.

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you.”

.

Anonymous asked:

Chase maybe you should spend some time with Noodle? You need to do something relaxing after a big stressful thing like that.

Chase sits in his nest with Noodle in his lap, pressing the side of his head into Noodle’s side. His cat purrs. He is a good cat. A big cat, now. A big, lanky cat who grew up from a kitten in what feels like minutes now.

Chase strokes his back. Slow and even. Calm. He needs to be calm.

“Chase?” asks Henrik, sticking his head in the door. “You ready to go?”

Deep breath. Okay. He can do this.

He tightens around Noodle’s body for a minute and kisses his cat’s head. His little companion.

“Hey,” he whispers for a second, scratching his head. “You are the only worthwhile thing Anti ever gave me. Just so you know.”

Noodle purrs at him, his eyes sliding shut. Chase kisses him one more time and then gets up, squaring his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

It’s been so long. How could he let fear delay seeing them any longer?

Anonymous asked:

Finally time to see your kids Chase? I'm sure they'll be so happy!

“Yeah, here’s hoping,” he says, clutching his hands together. “Yeah.”

He sits at a bench in the park a couple blocks away with Henrik, Jackie, and JJ closeby. Henrik is waiting with him while JJ and Jackie throw a frisbee they found in the bushes.

“Here she comes,” says Henrik, reaching out to touch Chase’s hands.

And Stacy’s beautiful, and Stacy’s a piece of him, and Stacy is a memory and a presence to him - but she is gone the moment he sees Hunter. She disappears.

There’s just him. In the whole world, there’s just him.

Chase can feel the blood pounding in his head, deafening him. He stands up and moves forward, and he sees that little boy tug away from his mother’s hand and come sprinting towards him on his tiny, chubby legs, and Chase is on his knees and reaching for him -

Hunter.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

He wishes that Hunter were screaming with joy as they wrap together, but as his awareness comes and goes in numb waves, he hears that Hunter is screaming like he’s in pain, squeezing Chase so hard he will leave little fingernail marks in his skin. Hunter is sobbing and shrieking. Chase bows over in the grass, hugging him to his chest, and Hunter’s legs and arms are wrapped around him so tight that even if Chase let go, Hunter would cling to him like a monkey. Chase rocks him up and down, kneeling on the ground, while his baby screams and cries and holds him.

He can’t speak or breathe. There’s nothing but this. His son has black hair and his mother’s onyx eyes, deep as the ocean. He is small for his age, wearing a blue shirt with a goldfish on it and green shorts. He has freckles all over his face. Chase kisses them even though Hunter’s nose is running and he’s crying wildly. He squishes him back to his chest and stills, and they hold each other there against the grass, and Chase does not let him go.

People have stopped to watch them in the park from the fuss they’re making, but Chase doesn’t notice, and Jackie stands in front of them if people get too close, guarding. Chase rocks Hunter and tries to remember how to breathe.

“My baby,” he whispers. “My son.”

“Where is the girl?” Henrik asks Stacy quietly, stepping towards her.

“She’s, um. Back at the entrance to the park with Marvin.”

“With Marvin?”

“Long story. Just… she’s not quite as eager as Hunter. That’s all. Marvin’s talking to her.”

Anonymous asked:

Why is Izzy so reluctant? Is everything okay? These are some big emotions for some little kids :(

“Where’s my daughter?” asks Chase, trying to get to his feet, though his legs are shaky. “Is she - ?”

“Daddy, don’t go!” screams Hunter, clawing at him as he feels him adjust. “Don’t go, Daddy!”

“Okay, baby, here I am, here I am,” Chase hushes him, pulling him with him as he rises and rocking Hunter against his chest.

“Papa, don’t leave again!”

“No, baby, no,” croaks Chase, cupping his head. “No, I won’t…”

Stacy comes over to them and sets her hand on Hunter’s back, rubbing down his spine. “Papa’s not going away again, okay?” she hushes, and when Chase pulls her closer to him, she doesn’t protest. “Mommy and Daddy are right here.”

Hunter weeps and Chase shakes as he feels Stacy put her head down on his shoulder and cry too, stroking their son’s back. They are big emotions for little kids. Too big. Not for the first time, the reality of how much Anti took from him rolls over Chase, and he shudders through the hatred and the pain of it. For all that he fought for his brothers in the end, he thinks holding Hunter like this even once would have broken Anti’s grip on him forever. He could have stabbed Anti himself.

“Izzy’s just angry that you were taken away,” says Stacy, rubbing his back too for a second. “She has such big emotions already, and then something like this - the temper on that girl. She throws fits. She’s just really missed you, Chase, that’s all. She wants to understand what happened but we never had the answers. We weren’t sure if you would ever come home. She’s just angry and afraid of losing you again.”

“I’ll go talk to her,” breathes Chase. “I… I don’t know, I’ll - I have to see her.”

He actually sees Blue, now that he looks, kneeling to talk with a figure in front of him, his back to Chase. Blue reaches out to smooth away long dark hair. Something in Chase’s chest heaves. He curls around his son.

“Hunt, will you stay with Mum while I go talk to your sister?”

“No, Daddy, no!”

“I’m just going to go right over there, Hunter. Do you see?”

“Hunter, you can say hi to Uncle Jackie and JJ and Sheep!” Stacy encourages him, pulling him away from Chase. He whimpers but doesn’t struggle. “And then Papa will come right back.”

“Right back, Papa.”

“Yes, sweetie, right back, yes. Yes.”

.

“What’s the matter, darling?”

“I don’t want to see Daddy.” She hides her face against his legs as he runs his hands through her hair, pulling it back into a ponytail. “I don’t want to.”

“Why, Izzy?”

She just cries louder, squeezing his pants leg. Blue brushes at her head, beginning to pull her hair into a braid.

“Your dad has really missed you, you know,” says Blue. “He has really wanted to see you.”

“I don’t want Dad to have forgotten me. That’s not fair!”

Her voice rises to a scream and then breaks into crying again.

“I know, cherie,” murmurs Blue. “I know it isn’t.”

He sees Chase coming towards them. “Darling, will you just say hi to him?”

“No, no!”

“Izzy - ”

“I don’t want to see you, Papa!” she screams, tearing away from Blue. Chase stops dead in his tracks. “I want you to go away!”

“Izzy,” says Chase. “If I could just - ”

“I said go away!”

Blue is no longer holding Izzy against his legs.

She is not close to him.

In a single moment - in a single flicker of light, a flash of movement - she is in front of her father.

Chase crashes backwards, gaping. He hears Jackie howl in alarm somewhere behind him and Stacy calls Izzy’s name. Blue dashes forward to scoop her up and hide her before anyone sees, but Izzy whirls on Chase again, and he sees her eyes flash red.

His daughter just glitched.

Anonymous asked:

Woah what the hell just happened! Izzy has magic? Anti is dead, it's not him, don't let fear overwhelm you guys.

“That’s not normal, that was like him, don’t let her - ”

“Jackie, watch it!” snarls Blue, turning on him immediately. “Go sit your ass down. I’ll explain everything in a minute, but you keep your mouth shut, alright?”

Jackie clamps down on his tongue, eyes wild. He grabs Chase’s shirt and drags him to his feet, hauling him back towards the bench. He passes Stacy and Chase meets her eyes, a look of concern flashing between them, but he doesn’t see fear in her face.

She knows what’s going on. This is normal. This is just Izzy.

Okay, he thinks. Then it’s fine.

“Magic,” he mutters. “Like Blue.”

“Not like Blue, why would she transport like him?” asks Jackie, panicked. He grabs JJ’s arm and for a second Chase thinks he’s going to throw him right over his shoulder and carry him home, but he manages to control himself. After a moment, Jackie shudders out a breath and sinks into the grass, holding his head in his hands. “That gave me a start.”

“It makes sense though,” says Henrik quickly, pacing in the grass beside them. “When I was with the magicians I asked them questions about how such things happen. They said there is a genetic component, yes, but for the most part magic is triggered in young children by exposure to other magic. Izzy has the genetic component given that she is a blood relative of Jameson and Marvin.”

“And she would have had plenty of chances to be exposed,” mumbles Chase, glancing back towards his daughter, who is being comforted by both her mother and her uncle.

“It wasn’t just exposure, though,” warns Henrik. “It was like - like scary exposure. Forms of trauma. The need to protect one’s self. While running away from Anti, we must have encountered him at one point.”

“And that would trigger it in her,” signs JJ. “Replicating Anti… to get away from him.”

“Dad, does Izzy gotta go home now?”

Chase turns quickly to see Hunter coming towards him, sort of abandoned in between the two groups. “Oh, honey.” He scoops him up and sits down with him. He tries bouncing him on his leg, but Hunter just scoots forward and lies against his chest, hugging his neck. “I think we better just give her a moment to have some calm-down time.”

Jackie watches from afar as Blue rocks Izzy and pets her hair, his niece crying into his shirt. Henrik sets a hand on his shoulder. “Jackie. We’re okay. Calm breaths.”

Jackie shakes his head, rubbing at his face. How much better Blue looks after only two days away from him.

“You can say hi to your uncles like Mommy said,” offers Chase, pointing at them. “Do you remember your uncles?”

Hunter puts his thumb in his mouth and shrugs, hiding in Dad’s shirt. JJ plucks at the grass and Jackie and Henrik exchange glances, silent.

Anonymous asked:

Wait wait wait wait, what the fuck? Did that really happen? Oh no, I'm already starting to think the worst possible explanations

“I don’t know,” says Chase. “I don’t… remember.”

“She could have just - maybe picked it up genetically?” offers Henrik. “Similar magic?”

“Don’t say that,” mumbles Jackie.

“Anti could have even caught her,” breathes Chase. “What if she had to get away from him? Or she was there when the house was burning? I should have - I should have killed him myself.”

“Papa?” says Hunter.

“Yes, my Hunter.” Chase strokes his hair.

“Is my bad uncle going to come back again?”

“No. No, Hunt. He’s gone forever.”

Hunter nuzzles against his father’s neck.

Anonymous asked:

So Izzy is a young magician? Stacy, did you all have an encounter with Anti while running from him? Izzy could have these particular powers because of that. How long has she been glitching about? Does she have other powers?

“Maybe we should take her home. She can’t be out in public if this is happening.”

“No, she can handle it, Stace,” says Blue, voice steady. “She’s a strong girl, she can handle it.”

Izzy is buried in his chest again, tired now.

“This started around the time Anti was hunting us, yes,” says Stacy, pushing hair from her face. “Marvin was helping her with it as best he could. I didn’t know anything about it except that Marvin was a magician. It was terrifying at first. She would transport miles away and I would have no idea where my daughter had gone, while a real life horror movie monster was chasing us.”

Stacy strokes Izzy’s back. “Marvin taught her the basics, but it was terrible after Chase and Henrik disappeared. She would glitch out of bed during nightmares, glitch up onto something high and not be able to get down, glitch into things and get stuck and terrified until we could help her glitch out again… the Swedish magicians have been our help for years now, I don’t know what we’d do without them.

"There’s no other powers, but she can glitch directly into or through things without knowing what’s on the other side or anything like that. Sometimes, when she does it, she breaks electronics like he did…

"We encountered him just once, the night he burned the house down. Chase and Henrik and Marvin ran to come get us. It wasn’t safe anymore. He had gone after other people we loved - a man Marvin was seeing, a friend of Henrik’s at work… He was there as we drove away, coming after us down the road - glitching out billboards, flashing towards us. We threw the phones out the window and just kept running. Hunter didn’t understand enough, but I think she did. I think she still remembers that whole day. What that fear was like. Chase was burned… passed out in the car from the smoke. She was just there in her carseat while Henrik wrapped him up and everyone was yelling. Left our home behind and just… ran.”

Izzy is quiet in Blue’s arms, held against his chest. She’s heavy but he will not let her go.

“And then she lost her dad, and her uncles, and we were all but alone in a new place, and we didn’t know when or if Anti would find us. She never lost that fear. She’s only nine.”

Anonymous asked:

Does Hunter remember the others or just Chase? I want to say he's just nervous, but given the time line split it's possible he only remembers his dad. Izzy clearly remembers it all though, so?

“I remember mostly kind of,” says Hunter, looking up at his dad. “Cause Uncle JJ was just born, but he’s a grown-up still.”

Chase snorts. “Is that how we put it?”

“Cause it was Halloween and then we were trick or treating and Mum got called and you said ‘don’t come over!’ Cause my bad uncle came with him.”

Chase glances over at Jameson, who is still just picking at the grass.

“You have a good memory for a little one,” says Henrik. He looks down at the child and feels a deep sense of shame to have forgotten his own nephew. He knows it’s not his fault, but that doesn’t really make it better. He kneels down in front of Chase and smiles at Hunter as best he can, even if he’s uncomfortable. “Do you remember me?”

“Uncle Sheep,” says Hunter, squirming shyly against Chase’s chest.

Henrik laughs a bubbling laugh and smiles with his crooked front teeth. “Yes,” he says quietly, patting his leg. “Uncle Sheep.”

“Chase!”

He looks over to see Stacy waving for him. Chase sits up straight and pats Hunter’s head. “Hunt, can you wait here with Uncle Sheep while I go check on your sister?”

“Mh. Okay, Dad. Not for too long, though.”

“Okay, sweetie, there’s my darling.”

Anonymous asked:

Marvin, Jackie is feeling a bit like you're better off after being away from him. Can you give him some reassurances? If you want to, of course, I know things are still tense.

Chase moves towards Izzy and Stacy while Marvin returns to the others, trying to smile despite a synth wave of nerves tightening in his stomach. Henrik and Jackie look up at him as he approaches. JJ plucks grass.

“Um. Hi,” says Marvin.

“Thought you were staying on the bus,” says Jackie numbly.

“Well, I… remembered some things.”

“Oh. Good, then.”

A dry silence. Hunter is following a grasshopper through the grass, crawling towards Jameson for a moment. JJ jumps and gets to his feet, walking towards a nearby tree and sitting down again, turning his back to the others. Marvin only catches his gaze for a second, but it’s long enough for him to see the bandages wrapped around his face from the cut he gave him. His fists curl and uncurl. He stares at the ground.

“I just thought I’d catch you up on Izzy’s power,” says Marvin. “I know it’s a little out of the blue. But magic starts young in kids and - ”

“Henrik explained,” says Jackie.

Henrik flashes a peace sign.

“Oh. Great.”

“Yeah, good. You’re still feeling well, Schneep?”

“Fine, really.”

“Great.”

Hunter has caught the grasshopper, playing with it in his hands. Nobody else does anything.

“Um, Jackie, can we talk over here?” asks Marvin weakly, pointing away from the group.

Jackie flushes. “I think I better stay here and make sure everything’s okay,” he answers, gaze moving away from Marvin and refusing to come back again.

“Jackie - ”

“Blue,” says Jackie tightly. “We’re just going to fight again. So how about we just… don’t, okay?”

Marvin stares at him, blinking. He sighs and shakes his head, feet shifting uncertainly in the grass.

“You can call me Marvin.”

“What?”

“You can call me Marvin,” he repeats, quieter still.

It’s Jackie’s turn to stare at him. Some of the heat leaves his face.

“Oh,” he says again. “Good. Great, that’s… yeah, you just needed some time away, that’s…”

He gets up and stalks over to join JJ by the tree, fists clenched.

“Jackie!”

Anonymous asked:

JJ are you feeling okay? I know you're owed quite a few apologies around this group, so if you're bitter it's understandable.

“Not bitter,” he replies lightly, shooting you a small smile. “No worries. Just not good around people I don’t know. Anymore. I think it’s better if I have some space from the kids. And Stacy. I’m just - just meant to stick with my brothers.”

He pauses, plucking at the grass again.

“Not really sure I want to talk to Blue now, though,” he adds. “Just a quiet day in the park, please. I don’t want to get… put back in that headspace again.”

scunneredzombie asked:

Jackie, what's upset you? Marvin is back with you and they're willing to talk. Wouldn't it be good to talk and fix things between you two?

“Jackie.”

He can hear his twin coming after him, but he doesn’t turn.

“Rose!”

Marvin catches his shoulder, pulling him back to him. “Talk to me.”

Jackie flashes him a look, eyes watering, and turns away again. Marvin squeezes his shoulder, blowing out a breath of air.

“Can’t talk or choosing not to talk?”

Jackie shrugs, mouth trembling a little. Marvin sighs and steers him to the side.

“Let’s go talk, okay? If you can. Come on.”

They sit on a bench closer to the pond in the park. Marvin decides to give Jackie a little time, and, after confirming no strangers are close, he uses a little magic to grow hyacinth in the water of the pond. A group of ducks goes nuts.

“I can’t make you happy,” manages Jackie, wiping at his face. “I’ve never been able to.”

“Jackie, it’s not about that, dammit, it’s not your job to make me happy!”

“Then what am I even here for?” snaps Jackie, turning on him.

“For yourself, Jackie, shit!”

“Yeah, well, that sucks,” he snarls. “I don’t care, I just want to - I just - I can’t make ANY of you happy and I’m just shit at this and I - I - ”

Jackie lets his head fall back against the back of the bench, burying his face in his hands. Marvin lets out a sigh that’s almost a scream of frustration, grabbing his hand and letting his own head fall against Jackie’s shoulder.

“Jackie,” he groans. “I can’t… can’t force you to understand you’re worth more than your ability to be an overprotective, overinvolved older brother. Oh, honey, what am I going to do with you?”

Anonymous asked:

Jackie, starlight boy, burning flame. You are important too. You deserve to be happy just the same as your brothers. Anti's rules don't matter here. You are a separate being from your family. You are a whole person all on your own. You deserve happiness and comfort, and you won't achieve that through working yourself to death and pushing yourself to the brink trying to make everyone happy. You need to listen to Marvin. Be there for yourself for a change. Bring joy to yourself instead of the others, just every now and again. Start slow, but this needs to change.

“What does this have to do with Anti’s rules?” spits Jackie, kneading at his hands. “I’m not like him anymore.”

“Jackie, you still just act like big brother a hundred percent of the time.”

“I am big brother! A hundred percent of the time!”

“Would you listen to everyone for a second?” Marvin demands, taking hold of his shoulder. “You have to look after yourself too. I know it’s only been a couple days, but I just needed some time to get my head straight without worrying about… how I’m not what any of you need me to be, or how embarrassed I feel when you see me weak… I didn’t want to admit how much I need to work on myself because it was scary to face that. And because - well, I hated myself, Jackie.”

Jackie looks up at him, eyebrows drawn back.

“I hated Marvin for not being able to save everyone,” he says. “I wanted to separate myself from all the pain he went through, but I couldn’t. Blue - Blue was the person I became to survive. The truth is I don’t think I was ready to put that person aside because I didn’t feel safe being Marvin yet. I was scared of how much brokenness I would have to admit to, how much I would have to feel, and how much work it’s going to take to start healing. So I just… stayed Blue.”

“How did you stop being scared?” asks Jackie weakly.

“I’m still terrified! Are you joking? It makes my heart race just thinking about it. But I realized that I have to start taking steps or I’ll be stuck as miserable, hurting Blue forever - and what’s worse, I will drive you all away too. Blue only knows how to fight and take care of you all in emergencies. Marvin - he’s his own person too. I have to start being him again. And you, Jackie, Ro - you are everything to us. We all love you. Even if we didn’t, you’d still be worth loving and you’d still deserve some joy for yourself.”

Jackie kicks at the dirt beneath his feet, shaking his head.

“Jackie,” sighs Marvin. “Have you been doing anything for yourself at all these past couple weeks?”

“What do you mean? I got a job, I found us an apartment, I found Chase’s kids, I - ”

“That’s all been for us,” Marvin protests. “All of it.”

“I went to therapy!”

“Once, Jackie! And even then I think you were doing it for us!”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. Digs the toes of his shoes into the ground and closes his eyes.

“Aren’t there things that you want? Aren’t there things that you feel that you need to process? Why have we been avoiding each other, Jackie? Why don’t you spend time with me anymore? Why are you hiding yourself and everything you want from me?”

Anonymous asked:

Good question Marvin. Jackie, what are you avoiding? What are you escaping by being an overinvolved workaholic and avoiding emotions with your brothers? You seem so miserable below the facade of being 'big brother the provider', surely you have emotions you need to talk about. You need something for yourself, you need to care about Jackie too, not just the others. You deserve to look after /you/ too.

“You going to talk to me about it?” asks Marvin.

Jackie stares down at the ground. His fists are clenched against his knees.

“Jackie. What’s the problem? What’s the fear?”

But his brother doesn’t say anything.

Marvin rubs at his head and leans back against the bench, touching Jackie’s gloved hand.

“Break in half,” whispers Jackie.

“What?”

Jackie has gone silent again. Marvin waits a long time, but he doesn’t say anything more. Marvin squeezes his palm and rests his head on his shoulder for a minute, frustrated and worried at the same time. He plants a kiss there against his twin’s shoulder, exhausted.

“I’m sorry we fought. That I ran off like that. That I scared you. I love you.”

Jackie nods rapidly.

Anonymous asked:

I think Jackie means he's trying to avoid a breakdown by working and focusing on you guys because he can't face his own trauma without crashing and burning, breaking in two. Am I close JBM?

Marvin’s brow furrows as he tries to meet Jackie’s eyes, but his brother just turns his head away, shrinking in on himself and clutching his ribs like he has a stomachache. Marvin rubs at his back, setting his head down again.

“My Roser…”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Marv,” protests Jackie.

“Because you’ll get upset?”

Jackie groans, rocking his torso back and forth.

“Well, we don’t have to, okay?” murmurs Marvin, keeping a steady pressure on his back. “But even if you’re scared of what will happen, at some point you have to start dealing with how you feel, Jackie. Love, you’re miserable. I’m sorry I’ve been too self-absorbed to help, I truly am. I think I wanted you to save me from myself, but - ”

“Then I should have!” cries Jackie. “Then I should have been there and I - ”

“Jackie! I’m the only one who can save me from myself. I just need help sometimes… not saving. And I know you would have done what you could if I had reached out and just asked. You have to start dealing with your own shit too. Because I know how it feels to just be holding on to the hope that things will magically get better, but the truth is that even if the rest of us were all suddenly happy, that wouldn’t make you happy too, Jackie. You’re holding on to something that’s not going to happen. And I don’t want to see it all come crashing down around you. Please - find a healthy way to start dealing with this shit. I don’t want to see you miserable anymore. I love you. And Jackie… if you really can’t get through this without breaking in half - then break, Jackie. And let us, for once, pick up some of your pieces.”

Jackie’s eyes are red, his mouth shaking. He pulls on his hair and hides his face between his wrists. “No more talking.”

Anonymous asked:

Might be best to drop it for now Marv. But Jackie, they're right. It's okay to break down sometimes. It's not your responsibility to make things perfect, you have limits and trauma too. Keep that in mind, and keep going go therapy. Your family is here for you.

“Okay,” sighs Marvin. “That’s enough for now. Sorry if I lectured… I know I’m the one who messed things up. Well, neither of us should have acted the way we did. I’m just worried about you.”

“But you’re coming home tonight. Things will be better.”

“Jackie. I think maybe JJ could use a little more space. Besides, I really can’t come home until I’m sure the two of us aren’t going to fight like we did again. That wasn’t fair to ourselves or each other - and especially not to our brothers.”

“What? No, you’re coming home tonight.”

Marvin shakes his head at him. “Jackie. Please don’t start.”

“I want you to come home! Now! Where are you staying?”

“I’m staying with some of the magicians in town. I - ”

“Where?”

“I don’t really think you need to know.”

“Don’t need to know? You’re going to stay with strangers and I won’t even know where? What, you’re scared I’m going to come and embarrass you? You don’t want to see me? You don’t - ”

“Jackie, stop!” Marvin snaps, clapping his hands in front of his face. “We are not shouting at each other anymore, period! You need to start doing things for yourself. You need to get rid of all this pent-up fury and all this fucking pain and just - gah! You’re driving me crazy, love, don’t you know I’m in the same position as you, feeling like I can’t help you heal? You have to start making steps for yourself, Jackie, have to, have to.”

“And then you’ll come home?”

“Yes, I swear. When I feel ready and we’re both working on things, yes. I never want to scream at you like that again, Jackie. Do you understand that?”

“You could come home and not scream,” offers Jackie. “Please.”

Marvin hugs him to his chest, rubbing his shoulder. “I’m going to go check on Stacy. Just think about what I’ve said, and listen to the cameras, okay? You can call Stacy’s phone if you need me. Come on, give me a hug goodbye.”

Jackie pulls him reluctantly against his side, buzzing with frustration. He squeezes Marvin so tight he hears him grunt before he lets him go again.

“My Roser,” says Marvin again, fondly, and Jackie reaches out to run his thumb over the silver rose ring on his finger before he lets his twin walk away again.

Anonymous asked:

I'm so proud of you Marvin. You finally know you are someone worth loving, someone worthy of healing and happiness. Don't let this realization slip away, keep finding yourself and growing past the pain. You deserve it, you deserve to heal.

Marvin smiles weakly, letting a white rose bloom between his fingers, the petals soft against his hand. “Thank you. I’m trying my best. It’s going to be a lot of work. But I don’t want to let this go again. Don’t want to let my fear rule me anymore. I have to get better - for them, but for me, too. I deserve that. Marvin deserves that. Even though he’s made mistakes.”

He steels himself before returning to Stacy and takes a detour towards the tree by the benches.

“Jamie?” he calls quietly.

His little brother looks up with one big, clear blue eye. Marvin breathes deeply and forces himself to look at the bandage around the other side of his face. The pain that he gave to him because he let himself lose control.

“Hey,” he says, trying to smile, without much luck. “I know you’re not really ready to talk and that’s okay. I’ll try you again sometime. But for now, I just wanted to say I’m really sorry… and I lied when I said I didn’t love you.”

Jameson stares up at him. Marvin leans carefully down and offers him the white rose, which JJ accepts with a tiny smile and curling white fingers.

“You are a piece of my heart,” Marvin says quietly. “And I’m sorry I tried to forget that. I will do what I can to make it up to you.”

Jameson smiles shyly up at him. Marvin lets his fingers scratch over his brother’s beard, just for a moment, before rising and turning away.

Anonymous asked:

Jackie you have to start doing things for yourself. You are deserving. You are worthy without even having to try. You matter to your brothers, you matter to Stacy and the kids, you matter to Max. You should do things just for you, like the yo-yo you got. Things that you do just to make yourself happy, with no relation to the others. Try it, please? Just to see how good it helps you feel, how brave and strong it helps you become.

Jackie sighs out, slumping back on the bench. Even thinking about some of the things he wants… it’s so scary. Not just what he would feel and how it could hurt, but the way he could be rejected, let down, left still unhappy even after he tried to get better. It’s not fair. It’s too hard. He wishes the things that made him sad were just enemies he could beat up or faults in the code on his computer screen.

There’s a tongue-click behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see Jamie coming towards him, a flower big as his palm in one hand. He leans over the back of the bench and drapes himself over Jackie’s shoulders, grinning at him from the side. Jackie chuckles, messing up his hair. JJ comes to sit down beside him and rests against his side, petting the rose as he examines it, quiet by the pond as the ducks race in circles and weave through the water.

So happiness, Jackie supposes, is not completely elusive. But he’s going to figure out how to start getting it for himself - and that, if he’s honest, sounds harder than killing a monster.

[justmoreocs-writing]

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Bruce said softly, startling A.J.’s attention away from the empty teacup. The kettle had long since boiled, and yet she’d found herself unable to reach for it. Unable to do anything other than look at the cup as if it might somehow fill itself.

For once, Bruce Wayne didn’t look at all put together. He looked haggard and lost. Broken in a way that unnerved A.J.. But it couldn’t hurt as much as the sight of him carrying Jason from that warehouse.

‘Pretty sure I didn’t close the fridge,’ she said stiffly.

‘Amelia –’

‘No,’ she cut him off sharply. She picked up the kettle, busied herself with making tea even if her hand shook; even if the water was now tepid at best. ‘I should’ve told him to run.’

‘And then what?’ There was a softness in Bruce’s voice that reminded her of Alfred, a comparison made more obvious when he carefully placed a hand over her trembling one. It forced her to look at him; to remember that Batman was where he channelled his darker emotions. Bruce was allowed to grieve his ward, even if a fake story had been made to explain his death.

A.J. felt the burning of tears up her throat, but refused to give in to them. ‘Then this wouldn’t have happened.’

‘But he might have been a victim of Crime Alley.’

‘A statistic.’ A.J. heard her voice cracking, and forced herself to focus on the tea; on pouring the milk. Even without being the world’s best detective, Bruce would have recognised the shutting down of their conversation.

Bruce heaved a deep sigh. ‘Shutting yourself off doesn’t help.’

‘Says the man who dresses up as a bat.’

‘Exactly.’

A.J. looked at him sharply. There was a wry smile tugging at his lips. Three years since Jason’s death and the anniversary always hit each of them differently. Smiling certainly wasn’t what she’d expected.

‘“It’s better to have –”’

‘Don’t quote literature at me,’ A.J. said, though she heard the vague laughter in her voice. People always underestimated Jason’s love of reading. His ability to quote books had earned more than one round of drinks at parties where nobody cared if he was legally allowed to drink or not.

‘The point stands.’

‘I know,’ A.J. acquiesced, cupping her hands around the mug. Between Dick and Teddy she’d been reminded of that sentiment several times over. ‘It just shouldn’t still hurt.’

‘It always will to some degree.’

‘Aren’t you meant to be telling me it gets easier and all that crap?’

‘No,’ Bruce said firmly. ‘There are still times when it hurts to remember my parents. And your mom?’ A.J. hummed her agreement uncertainly, unsure of where he was taking this. ‘Because of the impact they had on us. The day you think of Jason and feel absolutely nothing, not pain, or joy, or annoyance, that’s when he’s truly gone.’

‘Bruce Wayne, I think Dick’s been rubbing off on you.’

He offered her a small smile. ‘Probably about time this old dog learnt some new tricks.’

‘You said it, not me,’ she teased quickly, grateful that it was Bruce that had found her this time, rather than one of the others.

[fheythfully]

FFXIV Write 2023 - Day 2: Bark

Satella is nearly out of the camp’s circle when she stumbles over someone’s legs and plants face first into the crystal-studded dirt of Mor Dhona.

She spits a chunk of it out and rolls over on to her back just as the owner of the legs scrambles up, voice panicked as they lean over her.

“Oh, gods, are you alright?”

The Allagan Scholar’s mismatched eyes–G’raha Tia, she reminds herself–shine in the dark, his distressed face both paling and turning a mortified red as he takes in the identity of his unintended victim.

“I’m peachy,” she replies. The sarcastic bite in her voice is a bit unfair, perhaps, when the miqo’te’s ears pin back even further in shame. His hands fumble over each other as he makes to offer to help her up, rethinks it, rethinks it again and finally extends his arm. She stares at it for a brief moment, seriously debating just staying on the ground in hopes of it swallowing her whole, before grasping it.

Tia’s lithe body belies his strength and Satella finds herself abruptly pulled upright. She stumbles at the unexpected change in orientation and winces when a cold brush of night air reveals at least one new cut to her face. Her companion’s eyes follow the movement, panicked eyes widening even further as he takes in whatever assuredly grievous wound has befallen her.

“You’re bleeding––” he gasps out. “You have my deepest apologies, Warrior––Mistress Grace––” he stumbles over his own words. All the signs of bravado he had exhibited before are gone in the wake of their latest meeting. “I’m sure I have a potion on hand back in my tent, if you would permit me to retrieve it––”

Satella holds up a hand to stop him before he runs off to retrieve said restorative. “I’m sure it’s fine,” she says. She pokes at where the sting on her cheek is and examines the minute traces of blood that comes away. “I can physick it away. No need to waste items before we even set out.”

Tia wilts before her. “If you’re sure,” he says uncertainly. His eyes skitter away, refusing to meet her gaze, while his tail whips this way and that. “It really would be no trouble, I can’t imagine we’d miss just the one.”

Satella sighs. “It’s just a scratch. More importantly,” she grumbles, “what exactly are you doing all the way out here? Are you in the business of tripping innocent maidens now?”

Her words are enough to make the young man’s gaze finally snap to hers. “Tripping innocent maidens––” he splutters. “That was not my intention! I just…” he trails off. A bark of booming laughter from the campfire drifts over. Their party is taking the chance to celebrate before they set off for the Crystal Tower to heart, with mugs of ale and other liquors passed freely around the circle. Satella herself had stuck around for several rounds before bowing out and making her way to the rocky outcrops outside the camp, intent on enjoying the clear starry sky before turning in for the night.

Tia had been around for only the one, she remembers, before disappearing the same way she had gone. She had assumed a scholarly type like him preferred to be in the solace of his books rather than the boisterous crowd of (no less scholarly) scholars back at the fire.

She casts her eyes about the ground and spots the tome he had undoubtedly dropped in his rush to assist her. “Oh,” she says. “Did I interrupt your reading?” Furrowing her brow, she glances around further for a lantern. “I swear I hadn’t seen your light, though. Were you reading in the dark?”

The judgemental tone of her voice––bolstered to freedom by the liquor she had indulged in––does not go unnoticed. Tia’s tail lashes out once in a barely contained motion before settling. His cheeks are still flushed red when he shakes his head. “It doesn’t have words,” he says. “Well, not in the way we’re used to. The language relies on the reader’s touch and innate understanding of the script, and thus does not need to even be able to see in order to read the writings.”

His words trail off into silence. It settles between them for several awkward moments as they stare at each other, Satella’s wound still dripping blood down her cheek. She brushes at it absent-mindedly. She’d heard of the kind of tomes he’s speaking about and her own scholarly interests perk up in curiosity, but–he had just tripped her, although unintentionally. And she is still smarting from their previous encounter at Urth’s Fount.

Her desire to speak more on the language he’s apparently proficient enough in does not win out over her bruised pride. “Well,” she says. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Enjoy your… touching.”

Tia’s bright eyes blink at her several times in quick succession, then widen as they both realize the unintended double entendre of her words. “I, uh,” he stumbles out. Satella refuses to break her focus from his face even as she feels her own face heat. “I will?”

She wants to bite back––you don’t sound so certain of that or sounds like you need some practice but both sound––well––and she’s not in her right mind enough to decide whether the intent would be of cruelty or something else.

Another bout of raucous laughter floats over on the night breeze and she flinches. “Right,” she says. “Good night then.”

She makes her escape before either one of them can say anything else.