#but now he wishes nothing more than to be filled with that never ending annoyance

[mikeluciraphgabe]

AND WHAT IF I TELL YOU OPTIMUS BEGS AND PLEADS WITH PRIMUS TO HAVE BUMBLEBEES NONSTOP YAPPING BACK

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU OPTIMUS CRIES HIMSELF TO SLEEP BECAUSE THE LITTLE BUG WHO YIPPED UNTIL HE COULDNT YAP NO MORE WAS SILENT

[scarlet-star-witch]

The moon and his sun (Part IV)

Aemond Targaryen x female reader

Summary: People would remember their story. Even decades after they were gone, Septa’s would tell young children about the one-eyed dragon prince and his sweet wife as if they were a part of a fairytale, too good to be true for the harshness real life possessed.

Aemond meets a young girl who quickly becomes his most cherished friend and changes the course of history.

Word count: 11.5 K

Warnings: Angst begins, still lots of fluff, smut (of course), Aegon still being an ass

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

~~

The court was in a frenzy.

The news of their betrothal spread through King’s Landing like wildfire. It was all anyone could talk about for days on end. Some felt vindicated, that the rumors they had been spreading for months had finally come to fruition, while others were skeptical, unsure of what such a sweet young girl saw in the surly one-eyed Prince. 

The gossip was never ending, with many speculating the couple had been consorting inappropriately in private. While many knew of Ixtal’s customs, that they weren’t as strict about their Ladies maidenhood as they were in the rest of Westeros, it didn’t stop the looks of indignation she received from certain members of the court who turned their noses up at the mere possibility she had sullied herself before her marriage.

While Aemond hated the speculation and had to be held back more than once from storming over to a group of tittering Ladies and threatening to take their tongues for daring to speak ill of his betrothed, she found it laughable. She had to remind her betrothed they weren’t exactly wrong. 

Their nights of pleasure together were only all the more exciting and mind blowing knowing they would have each other forever, that they no longer needed to fear what the future held. 

They could finally relax, they would soon be each other’s in the eyes of the Gods and no one could take that away from them. 

Their wedding was spared no expense. Lords and Ladies of great houses from across the realm traveled to the Capitol to witness the union of a Targaryen Prince and the daughter of the most prosperous house in the realm. 

Aemond paid no mind to the fanfare. All he cared about was her. 

He barely got to see her in the weeks leading up to their wedding, with her swept up with the Ladies of the court in dress fittings and as her family arrived at King’s Landing, she was rarely seen without her dear younger sister or mother at her side. 

The King demanded a three day tourney be held to celebrate, with lavish hunts and feasts raving practically each night. Aemond had never seen his father so excited and he knew it had little to do with him and all to do with his dear friend, the Lord of Ixtal, that their families would officially be uniting. 

He rolled his eyes at the whole affair. He just wanted to marry his love. He didn’t want all this attention and unnecessary flourish. 

She would laugh softly everytime he slunk into her chambers at night, her bright eyes alight with mischief, a delighted smile on her face at the annoyance on his.

“Couldn’t stay away?”

“You know I couldn’t.” He crooned, inhaling her scent as he hugged her tightly from behind. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I am.” She answered with a blissful smile. “Are you?”

“I was ready to marry you years ago.” 

She practically swooned, leaning her head back onto his shoulder, her gaze filled with nothing but devotion. She never would have pictured this for herself. She never could have imagined she would be able to marry her best friend, that she would find a love so pure and so beautiful for herself. She didn’t think that kind of love even existed. 

“Everything seems so perfect.” She spoke softly, reveling in his embrace. 

He hummed in agreement, wishing they could go find a Maester now to perform a ceremony and bind themselves together. He didn’t want to wait another minute. He just wanted to be her husband. 

The next morning, the entire Keep was a flurry of activity. Maids scurried in and out of her chambers to prepare her, most desperate to catch a glimpse of the Island girl that would soon become a Targaryen princess. 

She sat nervously at her vanity, her hands fidgeting in her lap. 

Today was the day she would finally marry her best friend. It all seemed too good to be true, as though they had gotten away with some elaborate plan. 

“You look beautiful, my love.” Her mother spoke, her eyes already brimming my tears.

“I’m not even in my dress yet.” She laughed as her mother waved her off, wiping under her eyes as she had been doing all morning. 

To her left, Alicent stood, her demeanor much more reserved than that of her own mother and sister, who could barely contain their excitement. The Queen had yet to crack a smile since she had entered her chambers and had been silently picking out jewelry for her to wear, barely sparing a glance to her soon to be good daughter. 

A nervous lump grew in her throat. She didn’t have the best relationship with Aemond’s mother, even as children, the woman seemed disinterested in speaking more than a few words to her. She at least thought the day she wedded her son she’d try to bridge the gap between them, but it seemed she still had little interest. 

She didn’t seem all that thrilled her son was even getting married. 

The maids around her all gestured for her to stand and move towards the floor length mirror, their excited giggles growing in volume as her dress was brought forward. 

Her breath hitched. It was real. This was happening. 

Her heart was racing as the maids helped her dress, her eyes beginning to sting with the pressure to cry the happiest of tears. 

“I assume you know what is expected of you tonight.” Alicent’s voice broke through the throng of excited chattering, abruptly shattering the positive energy in the room. 

The way Alicent looked at her, so intently, almost judgmentally, made her want to shrink. She swallowed and nodded. 

She felt a hand at her shoulder, her mother’s presence steadily at her side.

“We have already discussed what her duty is tonight.” Her mother answered for her, her voice sounder stiffer than before. 

Her mother had been in King’s Landing barely a day before she figured out what her daughter and her betrothed had been up to for months. Aemond had been horrified when his future good mother blurted out their long held secret. 

She was sure he would be blushing for the rest of his life. Even after her mother laughed heartily and assured them she would never tell a soul, that she held no judgment for them, he still had trouble meeting her eye out of sheer embarrassment. 

With one look at Alicent, the Lady of Ixtal knew she would do whatever she needed to do, say whatever she needed to say, to not let the frigid woman before her try to sink her claws into her daughter. 

She would not ruin her daughter’s big day. 

 Alicent hummed, the sound neither that of satisfaction or disdain, and she remained quiet, though her critical eye never lessened. She had no compliments for the young girl who donned her beautiful, extravagant dress, she had no well wishes for the girl as her eyes brimmed with happy tears.

All Alicent could fixate on was how angry her father was at the turn of events. They had lost a monumental opportunity to gain allies due to the girl in front of her. She had bewitched her son, her uncivilized ways weakening Aemond’s sense of duty and proprietary. She never forgot how her son had stormed into her room, practically demanding a betrothal. It was so unlike him, not at all how he had been raised to act and she knew the Ixtal girl was to blame. 

All she could do was plaster on a fake smile and hope everything her father had worked on for years wasn’t all for naught. 

~~

She was a vision as she stepped out of the carriage, her pulse thrumming in her ears, her hands trembling in anticipation. 

In a matter of minutes, she was going to be married to the love of her life.

“Are you ready?” Her father asked, a soft smile on his face as he stared at his first daughter with barely contained emotion. She nodded eagerly, latching onto his arm, taking in a final deep breath before they stepped inside. 

The crowd of guests were in awe as she passed, though she could not spare a glance to any of the onlookers that seemed to swoon at the sight of her. Her gaze was locked onto the man at the front of the room, meeting his eye effortlessly.

Aemond had been watching the door and nothing else for the past few minutes, anxiously awaiting her arrival. The second she stepped inside, his breath had been stolen from him. 

He felt nervous flutters within him, as if he was once again that little boy who was in love with his best friend before he even knew what it meant to love someone. 

His vision blurred slightly as tears gathered in his eye at the sight of her, so beautiful, so perfect, his wife. 

They couldn’t take their eyes off each other as her father removed the cloak from her shoulders. Aemond felt his breath hitch at the sight of her in her dress, the shape of her body, the delicate silk outlining every curve he had spent many nights memorizing and worshiping. 

As he stood before her, placing the heavy Targaryen cloak over her shoulders, he breathed in her familiar scent, calming every one of his nerves. 

He took her hand, guiding her up the steps of the dais. No one said a word as he kept his hand in hers, the crowd was absolutely enraptured by the sight of them, the Ladies dramatically sharing looks of longing at the couple as neither one of them spared a glance to the Septon that began the service. 

They only had eyes for each other. 

No one could deny the love they shared. As they spoke the words that bound them together, their smiles dazzling, no one could deny this was a marriage of pure love. 

“I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.”

The words left him with ease. He used to dread this moment as a child, hating the idea of being bound to a woman he didn’t know and didn’t care for for the rest of his life, purely out of duty. 

Now, he couldn’t imagine saying the words to any other person but the woman in front of him. The thought of spending the rest of his days with her, his love, brought him nothing but relief and endless happiness, a feeling he never pictured for himself. 

Since he lost his eye, since a piece of him had literally been taken from him, he had always felt slighted, but now, as the Septon announced their union, as he kissed her for the first time as his wife, he felt whole again. 

He was no longer that overlooked second son, he was no longer that scarred and feared man who longed for revenge. 

He was a husband, he was her protector, her friend, her love. He felt he finally had a meaningful purpose, one that meant so much more than the duty his family expected from him. 

The crowd cheered voraciously. It wasn’t often they got to witness a union so blessed by affection. 

Aemond kept his awed gaze on her as they made their way down the aisle, his hand clasped tightly in hers, paying no mind to anyone else around him. 

They could scarcely keep their hands from each other. 

During the feast, Aemond kept his hand on her thigh, his touch thankfully hidden by the long train covering the table. As both of their fathers gave speeches, spouting lovely rhetorics of family and peace, he couldn’t bring himself to listen to a word of it. 

His attention was focused solely on the woman beside him. His wife. 

He felt himself smiling just at the thought of it, that he could finally say the word. 

When the music started and they made their way to the floor to share their first dance, a moment Aemond had been dreading for weeks, he found he couldn’t care less that everyone’s eyes were on him. 

He realized nothing else mattered. Everything he thought would make him feel insecure wasn’t even a thought in his mind. He held her closely, his heart racing as if they were dancing for the first time, as if he was touching her for the first time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile so much.” She spoke with a laugh.

“I have a good reason to smile.” He responded with a smirk as he twirled her. 

The guests couldn’t take their eyes off the couple as they danced. Most felt they were intruding on an intimate moment with how intently they gazed at each other, their love radiating from each of them effortlessly. 

They noticed how the couple sparsely ceased their touch from each other. The Lords present couldn’t help but feel slighted there would be no bedding ceremony. They were sure it would be a spectacle with how the Prince eyed his new wife with a hunger most men couldn’t conceive for their own wives. 

Aemond’s pout as his new wife accepted Helaena’s offer to dance, leaving him to sit by himself, would be fodder for most of the gossip the next morning. 

He watched her with a small smile, looking more at ease than the court had ever seen him, content at the mere sight of her delight as she twirled around with Helaena, their shared laughter ringing out louder than the music playing. 

He took a small sip from his wine, content to not drink much more, knowing he’d rather have a clear head for what the rest of the night held. He would finally take her as his wife, he would lay with her, spill his seed inside her without consequence. 

After tonight, her stomach could swell with his child and no one could say a thing. 

The thought made him desperate to drag her to their new shared chambers. He would be eager to see the end of the feast and lay with her for the rest of the night, but with how happy she was, he wouldn’t do a thing to take her away from it. 

As she twirled with Helaena, her head back, eyes closed, a picture of pure happiness, she suddenly lost her footing. She stumbled slightly, her eyes widening, but sturdy hands on her waist stopped her from falling to the floor. 

“Mind if I cut in?” 

She stiffened at the voice in her ear, turning to see Aegon’s smarmy smile. She wanted nothing more than to wrench his hands off her, but she couldn’t make a scene at her own wedding. If she displayed any ounce of discomfort by his hands, she was sure Aemond would forever be tainted as the man who killed his own brother on his wedding night.

“Aegon…” Helaena called out wearily, not wanting her dear friend to be subjected to her brother’s cruel games, though she didn’t have power in her own corner to derail him.

“It’s alright Helaena.” She assured her, giving her a weak smile to the Princess who eyed her worriedly for a moment before retreating back to the head table. 

She cleared her throat and stood stiffly, holding back a grimace as Aegon’s hand slipped around her waist, his other taking hers, his grip tight and domineering, as if he wanted to prove to her how much stronger he was than her.

“You were lucky my grandsire allowed this to happen so quickly.” He spoke blatantly as they began to dance. “I was hoping to expose your big secret to the court.”

She felt her insides twist. Knowing Aegon was aware of her and Aemond’s secret, of their sneaking around, had her wanting to retreat where no one would find her. Even now they were married, Aegon still had the power to destroy her reputation.

She just hoped he ruined his own before he had the chance to tear her down. 

“You think they would listen to the words of a drunken idiot?” 

His smile turned wicked, his disdain for her clear, though there was no denying the lust in his gaze as he looked at her. He didn’t have to like her to fuck her. 

“More than they would listen to a whore who spreads her legs for anyone.”

“You mean my husband?” She retaliated, her patience for him wearing thin. 

Aegon chuckled, though his bitterness was clear. He leaned in close, his nose almost brushing against hers. She jerked back, sending him a vicious scowl, all she could allow herself under the prying eyes that surrounded her. 

“You could have been mine.” He crooned, the wine on his breath making her feel nauseous. “Gods only know why you decided to settle for my twat of a brother. As if he could please you better than I could, as if he could fuck you the way I could. I bet you were the first woman he ever bedded.”

His words made her feel sick to her stomach as she staunchly looked past his shoulder, refusing to look him in the eye. She didn’t want him to know how much he could get under her skin. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I would rather let the entire brothel of whores you sully yourself with flay every layer of my skin off slowly until I beg for death than ever crawl into bed with you.”

Aegon only smirked joyously.

“The mouth on you.” He admired with a shake of his head. “Such a shame it’s wasted on my brother.”

“Aegon.”

The stern voice of his brother made his eyes widen for a fraction of a second and he quickly schooled his expression, quickly removing his hands from his new good sister, plastering on a smirk so his brother wouldn’t see how successfully he could intimidate him.

She turned, meeting the questioning gaze of her husband. She nodded subtly, silently assuring him she was ok. 

He’d been chatting with her brother but the moment he spotted her in Aegon’s arms, he had abruptly given his well wishes to his new family and was quickly making his way to rescue her from his lecherous brother’s grip.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded eagerly, linking her arm through his, more than eager to say goodbye to the feast and make her way to bed with her new husband. 

“What, no bedding ceremony?” Aegon called out, forcing Aemond to send him a wicked glare. 

“Not if you wish to live, brother.” He spat and turned on his heel, desperate to get his wife far away from his depravity. 

He was more than thankful his good father had appealed to his father about doing away with the bedding ceremony. The Lord of Ixtal cared about his daughter too much to put her through that embarrassment. 

“Did he do anything?” He asked under his breath as they walked away, ignoring the cheers of congratulations from the guests he cared little for.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Aemond’s jaw clenched in anger, his instincts telling him to turn back and threaten his brother within an inch of his life for daring to speak to his wife in ways that were anything but cordial. 

The moment they stepped out of the grand hall, allowing them a brief moment of privacy in the empty hallway, she pulled her arm from his and took his hands in her own, turning to face him, a soft smile on her face.

“Don’t let him ruin our night. This isn’t about him or anyone else. It’s about us.” 

He let out a long breath and nodded, though it wasn’t an easy feat to let go of the anger that burned hotly at the mere mention of his debauched brother’s attention on his love. 

“Besides, I’m quite eager to get to bed and if my husband chooses to delay any longer, I might begin to rethink this union.” She teased, smiling victoriously as his eye darkened with desire.

Her laughter echoed in the halls as Aemond practically dragged her to their chambers, his quick pace signaling he was equally as eager as she was to lose themselves in bliss.

~~

She lay draped across his bare chest, the sheets pooled at their hips. She hummed in contentment, her limbs aching, her eyes heavy with exhaustion as Aemond gently ran his fingers up and down the length of her arm. 

Any other night, his touch would lull her into much needed sleep, but the excitement that continued to course through her veins stubbornly kept her eyes open. 

She turned her head, looking up at her husband.

Gods, she would never get over saying that.

He looked down, their shared smiles growing as their gazes met. 

Her hand that was placed on his strong chest cheekily began to move lower, making him laugh.

“You can’t possibly be needing more.” He spoke tiredly. They had already gone multiple rounds, he had already pulled a countless number of orgasms from her. 

“I thought I married a dragon.” She teased. “Are you saying you no longer have the stamina to please your wife?” 

Aemond’s gaze darkened, his exhaustion worn out by his desire she could so effortlessly spark. 

“You dare to doubt me, wife?” He crooned, knowing how deeply the word affected her, watching with satisfaction as she practically preened against him, a wickedly delightful thrill coursing through her at the mention of their newly married status. 

She laughed and pushed at his chest, forcing him to lay back onto the pillows below him. He eagerly expected her to crawl atop him and ride him in the deliriously, mind bending way she could, but he was left in a pleasured surprise as she began to press heated kisses across his abdomen, moving lower torturously slowly.

He let out a heavy breath, his body thrumming with anticipation. He hissed as she took him in her mouth, his head falling back, already feeling weak under her touch, sensitive from his previous leg-shaking peaks. 

Her wicked tongue knew exactly what to do to render him a useless fool who couldn’t remember his own name. His hand tangled in her hair that was already a mess from their previous passionate rounds. 

His breath left him in heavy pants as she worked him with her mouth at a quick pace. He knew her well, he knew the determined glint in her eye signaled trouble for him. She went further and further and took him deep in her mouth until the tip of him hit the back of her throat. 

He whined, writhing against the bed, his hand that wasn’t pulling at her hair pathetically fisting the sheets below him in an effort to keep himself tethered to some semblance of control that she was steadily shattering. 

“You are wicked.” He moaned, the delight in his voice causing her lips to curl around him in the guise of a victorious smile. 

His lips were parted with a litany of moans and whines as he watched her, eagerly taking in the sight of her, his cock in her mouth, her eyes alight with desire, greedily taking his pleasure. She sped up the pace of her mouth, delighted at the sound of his loud groan echoing throughout the room. 

His toes began to curl, his weak body, already spent from hours of ecstasy, leaving him powerless under her. 

He called out her name frantically, sounding more debauched than he ever would have imagined he could have. 

“Oh fuck, just like that, darling, don’t stop.” 

She doubled her efforts, eager to see him fall apart. She loved to hear his noises of pleasure, to see him so unrestrained as he let himself fall to the haze of bliss. His back arched, both of his hands grabbing fistfuls of her hair, as if to ensure she wouldn’t leave him wanting, that she stayed worshiping him as she was, as only she could.

“Love,” He warned, feeling his end nearing, feeling the familiar fire beginning to stir within him, one that came before a powerful release. With only a few more flicks of her tongue, he felt himself shatter. 

He cried out, a loud, desperate sound most wouldn’t believe to have come from the surly Prince, as he came. His vision was stolen from him as he had squeezed his eye shut in the moment of climax, though he wouldn’t have denied that she had just extricated his soul from his body, leaving him to lose what was left of his sight. He didn’t doubt she had the ability. 

His chest heaved, his jaw slack, small whines leaving him as she was slow to part from him, her mouth lazily working his spent cock that twitched in overstimulation at her touch. 

He reached for her blindly, his limbs weak as though he had just fought a grueling battle. She grabbed his hand, laughing softly at the sight of him thoroughly exhausted. 

She allowed him to pull her over him, his hands desperate to touch her, to feel her close to him, to prolong the pleasure running through him. 

He kissed her hand, his lips moving up the length of her arm until he reached her neck, smiling at the sound of the contented noise that left her lips as he found the spot that always made her giggle with ticklish delight. 

“One of these days you are going to stop my heart.” He told her, still working to catch breath. 

“I would never do such a thing.” 

He smiled and kissed her firmly, his mind a haze of delirium. He briefly wondered if he was dreaming, for this seemed too perfect to be his life. He kissed her again, as if to confirm that this was real, that the woman that just brought him pleasure like no other was truly before him, that he was lucky enough to now call her his wife. 

“Give me five minutes and I will return the favor.”

~~

Their marriage was nothing short of blissful. Now there was no longer a need to hide, the public was shocked by how affectionate the dragon Prince acted towards his wife. One was seldom seen without the other. 

Maids constantly gossiped about the salacious noises heard from their shared chambers practically all hours of the day. With the noises the new Princess made nightly they couldn’t help but begin to lust over the elusive Prince, or at least wish he could give some tips to their own lovers. They almost fought over who got to service the Prince and his new wife to catch a glimpse of the lovesick expression on the feared one-eyed dragon’s face. 

It had to be seen to be believed. 

They knew it wouldn’t be long until the announcement of a new Targaryen babe was made. 

Aemond hated the attention. He wished he could take his wife across the sea and indulge in their newly wedded bliss in private. 

He had just sneered at yet another passing Lady who practically fawned at the sight of the two of them, when she laughed, tucking her arm tighter in his. 

They had simply been walking in the gardens together and still couldn’t escape the gossiping Ladies of the court who could talk of nothing else but their marriage and ponder about the feared one-eyed Prince’s new found prowess among the Ladies. 

“Do they have nothing better to do?” Aemond muttered in annoyance.

“Our novelty will wear off soon.” She assured him. “They are just not quite used to seeing you so… soft.”

“I am not soft.”

She laughed, the sound causing him to look over at his wife incredulously. The disbelieving look on his face only had her suppressing more laughter, 

“Tell me, dear husband, if I told you my legs were hurting and I couldn’t possibly make it to that bench over there, would you not carry me?”

Aemond regarded her for a moment, an almost imperceptible pout growing on his lips as he contemplated the situation. He knew there was no way he wouldn’t indulge her in anything she asked for. 

“That does not make me soft.” He answered defensively, though he knew he was a lost cause. 

She giggled at the obvious answer as they continued to walk. Aemond looked over at her, eyeing her carefully for a few moments, his brows furrowing.

“Your legs are not hurting are they?” 

Her laughter rang out in the gardens as she leaned in closer to his side. Aemond felt his own smile tugging at his lips and he placed a kiss to the top of her head.

He knew he would endure all of the petty gossip that came his way. He would endure a lot worse just to hear that laugh again. 

He almost couldn’t believe the bliss he was living in. He loved her more than he thought it was possible to love someone. Now that they no longer had to hide their true feelings for each other, now that they were married and could freely show affection without any repercussions, he found himself living in a dreamlike state. 

It felt too good to be true. 

Every day was spent showing the rest of the court just how much she meant to him, how he was hers and she was his and no one else mattered, while late nights were spent tangled in bed, their limbs weak with pleasure, a time just for them and no one else. 

As she got up to pour them another cup of wine they had been drinking before he had dragged her to their bed, she looked over her shoulder at her husband who was looking up at the ceiling tiredly, a content smile on his face.

“Have I finally worn you out?” She teased as she handed him his cup. 

He chuckled softly and took the cup, drinking down much needed swallows of the sweet wine. She crawled back into bed beside him, settling herself in his open arms once again. She pressed teasing kisses across his chest, feeling the hum of soft moans that escaped him. 

He cupped her face and kissed her firmly, the gesture lacking much heat as they were both thoroughly spent from the haze of pleasure they’d been tangled in for hours. 

He pulled away, letting his forehead rest against hers as he took her in, simply admiring his wife with an awe that was certainly not unfamiliar to either of them. 

She noticed a flicker of something she didn’t recognize flash across his face, his eye softening almost imperceptibly. 

“What’s on your mind, Love?” She asked, nuzzling in closer to him as she sensed his sudden anxious energy. 

He stayed quiet for a moment longer, carefully contemplating his next words and if he should divulge the sudden thought in his head to her. 

“What if…” He started softly, his teeth worrying his lip as he feared her reaction. “What if you didn’t drink any moon tea tomorrow?”

Her expression smoothed out in surprise at his request. She couldn’t deny that it was something she had thought of since their wedding, but she had never spoken of her fantasies of silver haired children with her husband. She knew he had complicated feelings for his own family, especially his father, and she never wanted to bring it up in fear of pushing him to something he feared.  

“Is that something you want?” 

“I want everything with you.” He told her sincerely. 

The beaming smile that grew on her lips soothed every ounce of anxiety he had and he breathed out deeply, leaning forward to kiss her once more. 

“You’re going to be a wonderful father.” 

Her whispered words made his insides twist and flutter in ways that left him holding back the flood of emotions he hadn’t expected, her words soothing the deep rooted anxiety he felt at the prospect of starting a family, no matter how badly he wanted it. He had no way to tell her how grateful he was for her, there were no words conceivable to tell her the depth of his love for her. 

So he settled for kissing her, silently thanking the Gods above for bringing him to the woman in his arms. 

~~

Aemond stepped into their shared chambers the same time he always did, his perfect hair slightly disheveled from his time spent training. He stopped in his tracks, the warmth in his expression gone in an instant as he eyed the Maester sitting before her with growing apprehension.

“What’s wrong?” 

She laughed at his blatant worry as he approached her quickly, reaching for her hand. 

“Everything’s fine, Darling.” 

“What happened?” He turned to ask the Maester, all care gone from his voice, leaving nothing but strict power as he demanded an answer. 

“The Princess wasn’t feeling well this morn-”

“Are you alright? Why didn’t you tell me?” He interrupted, turning his attention back to her, his concerned tone back in full force, all traces of the demanding Prince gone as he kneeled before her, his expression wracked with worry. 

She smiled again in amusement and looked to the Maester. 

“Would you mind giving us a moment?” 

The old man nodded respectfully, giving her a warm smile and hastily leaving the room, most likely relieved to gain some distance from the dragon Prince with the feared temper. 

She intertwined her fingers with Aemond’s, taking in a deep breath as she prepared herself to bring him the life changing news. 

“I have been feeling a little off the last few days and I called the Maester to confirm my suspicion.” She explained vaguely, her mischievous smirk remaining as she watched Aemond’s brow furrow deeper in concern. 

“And?”

Deciding to finally let her husband off the hook and spare him his heart that was no doubt racing in anticipation, his dramatic mind probably conjuring horrible conclusions, she guided his hand forward, letting his palm rest flatly on her stomach. 

She watched him carefully, noting the exact moment he realized what she was telling him. His lips parted and his gaze moved from his hand to her face abruptly, his eye shrouded in disbelief, looking at her pleadingly, as if needing confirmation that this was real. 

She let out a laugh and nodded, tears brimming in her eyes at the pure love she saw in Aemond’s. He let out a breathless laugh, the sound of delight one she had never remembered ever hearing from him before. He grabbed her hands, swiftly bringing her to her feet and barely a second later, he was hugging her tightly, his hands gripping onto her desperately.

Her delighted laughter filled the room as he twirled her around, the moment filled with nothing but elation. 

“Thank you.” He whispered from where his head rested in the crook of her neck. 

She smiled, her own emotions rising at the sound of him so touched, so loved. 

He pulled out of the embrace, his gaze immediately falling to her stomach that had yet to show any evidence of the life that grew there. He pictured it swelling, the bump that would grow with their child, the life they had created together and he was sure his heart was moment away from bursting out of sheer love. 

“I can’t believe it.” He breathed out in awe. It had only been about a month since they had made the decision to forgo moontea, he had no idea it would happen for them this quickly. 

“With how often you take me to bed, surely this isn’t a surprise.” 

He looked almost proud at her jest and she shook her head, pulling him in for another embrace that he gladly returned, his arms holding her as if she were the most precious thing in the world and if anyone were to ask, Aemond would certainly agree. 

He kissed the top of her head and pulled back, taking her face in his hands as he looked down at her reverently.

“You have given me more than I ever could have imagined I would have.” He told her honestly. “You’ve made me the happiest man to ever live.” 

He kissed her with all the love he could, hoping it would be enough to convey every ounce of adoration he held for her. 

However, their peace didn’t last long. 

Rhaenyra and her sons would soon be arriving at King’s Landing to counter Vaemond Velaryon’s petition for the Driftmark throne.

The moment Aemond heard the news, he became reserved, building that familiar brooding wall around him, portraying that of the feared one-eyed prince the court loved to gossip about. 

The night before they were due to arrive, he had resided in their chambers, wishing to avoid the prying eyes of the court and their whispers about his bastard nephews and the likelihood of there being another duel between them that would result in bloodshed.

He heard the door of their shared chambers open and close, but his gaze remained on the flickering flames in the hearth in front of him. 

“There you are.” Her sweet voice called out, his wife taking her place at his side. “I’ve barely seen you all day.”

“I’ve been here.” He responded softly, his voice lacking its usual warmth that was always present with her. 

She watched him carefully, knowing exactly what was eating away at him, but hesitant to mention it, unsure of how he would react. The mere mention of his nephews was enough to incite his rage. 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” She asked softly.

“No.”

His voice was curt, betraying just how tormented he felt. A flare of pain lashed his scar, the sapphire in place of his eye seemingly burning, as if the thought of that Strong bastard’s imminent arrival alone could cut him like the dagger he wielded that night. 

A tense silence lingered between them, one they both hated. 

With a pained hiss, he tore his eye path off, tossing it to the side carelessly, his sharp features contorted in pain. He leaned his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands as the sapphire in his eye bloomed with pain. 

It wasn’t often the wound still caused him aggravation, but in the moments it did, he always felt like he was that young, helpless boy again. His hands shook slightly as the pain flared so deeply it was all he could do to breathe through it. 

Within seconds he felt gentle hands on his, carefully prying them from his face. He looked up to his wife sitting before him, the concern on her face stirring his emotions he tried desperately to hold back. 

He noticed the vial of ointment in her hands, the one the Maesters gave to him to use whenever his wound became unbearable. He was tense as she cradled his cheek, her thumb caressing the edge of his scar, her eyes taking in the angry looking wound. She had seen him do this for himself a few times but he had never let her do it before. 

She looked at him thoughtfully, posing a silent question to which he nodded slightly, still hesitant to let her touch what was his greatest shame, but the pain was becoming unbearable, he was left out of options. 

She dipped her finger into the ointment and carefully applied it to his eye, her own heart racing as she felt her husband was baring a piece of himself he had been adamant on hiding for so long. 

As her fingers brushed as gently as possible across his wounded eye, the cooling ointment bringing him relief immediately, he finally started to let himself relax, releasing a long breath. 

She reached out with her other hand, laying it over his own that was still clenched into a fist, beginning to trace meaningless shapes over his knuckles. Her touch soothed something in him he didn’t even know could be soothed, the simple gesture enough for him to feel comforted in a way only she could give him. He sighed loudly as he sank into his seat, the rigidity leaving him limb by limb. 

Smiling softly at the sight of him so much calmer than before, she moved to sit next to him once she was finished. Aemond was quick to close the distance between them, moving in closer to her side, taking her hand in his, eager for her touch. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, the look of reverence he sent her stirring her own emotions and she suddenly found herself on the verge of tears. She would never understand what he went through as a child, she would never understand what he felt for his nephews, but she was adamant she would be there for him in the moments he struggled. 

“You never need to thank me for this.” She assured him. 

Another heavy breath escaped him, as if his ire was leaving him with each exhale. His resentment was no match for the love his wife gave him. It would succumb to her each and every time. 

His hand roamed gently over her body, eventually finding its place on her stomach, where it stayed, pulling a small laugh from her.

“You do realize there’s no bump yet.”

Aemond just shrugged, the look of contentment on his face a far cry from the derision that had steadily remained all day. 

“It doesn’t matter. He’s still in there.”

“He?”

He seemed bashful as he looked up at his wife, a slight blush on his cheeks, as if embarrassed to admit the many nights he spent thinking about their child, imagining their son as the perfect mix of them both, of how much he already loved their child. 

“It’s just a feeling.” 

She began to picture it, Aemond cradling their son, his eyes the same vibrant blue of his father’s, his smile wide, his cheeks chubby, every bit of him absolutely perfect. 

Her own smile grew, her vision growing blurry as tears gathered in her eyes at the thought, her hormones that were now on a hair trigger since her pregnancy, coming to a head. 

“Hey,” Aemond called out in concern, reaching up to caress her cheek and she shook her head, letting out a small laugh.

“They’re happy tears.” 

He smiled and leaned in to kiss her softly. It was easy to forget the turmoil he felt, that he was soon to face the object of his anger, when he was next to his wife, their child growing within her. 

That night, he was ravenous. He had taken her with a fervor he hadn’t felt in weeks. He had been insatiable when he knew of her pregnancy, but he seemed to treat her like glass, as if she were now delicate because of the precious life that grew within her. 

His touches had always been gentle, but urgent, hungry yet loving. 

Tonight, he was starved. He fucked her as if they were newlyweds again, every touch portraying just how desperate he felt for her. 

“Aemond!” She cried out, her hands tangled in his hair, pulling hard as he brought her to yet another blissful orgasm.

He growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck, the enticing nip at her neck making her moan. His steady pace never faltered, his powerful hips crashing against hers as he chased his own end. 

Her cries turned to laughs, delirious with pleasure. 

“I love you.” She breathed out and screamed as his pace became quicker, his thrusts becoming harsher, more frantic as he quickly approached his high. 

“Say it again.” He growled, now hovering over her as he gazed down at the beauty beneath him, his eye and the striking sapphire a sight that left her shivering under his tight grip.

“I love you.” She repeated, hoping he believed every word, hoping he knew just how much she cherished him, how much he meant to her. “You are the only man I’ve ever loved, the only man I’ll ever love for the rest of my life.”

His jaw clenched, his eye squeezing shut as the sight of her below him, writhing in pleasure, was just too much to handle. He was powerless against her. 

His thrusts became relentless, the bed shaking beneath them with every one of his brutal strokes. 

He breathed harshly, feeling as though flames were alight in his veins. 

“Again.” He commanded roughly. 

She shivered at the commanding edge of his voice, her toes curling as she felt sparks ignite within her. 

“I love you, more than anything.” 

Her breathless words were his undoing. He shouted a curse and groaned loudly, his arms feeling weak as he practically fell over her, never stopping his movements, his cock thrusting into her almost violently as he came, his body shaking against hers. 

She gasped at the feeling of him spilling inside her, her arms wrapping tighter around him, her head thrown back as she cried out, his name falling from her lips in a chant, as if he were a deity she prayed to for salvation. 

“I love you.” She whispered breathlessly and began to laugh tiredly as he planted kisses over the expanse of her neck, making his way upwards until he met her lips, kissing her soundly, as if she were the very air he breathed. 

“I love you.” He panted in a blissful daze. 

By the next morning, every good feeling Aemond had coveted the night before had dissipated like smoke in the wind. 

He woke early and spared his sleeping wife a kiss to the forehead before heading to the training yard where he spent the rest of the morning, endlessly sparring with Ser Criston and any other worthy opponent available when the knight needed a break from his endless plights. 

Those that dared to step up were left bloody and bruised in a matter of minutes. 

Aemond was wound tightly, his entire being ready to snap as he laid his eye on his nephews for the first time in years. The fury that had been buried deeply within him for years bubbled to the surface with one look at the brown haired bastards. 

The sapphire in place of his eye burned as his glare remained steady on them. 

He preened inwardly as they cowered under his eye. To know they couldn’t meet his gaze brought him more satisfaction than he had expected. He grabbed his sword and gestured to Ser Criston to get into position.

He fought with determination as if he were in actual battle, as if his life was truly threatened and every movement dictated his survival. With every powerful strike of his sword against Criston’s shield, he felt vindicated, as though the years of shame that had come from the bullying he endured from his own brother and nephews stripped off layer by layer with each powerful swing of his weapon. 

His eye drifted to his nephews, a sickly satisfied smirk growing at the sight of their intimidation. 

They held no power over him now. He had made sure of it. 

“Husband.” 

Her voice cut through the haze of victory he had been lavishing in. He turned on his heel, confusion overtaking him as he saw his wife standing in the training yard. He dropped his sword and rushed over to her side. 

“What are you doing down here? Is everything alright?”

She didn’t often make her way down into the training yards and with her current state, he couldn’t help but fret over her every minute of the day he was with her.

“I wanted to make sure you weren’t killing yourself before the petition.”

He sighed heavily. He didn’t know if he loved or hated how easily his wife could read him. She took his hand and he let her guide him out of the yard. 

“You’ve been here for hours, I think you’ve earned yourself a break.” 

He opened his mouth to retort, but she stopped him with a knowing look. 

“Based on the looks on your nephews face’s I think you’ve proven everything you needed to prove.”

The smirk that grew on his lips should have worried her, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel any concern for the ire he felt for his nephews. It was more than justified, she just hoped it would be enough, that their visit to the Keep wouldn’t result in any more bloodshed. 

Aemond looked back into the training yard, as if hesitant to leave the glory he’d managed to carve out for himself, for the retribution he felt he had finally earned, no matter how slight it was, but her hand in his forced him back to her in an instant. 

“Don’t let them get to you. They hold no power over you.” She told him softly and he let out a long breath, allowing the hatred that had been clouding him all day roll over him like dark thunder clouds making way for the shining sun to warm up the earth after a vicious storm. 

His hand remained steadily in hers, as if needing her like a lifeline in tumultuous waves. She was the only thing that kept him tethered to himself, that kept him from spiraling into his anger. 

She could see how tense he was and if it were any other day, if they didn’t have royal duties to attend to, she would’ve been content to keep him in their chambers and let him use her to both of their delights until he was spent, too exhausted to feel any anger at all. 

She didn’t like to see him in this state. It was so unlike the sweet boy that had been by her side for years. She didn’t like what her nephews had created in him the night he claimed Vhagar. 

~~

The petition unfolded as she expected. While King Viserys’ presence had been a surprise, Vaemond’s demise certainly wasn’t, especially after the accusations he had spouted to Princess Rhaenyra and her sons. 

Aemond had tugged on her arm, instinctively pulling her behind him as Daemon brought his sword down upon the man. 

He had shielded her from the violent display, something she had been grateful for. With the pregnancy hormones swirling within her, she most often felt nauseous around anything that wasn’t plain bread. The sight of Vaemond’s severed head would’ve been enough to put her off eating for the rest of her life. 

As the court reacted in a frenzy to the brutal display, Aemond had placed his hand on her stomach, his eye looking her over carefully, ready to rush her out of the room at the slightest hint of nausea. 

She gripped his hand and nodded to his silent question, assuring him she was ok, that she wasn’t about to spill her guts in front of everyone, though the darkened look in his eye remained. Who it was targeted at, she wasn’t quite sure. 

Neither one of them had been looking forward to the family dinner Viserys was adamant on hosting. It was as if he was completely oblivious to the tension in the family as he forced them in proximity to each other. 

Aemond had barely spoken a word as they readied themselves for dinner. He was tense, his face drawn tightly, as if he expected the worst to unfold, as if he were facing enemies on a battlefield and not a simple dinner with his family. 

“We don’t have to attend.” She told him, wishing she could protect him from the torment he felt in the face of his nephews. 

He didn’t spare a look to her, every inch of him was shrouded in anger, barely contained fury that he couldn’t shake. He didn’t seem like the man she married at that moment. 

“Why wouldn’t I attend?” He asked, as if his torment wasn’t visible, as if she wasn’t aware of the burning anger he couldn’t shake, the vitriol he experienced as a child coming back to the forefront of his mind, reminding him of the slights that he had been faced with. 

“Aemond,” She started softly. “No one expects you to forgive them.” 

He scoffed, shaking his head, his expression filled with bitter irritation. 

“No one expects me to hold any anger at all.” 

She frowned deeply and approached him slowly, eyeing him carefully. She had never felt so out of depth when it came to her husband but she would be damned if she left him to suffer alone.

“We don’t have to go.”

He clenched his jaw, his eye holding a faraway look, signaling he was deep in thought. 

She reached out, cupping his face in his hands, startling him out of his reverie that was filled with nothing but hatred. 

“You just tell me and we’ll leave. I’ll make an excuse and we can go without any question.”

Her words, her ability to show him she was staunchly in his corner, a feeling no one else had ever assured him of, disarmed him completely. There was one thing his nephews would never take from him, the love he felt from his wife stood the test of time, standing strongly against any other force that dared to weaken him. His eye softened, his hand reaching out to grasp her arm, his fingers gently caressing her skin. 

“What have I done to deserve you?” He whispered, his voice cloaked with reverence, as if surprised by the love she held for him. 

She frowned, hating when he spoke as if he didn’t deserve the love she showed him, as if it was some kind of gift he wasn’t worthy of coveting. 

“You read to me my second day here.” She answered simply, reminding him of the beginning of it all, when they were nothing more than two wonderstruck children. 

He exhaled deeply, desperately wanting to hold onto that feeling that always surrounded him when he thought of their childhood together, like warmth embracing him soundly. 

It was a feeling he kept close to him as they walked to the dining hall, though he knew it was futile. The feeling would be gone, shielded in the depths of him in the face of his family.

As they stepped into the hall, Aemond left her side to grab her a drink from the servers, allowing her to step towards Rhaena and Baela, greeting them politely. Rhaena was quick to give her a smile, while Baela only had distrustful eyes to throw in her direction. 

Her name was called and she turned to see Rhaenyra approaching her with a warm smile. 

She smiled and embraced the Princess slightly awkwardly. She had fond memories of the woman growing up, especially in times when she was desperately missing her own mother, but it had been years since she had seen her and knowing her actions on the night Aemond’s eye had been taken had irrevocably changed her view of the woman since.

“It’s good to see you again, Dear.” Rhaenyra smiled warmly at her. “Where is your father, I was hoping to say hello.”

“He’s at Ixtal. He was missing my mother and decided to take a short visit.” 

“You didn’t join him?”

She felt her cheeks heat at the question and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“I would, but I wasn’t exactly in a good state to travel.” She explained and placed her hand on her stomach exaggeratedly. 

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened and she beamed a smile, laughing happily. 

“That is wonderful news.” The Princess congratulated. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother.” 

A hand on the small of her back made her look up to see her husband now at her side, his steely eye locked onto his half-sister whose smile faltered at his sudden presence. She cleared her throat, her demeanor now tense as she nodded politely in greeting.

Rhaenyra left their side quickly, leaving her to wonder just how deeply one family could fracture. She couldn’t imagine ever greeting her brothers in that manner. She couldn’t imagine hating the ones she shared blood with. 

Letting out a long breath, knowing she was in for an eventful night, she turned to Aemond, placing her hand on his arm that was stiff, as if he wouldn't allow himself to relax or even take a breath in their presence. 

They all took their seats, the tension in the room strangling as King Viserys was carried in. 

She held back a grimace at the sight of the decrepit King. He was a far cry from the man she had met all those years ago, far from the man who was a dear friend to her father. 

The awkward aura in the room remained steadfast, with most avoiding eye contact with each other. Even Viserys’ heartened speech about family and the uniting of the house of the dragon did little to mend the obvious rift in the family.

Until Rhaenyra stood. She was shocked to hear her speak such lovely words about the Queen and for the Queen to return the sentiment. 

Their apparent truce for the time being broke the tension, though her husband at her side remained tense, his lone eye unflinchingly cold as he regarded his distant family. 

Her eyes kept circling back to him, as if waiting for the moment he would strike. She wondered when the wood of the chair under his white-knuckled grip would splinter. She wondered when the night would take an irredeemable turn.

She didn’t even get to enjoy Helaena’s thinly veiled jab towards Aegon in her toast, she was too worried about her husband to pay attention to the others around her. 

When the music began, signaling the end of the toasts, she leaned back in her seat, giving her husband a small encouraging smile, anticipating that they had made it through the worst the night had to offer. 

Aemond remained stiff as stone, his posture straight and rigid. She noticed his eye darken further, his gaze locked past her and she turned, her brows furrowing slightly as Jacaerys stepped towards her, a hopeful smile on his face.

“Would you care to dance, Princess?” He asked, offering her his hand. 

She stared at his hand for a long second, contemplating her choices. With the entirety of the table watching the exchange, she knew she had little choice but to accept his offer. 

She spared a brief glance to her husband beside her and the fury that blazed in his lone eye would have melted the wall in the great north. With a heavy breath, she gingerly took Jace’s hand and stood from her seat, allowing him to guide her away from the table.

Her husband’s gaze practically burned at her back. 

Aemond watched with barely contained rage as the bastard danced with his wife. His teeth grinded together so harshly it was a wonder they didn’t crack. He briefly contemplated what the repercussions would be if he murdered the Strong bastard where he stood. 

The fire within him was simmering, ready to unleash as he watched another man touch his wife. The smile on the bastard’s face left Aemond wondering whether he should slit his throat, dismember him, or let Vhagar turn him to ash. 

None of the choices seemed punishment enough. 

As Jace twirled her, her eyes briefly met Aemond’s and her stomach twisted at his expression. She knew tonight wouldn’t end peacefully. 

She flinched slightly as Jace quickly spun her back into his arms, causing her to almost crash into his chest, forcing her much closer to him than she felt was necessary. She leaned back to gain some distance, hoping it wasn’t noticeable, hoping her husband hadn’t been able to tell she had been uncomfortable for a mere second.

Jace would be dead and buried before the sun rose if that were the case. 

“I have to admit, I was quite shocked when I heard the news of your wedding.” Jace suddenly spoke, keeping his voice low so only she would hear. 

“What was so shocking?”

“I didn’t expect you to end up with someone like him.”

“Someone like him? You mean my oldest friend?” She questioned, disdain creeping through her tone, her defenses raised, which didn’t allow her the wherewithal to speak in a friendly manner. 

Jace sighed, as if wanting to dispute the simple fact that she and Aemond had been close for years before marriage was even a thought in either of their heads. 

“You two are very different.” He said with a slight shrug. “I pictured you with someone more… warm, romantic even.” 

“I assure you, my prince, my husband is plenty romantic. You do not need to worry yourself about my marriage.” She smiled stiffly. 

Jace, seeming to sense her attitude, remained silent for the remainder of the dance. As the song ended, she politely curtsied and was walking back to the table before he could rise from his bow. 

The tension didn’t dissipate as she took her seat at her husband’s side once more. If anything, the fury radiating from the man beside her only set her more on edge. Aemond leaned into her, making her shoulders tense both in apprehension and desire. 

“If he touches you again, I will break every bone in his body.” Aemond hissed in her ear, smirking delightedly at the shiver she repressed. 

She looked up at him, his fury now morphed into an insatiable hunger only she could tame. She knew she would be in for a long night. 

She was just thankful he seemed to be feeling anything other than murderous rage. 

But it did not last long. 

She had been speaking quietly to Helaena, Aemond’s hand in hers, his thumb caressing over her knuckles a steady comfort when he suddenly pulled away. 

She barely had time to look over at her husband before he was bolting out of his chair. His fist that slammed on the table made her flinch in surprise, her wide eyes looking up at him in confusion.

“Final tribute.” 

Her heart raced wildly in her chest, her gaze wandering around the table, wondering what could have possibly stoked his fury. It wasn’t until she saw the sheepish guilt that permeated with fear on Lucerys’ expression that she began to understand. 

“To the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”

She felt her breath hitch in her throat, her wide eyed gaze meeting Alicent’s for a brief moment, his mother looking equally as petrified for what was to unfold. 

“Let us drain our cups to these three Strong boys.”

She sent her husband a pleading look, but it was lost on him, his gaze, full of hatred, cemented on his nephews. 

“I dare you to say that again.”

“Why? Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth as Jace landed a punch to Aemond’s cheek. The room erupted in chaos. She could watch with disappointment as her husband pushed his nephew to the ground, as Aegon joined in and shoved Lucerys against the table. 

Helaena stood from her seat and rushed towards her, her face shrouded in fear. She sighed and stood from her seat, wrapping her arm around her friend who seemed disturbed by the rift tearing in her family before her. 

“It’s alright.” She assured her. 

Across the room, Rhaenyra’s eyes bored into hers, pleading, as if she had any control over her husband’s ire. She sent her an apologetic look and bowed her head, wishing Aemond had taken up her offer to avoid the dinner altogether. 

The room came to a standstill, the fighting men separated, a room divided by two factions. 

Aemond glared at his uncle who looked at him as if disappointed, as if he were out of line to enact revenge for the slight against him. 

He grit his teeth and in a quick motion, swallowed the wine left in his cup before turning back to the table. He avoided looking at his wife as he grabbed her hand, pulling her along with him as he stormed out of the room.

Her feet moved quickly to keep up with his quick pace, her heart in her throat as he led them through the halls.

Once they were back in their chambers, her eyes seldom left him, watching every one of his movements carefully, noticing how highly strung he still was, how stiffly he moved as paced for a moment before he finally took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

His anger wouldn’t be leaving him easily. 

“Are you alright?”

He stayed quiet for a long moment, gazing ahead blankly, the burning fury that simmered in his veins leaving him practically trembling, the desire to wreak havoc not yet dissipating. 

Every part of him was wrought with tension, his mind a mess of thoughts, though his anger was the easiest to make sense of. 

“Don’t try to convince me that what I did was wrong.” He spoke bitterly.

“I won’t.” 

His jaw clenched, the events of the last few minutes running through his head on a loop, keeping him in the state of rage that made him shake, that made his hands twitch, wishing he had done more, wishing he could hurt that bastard the way he had been hurt all those years ago.

The thought briefly startled him. It was a thought he used to have frequently, when the rage in his heart was so new he didn’t know what to do with it. It was a thought he hadn’t focused on since being with her. 

The revelation had an unfamiliar upset stirring within him.

“I should sleep in my old chambers tonight.” He muttered tersely. 

The bitter anger burned within him, he felt on the edge of cracking and he would hate himself if he ever took it out on her, his sweet wife. He felt he needed to be far away from her to avoid darkening her with his presence.

“What?”

The sadness in her voice almost broke him. He closed his eye and bowed his head, he couldn’t bear to see the look on her face. 

“I don’t want you to see me like this.” 

It was quiet for a long moment, his words lingering in the room like an ominous death rattle that signaled the bitter end after a long, torturous fight. 

But she refused to let him sink into his despair. 

He flinched as she stepped before him, catching his gaze. Her hands smoothed out the doublet he wore, roaming upwards to brush the hair off his shoulders and gently caressing his neck as she reached up to hold his jaw affectionately. 

He let out a deep breath, the tension slowly but surely easing from him in waves under her touch. 

“I am not letting you feel this alone.” She told him, her voice soft yet stern, letting him know there was no way he would change her mind about this, that nothing could force her to accept his absence from her side. 

“I don’t seem to recognize myself around them.”

His whispered confession hit her harder than she had expected and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, her own emotions rising to the surface at the sight of him so tormented. 

“You can never undo what they took from you.” She began slowly, her voice wavering slightly. “I’ll never understand what you’ve been through. I wish I could and I’m so sorry I don’t, but you cannot let this consume you.”

His face remained a mask of torment, his derision and anger battling against the exhaustion that permeated his bitterness, that left him feeling weak in the aftermath of his rage. 

She gently guided him to tilt his head upward so she could look at him, so he could see her and the resolution on her face and understand her honesty.

“You are more than your eye. You are more than the rage you feel when you look at them. You are more than them.”

He almost shuddered under her hands, the words striking him with force as though they were dealt with a physical hit. 

“I see you, the real you. The one I fell in love with, my sweet husband, the father of my child.” 

With that, she grabbed his hand to place it over her stomach and his expression changed in an instant, the anger gone as he caressed where his child grew. 

He leaned forward, his forehead falling to rest against her chest, his arms circling her waist. He spread his legs, allowing her to step closer to him, her own arms wrapping around his shoulders, holding him tightly. 

She ran her fingers through his hair, the soft motions pulling a soft sound from deep within him, his rigid body falling lax against her. 

As she hugged him tightly she felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. She wished she could pull the agony from him, untangle the strings of rage that wound him so tightly. 

She wished she could’ve gone back in time and held tighter to the wounded boy who hid his despair from her for so long. 

~~

The girls are fightinggg

And the angst is coming xx

~~

Tag List:

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[sku-nk]

I've been inspired Skunk. Do you lnow that TikTok trend where it's like "When they're all up on my girl in public but she thinks they're just being friendly" and it's that audio that's like COME HERE.

Can I request that.

Come Here.

Synopsis: Some guy's getting a little too close for comfort. Unfortunately for Sam, you're oblivious to it.

Warnings: Language, jealous Sam, Not really controlling but bossy Sam, Just funny shit

A/n: i got your other ask clarifying who u wanted :))

Nothing is ever simple. Never.

Actually, there are a few things that are simple. A lot even. Things that are exactly as they're supposed to be, things that never have any extra complications.

With you nothing is ever simple. there has to be at least billion things that actually prove themselves to be what they should be, yet anything regarding you just can't be one of those things.

Like shopping.

It was supposed to be a boring little shopping trip. It was supposed to be quick. Pick up some things you need around the house, stuff you've ran out of and stuff you've suddenly realized you need. Maybe convince Sam to take you to Victoria's Secret and leave a dent in her wallet.

Honestly, Sam would prefer that to what's going on instead. She'd prefer anything over this. Like sleeping in, or watching a movie, or maybe punching that dude who's got his hand on your back.

What's worse is that you don't even seem to realize what he's doing. You've clearly been standing there for a while now, speaking to some stupid guy with a stupid chain and an even stupider fake deep voice.

At first Sam didn't even know where you were, you'd just wandered off. She'd assumed you were going to get something else on the list. When she caught up to you, finding you at the other end of the baking isle, she wished she'd followed you.

"Just need to start looking right, you know?" This guy says, standing much too close for comfort. "Pull a ten, maybe."

You nod, smiling. "I'm sure you will, Ryan," you say politely.

Sam can see the way his eyes rake over you, the look on his face so clearly filled with want it's actually ridiculous you're oblivious to it. Then again, you always have been. That's how you were with her.

"Shit, if I was like you, I wouldn't need to do all this. But you're just mad pretty," Ryan says, laughing for whatever reason. You're smiling kindly but Sam's got what's probably the dirtiest of looks on her face.

"Oh, thank you," you smile. Sam rolls her eyes. This dude's not your friend.

"Y/n," she says, making her presence known. Your eyes widen and an even bigger smile graces your face, head whipping in the direction you heard the voice. Ryan looks too, though his face is more curious than anything.

"Sammy," you say, as Ryan's hand drops from your back. Sam feels herself let out a breath despite the fact that you're still a little too close to this guy.

"Come here," she says, arms crossing.

"Hold on, this is Ry-" you begin, pointing at the guy who's now a good two and a half feet away, though you don't get the chance to finish.

"Come here." Sam points at the ground in front of her.

You tilt your head, glancing between Ryan and Sam, but you don't protest. You make a face, something between confusion and annoyance. Sam doesn't notice, or else she doesn't care.

"Now," she says, something in her voice possessing an odd sort of finality. You let out an exaggerated sigh and glance at Ryan, who seems to be just as confused as you.

"Sorry, Ryan," you say as you speed up. For some reason, this causes Sam to sigh and roll her eyes again.

She's irritable all of a sudden, you think. She shoots the not so poor guy a look, a look that has him stepping back even further.

"Let's go," she says impatiently as her eyes land on you, urging you to hurry up. You give her a look of your own.

"Why'd you do that?" you ask, despite the fact that you're doing exactly as she's told you to, glancing back like that dude's actually stupid enough to still be standing there. Sam grabs your sleeve and pulls you little closer even though it really doesn't benefit her in the slightest (besides making her feel better) and leans onto the cart.

" 'Cause I did. When you're shopping, you're shopping with me," she tells you, tone suggesting that you doing otherwise is an insult or something alike. "Not some weird ass dude."

"Ryan's not weird-"

"He's weird!" Sam cuts in, throwing a hand up. "Weird and wants you. You're with me, you're shopping with me."

You almost laugh. It's funny. What is she even talking about? Ryan wants you? That guy you just met? Sam notices your little smile out of the corner of her eye and scoffs.

"It's funny 'till he wants a smooch," she says, dead serious.

That does it.

You can't hold it any longer. You burst into a fit of giggles, smacking Sam on the arm. "He was being nice, relax," you laugh, as Sam rolls her eyes for the millionth time.

"He doesn't need to, he's being a little too nice."

"It's not that deep, I promise!" you tell her, grin unwavering.

"It's always that deep! Everybody wants you! All the time! I do!" Sam shoots back, instinctively straightening up as you grab the cart, shaking your head and beginning to push it down the isle. She nearly pulls her hair out when you start fully laughing at her again.

"Made me forget what I was over here for," you say to yourself as Sam follows behind you, saying something about the elderly crossing guard across the street checking you out.

"So you need to stay with me all the time!"

I dunno how to end this guys

[eydi-andrius]

Cruel Existence (Gojo Satoru x Reader)

summary: Gojo broke up with you a week ago. Trying to forget him, you invited your friends to a night out. It was fun while it lasted, until you realized that you never went home to your own place. In fact, you were sleeping soundly on his bed.

cw/tw: angst, hurt, pain, mentions of break up, regret, mentions of drinking until one passes out (please don't do this), trespassing

a/n: this was fun to write. I hope you like it. Again, as much as I appreciate likes, comments and reblogs motivates me better. Thank you!

🐈

It is wild how the stranger you once met becomes the most important person in your life.

Then for one day, life decided to make that person a stranger again.

Some may argue that no, they're not strangers anymore.

However if you think about it, a person who isn't in your life is nothing but a mere stranger.

His memories may be there, and it must have been your greatest treasure. Yet, it doesn't erase the fact that it wasn't them anymore.

Each day, the knife twists deeper, sharper and deadlier the more you think about the what ifs and the whatnots.

It's like a deadly poison slivering inside your vein. Memories turn lethal and invasive. You begged for them to just stop and let you breathe.

You prayed every night for it to be over. As you close your eyes, you wish that the morning will make you feel renewed and the person you once were.

How cruel life can be when all you wanted was to be loved.

Gojo had found you first. Maybe that explains a lot why he ended it in the first place.

"Look at this girl. She called us to drink her sorrows away but she was just holding her beer and staring from afar." Iori called you out. Then, rolled her eyes in annoyance. You gave her a chuckle and muttered an apology.

If she did not call your name, you will probably think about what you did wrong and why he ended your relationship that way. He looks tired, fed up when you ask why. He wasn't the same Satoru to whom you knew. It was true that he could be cold-hearted at times but he never acted that way towards you.

That should have been a red flag but that action had made a swarm of butterflies in your stomach. You almost thought you were special.

You bit your lips as you felt another tear wanting to come out and spill your pain in front of your friends again. Shaking your head and blinking your eyes, you tried your best to stop it.

You called and invited them to forget him. It has been a week. It shouldn't bother you as much anymore. He probably had been enjoying his single life. The pain of being pursued and being rejected after achieving your goal was something you had been trying your best not to overthink about. It might be true, but it wasn't healthy to soak through the scenarios and what ifs you knew nothing about.

It will just kill you inside and there will be no reprieve for it.

Attention and awareness finally came back to what you were doing, and so you looked around. The bar was loud. Blinking lights and the alcohol were giving everyone a false sense of confidence as they danced and socialized on the crowded dance floor. Everyone looked like they were having fun. Now, you kinda felt bad that your friends were just sitting inside the private booth with you. Especially, when all of these independent ladies had been through a tough week doing their work. You felt bad wasting their time to watch you mopping and crying over a man they already told you to be wary about.

"I know what you were thinking. And no, I'd rather sit here and join you into drinking your heart out than be with those strangers. Drink up!" Mei mei raised her eyebrows and tapped your pint. She's always so impressive at reading people. Sometimes you wonder if you had said your thoughts aloud with how accurate her words were, at times.

Heart filled with warmth, with how loving your friends were, you stood up and hugged them all. Shoko who remained quiet and sitted patted your back in reassurance after returning your big hug.

It was probably harder for her to hear what happened. She was close to Gojo. You just hoped she wouldn't be planning his murder though. She may be quiet but when angry, she can be more intense than these two.

Anyway, enough thinking about your ex-boyfriend now! These hot ladies gave you their precious free time so might as well use it wisely and to full extent.

You basically had dragged the three in the middle of the dance floor and showed them your moves, which was nonexistent, so you earned a mocking and hysterical laughter from them. Yet, it did not take long for them to follow suit and even challenge you to a dance battle.

The night was filled with laughter, and for once, during that grueling week, you forgot why you were crying and had to lie about your puffy eyes.

🐈

The pain in your head was intolerable. You had been awake for quite some time now but you cannot even lift your eyelids on how painful it was. You groaned. You moaned. You breathed in and out to make it better but the beating of the unbearable pain seems to get worse.

Well, it was true what they said, it had been fun while it lasted.

Last night was a blast. No one can stop the four of you as you claimed the stage and did your greatest night out. You felt the rush of freedom and so you did not stop taking shots after shots. The consequences were pushed back in the deepest part of your brain. And for once, you let your wild side out in public.

You were probably so wasted but at least managed to get home safe. The proof was the soft mattress of your bed. Your fresh sheet enveloping your exhausted body to a warm embrace while the air conditioner blows the perfect amount of cold. This atmosphere should have pulled you back to sleep, if it weren't for this godforsaken headache. Gosh, you wanted so bad to go back to sleep. But you are in pain, needing to pee and calm your growling hunger. You can even feel the vile gastric threatening to come up due to your empty stomach.

"How long do you plan to sleep on my bed?"

Familiar voice had spoken close to you and your body reacted way too fast. You sat up and opened your eyes. Leaning on the doorway was your ex-boyfriend Gojo Satoru. His blue eyes are neutral but his face says he was pissed.

His hair was damp. Droplets were even falling from it but he wore a white towel around his neck to prevent it from cascading further down to his body. He was half naked, only wearing an untied sweats that was hanging way too low for your comfort. Normally, you would say he was hot. But that was not the most important thing right now.

"What do you think you are doing inside my room-!?" In surprise, you yelled but were met by your very hoarse voice. You even ended up violently coughing and wheezing with how dry your throat was. It was as if you did a 24 hour karaoke with your friends or you competed at a screaming contest.

"Maybe before you groaned and moaned to someone else's bed, make sure you were actually on your bed." He tuts and moves towards where you were sitting. You felt a cold metal placed on your forehead and you sighed in relief. Even though it gave you a quick relief, it only happened for a second.

The pain, forgotten for a moment of shock, was now back twice ruthless. Your head was swimming in pain and you felt lightheaded. You left out a loud burp and you felt the hand, holding the can on your forehead, maneuvered fast to pick up the bucket placed methodically on his bedside. The respect you had for this man for preparing this much so he would be able to stop you if you plan to puke all over his place as revenge.

You wretched as if there was no tomorrow. All contents from last night probably had been vomited earlier because you felt only the acid of vile as it pushes whatever was still left inside of you. Heaving, you accepted the water he provided and gargled the last remaining content of puke in your mouth. You cleaned up using the back of your hand and leaned at the nearby chair while you were still sitting on his bed.

This is probably your year's nightmare. Drinking a lot for the first time, losing your friends by walking to someone else's house and worse, sleeping on your ex's bed and thinking it was so comfortable and homey earlier.

While you were thinking and regretting what you had done, you heard the scraping of the table being pulled closer to where you sat. His presence near you again. The clang of utensils, the sound of the lid being opened and plastic wrappers being crumpled and thrown had almost lull you to sleep when you felt a soft tap of his familiar hand on your shoulder.

With a blink, you straightened up and looked at the store bought food, placed in front of you.

It was cup noodles, a bottle of water and ibuprofen, placed on the side. The cold can of coffee just above it.

"Eat up or you will feel shittier than you are right now." He said more like an order and just stood in front of you with arms crossed.

You gulped and tried your best to eat but your hair kept on falling down and dipping on the cup noodles. You were already aware that you smelled like vomit, who could even imagine you can also smell like cup noodles. With a groan of frustration, you collected your hair on the side and was about to eat again when you felt his hand run through your hair.

He mumbled a soft "Let me." and with practiced moves, he was able to tie your hair with a hair tie. He used to do this a lot when you decided not to cut your hair shorter so you can donate it. He was so sweet and attentive when you were still together and this action of concern was not helping your case.

You sat and ate in silence while he stood there for a while and decided it was too awkward and he left you alone. He closed the door as softly as he could. Once you were sure he was gone, you gave out an empty scream and slapped your face multiple times. The pain, embarrassment, and anger were all mixed up as you felt it rise within you.

With a frustrated groan, you bite your lip and pray that this nightmare was all a dream. But you know better. Eyes staring at the familiar ceiling, you sighed. The room is engulfed with quiet except for your ragged breathing, indiciating, how sick you are.

The silence did not last long when you remembered your phone and frantically looked for it. You saw it placed properly on the nearby stool and almost cried when you saw the numerous texts and calls from your friends. Ranging from the early hours of the day and right now, it was asking for the same thing; where were you? or are you okay?.

Nervous, you tried your best to reply even with shaking hands and once you hit send, they immediately saw it and called.

The call was filled with screams of terror and relief that you were okay. But once they calmed down, you were able to talk to them properly. They even answered the gnawing question you had been wondering about when you saw Gojo in front you.

Around 3 am, you four had decided to book a room in a nearby hotel, instead of getting a cab and going home. You all were too wasted to even trust yourselves that you can all recall how to go home.

They never remember much after that but they were sure you were the first one to sleep on the bed. But later, after around 5 or 6, Iori woke up and saw you weren't there. They were filled with panic and terror because there is no way you can stand up after having that short sleep and being too drunk.

They tried to rationalize that maybe you did go home and tried to call you. But when you were still not picking up, they almost trashed the hotel room. Luckily, the cleaning lady was kind enough. When she saw their panicked and disheveled appearance, she asked the security to check if you left the hotel in one piece. It turns out, she had seen you four together and was also worried that something happened to you too.

They had seen you walking out of the room and through the lobby, up to the entrance. You obviously looked still drunk as you tried to wobble and walk straight ahead, outside of the hotel.

Since then, they have been blowing your phone with texts and calls. They could hear it ringing so they suspected that maybe you accidentally turned it to silent mode or you were kidnapped.

Grateful, you reassured them that you were fine. You made up a story that you booked a new hotel room, in another hotel, probably because you were drunk. Currently, you informed them that you were staying in that room and having breakfast. You reasoned out that you were not able to answer their calls and texts because you can barely open your eyes. It uproared another wave of panic but you told them firmly that you were fine and will call them once you take care of your too drunk ass. To stop them from asking further, you hung up the phone with an excuse that your battery was dying out.

There is no way that you will share to them that your drunk ass went to your ex's huge condominium and you thought as you woke that it was yours. You had been staying and visiting this place that your body immediately thought of this place as your other home.

After finishing your meal, and feeling the medicine taking effect. You psych yourself up to face the inevitable. There is no way you can just walk out of this place without confronting him about what you did and what he had to witness.

You walk to the restroom and try your best to look presentable and not a crazy person.

Once done, you slowly crept towards the door and opened it ajar, you scanned the place and looked for him. He was wearing a black fitted plain shirt, as he sat on the couch, sipping a cup of coffee as he typed something on his laptop. Probably, for work.

You walked slowly towards him and coughed to get his attention. His piercing blue eyes stared back at you, as he removed his glasses and closed his laptop. He grumbled and again, crossed his arms to his chest. His lips were abit pouted and the creases on his head showed a frown.

"I'm really sorry for trespassing. I promise I will never drink that hard again." You promised and even did a pinky swear in front of him. He looked unamused though as he replied with a doubtful "hmmm" and still had the same frowning face.

"Do you remember what you did then?" He asked.

"To be honest, no. I only remember being in a hotel with the girls and sleeping. I don't really remember much about what I did." You gulped when you saw him raised his eyebrow and sighed.

"See those keys?" He pointed at the keys placed on a bowl. "You used that to enter my condo. They were my spare keys that were still hidden in the same place. You were so drunk that you thought you went back home and even slept beside me. I thought I was sleeping with my pillow the whole morning, so imagine my surprise when that pillow turned out to be you." He shared with a firm voice, as if he even cannot fathom what happened.

However, something's amiss with that story.

"No way! Don't lie to me. I agree that I may have done the trespassing but sleeping beside you? Nahhhhhhh! I doubt that. Remember, you're a light sleeper! There is no way I can sneak up on you and sleep." It was now your time to raise your eyebrow and cross your arms at him. You even sounded smug for someone who owed him big time.

You do not believe that other accusation at all. That is so unbelievable and he was probably messing with you so you will feel guiltier from entering his home without permission.

"My new doctor prescribed effective sleeping pills for insomnia this time. I have been sleeping better and on time ever since. I never felt any movement at all." He smirked. And you know, you lose. Gojo never lied about these things and you also knew that he was struggling to sleep.

So if this was true, then for the whole morning, you were sleeping together!?

Who would even do that with her ex? Oh god you are stupid!

His smug look had made you feel ashamed even more and you know that you're red as a tomato. You feel hot all over and even at the end of your ears.

Let's end this humiliation and be done with this asap!

"I- Thank you for taking care of me. I owe you one. I'm so sorry again and will promise not to drink again and disturb you. Again, I am so sorry." With a deep bow, you sincerely apologize and you just hear him say "look up."

"It's alright. I'm glad your safe. Hangover but safe. " He taunted and you just wanted to slap that smirk out of his face. He was obviously implying how humiliating your shenanigans were. And they were, but he doesn't have the right to judge.

"Well then, if there's nothing more, I'll go back to the hotel and meet my friends." A bow again and you were on your way out.

You blinked when he slapped his hands on his thighs before he stood up and used his head to tell you to go first.

You frowned a bit in confusion but followed regardless.

This whole interaction was so awkward but familiar. He does this a lot whenever you visit his home. He usually drives you back home or if he can't, he will see you out to the entrance.

The elevator did not come sooner, however. It was creating unnecessary drama and tension between you two. As you just stood there, holding your bag for dear life. You hugged it for comfort and distraction on this growing awkwardness by standing near him. He looks fit. You imagine running your hands over him again. It was more tempting now than before.

"Please take care of yourself." You heard him speak first, breaking the ice. Your head whipped so fast in his direction when you heard his voice break a little when he said that. But when you looked at him, he titled his head to the side, confused at your action. Maybe you imagined it.

Embarrassed, you used the ping of the elevator as an excuse, thank god, and immediately rode the lift.

He was standing there on the other side, he was staring at you. It feels like someone was looking into your soul. You cannot help but feel vulnerable and open in front of his eyes. He looks solemn, calm.

If you stop me, I will forgive you and run back to your loving arms.

It was too late before you realized that you opened your mouth to speak and called his name.

"Satoru." His first name rang smoothly on your mouth. It feels comfortable and your heart twinged in pain when you realized that it may be the last time you will ever see him.

As the door closes slowly, you have seen his mouth move from your peripheral and he uttered your name softly, like how you say the name of the ones you treasured the most.

You do not know if you were just seeing things but his eyes look emotional, somewhat sad for a second. Before the elevator door finally closes and your name echoed when he said it.

"Y/N."

There were no tears as the lift started going down. You expected that seeing him one last time, you will feel the pain worse than before. Yet, that did not happen.

Staring at your reflection, your eyes look tired. The way those eyes bore at you speaks volume on how your soul truly feels about this.

You had a moment of acceptance when the doors closed in between you two.

A new chapter of your lives will arise. He will have his own world without you. He will be happy. He will be truly madly deeply in love with someone else.

And now, the hurt and pain became numb and cold.

Just imagining that he would love someone much greater than what he had given you was soul crushing to the point of rude awakening.

During those times, you will be happy for him. But you wish, as selfish as it sounds, that he will not be as happy when you were still together.

🐈

Gojo doesn't need to get up to know it was you who entered his condo without notice. He was a bit concerned that you kept on stumbling around and cussing his furniture out that managed to trip you, even though it was clearly your fault.

When he felt the bed dipped and your arms automatically hugging him from behind, it made him a bit nervous. He has to pretend to be asleep or else…….or else what? He never knew.

You smell like alcohol and you're even slurring your words. He never saw you this drunk before. In fact, you never liked alcohol. You have a terrible experience of living with an alcoholic, so a mere smell of alcohol repulses you. He never expected to see you drunk and barely kept together.

He was about to confront you, when he felt your arms tighten around him and your breath tickling his back when you said, "I'm home." with a sigh of relief before passing out.

Gojo had never felt more at peace hearing those words coming from your mouth.

🐈

When he woke up, he was just staring at you. He never had any proper sleep since the break up but knowing you were beside him, he was able to sleep well.

Maybe something inside him had been comforted when you said you were home. It actually warms his heart that you felt at home beside him.

He sat up and, a twang of pain rushed inside his chest. He shakes his hair in annoyance using his right hand.

He doesn't have the right to be sad about it when he was the one who broke it up with you.

Gojo never really knew why he did it in the first place. Sure, his family never approved of you but he never really cared about their opinion. He actually wishes for his old folks to die soon so he doesn't have to pretend that he cares about their words. He grew up without them being around.

Or maybe it was because he felt insecure that someone as kind and loving as you chose him. You were so different to the people he usually surrounds himself around but you were warm and he felt safe around you.

With a frustrated groan, Gojo stood up and was about to walk towards the door when he thought of an idea.

He slowly walked towards where you were asleep, bent down and whispered, "Welcome home." before kissing your forehead.

For the first time, after a week of him trying to justify that he made the right choice, making Nanami, his friend, worry that he was working too much, he felt at peace and happy.

Just for a moment, he wanted to pretend that he did not let you go for something so stupid and you were actually home with him.

[xoxomoonlightxoxo]

P&C | Ch. 1: The Night Before I Met You

➪ Playlist (Spotify) l Series Masterlist

"Mira? Miraya? Can you hear me?" my mom's soft cries call out from the phone.

"Hi mom ... m... mom it's a video call, you have to turn the camera towards you," I quickly explain, glancing at my mom's ear that stares back at me through the screen. It only takes her three tries and a hate speech against our electronic world until we are finally met face to face.

"Is it working now? Can you see me?"

I nod, giving her a reassuring smile.

"Miraya, how are you? Why don't you ever call us? I can't sleep at night thinking about how you're all alone. Your dad is getting mad at me, he thinks my worrisome would somehow bother you. Says you're too busy." her words, although sprinkled with annoyance are coated with genuine concern that fills the room.

Moving out of my parent's home is one thing, but moving to another country ... alone ... is something completely different. I used to say the world is my oyster all the time, but now that I've tasted that stupid oyster, I feel ashamed of my poor judgment. I would rather walk across a field of legos barefoot than go through another immigration process on my own.

See, a year ago, I would have only dreamed of living in Korea. Learning about the culture and exploring their diverse cuisine. It was all fun and games until hope turned into manifestation, which then transformed into a deep-rooted determination. I've spent all three years of high school, working my ass off, perfecting my GPA to appeal to the board of education. I guess it all paid off in the end, since fast forward to a year later, and I am now living in my one-room dorm at one of the most prestigious universities in Korea.

"I'm sorry Mom, I truly am. I keep meaning to, but honestly, there's just not enough time in the day." I try to convince both of us.

To be honest, it has been about 2 months since I arrived, but with each passing day, I feel more and more lost. This whole time I've been consumed with academics, relying on nothing but my humongous brain to pull through with this mission. But, now I realise that in terms of just living, functioning as one singularity in the real world, I am hopeless. An absolute noob of a human being. I've grown too comfortable living under my parent's wings. Always enclosed in a bubble of security and protection, which I'm eternally grateful for if it wasn't for the fact that I'd become a complete menace to my older self.

Nonetheless, I'm here, somehow managed to overcome the post-immigration depression, even though the state of my dorm would like to argue otherwise. This is partially why I tend not to call home as often as I wish to or should. I never want my parents to see the behind-the-scenes of my "success", they at least deserve to live in peace knowing that their daughter who is 8600 km away is managing everything just fine.

"Miraya, please honey, don't make me call you out of worry. I want us to talk daily just because. I miss you so much, it feels like half of my heart left with you." my mom's voice breaks with each word, as her eyes fill with tears. 

"Sorry Mommy, I promise I will call every day from now on. I miss you guys as well, it's insane to think that I won't be able to see you guys for Thanksgiving." I try to maintain my composure by changing the topic before nibbling on my lips to calm the nerves. 

I'm the oldest daughter out of three kids but my parents have always treated me like their little princess. This means that without fail, I have always taken that to my advantage. And, no you can't talk to customer service about your complaints regarding moi because this main character energy has been deep-rooted in me since my diaper days. So, please, respectfully, keep it to yourself.

Anywho, back to the point. Although my two brothers still live at home, my departure has left a big mark on our family dynamic. My mom has been worried sick for the past 2 months while the men of the family try to calm down her nerves. My brothers are beginning to feel a bit offended as they feel like my mom is neglecting their presence but in reality, she just isn't used to this distance, especially away from her blood. My dad is no better, he may look all tough and composed but for the first week following my departure, he cried himself to sleep while holding on to my childhood plushie.

"Okay, please keep that promise, honey. Everyone is sending you so much love, please take care of yourself. Are you ready for the first day?"

"I mean, as ready as I can get, I guess. I walked around campus today to get an idea of where everything is. The only problem is that I have about 10 minutes to get to my physics class on the other side of the main quad. But, aside from that it's manageable." I nod with reassurance, giving my mom a thumbs up. 

"You're a smart cookie, dear. Everything will be just fine. You know I pray for you every day, ask God to protect my baby."

"Thank you, Mommy, well I'm going to have to go now. The dining hall closes in an hour. There's always such a big lineup." I say, looking around for my portable charger. 

"Of course, my love. We miss you, please stay safe!" my mom waves me goodbye with a soft smile as the wrinkles around her eyes become more prominent with each call. 

And, as the sunset paints the sky in warm, beautiful tones, I quickly grab my keys, ID, and wallet before heading out the door after checking that everything has been unplugged. Speedwalking down the hall, I managed to make it into the elevator before the door closed, that is until I tripped over my flip-flops and stumbled upon something. Perhaps, a body.

I dared not to lift my head, as one hand held onto the wall while the other rested on someone's chest. I could feel my face getting redder but the longer I stayed like this the more it appeared as less of an accident.

"I'm so sorry, are you okay? I was trying to make it to the elevator but my flip-flops had other plans." I quickly say, straightening up as my hand finally detaches from them.

Locking eyes with the poor fellow I was shocked by how composed he was, letting out a slight chuckle as his gaze admired my flushed cheeks. 

"No worries, are you okay? Why are we in a rush?" he asks with a boxy smile.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, just embarrassed. I was rushing to the dining hall, there's always such a big lineup." I explain, still trying to maintain minimum eye contact as the blood from my face steadily settles down.

"Aah, I see. Well, don't be embarrassed, it happens to the best of us. Anywho, this is my stop, I guess I'll see you around?" he waves me a quick goodbye before the elevator doors close.

"Yeah, b .. bye," words fumble out of my mouth before I was left reflecting on my actions surrounded by the four walls. Looking up, I was, unfortunately, able to make out the state the guy saw me in. 

Hair? Still left in two messy space buns, after I complained of it being in my face the whole time I was unpacking.

My shirt, you might ask? Well, it could only be the most humiliating piece of fabric I could find at my grown age, aka my Barbie merch. This whole time I was worried about my red face, while my shirt was covered in Raquelle printouts. Great.

--

I was right, the line at the dining hall was long, even more so than usual. But, at least, I was able to find my friend, Jiah. She was the first person I met on campus, and even though we hung out every day since my arrival, we only realized that we were neighbours about a week ago. Women in STEM, what can I say?

"Miraya!" she shouts across the hall, waving her hands as we lock eyes. I squeeze through a literal sea of hungry students and finally make it towards her.

"Jiah, you have no idea how happy I am to finally see you," I say, breathless from all that walking (it was a maximum of 10 steps).

"Finally? What do you mean finally? We saw each other in the morning," the poor girl responds with actual concern on her face. Was I giving hints of an early stage of dementia? 

"Yes, but so much has happened. First of all, look at me. I look like I just came out of hibernation." I sigh, realising she wouldn't understand my frustration as she is also repping the Barbie merch.

"What do you mean? You look cute," she reassures me with a small chuckle.

I can't help but laugh because we both look ridiculous, but it's less embarrassing when a 6-foot-blonde guy with a boxy smile isn't involved in the scenario. So, we quickly grab the food and enjoy the little debrief about our first day of classes.

"You know, I compared my schedule with my boyfriend yesterday and we only have 3 classes together." Jiah sighed, pouting her lips.

"Well, you know, 3 classes versus the rest of your life. I feel like you guys will manage just fine." I chuckle, as she smiles back at me.

"You're right, it's silly. I just miss him. He has been away this whole summer, and no one warned me about how tough long distance is."

"Where was he again?" I ask.

"Well, he first went on a grad trip with his guy friends and then back home to visit his grandparents. I just wished he was able to come back sooner. I really miss him." Jiah looks down at her plate, swirling the leftovers with her fork.

"Hey, Jiah, it's just one more night. Do you want to sleep in my dorm for today? We can have a relaxing pampering night, hm?" I say, reaching my hand toward hers as she glances back up with a smile.

--

"What do you think of this? Or is this better?" I ask, forcing Jiah to judge the fashion show I have created out of my possible outfit options for tomorrow.

"Oh, number 2. One hundred percent. Are you kidding me? You look absolutely drop-dead gorgeous in knee-high boots." she replies with a satisfied look, fully trusting her judgement.

The weather in Seoul is getting chillier so the knee-highs fit the theme, but are they not a bit too much? But also, I did not just go through all of those years to be just much. So, you best believe I will be making an appearance in those bad boys.

"You're right, okay well then I'm all ready. Just have to actually wake up on time." I say, laying on the sofa before looking at the organized row of necessities Jiah and I prepped for the following morning. The rest of the night was spent talking and making dinner before we both fell asleep to the sound of rain. 

Next

[theoceanoasis]

Hot Rod makes up an excuse to bail on his friends because he’s often sidelined and he feels like he's the third wheel of the friendship group.

(Bee & Windblade & Arcee & Grimlock)

Hot Rod feels lonely and goes for a drive. Soundwave invites Hot Rod over to hang out with him and Shadow Striker. They decide to go out to the club. Hot Rod is having a fun time with Soundwave and Shadow Striker; until they run into Hot Rod's friends.

Hot Rod’s friends get upset/mad at Hot Rod because they can’t understand why Hot Rod lied to them and prefers the company of Soundwave and Shadow Striker over them.

Thanks :)

I don’t mind if this goes on AO3

"Hot Rod? We're planning on hanging out today, do you want to join?"

He thought about it for a moment. He didn't have anything planned today but he also didn't want to go.

"No sorry I'm busy."

He lied.

"Are you sure? We never see you anymore."

"You saw me two weeks ago."

"We used to see you all the time. You should come with us. We can find you a date if that's what you're worried about."

Feeling embarrassed he refused again feeling slightly called out. As much as he enjoyed hanging out with his friends. He always felt like the third wheel.

"Maybe some other time."

"Are you absolutely sure you can't come? What are you doing anyway?"

"I'm working. There's a lot of neutrals arriving and paperwork that needs sorting."

His friends sighed in annoyance.

"Always working, you're turning into Prowl."

"We should start calling you that."

Feeling uncomfortable he wanted this conversation to end.

"I'm hanging up now. I have work that needs to be done."

"You do that Prowl. We'll have a fun time without you."

"Okay bye."

He hung up relaxing into his couch with a sigh. He loved his friends, but he didn't feel like being ignored all night or expected to find a date, if he didn't want things to be awkward.

He tried watching one of his favorite shows but he wasn't in the mood. After talking to his friends he was reminded of how lonely he was. It seemed like everyone was getting together and he was falling behind.

Looking around his apartment he stood up wanting to leave. It no longer felt welcoming. It was too big and too quiet without anyone to fill the space.

He was so lonely and he wished he could find someone, but no one ever seemed interested in him. They found him too loud, too annoying and just too much in general. Only using him for a quick frag and then leaving him right after. Not even bothering to stay and cuddle which destroyed him every time and made him feel like he was nothing more than shareware.

Going for a drive. He didn't have a destination in mind as he let his mind wander taking him wherever.

He recieved a message from Soundwave asking if he wanted to hangout. He thought about it for a moment. Debating what to say. He didn't want to be alone right now and agreed to meet up with him.

When he got to Soundwave's apartment. He felt nervous when he realized Shadow Striker was also there. They hadn't talked much by that point and he was worried about being a third wheel again. Before he could back out Soundwave pulled him inside.

Feeling uncomfortable he glanced at Shadow Striker, while sitting on the couch. Soundwave sat next to him and wrapped an arm around him. He looked at him in surprise and the Decepticon shrugged.

At first it was awkward but as time passed. He found himself having fun. They had a lot more in common then he realized and they didn't make him feel left out.

He slowly relaxed into Soundwave's arms. The two cuddling together. He didn't even realize how close they were. Until Shadow Striker smirked. Giving them a pointed look.

He blushed feeling embarrassed and went to move away. When Soundwave pulled him closer. His spark speed up and his entire face felt like it was on fire. Soundwave absentmindedly stroked his back and he barely suppressed a moan.

Cuddling against him felt so good and he didn't even realize how touch starved he was until now. They continued hanging out. Talking about movies they've watched and music they've listened to. Soundwave would occasionally play whatever song they were talking about.

They were having so much fun. He didn't even think to say no when they invited him to the club. Forgetting why that might be a bad idea.

The three of them were having a fun time at the club. Shadow Striker went to flirt at the bar. She left them with a wink telling them not to get too frisky. He blushed and Soundwave ignored her.

He pulled him closer his large hands wrapped around his waist as they danced. The two of them were so close and he admired the way the clubs lights bounced off Soundwave's plating. All around them people were dancing but he barely noticed. All his attention was on Soundwave who somehow pulled him closer. He leaned down and he felt his spark skip a beat. They were about to kiss when he was startled by his friends calling his name.

He turned around confused when he suddenly remembered his lie from earlier. He cringed, planning on explaining himself. When they gave him a hurt look. Realizing he lied to them and wanting to know why.

They began grilling him. Wanting to know why he didn't want to hang out with them and why he lied. He didn't even get the chance to explain himself.

They kept asking him questions about why he was hanging out with Soundwave and Shadow Striker instead of his friends. He began feeling overwhelmed and wanted to leave.

His friends were making him feel like he was a horrible person and bad friend because he chose to hang out with someone else. They refused to listen to him or even let him speak.

He was about to run away. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed when Soundwave and Shadow Striker both stepped in. Telling them it wasn't their business and they were the ones always making him feel left out.

Soundwave noticing him having a panic attack. Took him out of the club where he started to cry, feeling overwhelmed and guilty for lying to his friends.

He should have gone with them and just sucked it up. Now he felt like a horrible friend. Who betrayed their trust. Soundwave pulled him into a hug reassuring him that he wasn't a bad friend and that he deserved to be happy and hang out with people who made him feel special.

Feeling exhausted he wanted to go home. Soundwave walked him home and when he got there, he collapsed into bed falling asleep immediately.

Soundwave tucked him in and put some energon by his beside table. Along with some medicine for the headache he'd have the next day.

He went to leave when he grabbed him. Soundwave gave him a confused look realizing he was still asleep. He tried to remove his hand when he pulled him into bed. Before Soundwave could react he cuddled against him with a sigh. His arms and legs wrapped around him, leaving Soundwave trapped.

Accepting his fate. The Decepticon pulled him closer and the two fell asleep cuddled together.

[ladylooch]

17 - Lio & Lucie

A/N: Since a few of us miss these babes... here is a lil angst for our sweet babes.

17. 

The number rings in Lucie’s head as she washes out her coffee cup in the kitchen sink. Connor and Lio are both asleep still, but she’s been wide awake since 6:00am, thinking the same thing: 17. The number of women Connor has slept with.

She wishes she didn’t ask. 

She also realizes she should have asked that earlier. Before they ever did anything to begin with, but instead it came up in a game of Buzzed in which the prompt was drink if you’ve had more than 10 partners. Lucie’s throat closed up when she saw her boyfriend tip his beer bottle back. Lio did too, but that was significantly less surprising. Connor had looked over at Lucie, chuckling.

“What is your number?” She asks, trying to act like she is chill about this.

“17, not including you. Rookie year was… interesting.” He is a bit sheepish, rubbing his fingers along her arm. Lucie had widened her eyes and laughed it off. Connor breathed a little easier seeing her do so.

But now, Lucie is nauseous, thinking of Con with so many different women. She can count her partners on three fingers, including him.

Swishing footsteps sound behind her, she glances over her shoulder, seeing Lio coming out shirtless. He scratches at his bare chest, squinting against the light coming in.

“How long you been up?” He murmurs, beginning to prepare the espresso machine. 

“Awhile.”

“Yeah, I know. You woke me up.”

“Sorry.” I shrug, setting my cup next to the machine for him to make me another one.

“I swear Connor could sleep through a concert in your room.” He shakes his head. Lucie quietly leans with her butt against the counter, lost in her thoughts again. Lio hip checks her gently. “Stop thinking about it.” Lucie looks at her cousin. “I know you, LuLu.”

“Did you know that?”

“Yeah, I thought you did too. But then I saw your face last night and it was clear you didn’t.”

“I guess I should have asked.”

“Would it have changed anything?”

“I mean, no. But…” Lucie shakes her head. For once in her life, she doesn’t want to talk to Lio about something. This realization makes her retreat within even more. She hugs herself, tugging at the ends of her sweatshirt to enclose her hands in the sleeves.

“Con follows you around like a lovesick puppy. I wouldn’t worry about anyone before you. He never talks about anything but you either. It’s actually super annoying. Kid needs a hobby.” 

Although Lio’s words help, it doesn’t stop Lucie’s racing thoughts. Nothing does. Not Connor’s sweet, sexy kiss when he wakes up. Not brunch with him and Lio or when they fall asleep cuddling together on the couch for an afternoon snooze. The thoughts follow her into the evening when she is getting ready to go to bed with Connor. He watches Lucie brush her teeth next to him in the bathroom.

“Lu, are you okay?” He asks as he puts his toothbrush back in place. She nods continuing to brush her teeth while avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t believe her. Connor waits for her to be done before he speaks again. “I can make it better?” He reaches for her hips, bringing her into his body.

“I don’t want to.” She pulls a little harshly away from his grasp. A flash of hurt contorts Connor’s face. Lucie grabs her moisturizer out of the drawer then meticulously applies it to her skin. 

“Did I do something?” He asks.

17 things, Lucie thinks to herself, but gives him no response.

“I would rather you tell me than us do this.” He says, annoyance filling his tone. Lucie bites her bottom lip. She feels so small and immature, but she can’t change how much last night effected her. The silence in the bathroom is heavy. It fills Lucie’s lungs until breathing becomes laborious. She tediously closes the lid on her moisturizer, then lowers it back into it’s home. 

“I’m having a hard time with how many people you have had sex with.” She stares down at the counter while she talks. “I know you had a whole life before me and… I have no right to be upset, but I am.”

“Baby, I’m sorry you’re hurt. But I also can’t change anything about my past.”

“No, I know that.” She nods. She reaches out for his hand, lacing their fingers together. She raises her eyes to his in the mirror. Connor is sad; Lucie can see it in his eyes. “You have so much more experience than me. You must think what we do is so boring and.. vanilla.”

“Luc.” Connor snorts incredulously. “I don’t think that at all. I also don’t need to do anything crazy with you. I love being with you. And everything we do that is new for you is exciting. Because I’m the one who is doing it with you. I feel so connected to you afterwards. Like, ‘wow she really trusts me’. That’s sexier than anything I did rookie year.”

Lucie steps forward, digging herself into his chest. Connor holds her there, arms crossing over each other to keep her tight to him. His mouth presses into her hair. He inhales her sweet scent, resisting the urge to grab her ass. He wants to throw her over his shoulder and worship her body until the only thing she feels is pleasure. Because of him.

“I love you.” Connor tells her instead. He yearns for her to understand how his heart beats in his chest only for her.

“I love you too.” Lucie responds.

“Forever.” He reminds her. Lucie nods, closing her eyes. She focuses in on his heartbeat and warm skin.

Lucie wishes his words were enough to erase the ache in her body. But it’s not. It’s also not his fault, or hers. 

Some things just take a little longer to work through.

[snow-system-wol]

Part I of the end of 5.3 (stories before Faded Memories)

Ao3

(mild body horror / injury a la one Exarch)

S'ria never wanted to be special, not really. But he'd long since accepted that he'd become someone of note. Hells, he'd been someone of note back when he'd merely killed a few gods. Now he was something else entirely. S'ria was not even wholly sure that he was just a mortal man anymore. He'd never asked for that, though. 

So it was not jealousy or resentment that caused him to watch the activities of the newly minted “Warriors of Light” with ever-narrowing eyes. It was nothing like being upset that he was not the only one with the Echo either – he held little fondness for that “gift” at times. No, it was a number of things, really. 

Firstly, the nature of his role in all this, being firmly placed on a pedestal. Only, before it'd only really ever been kids who say they want to be like him and beg S'ria to explain how. That wasn't difficult, even if he considered himself somewhat mediocre with children compared to Menphina. As eager as they are, telling them to train hard and grow up strong – not that they need to be an adult, careful phrasing to avoid patronizing them, but that they'll need to be physically grown up to be their strongest. That was always enough to keep the dream intact while keeping them safe.

These were not children, though, and no simple excuses would get far. Since they weren't children, S'ria didn't need to sugarcoat it, but he just…couldn't bring himself to say what he was thinking.

It positively radiated some form of hypocrisy and superiority, should he do anything as blunt as insisting that they were not strong enough to partake in the trials he himself had undergone – but neither did he want these well-meaning people to die needlessly. Was it arrogant to say such a thing if it was, unfortunately, true?

(There was also the fact that doing anything to turn the people against S'ria felt like it would drive them further into Elidibus’s arms.)

That was not the only cause for concern or annoyance on S'ria's part, unfortunately. It was really everything else about the situation too, watching the Exarch try to diplomatically plead for anyone to stay, just long enough to figure out a long-term solution to keep the Crystarium functioning. It needed guards, medics, craftspeople, and more, or all of that carefully built city planning would collapse.

It bothered S'ria how short-sighted many of them were in their excitement.

S'ria was one to talk, sure, with how he'd long eschewed any attempt at normal civilian life in favor of a roaming hero's life – but that hadn't really been his choice, getting in too deep before he knew it. He just knew he was needed more elsewhere than any simple job. Arrogant as he worried that thought may be, S'ria knew it was fully accurate, just as he knew no one would ever leave him alone if he decided to try to quit. 

But these people, they were needed here, and it was so odd to hear them excitedly ramble about the good they could do elsewhere – proclaiming a willingness to look for any helpful scrap of a task, when the idea of more concretely staying to guard the city suddenly seemed too banal.

S'ria was not unkind to their faces, though. What would that accomplish?

S'ria did not realize for quite some time the full reasoning behind the majority of his resentment and frustration. It was about G'raha, really, not about himself. Of course, S'ria was free to have his own reaction to people trying to follow his path, but mostly S'ria was just angry because G'raha wasn't.

The Exarch was doing his best to gently keep essential roles filled, but he still wished those who insisted on leaving well and even encouraged S'ria to do the same. S'ria could not fathom looking the Exarch in the eyes as he tells you to please wait, that you are needed here for now, and then bluntly refusing. How could they refuse him? 

There was no such thing as a debt to one who gives aid freely with no desire for compensation, and certainly G'raha would not consider his people beholden to anything, but S'ria couldn't quite agree with that. Not when The Exarch had fully intended for his attempt at saving multiple worlds to be fatal.

For the man who spent most of his life building and governing a safe haven against the apocalypse, and gave nearly his all to avert the end… he was owed more than this.

He gave them a home and made the world safe for them. The least they could do is make sure that home remains whole and healthy, for at least longer than a moon or two after the crisis had been averted?

Even if G'raha hadn't wanted it, S'ria had thought the people of the Crystarium venerated The Exarch far more than such a response would suggest. 

The children were quite all right, harmless and eager and not yet ready to leave home, but if one more adult came up to ask him for tips on how to leave on their journey, S'ria was going to quite bluntly tell them to stay put.

 ----------

Of course S'ria noticed. It wasn't as though The Exarch could really hide what was happening. His eyes locked onto the Exarch's arm the moment Elidibus left, and it was awful. He had only been away for, what, a few suns since he'd last since seen the Exarch? How could things have progressed so quickly?

What was he even doing to himself during their “research”, really?

S'ria was so used to seeing the Exarch's crystalized arm, whole and clean and smooth, that he often forgot that it had once been flesh. The other side, though… some flesh still remained, so it was impossible to forget.

Patches of skin were still visible, especially on his hand and fingers, the transition between the two a raw edge on some parts and an almost necrosis-line creep on others. It had to hurt. S'ria couldn't imagine he was even able to so much as move his fingers without the fresh crystal shifting in painful ways, cutting into his fingers if he curled his hand closed.

G'raha immediately turned and tucked his arm behind his back, as if such a thing would make S'ria forget what he saw. A part of S'ria wanted to grab the Exarch and turn him – while an opposing part of S'ria was afraid to touch him at all. Instead he met the Exarch's eyes with a look that fell in-between glaring and raw concern. The Exarch relented and drew his arm back into view.

It, of course, looked no different than what S'ria had seen a moment prior. He opened his mouth and was completely at a loss for what to say about it.

The Exarch somewhat awkwardly cleared his throat, glancing at his arm as if surprised to see how it looked. “Oh, this… This is my own doing – the consequence of my recent exertions.” A strange look fell over his face, oddly exhausted. “It is the tower's way of…compensating me for the demands I have placed on it.”

“Compensating.” S'ria repeated it in a dull echo. “Is it …punishing you, for your research?”

The Exarch quickly shook his head. “Nothing so sentient, really. ‘Tis a simple trade – its power to aid you all in exchange for me giving more of my body.”

It was not the best way it could've been phrased, not with S'ria. A body wasn't just some currency to barter with. He pushed back his initial response in favor of a more gently asked question. 

“... Does it really not bother you?”

The Exarch tilted his head as if confused. “What an odd thing to ask… What bothers me is the fact that your friends are rapidly destabilizing and yet I am being forced to take a break at present. I intend to use everything at my disposal to help undo my summonings, and this is included.”

He looked far more content with his current state of affairs than he had any right to – not when S'ria had more to say about it. 

Or, at least, he thought he did, but when he went to speak, the urge to tell G'raha to stop was halted by a reminder of the very real impending death of the other Scions’ physical bodies. He remembered touching Alphinaud's physical form, cold and still and nearly bereft of breath nor heartbeat. He gritted his teeth and tried to come up with something else to say, a different protest. 

“G'raha, that's –”.

The sound of feet pounding their way up the stairs beneath them made S'ria cut off abruptly. A moment later, a rather winded Ryne appeared and frantically told them of Thancred's collapse. The Exarch locked eyes with S'ria, a pleading expression that begged S'ria not to argue with him, and all S'ria could do was sigh and hurry down the stairs after Ryne.

[sins-of-the-sea]

My Brother’s Keeper

“Now, then....

“I seldom ever get the golden prize of a pair of twins as souls to enslave. Not even fraternal twins. Typically what would happen is that one half of a pair come to me with malicious intent towards their sibling. Not always murder, mind. Other Sins exist besides Sloth, you know. Envy being the most frequent. Wrath… Pride… Greed… even Lust. They get their fun, they get what they want, and then they serve me as part of their pact. But as usual with my past thralls, their time on Earth seldom lasts longer than some few decades. Something will always happen for them to completely fail me, and I will end their time on Earth. Be it despair or uselessness.

“Phoebus is a rarity. A soul that had yet to bloom because it was kept in a box known as cowardice and compliance. Typically in any other soul, this box would cause the soul to rot and fester into nothingness. But the opposite effect occurred within Phoebus. Seldom have I met a soul as strong as his that is also so willing to kowtow to any stronger power. Yes. His soul is strong. Powerful. It is why I gave him the Breath of Life. You do not know this, but given his smile on that day of Guy’s plunge into the Rhône… there is a malice that sleeps. Venom waiting to strike. It hides. It cowers. But force him into a corner–or in this case, an edge– and not much will have to be done for death to come his way. All because of bitterness that his actual efforts have gone to waste. And retaliation in the form of redirected blame.

“Blame to an absent father. Blame to a deadbeat stepfather. Blame to a mother who failed him. Blame to a sister who misunderstood him. Blame to a commune that ostracized him. Blame to the books and teachers who lost him. Blame to an expedition that nearly drowned him. Blaine to a battle that claimed him. Blame to a brother who shamed him.

“Blame. Blame. Blame. Blame. Blame. Never to take responsibility or accountability of his actions–or lack thereof. By giving him the Breath of Life, all he would do is simply breathe in order for many great things to happen–breath in the form of words. No effort needed. Not even focus. Consider the flowers that wilted in his anguish. The times he made his brother’s arm or other body parts rot out of simple annoyance. There is a sadism that Phoebus doesn’t tap into enough, pleasure out of the pain of others who simply will not leave him alone. To leave him alone and rest. As he feels he deserves.

“So imagine my disappointment that the Sin of Sloth is this useless child in the Sin of Lust. He is not even my most lustful thrall, at all. Nothing like Amnon or those serial killers you ‘true crime’ fangirls drool over whenever you tune into your shows. You would think this ‘Sin of Lust’ would be gallivanting about sticking his body parts into anything that moves, but even he can’t fulfill that without his Crew’s intervention. A wannabe Casanova who can only attract those who wish to fulfill their twenty-minutes of euphoria before leaving him be. He is only Lust–the sin of wanton pursuit for pleasure and the fulfillment of carnal desire–because of the lengths he’ll go even at the expense of himself to feel anything. Even pain. If he would do away with this silly notion of ‘consent’ and ‘legality’, and all that other scrupulous nonsense, then he would be a proper Sin of Lust. Alas. He won’t even be that.

“But he is dearly loved by his Crew, for whatever reason. Likely because he fills in a void like an act of male-female intercourse. I sense no other reason he’d be of any use but to spark a fire that spurns action. He is a valuable asset in gathering souls in a raid and gathering information and intel for them, and a formidable fighter. But not much more. I have swallowed many souls of fighters throughout the centuries, and he is nothing special. If he was any other thrall I’d get before I met Phoebus, he wouldn’t last as long as he does now. I’d give him perhaps a couple years before his loneliness and lack of fulfillment of his perpetual rut would make him become one with the Sea.

“....Why did you sell your soul for Phoebus, Guy Duchamp? I have speculated. Assumed. Even imposed an answer into your brother in an attempt to break him. But none of that was enough... nor was what I had looked for. Even when I dragged you beneath the waves and ran your soul through the grinder…. I still did not get an actual answer.

“I do not understand humans. Though I could care less about what any other spirit--be they angels, djinn, anito or fae--would say.”

[clandestienly]

Do it for Her

Summary: Sylus takes advantage of Claire's weakness to "teach her how to kiss" (read: Sylus takes advantage of Claire's weakness to get infinite kisses and perhaps some make out sessions.)

WC: 1094 Tags: crackfic, fluff, poly relationship (with friend's OC, Fleur) Note: while makeout is written in the summary it's just a brief mention and nothing graphic was written

⋆˙⟡ Masterlist ✧˖°.

If Claire could turn back time and undo one mistake, she would do whatever it takes to undo the mistake of meeting Sylus. Sitting on his lap facing his god-awful smirk, Claire wishes for the sky to split open and bring an end towards al living beings on Earth so she could be freed from her current predicament.

“Come on now, sweetie.”

God fucking damn it.

Technically, it’s all Claire’s fault for agreeing to everything and anything related to Fleur. Food preferences? Memorized. Cuddle time? Anytime she likes. Kisses? Done wherever and whenever she wants to be kissed. 

Sylus, being the ever observant and not-so-kindly exploitative of this weakness of hers, decided to do something about it. For his own good, of course.

“I’ll teach you how to kiss.” He said one night, unprovoked.

Claire stared at him dumbfoundedly, the spoon on her hand dramatically falling off her grip back to the plate, causing a comical sound to fill the silence. “No, thanks.”

Already expecting her to reject any and every of his advances, the edges of his lips twitched. No matter, he thought. Time to bring Fleur into the conversation.

“Shame. Fleur is quite picky with kissing techniques.” He mused, faking a disappointed sigh when he saw how Claire’s eyes perked up at the singular mention of Fleur. The slight changes in her movement amused him, despite her attempts to look calm it’s obvious she’s getting more distraught.

“Are you saying I’m a bad kisser?”

“I’m saying a few short pecks on her lips are nowhere near enough to satisfy her.” He stood up, slowly walking towards where Claire is seated to lift her chin and make her face him directly. 

“So, interested?”

And thus, Claire is now on his lap wishing for doomsday to ring its head around the corner and burn the world down to ashes. After what felt like hours of kissing him, Sylus has yet shown a sliver of satisfaction on his face. 

“As I said before, short pecks are not enough to satisfy Fleur, sweetie. You can do better than that.”

With a small grumble, Claire grumpily pushes his head to the side while anger and frustration bubbles in her chest. 

“You kept on saying ‘you could do better than that,’ ‘that’s too short,’ ‘not enough.’ But you never gave me specific pointers to improve.” She clicks her tongue in annoyance. “Maybe you don’t even know what you're saying.”

Sylus chuckles at the sound of her grumbling, her frustration only serves to make Claire look more like a hamster on his lap. Fleur was right, she does indeed look like one from this angle. 

“You never asked for one.” He retorts back, his arms snaking to circle her waist languidly. “But now that you mention it, I can probably give you an example. If you can handle it, that is.”

Sylus raises an eyebrow, taunting her subtly into this little game of his. Unfortunately for Claire, her frustration pushed her right into his palms, where he wanted her to be. 

Claire rolls her eyes and hits his shoulder from irritation. “You’re underestimating me, as usual. Just do it already.”

“You’re the one underestimating me here, sweetie. But sure, as you wish.”

Sylus moves his hand to the back of her head, before slowly leaning forward to meet her lips with his. Right off the bat, Claire understood immediately that she had indeed underestimated him. Unlike her soft and shy pecks, Sylus’ kisses are all consuming and passionate. A mere few seconds is enough to make Claire overwhelmed, resulting in her hands finding support on his shoulders and her lack of breath.

Noticing this, Sylus pulls away slightly, just enough to coax Claire to open her eyes once more.

“You'll get dizzy if you keep holding your breath like that.” He whispers, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her cheek. “Just breathe normally through your nose.”

At the sight of her little nod, he leans in to close the gap between them once more. Claire lets out a surprised whine at the sudden continuation, but quickly adapts into Sylus’ instructions albeit clumsily. Unlike the first attempt, Claire now follows along the movement of his lips and follows every signal she caught.

Sylus smiles and chuckles into the kiss, amused at how pliant and obedient Claire seems to be at the moment; a stark contrast to her usual behavior around him. Unlike her usual grumpy and dismissive attitude towards him, this side of hers felt like a breath of fresh air. Is this why Fleur likes playing around with her so much? He should probably ask her about it next time.

“That's it. You did great, dear.” He praises after breaking the kiss. Sylus’ thumb brushes over her lower lip, tentatively playing with it before her eyes meet hers once more. “Do you think you can do it now?” 

Snapping out of her daze, she quickly wipes her own lips with the back of her hand. “I don't know. Maybe I should just give up after all. I could never do that.”

Claire attempts to get up and escape, but Sylus’ arms kept her snug in place still on his lap. Claire shot her head back to face him, silently asking “What gives?” through her furrowed expression.

“Are you really going to give up?” Sylus asks, not even hiding his shit-eating grin anymore. “I’m sure Fleur would be disappointed that her dear girlfriend gave up learning how to kiss better after just a few attempts.” 

This is an utterly damned fatal mistake.

———

“Claire?” Fleur asks sleepily, her eyes barely open even after asking for a wake-up kiss from Claire.

“Hm?” She hums in return, giving her half of her attention while picking an outfit for Fleur to change into. 

“How come you're good at kissing all of a sudden?” 

Claire chokes at the sudden question, and Mephisto’s amused gawkings can be heard from across the room. Damn mechanical crow, she swears she's going to douse him in water for laughing at her embarrassment.

Claire slowly turns to face Fleur. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You weren't this good at kissing the last time I asked for a kiss.” Fleur opens her eyes wide in curiosity. Something she doesn't do often. And it lowkey terrifies her.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Claire scoffs before rushing out of the room, forgetting the fact that Fleur’s outfit is still in her arms. 

Fleur blinks, now certain that something definitely happened. But oh well, someone will probably tell her about it all soon. 

[proxylynn]

MY WISH WAS ALWAYS YOURS (part #7 Prologue bonus chapter)

{Random posting is random. Long after finishing this story, I still think about all the lore I made and so, I couldn't help but work on a bonus chapter. If there are mistakes, that's because writing the OG main story broke my keyboard. Writing is so much harder when your "e" and "t" keys don't work. Still, I did go over everything, every chapter, and cleaned it up. Added new bits. Fixed and clarified details. I'm way happier with it now. I know this chapter isn't super long, but I think it's a nice length for what it is. Thank you all for making it this far with my silly writing. I hope this was a good read. I may make chapters as it's open to any idea that feels right to me. Have a pleasant day/night and I'll see all you precious lovelies next time. ^_^}

~~~~~~

Once upon a time; years ago in a kingdom far far away, things were quite different than they are now. For one, the royal family didn't have ogres in it's bloodline, but that's a story that doesn't need to be told more. No, this tale takes place back when the kingdom was in darker times and the power-hungry stopped at nothing to get what they wanted no matter the cost or the lives destroyed to achieve their ultimate goal.

One such soul makes their way to a place they didn't think they had to venture to but have no other choice. Away from the main cities and at the end of the Pinocchio River, sits a bleak and unwelcoming ramshackle tavern on the edge of a sinister forest not fit for the faint of heart. There are some places in Far Far Away that law-abiding folk should steer well clear of...and the Poison Apple pub is one of them.

You'll find no decent fairy-tale character here, if they can help it that is, only black-hearted rogues and scoundrels. If you're looking for a fight, a mug of ale in bad company, or even a villain for hire, the Poison Apple is the place to go for such troubling things.

A group on horseback approaches The Poison Apple. The fancy noble-looking man leading the group halts his steed and grimaces, clearly not pleased with being here.

“Are you certain this place has what I'm looking for, Thelonious?”

The masked torturer/executioner gives his lord a thumbs up and the noble sighs with a roll of his eyes.

“I suppose if it has your approval, then that's something. You've never steered me wrong before.”

He snaps his finger and is lifted off his horse by Thelonious, the rest of the guards dismount in turn as the rather short noble struts up to the tavern. Seems the horse is affixed with a large set of gauntlets and a pair of leg extenders that reach down to the stirrups which makes him look tall on the saddle. So the four-foot-tall noble (four and a half feet in heels) knocks on the door and a large single eye peeks out of a small hatch.

“What do you want?”

A gruff Cyclops asks. The small noble clears his throat.

“I am Lord Farquaad. Ruler of the kingdom of Duloc. I seek entry into your...ugh...fine establishment.”

The little lord grits his teeth to remain polite.

“Under what grounds? We don't get many of your types here.”

“Yeah, I bet you don't...”

The lord mutters.

“What was that?”

“I said, I have gold.”

Farquadd snaps his fingers and one of his guards flashes a rather hefty sack of gold coins.

“Oh, well, why didn't you just say so?”

The cyclops opens the door, letting Farquadd in but blocks the rest of his men.

“Sorry, but we have an occupancy limit. That and, the lot of you will set off our customers. Only one of you can join him.”

Farquadd huffs with annoyance but goes along with this.

“Come, Thelonious.”

The executioner obliges while the other guards groan and whine about wanting to drink or eat.

Inside the tavern is a seedy gathering of misfits. Pirates and witches sit at the tables. Two trees arm wrestle and two dwarfs fight. Someone is playing darts with throwing axes. Captain Hook plays the piano and sings, a lit cigarette burns away off to the side, and a brandy sifter is filled with coins at his side. The Headless Horseman downs a drink and burps. The Evil Queen plays pool and hustles some drunks. Two pirates sit forlornly with their mugs. Mangiafuoco the Puppet Master takes a drink out of a beer mug...surrounded by a bunch of other empty beer mugs. A small group is gathered around a Cyclops riding a medieval mechanical brazen bull, hooting and hollering.

A few glance at Farquadd as he and his subordinate head up to the bar, Thelonious picks him up and places him on a bar stool as the bartender turns around.

“You're a new face. Don't get many of those around here.”

This would be Doris, she and her sister Mabel run this pub. They are known as the ugly stepsisters and are less famous than their beloved stepsister Cinderella. But they make a decent living serving the discarded and washed up. She's honestly not bad-looking. Most are just thrown off by her manish voice and masculine features.

“Yes, well, I hear from reliable sources that this is where one can procure certain...services.”

Doris leans over on the bar counter.

“What kind of services are we talking about here?”

Farquadd leans in as well.

“I need someone to find a different someone to then get rid of that somebody.”

“So a hit?”

“If you want to be blunt about it, yes.”

“Well, take your pick. We got a smörgåsbord of choices.”

She nods her head off to the side over to a table.

“There's the cheap newbies that want to make a name for themselves...”

She then points him elsewhere.

“The old salt professionals that'll cost you an arm and a leg...”

And she gestures over to the other side.

“And your mixed bag of nuts that are a few needles short of a haystack if you get my meaning. Take your pick.”

Farquadd scans the options and sneers with uncertainty.

“I was hoping for something a little more...pleasing. Someone discrete yet effective. Someone none would think was capable of harm but could make a body disappear like it was an accident.”

Doris gives a knowing smirk.

“Oh...Okay. I know just who you want.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. But they aren't here right now.”

“What?”

“Relax. They'll be here soon. They're just taking out the trash.”

This confuses him till the door opens and a woman comes in with a guy under her arm.

“Hey, all! Look who I found in the woods. You all be nice to my buddy now. He's a little shy.”

The 'buddy' in question is the Pied Piper and he looks a little awkward but grateful.

“There's your hire.”

Farquadd looks at Doris funny.

“The minstrel?”

“No. Her.”

His confusion grows.

“The woman?”

“Who else?”

Doris waves to the woman to come over. She leaves Piper and comes over to the bar.

“Yes, Miss Doris. Is there more you need me to do?”

“Lynsie, this fellow wants to hire you for some business.”

“Oh?”

The young lady gets a good look at her would-be client.

He's a good foot shorter than her but that means nothing to her, hell, dwarves are typical pubgoers. His outfit of mainly red and black with gold accents which suggests high status. Sporting a 5 o'clock shadow on his prominent square-shaped jawline and a large chin, shoulder-length black hair cut in a sleek straight bob with blunt bangs resembling a pageboy haircut, and his posture and expressions convey arrogance and self-importance. He wears a red, velvet-like tunic with gold trim, puffed sleeves with black undersleeves, matching red gloves, and a wide red hat. He also wears black leggings, black knee-high boots, a black belt with a gold buckle adorned with a blue jewel, and a red cape that adds to his regal, albeit pompous, appearance. His clothing emphasizes his status and attempts to convey power and control.

All in all, not bad looking.

“And what kind of job can I help you with, fair sir?”

In turn, Farquadd does the same, giving this potential hire a good-looking over.

A bit tall for a woman but compared to the others in the pub she is what he'd deem a lady to be, his standards and bias being absurdly high. Appearance-wise, she's nothing to shake a stick at in his eyes, with no makeup or attempt to be feminine to fix up her tired-looking face aside from some bland metal earrings, it's no wonder she's a tavern wench to this rotten little hovel. Yet...Her beautifully layered dress with an eggplant velvet, lace-up waist cincher, an attached cream crinkled bodice, and sleeves, as well as an attached purple iridescent satin skirt with a sage green overskirt, and with a floral wreath with ribbons did make her figure worth looking at. That soft creamy brown hair held aloft in a high ponytail reaching her shoulders. Plus those eyes, like muddy emeralds lit with embers waiting to burn in intensity.

Okay, maybe his standards had some leeway after all.

“My apologies, where are my manners? I am Lord Maximus Farquaad, ruler of the kingdom of Duloc.”

He takes her by the hand and pets her knuckles instead of kissing them for sanitary reasons.

“It must be such a pleasure to meet such a fine gentleman like myself.”

His egotistical words make Doris roll her eyes as she gets back to serving and the young woman merely smiles.

“You honor me, sir. Please, let us go discuss business in quieter settings.”

She motions to private rooms off to the side.

“Ah, right. Let's go, Thelonious.”

The torturer picks Farquadd up and they head off towards the rooms. Once out of earshot, Doris scoffs.

“That guy's ego is bigger than he is. Bet supporting such a heavy load is why he's so short.”

“Ego or not, it's nothing I can't handle. Guys like that like feeling high and mighty, the center of attention. So I'll play my part and bat my eyes, be sent off to kill some bum, then make some serious coin. Business as always.”

Doris puts a glass of milk on the counter for her to drink.

“You know...You're still young. A girl like you should be out living life to the fullest after getting out of that hell of a house. Not staying cooped up in your room when not working in the bar or off doing dirty work. You're better than that, sweetheart.”

Lynsie sighs through her nose and takes the milk, mulling Doris's words over as she downs the glass.

“You make a fine point, Miss Doris. But I don't know. I am free. I have been taught skills and given reign over what path I can walk. Yet I am not accustomed to having such free will. I basically have all the tools I could ever need but have no clue what to build. You know? I have no idea what to do with my life. Is this all I'm good for? Is this all my meaning?”

“Whoa whoa whoa! Getting way too deep on me, dear.”

“Sorry.”

Doris pats Lynsie's head reassuringly.

“We all don't know what we're supposed to do with our lives. But worrying about it won't do anything other than stress you out. You'll find your calling one day. Just keep an open heart and have faith.”

“Don't you mean open mind?”

“I know what I said. If you follow your heart, you'll find what makes you happy.”

Lynsie smiles.

“Thank you, Miss Doris. You're the best.”

She puts the now empty glass down and heads off to the private rooms to get this potential job started.

Doris watches her go as her sister Mable comes out from the kitchen to swap places.

“You got that mom look on your face. Did something happen? Oh! Don't tell me you and Hook are...?”

“No. We're waiting till marriage before thinking of kids. I'm just worried about our little sweetheart.”

“Need me to go talk to her?”

“She's with a client right now.”

“Ah, before bed it is.”

The sisters don't often rent out rooms unless absolutely needed or out of emergency. Lynsie was an exception when she came around some months ago asking for work, and due to not having a home they gave her room. Never did they think this girl was a wandering mercenary and killed before the age of 10. Once they got her to open up about her past...yeah...Made way more sense. Fleeing an abusive mother, shit siblings, and being taken in by roaming bandits before being recruited as the apprentice of The Master Thief will lead one to be anything but normal while giving them a major existential crisis. Still, they know she's a strong girl. Having gone through all that is proof enough. So if she can take on all the horrors life threw at her and still be as gentle, they have faith their little live-in part-timer can find her true calling.

…

In the back private rooms, Farquadd sits with Thelonius as Lynsie pours them all some water.

“I apologize for the wait, gentlemen. I help the bar when not taking jobs such as the one you seek.”

She sits and Farquadd swirls his cup while Thelonius drinks.

“Quite alright, dear. It can't be helped. It's just what you common folk do, working so much and whatnot. It's like a hobby for you people.”

She looks at Thelonius and even while hooded she can read the “just fake it” look in his eyes, so she ignores the lord's basic ineptitude.

“So then, with pleasantries out of the way, let's put our cards on the table as they say...”

Pulling the ribbon from her hair out, the held locks fall and she fluffs her hair casually.

“What kind of mission is it you want done?”

Farquadd looks her up and down. Might as well since, well, he is but a man. Thelonius fidgets slightly.

“Before that, how am I to know you are qualified for handling tasks of importance such as what I have in mind?”

She rumbles faintly growing perturbed.

“Always the same...”

“What was that?”

“Is it because I'm a woman you doubt me? If it is, I'm used to it. No one thinks the little lady serving drinks can possibly be as skilled as claimed. I mean, the other rouges look so ragged, but me? My skin seems so fair...”

She rubs her arms in slow skimming teases, brushing against her chest, her voice dipping into softer honey-laced tones.

“I'm too delicate. So fragile and frail. How could I possibly harm anyone, let alone a fly?”

Did the temperature suddenly rise in here or is it just them?

“But a smart man, such as yourself, knows not to be fooled by appearances. For even something as harmless as a rose has thorns that can make the strongest cry like infants. Wouldn't you agree, my lord~?”

She didn't have to go that far, he was buttered up already. But the sweet way she said his title had him burning. Oh, she's good. Poor Thelonius grips his glass so much it's starting to crack. Farquadd shakily composes himself and clears his throat.

“Um, y-yes. That's...That's quite right, my dear. Appearances can often be very...very misleading.”

“So you're not worried then that I am what I say I am and just so happen to be a woman?”

“Not one bit.”

“Good...Then if price is what you find worrisome, I'm reasonably flexible. But I assure you, that doesn't mean my skills are lacking. Because if you want something stolen...”

She merely shifts in her seat, crossing her legs to show off a bit more skin, causing the men to be distracted and not notice anything till they look up to see she's holding their belts.

“I can steal it.”

She tosses the belts to them. Farquadd putting his on right away.

“And if you want someone dead...”

She unclasped a pin on her bust, bending it straight, and flicking it behind them...pinning a fly by its wings.

“I can kill them.”

Farquadd is astounded and Thelonius whistles in amazement.

“Now, please, don't make me repeat myself as I hate wasting time. What is it you want done?”

Her voice remains warm but has a more serious inflection to it. Taken aback but now understanding this is the skill he was looking for, Farquadd grins. This isn't some wench just trying to seduce him into wasting his gold, no. This woman is the complete package. A femme fatale. No wonder the barkeep suggested her. She's perfect!

“My dear, do you know...The Muffin Man?”

She looks at him funny.

“The Muffin Man?”

“Yes, the Muffin Man. I want him gone.”

“Oh? How interesting.”

She lounges back, a confident and curious look about her features.

“Yes, I have heard of him. It's a bit surprising to hear he's the target. Did he sell you bad sweets or something? Maybe a not-so-funny prank cake that was less than flattering?”

Thelonious snickers and Farquadd sneers.

“No. I'd never consume any of his filth. His corrupted confections are a pox on my perfect kingdom. I want it so that the only thing baking in that little shop of sugary horrors is him and all his disgusting doughy freaks! Leave no crumb unburnt to ash! I will remove his sickness from my land, cleansing it with blood if I have to! I will have order! I will have perfection!”

His temper flares, throwing his water against a wall and shattering the glass. He huffs a few times before composing himself once more.

“I apologize. That was most unbecoming of me.”

She waves him off.

“Relax. It's fine. I've seen worse and dealt with stronger outbursts. Consider it as if it didn't happen.”

She gets up.

“A hit of this size, a man and his business, it isn't too big. Striking at night will avoid unnecessary casualties and witnesses. And, just to be clear, this is a pure elimination, correct? Not an 'accident' or attack of competitive espionage from a rival gone wrong? You want him dead and for it to be obvious that it was murder?”

“Yes.”

Farquadd joins her in standing.

“I want this as a statement. And that statement being magic is no longer welcomed anymore!”

While her expressions have been rather collected and benign since meeting him, the mention of his intent causes her demeanor to flinch ever so slightly. She's not magical. She's not a fairy tale. She's a nursery rhyme, or at least, a part of one. Her mother was the rhyme's main focus and none of the children or even the Old Woman were properly named in it. But she is part of it nonetheless. And she knows it. She knows she's different from normal people. And this man's intent...It is unsettling for a world of magic.

He takes note of this subtle flinch but knows how to sway those with “moral dilemmas”. He snaps his fingers and Thelonius stands, grabbing his pants quickly as he forgot about the belt thing, fixing that before pulling out a sack of gold and offering it to her.

“I am a very generous man, my dear. This is but half of your payment. You'll get the rest upon completion.”

She takes the bag and opens it, eyeing the hefty sum.

“So...Do we have a deal?”

Farquadd offers his hand and she sighs, mentally getting herself in the right state of mind to proceed, then taking his hand.

“Consider it done.”

She takes his hand and her sudden strong grip surprises him, yet he chuckles.

“Excellent. How soo-...”

“Do not question more, I have to prepare.”

Her demeanor is different. What pleasantness there was is now stoic professionalism. Her eyes even harden in focus.

“I will leave tomorrow and send word of success upon completion. If, for whatever reason you hear nothing after a week, then something has happened.”

That quirks his brow.

“Are you insinuating you can fail?”

“I'm being realistic. Life is unpredictable. Even flawlessly laid plans can falter. But I do not relent once I'm on a target. And, barring some randomness beyond control happens, I won't.”

Not many of her kind would be so forthcoming with things like that. Had he picked any of the others in the bar, they likely would just boast about how amazing they were and it would be impossible to fail.

“...You're rather honest for someone in your line of work.”

“Lying is pointless and a waste of time. That and it's just bad business. You can't trust a lie when you know the truth. Claiming otherwise only shows how pathetic one truly is.”

“Oh...Oh, I like you.”

With a smirk, he claps his hands and Thelonius picks him up.

“A pleasure doing business with you, my dear. May we meet again. Maybe on more causal circumstances?”

She bows her head and does a one-handed curtsy.

“Perhaps. Take care, gentlemen.”

“Let's go, Thelonius. We mustn't take too much of the fair lady's time. We have a long ride ahead of us.”

She watches them leave and glares at the door once they're gone. She doesn't like it. This is beneath her. A baker? This noble picks a mercenary with high-ranking assassin skills...to kill a BAKER?! What is the point? He doesn't even want all her skills used. He wants a murder. Any of the guys in the bar can do that. This was insulting. But a job is a job. The coin is decent. And...she hated everything about it.

A roar of frustration cries out, silencing most with the haunting sound.

Outside, Farquadd is helped back on his horse as he and his men begin the ride back to Duloc.

“Were you able to acquire the services you were looking for, my lord?”

“Indeed. An unexpected find, but a promising one nonetheless.”

“I liked her.”

Thelonius adds much to the puzzlement of the other men.

“True. Shame she's a commoner. Such beauty is wasted out of noble blood. But her skills? Now that is worth adding to one's ranks. Perhaps I can negotiate a deal for her to be my chambermaid? But that all depends on her success of course. Can't let weak failures in my court. Everything must be perfect.”

Questionable glances are shared between the men. Did...Did Farquadd score a lady of ill repute?

“My lord, do forgive me, but I thought you came here for an assassin?”

“I did and I have.”

The guardsmen captain is still confused.

“But you said it's a woman?”

“My good man, are you questioning my choices? Did you think I fell for some ditsy harlot that flaunted herself for coin? Because we can turn around and I will gladly enjoy watching her humiliate you in front of not just your men, but that entire hovel of villainous scum. In fact...I'm tempted to do just that.”

“N-N-No need! My apologies, my lord. I misspoke. I won't do so again.”

Farquadd smirks. Nothing like threatening someone's masculinity to get his jollies.

“See to it that you don't. Who knows. If all goes well, I might hire her permanently. If she can get rid of those freaks for me, I won't have to deal with that pompous Horner any longer. Blasted nursery rhymes. They're just as bad as fairy tales but less magical. Barely makes them tolerable. One day...One day I'll be rid of them all.”

Oh, if only this little lord knew of the rumors spoken behind his back. Some speculated Farquadd was not so short due to genetic reasons...sort of. The tea was that he himself was of fairy tale lineage, the child of one of the seven dwarves that aided Snow White and a different princess. Some even went so far as to say his parentage was the dwarf Grumpy and the Pea Princess, sighting his reason for hating all things magic on his hate of his father. How this was thought up is unknown. But oh how fun it would be to watch as he learned that people were besmirching his name in such a way. He'd give the Queen of Hearts a run for her money with how many beheadings he'd have done for this heinous crime.

[Four days later on Drury Lane]

Twas a night like any other for the marvelous Muffin Man and he had just finished taking care of his tidying up after closing. The Muffin Man is a middle-aged man with graying brown hair, a mustache, a goatee beard, and sporting a pair of glasses. He wears a classic white baking uniform, a tall white chef hat and apron, a red scarf, and a badge with his initials in gold.

Simple things like this will make tomorrow run smoother if they get done now, like preparing ingredients, getting the right utilities out, washing dishes, and sweeping up crumbs. Little things like this help him relax and put his mind at ease. Not that the day was hard, oh no. Quite the opposite. The day treated him well. Very well. He had lots of customers and they all enjoyed his wares. Any baker worth their salt gets no better joy than when someone else is made happy by their confections. Though, now that he thinks about it, there was one oddity about his day. Or rather, a few random bits of strangeness that's been happening for the last few days. It's all been incidental minor stuff so he didn't give it much thought. But four days now? He'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit it was eerie.

On the first night, he just thought he heard critters that snuck about looking for sugary goodies, only there was no sign of such things and he didn't hear the sound again.

On the second day, he found his work schedule out and open in his room, he had no idea how that was as he had sworn it was in his desk drawer but chalked it up to misremembering.

Last night, there was a scuffle and the clatter jolted him awake, he found a trail of crumbs leading to his back door which was open with no one insight.

Now today, his usual order of ingredients was delivered and all seemed fine, but as he helped the courier that's when they noticed there was one crate more than the typical order. The woman had a simple explanation, it was marked on her list as to be brought here and had his name on it, so it likely was just extra that didn't get pact right in one crate and needed two to still give him what he ordered. It was an answer he accepted at the time as it made some sense. But now...now he's not sure. With all the strangeness happening it's begun to make him paranoid. That crate is now sitting in his storage room.

“Hey...”

The sudden voice frightens the poor man and he nearly smacks Gingy, the living gingerbread cookie with his broom. Gingy is no bigger than a grown human hand and decorated with colored frosting, blue for the brows, red for the mouth, and white for the eyes along with limb accents. Two grape gumdrop buttons of which he is very protective of.

“Whoa! Watch it!”

Realization hits and he is quick to drop the broom, visibly shaken as he approaches the table where the cookie stands.

“Gingy...M-My boy, I'm so sorry...”

“Papa? You alright? You don't look so good.”

The man rubs his face and steadies his breathing.

“Just my nerves. Maybe too much thinking. Nothing a good night's rest won't fix.”

Gingy looks concerned but nods.

“Yeah, you do that. Leave the rest of the cleanup to me. I'll have it done in a jiffy.”

Muffin Man smiles and pats the cookie's head softly.

“You're a good boy, Gingy. Goodnight.”

“Night papa.”

Muffin Man heads for his room. Gingy watches for a bit before leaping down to go find a spare toothbrush he can sweep with.

Maybe he was just tired and his worries were piling up to make up things that weren't really there. He'll feel better in the morning once he gets some rest and back into his normal routine. He opens his door...

*BAM*

The man goes flying back and tumbles, knocking over things as he falls to the ground. Gingy hides and peaks out as a figure emerges from his father's room. This figure is in nothing but black from head to toe, from their gloves to their tights to their long sleeves and the hooded cloak that hides their face. Heavy boots tread gently against the floorboards. Gingy can't make out details as they seem to be a living shadow in all that black, the cloak even hiding what the attacker is, heck, he barely can see their eyes.

“You really should lock your windows...”

How ironic this assailant's voice is as sweet as the baked goods around them. Though it sounded slightly familiar in an odd way to the cookie.

“You'll catch your death if you're not careful.”

The Muffin Man writhes on the floor, disoriented, the blow to his head being one thing but he lost his glasses too, so his blurry vision isn't making his dizzied mind any better. Still, while he can't see the figure's shape in the dim light, he can see the shine that glints off of a dagger and he scrambles in trying to move away.

“S-Stay back!”

“Don't be foolish. You're only delaying the inevitable.”

The figure stalks after him ominously, slowly, and deliberately, unbothered by his attempt to flee. Gingy, while frightened, isn't about to just stand there and watch as his father is killed. He has to do something. So he looks around for what he can use and scampers away out of sight. The Muffin Man manages to get back on his feet and feels around for things he can defend himself with. This results in him chucking random items at the figure. A vase of flowers. A book or two. A frying pan that he regretted throwing. And so much more till he's backed against a wall with a large rolling pin held tightly to his chest.

“Are you done?”

Sweat drips down his brow, his chattering teeth and his heart thundering deafening his hearing. He knows if he doesn't do something he's a dead man. So, despite his quacking knees, he lunges with the rolling pin to give this attacker a good walloping. But, again, he can't see them all that well. So when he lunges, the figure captures the utensil in their free hand and yanks it from him, making him trip.

“I hate taking jobs like this. This is just insulting.”

The figure whacks the Muffin Man with the rolling pin and knocks him down, treading around him.

“You know something? You and I have something in common. We both take pride in our craft. We worked hard to hone our skills and master techniques that are to be desired. Yet, here we are. You, a man with such talent that you can bring your goods to life...”

The figure flings the rolling pin off to the side and it hits a row of hanging pots, knocking them loose atop Gingy who had managed to find a knife of his own but is now enclosed under a sauce pot.

“Then there's me, a trained master in the art of taking things. Be it objects, information, or lives.”

The figure kicks the Muffin Man's side and flips him onto his back.

“And I don't know about you, but nothing pisses me off more than wasting time. But that's what this is. A big waste of time. You're a baker. You have no defenses. No fighting skills. Any moron could've been used for this job. Hell, the only dangerous thing about this whole mission was the pair of raccoons I found in your attic. By the way, you're welcome. I got them out before they made a nest. Lord knows that would be a major health code violation.”

“R-Raccoons?”

That explains a few things. The skittering sounds, the crumb trail, his open back door...

“W-Wait. Then...What's that extra crate?”

He thinks aloud.

“Oh, that? It's as I told you. It's your order, but they packed it all wonky, so there's just an extra box. If you're thinking I was in there...I wasn't.”

His eyes widen when he hears that and it clicks in his mind.

“Y-You...You're the courier?!”

The figure kneels over him.

“Thank you for your patronage and have a simply sweet day~.”

He shivers as he hears those words again and in that innocently chipper voice. The figure brings their dagger to his throat, dragging the blade faintly along his skin.

“You're a predictable man. So routine I can set a clock by you. Your little work schedule alone made this all so shamefully easy. This is like taking candy from a baby, but worse because the baby is blind.”

They groan in annoyance.

“This isn't personal or anything. I take no enjoyment in this. But once I'm given a task, I see it through.”

The figure grabs him by the throat and climbs on top of him, their weight keeping him from struggling too much but also an awkward feeling has him freeze stiff as the dagger is held up high ready to strike.

“Any last words or final requests? I respect the rights of the dead so long as it's reasonable.”

“So...L-Letting me go is off the table?”

“Correct.”

“Worth a shot.”

This is it. These are the Muffin Man's last moments. Thankfully for him, Gingy can't see this happening, his poor little candy eyes would sour if he were to witness such a horrible sight.

“Fine. Kill me. But you'll never get my secrets!”

“I'm not here for your secrets. I'm here purely because you're wanted dead.”

Confusion flashes on his face. This...This wasn't about his baking secrets? Then does that mean...?

“Goodbye, Muffin Man.”

The figure brings the blade down.

“You're not working for Horner?”

Cold steel stops inches above his left eye, his lashes brushing against it as he blinks. He's going to need a change of pants after this.

“What did you say?”

The man is still in “holy shit I nearly died” shock and doesn't speak, leading to the figure stabbing the dagger into the floor beside him before yanking him up by the hair to get in his face.

“Answer me! How do you know that name?!”

“W-What?”

“Horner! How do you know that name?!”

“I...I...I...”

His voice struggles to work as, well, he's unsure if he's still gonna get killed or not. A sudden blurry movement is in his vision, a brown lump holding a shiny object. This is also seen reflected in his gaze.

“Don't risk it, cookie. I can still snap his neck before you even move another step.”

Seems Gingy had slipped out of the pot and crept up behind them for a sneak attack with the knife he found. Sadly for Gingy, this assassin is very good at what they do.

“Please...Don't hurt my papa.”

Gingy lets the knife fall and the figure sighs.

“Once I'm given a task, I see it through...”

The figure lets go of Muffin Man much to their dismay.

“But, I don't like this task. So I'm going to make you a deal.”

The figure takes back their dagger and tucks it away as they stand up.

“I won't do what I was paid to and give you the information on who sent me, in exchange for what you know about that name...and I'll clean up this mess. Seems only fair for the trouble I've caused.”

The figure pulls back their hood and shows their face. The face of a tired woman. She offers her hand.

“Do we have a deal?”

Gingy gasps.

“The delivery girl?!”

She rolls her eyes.

“We've already established that, yes.”

The Muffin Man takes a moment to calm his rapid heart and breathing before nodding, taking her hand.

“Deal.”

She pulls him up with surprising ease, this slightly portly grown man weighing nothing to the younger woman.

“Thank you.”

“Do not thank me. You got lucky. Had you not said that name you'd be dead right now. Now then...”

She collects the fallen broom and starts cleaning.

“Tell me what you know.”

And with that, the dreadful turmoil inside the bakery had come to an end. The night resumes its peace while dim candlelight remains lit inside the building.

The Muffin Man holds up his end and divulges what little he knows. He knows the name Horner as it's a baked goods competitor that's been popping up in the area recently that mostly does pies and other desserts. It's relatively new to Far Far Away, what with the main hub of the business being across the sea, so he's not sure of the exact location. He had heard rumors of the ruthless actions the company was willing to take to ensure business and had figured she was sent to kill him for that very reason.

On her end, she informs him of Lord Farquadd of the Kingdom of Duloc hiring her to kill him because he has a disdain for magic. She even shows on a map where Duloc is, as she had ventured there before, and cautions them to avoid it, as Farquadd didn't seem to know the baker's location otherwise he'd have just sent his men instead of her or would've told her when arranging the hit. As compensation for her attempt and payment for a favor, she gives the man 50 gold coins, requesting he send a letter to the Poison Apple informing the ugly step-sisters of the transpired events...and that she won't be returning.

With nothing further to say and having done as promised, she leaves the Muffin Man to live with the information given, doing with it what he pleases. To his credit, the man heeds her warning and would never set foot near Duloc. The same can't be said about Gingy, who would later attempt to sneak in and end up being captured. But that is a different story for some other time.

[Time skip]

It has been quite the journey.

After using what gold she had left to buy information, food reserves, and decent travel across the waves, Lynsie finds herself as far from her roots as she thought possible. She was now in Spain and it was a bit of a culture shock at first. That and her Spanish was rusty, barely understanding things and having to pantomime to convey things on her end.

She started this self-imposed mission long ago, a promise made in her youth that she vowed to uphold, and only now so many years later was she able to make due on.

All out of gold, she has been wandering from ports to villages, to towns, and so on relearning the language as she finds Horner Pie shops along the way. The logo used is something she's not seen before but recognized all the same and the initials J. H. speak volumes to long-held memories. She gets lucky one day, spotting a shipping cart making its departure from the village of Del Mar after restocking the shop there. Now, it's not like she could catch a ride in the open back of the cart. But after causing a distraction that made the cart stop for a time, she hooked to the underside and went along for the ride unbeknownst to the driver.

After a miserable painstakingly bumpy ride, the cart finally starts to slow down and she detaches to at least let her body remember what it's like to not be moving. When her senses settle, she takes in these new surroundings. The vibrant sky is cast into dark dull cloudy haze as vast plumes of bellowing smoke from industry choke the space above. The Tudor-style buildings of this city are odd in this part of Spain, due to them being English in origin, but it has all the charm one would expect from a city of such welcoming architecture and ambitious folks. She walks the cobblestone streets, taking in the oddly comforting ambiance.

Suddenly her nose is hit with a smell that triggers nostalgia. The sweet sugary scent of plums. She follows the aroma deep into the city's heart till she comes to a bridge that leads to an enormous factory that sits in an equally massive river that cuts through the city. Quite smart to use the current as a power source. The gate is huge but she can make out the golden glinting J. H. on the doors.

“From a humble wagon to all this? Most impressive, Jack.”

As she strides over the bridge, the deep sounds of the factory provide a wired rumble that is unnatural yet oddly inviting, even if the blazing roaring chimneys sound like slumbering dragons. Near the gates, a man sits on a barrel and looks in thought, sort of out of place but one could assume he's just taking a break. There is a small boat tied to one of the lamp posts along the bridge wall. Perhaps a grounds keeper that ensures the water wheels don't get jammed. Upon getting a better look, he's in a uniform, the emblem of J. H. on his vest. He takes notice of her and stands.

“Halt! What business do you have here?”

She pays him no mind and stares up at the gate, above the doors is a golden version of the logo she's seen on shops, only this thing looks like it's done to resemble a noble crest. As if this were a castle. Then again, it's not like the building is too far off from looking like one. It makes her chuckle.

“My, look how far you've come. They can't ignore you now, can they?”

The guard unsheathes a sword from his side and points it at her.

“This is your only warning. You are trespassing on the property of "Big" Jack Horner. Leave now or your life is forfeit.”

“Calls himself "Big" now, does he? Interesting...”

She turns around and walks back, making the guard eye her. His suspicion proves right as she spins back around bolting at him.

“This I have to see for myself”

He charges at her and swings, but she leaps, using him as a springboard to then jump onto the lamp beside him. She continues to bound off the lamps like a deer till she lands atop the fortified wall.

“A word of advice. Get a different job.”

The man is not too happy about this.

“Intruder at the gates!”

He shouts and she rolls her eyes.

“Someone's a sore loser.”

She jumps down as guards rush in, brandishing swords, long poleaxes, and bows at the ready to fire. It's a good amount of people. At least twenty or so. So much enforcement for a baked goods factory?

“I take it no one is up for doing this the easy way?”

They aim their weapons and she cracks her neck, limbering up.

“Okay. But I'll hold back. Killing you all would make me look like a poor guest.”

She holds her arms out and slowly pops her fingers one by one before punching a guard with a poleaxe, stealing his weapon, and kicking off one hell of a brawl the guard on the bridge wishes he could see.

…

Inside the factory, Big Jack Horner is locked deep in thought at his office desk, the quill in his hand writes steadily as he tends to the mundane amount of paperwork that comes from operating such a vast expanding enterprise. The latest reports from his test shops in Far Far Away came in with mixed figures. Some products are easier to sell than others. Some things never change. Plum is still not a commodity people want there. Oh well. That's why these are tests. No real financial loss in trying, not when he makes up for it with sales over here. Still hard to believe his family had to leave their homeland to finally make it big. Nursery Rhymes always did have it hard over there. Some more than others.

His quill stills for a moment. An old memory comes to mind before being cast away. What nonsense. He hasn't thought about that time in his youth in ages. That brief time when he was eight and met a girl.

“Then be strong. Be strong for her and yourself. Mama promises her sweet little man that one day you'll have everything you ever wanted. Even her. Can you be strong till that day comes?”

He scoffed at the thought. How cruel of his mother to make such a promise. Any such faith in it was dashed once they crossed the sea. No. If he was going to have everything he's ever wanted, he'd have to make it happen himself. It's why he works so hard. Why he uses every dirty trick in the book to gain power. Why he hardened himself into a cold remorseless soul bent on nothing but his own needs. It's why he did everything he could to overcome and overshadow his childhood self to be the big man that he is now. Aside from some old posters from the factory's humbled beginnings, there's not a trace of "Little" Jack Horner anymore. Only a big man with big goals and bigger ambitions. And he preferred to keep it that way.

“Mr. Horner!”

A guardsman rushes into his office. Not a smart move. Jack doesn't like it when people bust in like that.

“You have five seconds to give me a good reason not to chuck you out a window.”

The guard gulps, knowing that's not a threat...it's a guarantee.

“Sir, we're under attack.”

This gets Jack to look at him with a mildly curious brow.

“The gates have been breached and the men manning the front have been beaten. We're currently doing what we can to keep them in the main hall and tire them out, but we don't know for how long-...”

*CRASH*

“Oh shit, they got in!”

The guard departs to try to deal with this but now Jack is interested. It's not every day that some idiot grew some balls and attacked his factory. Probably after his magic collection. Why else? Still, something didn't sound right. Tire them out? So it's not a group? No way this is just one person. It can't be. ...Right?

His interest peaked, Jack got up and headed out to see this action for himself. Beats doing paperwork for another hour, so this is hopefully an entertaining break in his day. Following the sound of clashing brouhaha into the depths of the factory, Jack comes upon a rather perplexing scene. A figure cloaked in black and bounding about making his men look like idiots, simply making them attack each other while doing the bare minimum of defense when needed. Like...What the hell? These are his men? Is this the quality he's paying for? How is one person making a joke out of this by breaking in and not even taking it seriously enough to kill anyone? This isn't entertaining. This is just annoying. It only pisses him off.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!”

This was more or less directed at his guards, but the sheer intensity of his voice made everyone finch. His guards flinch. Random staff flinch. Even mice in the walls and passing birds flinch at his booming yell. But the figure? They get affected the worse. Not only did they flinch, but they shrunk in on themselves and protectively braced for excepted blows to follow. This is enough of a break in their concentration that the guards can subdue them. This seemed too easy and way too anticlimactic for Jack to accept.

“Bring them over here. I want to see who this moron is.”

They do as told and this is when figure snaps out of their stupor, forcing a jerk back before kicking them away to rush up to Jack...only to stop at the tip of his shadow.

“Wow. You really did get big...Neat.”

Jack eyes this odd intruder as they pull their hood back to show their face and to say he's surprised to see it's a woman would be an understatement. Especially their choice of words, which was puzzling.

“You know, for someone that broke in, you are doing a lousy job of killing and stealing.”

She tilts her head like a confused puppy.

“I mean, yeah, you're not wrong. But I didn't come all this way to do any of that. I came to see you.”

Now this was just weird.

“Not what I was expecting. But I've heard stupider things.”

She huffs at this.

“You don't remember me, do you?”

“Am I supposed to?”

She palms her face.

“I get we've both gone through changes over the last, what, twenty years? But I would've thought I made some kind of impression on you.”

She pauses for thought as the guards creep up to nab her once more, but Jack holds out his hand and makes them wait. He wants to see where this is going.

“Oh! Right. Probably giving my name would make this simpler.”

She clears her throat and smiles.

“It's me, Jack. It's Lynn.”

That name hits him like a ton of bricks. Flashes of his youth and brief time with her come to the forefront of his mind. It can't be. This can't be her...Can it? She wasn't like this. She was pathetic and weak. This woman is far from it. But if not, who would know he even knew someone of that name at some point? Certainly no one here. Still, he had to be sure. This required proper investigating.

“Come with me.”

Jack turns on his heel and starts walking.

“Okie-dokie.”

She follows up beside him, taking in his appearance and comparing it to her memories of him. The guards are beyond baffled. That woman just broke in and caused so much chaos, yet their boss is just...letting her go with him? Who the hell is she and what the heck is up with Jack?

Jack brings her to his office, locking the door to ensure privacy.

“You look different.”

He mutters.

“So do you.”

She retorts as she stands in the center of the room, watching as he circles her and takes her in, studying her. She gets it. He doesn't trust so easily. She'll need to convince him with things that only they know.

“You don't think it's really me, do you?”

He says nothing and she sighs.

“Can't believe I have to do this...”

She grumbles and he stops to eye her when she pulls the cloak off completely, as a show she's got nothing to hide. The tights she wears hug her figure, she's curvy but skinny, a far cry from the malnourished kid he recalls, but it still seems she doesn't get enough to eat. She grabs the end of her top and turns her back to him, pulling it up to show her horribly scarred back. His eyes widen with recollection. Yep...it's her.

“I might look different, but I know you can't forget seeing this. When we first met, you brought me to your parents. Your mom took care of the bleeding. Your dad gave me pie. It was my first time having pie...I wept. It was so delicious. The first real thing I considered a meal in lord knows how long. You called me weird because I cried while smiling. But I was just so happy. Strangers were being nice...to me...without expectancy or malice...I was...so overwhelmed.”

Her voice was waning as if trying to avoid succumbing to the emotions that were attempting to come out. He doesn't speak, all he does is take in the sight. Slowly he cautiously touches the menagerie of devited flesh, his large index finger skimming over the deep lashes and making her squirm uncomfortably. But she takes it. If he needs to feel her shame to be sure it's really her, then so be it.

“You never told us who did this, but we knew.”

His voice breaks the awkward silence that had built up.

“With how you'd get all freaked out if we mentioned your mother, it wasn't hard to figure it out.”

Her head hangs low, her gaze on the floor.

“The night your wagon left...It was the worst beating I can remember. I think it hurt more because I...I had no one anymore. No safe place to forget that THAT was my life. She left me to die. With how bad it was, I know she had to believe I would be dead come morning. But I...I didn't want to die. I refused.”

She pulls her top back down.

“I ran away. Got taken in by a group of bandits. Raised as a killer. Got picked up by The Master Thief. Was his apprentice for a while. Took up mercenary life as a means of making coin and covered as a bar waitress for a bit. And...that's about it. My dull uneventful life wrapped in a nutshell up to this point.”

He chuckles at her nonchalant way of describing some pretty intense shit.

“If that's what you call dull, I'm curious as to what would be considered hectic.”

“And what of you? What happened to you after, you know, your wagon moved on that day?”

The amusement on his face bleeds into more of a sour grimace. He didn't like his childhood. Scratch that, he hated it. But he knows she hates hers way more. So he copies her way of explaining. Keeping things as simple as he can.

“We moved around some more. Saving coin when able. My old man got this idea in his head, since competition was a pain, we could try going elsewhere. Somewhere that didn't know of us, our pies, or was hounded by cheap magic bullshit...”

He clenches his fists till his knuckles bleach. It's a moment that is brief, but it's telling all the same. He still has a temper and disdain of magic.

“Luckily, his idea was a good one. Plums weren't common here and pie was mostly used for meat dishes. It wasn't long till we dominated the market on pastries. Business boomed. We settled in a small town that sat on major trade routes and built a small shop. But nothing stayed small for very long.”

“Clearly.”

She interjects.

“This place might as well be a castle. The town is a city. And you...well...Puberty hit you big time. And I do mean BIG.”

That was a welcomed reaction for him. Usually, others would jab at his appearance or bring up his old moniker. It's nice having his stature seen as impressive.

“Yes, I did hit a bit of a growth spurt, didn't I?

“Understatement of the year. Look at you! I used to be level with you. Now...What, you're like, two feet taller?!”

Oh, how his ego was loving this.

“You used to be so timid. Where did this side of you come from?”

She smirks.

“I was this way to you back then too. You just didn't like it.”

He leans back against his desk, his eyes scanning her face, trying to reconcile the memory of a timid beaten girl with the strong confident woman before him. Memories of a time when he was still "Little" Jack Horner, the kid with big dreams and a heart that hadn't yet been hardened completely by life's harsh realities. But those days were long gone, and now, he was "Big" Jack Horner, a man who didn't take kindly to nostalgia or sentimentality. His mind raced, filled with questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to.

“So...How did you find me? My name isn't known over there. Least not yet anyway.”

“The Muffin Man told me.”

He cocks his brow.

“The Muffin Man?”

“Yeah, the Muffin Man, who lives on Drury Lane.”

“And why did he tell you about me?”

“He thought I was working for you.”

“Why did he think that?”

“I was hired to kill him.”

That makes him snort a chuckle.

“What?”

“Yeah. I let him live in exchange for info. I took that info and all my coin to get here.”

He palms his face.

“You're serious? You dropped everything and spent all your money, just to find me?”

She rocks on her heels innocently.

“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds rather silly.”

“It sounds psychotic.”

“That too.”

He sighs.

“Let me ask this. Why did you do this? Come all this way and whatnot. What do you expect to happen?”

She pauses, searching for the right words. Her eyes meet his, and for a moment, the hardened veneer she built over the years weakens. Her vulnerability showing. She takes a deep breath and then speaks.

“I came because of a promise. A promise I made to myself, to your family, to you, and to the memory of a time when things felt...possible. When you and your family were the only ones who showed me that I had value. That I wasn't all the things my mom said I was. I was a good girl. I was useful. I wanted to keep living to feel that. I came here to see if...if there was still a place for me in your world.”

His expression shifts slightly, the hard lines of his face softening, but only just. He turns away, staring out the window of his office, watching the plumes of smoke rise from the chimneys, blending into the overcast sky.

“You were part of a life that I left behind, Lynsie. I had to become someone else to survive and thrive. "Little" Jack Horner doesn't exist anymore.”

She clenches her fists, working up the nerve.

“Neither does that scared little girl who lived in a shoe.”

She replies, taking a step closer.

“That child who was looked down on more lowly than dirt and was the target of unwarranted abuse died long ago. She died the moment she tasted compassion. And if both our old selves are gone, then let this be a new beginning. If that little girl can't be with that boy again, then this woman has a request...”

She stops behind him and kneels.

“Please. Jack. Allow me to serve you.”

Jack remains silent for a long moment, wrestling with his thoughts. The sheer gravity of her gesture struck a chord deep within him. The memories of their brief connection swirl in his mind. He turns to face her, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her kneeling form. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and measured.

“You honestly mean this, don't you? You want to serve me, just like that?”

She keeps her head down.

“I do.”

He sneers.

“I don't need servants who are bound by old promises or childhood memories. I need people who are loyal, capable, and unflinching. I need tools that can and will lay their lives down for my goals.”

“Then I will be your tool.”

“Don't say things you don't mean.”

“I DO mean it.”

His eyes narrow as he regards her and she looks up at him, their gaze locking, determination radiating off her despite her submissive posture. The room is thick with tension, each moment stretching out as he considers her words, her sincerity, and the potential risks and benefits of allowing her back into his life.

“Stand up.”

He commands, his voice a low rumble. She rises to her feet, her gaze steady and unwavering as she stands straight at the ready.

“You want to serve me? Prove it. I need someone who can get results, who can handle themselves under pressure, and who won't break under my command. If you can do that, maybe—just maybe—you'll earn a place here.”

She nods, her expression resolute.

“Tell me what you need, and I will get it done.”

A dark smile tugs at the corner of his lips, a plan already forming in his mind. He can see the fire in her eyes, the unyielding spirit that had survived unimaginable hardship. She wasn't the weak fragile girl he once knew. She had transformed, much like he had.

“I don't know what you've heard about me. But I, let's say, have a rather unique hobby. I'm a collector of rare magical goods.”

She cocks her brow intrigued. He hated magic as a kid. So him collecting it as an adult is a surprise.

“Tell me...Have you ever heard of The Golden Apples of the Hesperides?”

She shakes her head.

“The Garden of the Hesperides is Hera's orchard in the west, where either a single apple tree or a grove grows, producing golden apples. According to the legend, when the marriage of Zeus and Hera took place, the different deities came with nuptial presents for the latter. Among them was the goddess Gaia, with bronze branches having golden apples growing on them as a wedding gift. Hera, greatly admiring these, begged Gaia to plant them in her gardens, which extended as far as Mount Atlas. The Hesperides were given the task of tending to the grove but occasionally they'd picked apples from it themselves. Not trusting them, Hera also placed in the garden an immortal, never-sleeping, hundred-headed serpent-like dragon named Ladon as an additional safeguard, that twined and twisted around the tree.”

“Oh. Well, that's just delightful.”

He chuckles darkly, enjoying her reaction.

“Yes, it's not exactly an easy task. But I want those apples for my collection. They are said to possess immense magical properties. Your task is simple: bring me a few of these golden apples. They're highly sought after and heavily guarded, making them the perfect test of your skills.”

She takes a deep breath, her mind racing with the enormity of the challenge before her. But the fire in her eyes doesn't waver.

“I can't tell if you have faith in me or just want me gone. But either way, I'll get you those apples.”

He leans back, his expression still calculating.

“Understand this: fail, and there won't be a second chance. You'll be out on the streets, no different than where you started. Succeed, and I'll entertain this request of yours.”

She nods, her resolve firm.

“Understood. I won't fail. This will be tough, but I'll find a way. I always do.”

His eyes glint with a mixture of admiration and skepticism.

“Good. You have one month. Don't disappoint me.”

She flinches momentarily before nodding. She leaves his office, the weight of her mission settling on her shoulders. As she walks through the factory, past the bewildered guards and the rumbling machinery, her mind races with thoughts and plans. This was it. Her chance to prove herself, to reconnect with the one person who once offered her hope. She wasn't going to fail him. She had made a promise long ago, and now, she had the chance to make it happen. Nothing short of death would stop her from fulfilling it.

Back in his office, Jack returns to his desk, the weight of his empire pressing down once more. The past he thought he had buried was resurfacing, and with it, the possibility of change.

“Lynsie...let's see if you're truly as useful as you wish to be.”

[Time skip]

Days slowly turned into weeks since Lynsie embarked on her seemingly impossible mission to retrieve the Golden Apples. Every day was a grueling test of her skills, perseverance, and sheer willpower. She recalls the lessons she learned from the Master Thief, the survival instincts honed by the bandits, and the discipline and focus that kept her alive all these years. Each step forward is a testament to her growth and determination. She traveled through enchanted forests, scaled treacherous mountains, and navigated labyrinthine paths, all while dealing with mythical creatures, random lowlifes, and cunning traps both natural or not to protect the location of the sacred apples from greedy foolhardy mortals.

Meanwhile, back at the factory, Big Jack Horner went about his business with his usual ruthless efficiency. Despite his outward calm, he couldn't shake the memory of Lynsie's determined eyes and the fire that burned within them. He hadn't heard from her since she left on her seemingly impossible mission and he found himself wondering, more often than he'd like to admit, how she was faring. Part of him was certain she would fail—after all, it was a dangerous task, one that even seasoned adventurers would find daunting. Yet, another part of him—a quieter, more hopeful part—wondered if she might actually succeed. Those eyes. How they burned with a fire he hadn't seen in years.

As the deadline drew near, Jack's empire continued to expand. His factory churned out more products, his wealth grew exponentially, and his influence spread further. But in quiet moments, he wondered if she was still alive, if she had managed to survive the perilous journey, and if she would succeed in her seemingly impossible task. He found himself growing more restless. He spent more time in his office, staring out the window at the sprawling city below, lost in thought. His guards and staff noticed the change but dared not comment. "Big" Jack Horner was not a man to be questioned.

On the final day of the month, as dusk settled over the city, Jack stood in his office, his eyes fixed on the horizon. A knock sounded on the door behind him then slowly creaked open, and he turned to see one of his guards standing there, looking nervous.

“Sir, there's...”

“Did I say for you to come in?”

The calm in Jack's voice only made the guard quake, he'd forgotten to wait for permission.

“F-Forgive me, sir! It's just that...”

“Yes or no? Did I tell you to come in?”

The guard gulps.

“N-No, sir.”

“That's right. Now you're going to close the door and knock again. This time, with your face, and wait till I tell you to enter. Am I clear?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

Reluctantly the guard shuts the door and Jack waits for it.

*THUD*

*THUD*

*THUD*

*THUD*

*THUD*

*THUD*

“Come in.”

The innocently sweet tone Jack uses is like salt on a wound. But the door opens and the guard is looking quite banged up now.

“T-There's...someone here...t-to see you.”

The guard said, his voice trembling and slurred from the damage.

Jack's expression remained stern.

“Send them in.”

The guard nodded and stepped aside. A bruised and exhausted Lynsie entered the room, her clothes tattered and dirty with some blood, but her eyes shone with that same fire he knew her for. In her hands, she death grips a small leather satchel. Jack's gaze locked onto her, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, with a slow deliberate motion, he dismisses the guard. Poor guy needs to go see a nurse now.

“Well, well, look who's back.”

His voice was laced with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“I half-expected you to end up as dragon food or worse.”

She doesn't comment back, merely drags herself to his desk and places the satchel down, a faint golden glow seeping out. Jack's eyes widened slightly, and he reached out to open the sack. Inside, nestled among some silver leaves, were three glistening golden apples. The sight was enough to momentarily silence him, and he carefully picked one up, inspecting it. It was perfect, almost otherworldly in its beauty, and radiated a subtle magical aura.

“You did it.”

Jack murmured, turning the apple in his hands, his voice low and measured.

“Impressive.”

Lynsie smiled wearily.

“I told you, I would not fail you.”

He set the apple back into the satchel and looked at her, his expression softening ever so slightly.

“May I ask...How?”

She runs a hand through her hair.

“Locating the garden and the dragon were my priorities. The Hesperides were of no threat. Mere a minor inconvenience. One that stopped when they saw the dragon go down.”

He chuckles in amusement.

“You? Took out an immortal multi-headed dragon?”

“As I said, I'm not that weak girl you remember. I had to survive, and I got good at it. That and there is more than one way to take a beast down. You said it was immortal and never slept. Not that it couldn't be paralyzed. And in my bandit days, I learned of some very powerful toxins. So...I nabbed you a little something extra while I could.”

Curiosity compelled him to dig back into the satchel and feel something smooth like glass, pulling out two vials. One has viscous crimson liquid and the other is a clear yellowish runny fluid.

“I heard Dragons are getting to be low in numbers, what with all the overcompensating idiots trying to make names for themselves killing them. So when you said you collected magical goods, it occurred to me that dragon blood and venom would be quite the additions. I would've gotten you more but, turns out an elephant's dosage of paralytic didn't last as long as I thought it would on a ticked-off dragon.”

He couldn't help but feel a swell of appreciation and slight respect as he gazed at the vials in his hand. The blood glinted ominously under the dim light of the room, while the venom seemed to catch the light with an almost ethereal shimmer. Dragon blood and venom were indeed rare commodities, highly sought after for their potent magical properties and unparalleled value. She had gone above and beyond, not only securing the coveted golden apples but also procuring these additional items that could fetch an exorbitant price or be used in crafting powerful enchantments. He set the vials back down gently into the satchel, his gaze shifting back to her.

“You certainly know how to sweeten a pot. Quite the haul for a simple mercenary.”

He said, a smirk playing on his lips. She just shrugged, the exhaustion was evident in her posture.

“I wanted to make sure you had no doubts about my conviction. I meant what I said. I want to serve you, to be of worth. I'll be your tool, your weapon, whatever you need. Give this life of mine a purpose, a real one, even if it's just in your shadow.”

He studied her for a moment, considering her words. The determination in her voice, and the lengths she had gone to, all pointed to someone who had transformed from nothing into a formidable force. She was a weapon with no aim. But in the right hands...His hands... His mind raced, calculating the potential uses for someone with her skills and just what other things she could do for him.

“You know, few could have managed what you did.”

“That being?”

“Meeting my expectations.”

She exhaled deeply, the weight of his words lifting some of the exhaustion from her shoulders. There was a sense of satisfaction in her eyes, though she maintained her composure. His gaze hardened slightly, though a hint of a smile remained on his lips.

“Don't relax just yet. This was just the first step and you met my bare minimum. You wanted to serve me, to prove your worth? Fine. You have your opportunity. And you best maintain it. I don't tolerate weakness. So you better not hinder me, my company, or my goals. Do I make myself clear?”

Lynsie nods, her resolve firm.

“I understand. I won't let you down.”

Jack moves from his desk, towering over her, his presence imposing yet no longer as intimidating as it once was. He moved closer, examining her with an intensity that made her heart race, though she refused to show any sign of weakness.

“You've shown me you can handle yourself in the field. Now I want to see how you fare within my organization. Working for me means total loyalty and commitment. There are no half-measures, no hesitation. You'll be stepping into a world where betrayal, incompetence, and failure are not tolerated. If you serve me, you serve me fully, with everything you have. You'll be dealing with matters both internal and external. Prove that you can be trusted, that you can execute my orders without question.”

Lynsie met his gaze steadily, the fire in her eyes burning brighter as she held a hand over her heart.

“I swear to you, Jack. That this life of mine is now yours. Nothing else in this world matters to me. Your goals are my goals. Your happiness is my own. Money has no meaning. The only reward I aim for is satisfying your needs. Give me any task and it will be done without question. No matter what, I...”

“Okay! Geez. I get it. Stop being so dramatic. You sound both ridiculous and desperate.”

“...It was the satisfy needs thing, right?”

“That part was just weird.”

She slaps herself.

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

He puts an end to that with a hand on her head.

“None of that. You got beaten enough as is, no need to start doing it to yourself.”

“Sorry.”

He leans down so he's at her eye level, his voice steady and commanding.

“You are undoubtedly...still so damn weird.”

Despite how it sounds, this makes her smile. He takes his hand off her and flicks her forehead, knocking her down.

“Come now. Don't just clutter my floor.”

She looks at him confused but gets up, following him as he leaves his office. Jack's towering figure moves with a confident stride, his demeanor shifting back into the commanding presence of a leader. As they walk, Lynsie can't help but notice the curious glances from the workers and guards they pass. Some look at her with curiosity, others with suspicion, but none dare to speak.

“Um...W-Where are we going?”

He doesn't bother with visibly acknowledging her.

“You look like hell. I can't have someone representing me who looks like they spent a month being Sisyphus's boulder.”

Fair enough. She couldn't argue that she probably brought the health code down in her current state. There wasn't a point during her mission that she stopped for long, barely sleeping or eating to ensure not to waste a single valuable second. But health be damned, she had a deadline and stuck to it as her training had drilled such conviction into her.

He leads her through a series of hallways and stairs, the sounds of the factory growing distant as they enter a quieter wing of the building. Eventually, they arrive at a set of double doors. Jack pushes them open and her eyes widen at the shift in environmental tone. The atmosphere here is more refined, with plush carpets and ornate fixtures that speak of Jack's success and wealth. She wasn't expecting such posh living quarters in a pie factory of all places. After a short stroll down a small hall, Jack opens a door to reveal a luxurious suite, complete with a large bed and a joint lavish bathroom.

“What do you think? Pretty nice, right?”

“If I didn't know better, I'd think a noble stayed here.”

“Please. Royalty wishes it had it this good.”

“And this room is...?”

A smug laugh leaves him.

“Oh, this room? Don't tell me you think this is yours. Ha! Heavens no. This is my room. It's where I rest my weary head when I don't bother going home.”

She rolls her eyes. Ah, yes, a most hilarious jape. Showing off extravagances to the poor person. Rich people's humor is wild.

“No. Your room is over there.”

That took her by surprise. They move a few doors down and he opens the door, showing a more simple room compared to his. She steps in and looks around the room, momentarily taken aback by the gesture. It's a stark contrast to the rough conditions she's been used to for most of her life. She turns to him, her expression a mix of gratitude and bewilderment.

“This is mine?”

He waves her off with a dismissive hand.

“Don't read too much into it. I can't have you back on the streets looking like a beggar while you're here. First impressions matter, and you're now representing me in some capacity. So go get cleaned up. There's some basic linen in the dresser. I'll leave some food in here in a bit. You need some meat on your bones before you drop dead and are of no use to me.”

With that, he turns to leave, but pauses at the door, glancing back at her.

“And don't mistake this for kindness. It's purely practical. You're here to work for me, and I expect you to earn your keep.”

She nods, understanding the gravity of his words.

“I won't disappoint you, Jack.”

He gives a curt nod and smirks.

“Good girl. See to it that you don't.”

He leaves on that note, closing the doors behind him. She stands in the middle of the room, taking a deep breath as she momentarily forgets to breathe. The weight of her new position and the responsibilities that come with it are heavy, but so is her sense of purpose. For the first time in years, she feels like she's moving towards something meaningful.

The room was a haven, a sanctuary from the harsh world outside. She wasted no time, heading straight to the bathroom. She peeled off her tattered clothes, wincing as she saw the bruises and cuts marring her skin. The hot water from the shower was a welcome balm, washing away the grime and tension of her arduous journey. She scrubbed herself clean, letting the water soothe her aching muscles and refresh her spirit.

Once clean, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a soft towel. She rummages through the dresser and finds a simple nightgown, which gets her thinking. He did all this. Why did he do this? This room, it's new or at least fixed up from something else. It still has the scent of fresh mortar. So did he anticipate her success? He really made a room...for her. Her appreciation for him only grew. Another smell hits her nose. There was a small table with a tray of food and a note in Jack's unmistakable handwriting: "Eat. Rest. Report to me at dawn." She smiled faintly at the terse yet considerate gesture.

“I did it, Miss Doris. I found my path.”

She takes her time with the food, the first real meal she'd had in days, savoring every bite. She can't help but think about everything. The young Jack Horner she knew had grown into a powerful and ruthless man, one who had built an empire from nothing. And she? She had transformed from a weak, broken girl into a capable and determined woman. Their reunion was unexpected, but perhaps it was fate. Now, standing at the precipice of a new chapter in her life, she resolves to give it her all. No matter what challenges lie ahead, she will face them head-on. For Jack, for herself, and for the promise of a future she never thought possible.

Months passed, and Lynsie quickly proved her worth within Jack's organization. Her intelligence, skill, and unwavering loyalty set her apart, earning her a reputation among the staff and within the underground network that Jack controlled. She executed missions with precision, handled delicate negotiations, and ensured that Jack's interests were always protected. Her transition from a mere tool to a trusted confidante was gradual but undeniable, soon being known around the facility as Little Lynn.

She had made herself to be not just a capable asset but an invaluable one. She had a knack for identifying weaknesses in others and exploiting them in shrewd ways, a skill Jack found particularly useful. Her skills in espionage, negotiation, and strategic planning had already yielded significant results. Jack found himself relying on her more than he initially expected.

She had settled into her role, taking on increasingly important tasks and earning the respect of the staff, albeit begrudgingly in some cases. She was working directly under Jack as his right hand, helping manage his collection, procure rare items, and deal with...problems as they arise. The quickness of her placement in a high position made most skeptical of her intentions, a good many believed her to be using Jack. Such thoughts would be buried in time. Her transformation was noticeable, not just in her physical appearance, which had become more full and polished, but in the way she carried herself. She was confident, efficient, and unflinching in her readiness to act in his service.

Jack observed her growth with a mix of admiration and caution. He valued her contributions but remained wary, knowing all too well the dangers of trust in his line of work. Still, Lynsie's unwavering dedication and the way she seamlessly integrated into his world were without fault. The child who once was so broken had become an indispensable part of his empire.

One evening, Jack sat in his trophy room reviewing research reports. His underworld connections have been fruitful at first when it came to gathering information on his goal, but now the well is running dry. For him, collecting magic is just a small drop in the bucket. Priceless artifacts and memorabilia of legend are little more than a means to a greater end. A testament to his superiority over that which once belittled him. No. These objects are nothing compared to having actual magic at his control and not by use of conduits. Which is why he aims to give himself such power. But not just any magic talent will do. He wants ALL of it. Not just a bit. Not half. ALL of it. He would be special. Command the power that was denied and be master over all. It's his wish. The thing that will finally make him happy. All that's stopping him from making his wish come true is a single map. If only he had a clue to work with.

A soft knock broke his thoughts.

“Enter.”

Lynsie entered quietly, approaching him with a calm demeanor, her eyes sharp and attentive. Over the months, she had become accustomed to the subtle nuances of his moods, reading the unspoken language of his body and expressions. Tonight, there was a tension in the air, a sense of urgency that made her pulse quicken.

“Master Jack...”

She began, her voice low and steady. Her professionalism is now more or less her default state, something he preferred along with the title she used. The causal familiarity was a bit too awkward for his taste. This seemed to be something she picked up on and kept it to a minimum and mostly when in private.

“The latest shipment arrived. I've had the items cataloged and stored. But there's something else—rumors about a relic that might interest you. My sources suggest it to be Poseidon's Trident.”

Jack's eyes flickered with interest, his fingers drumming lightly on the desk. Poseidon, god of the sea, storms, earthquakes, and horses. Frankly an oddball god when Jack gave it thought. But the Trident was a coveted prize among collectors and power-seekers alike. Total command of water, storms, and be able to rock the very earth? He'd be a fool to let that slip away from him.

“Go on.”

He prompted, leaning back in his chair.

“It seems that it has found its way into the hands of some pirates. Now, I don't know about you, but a bunch of salty scalawags don't need such a powerful instrument. I'm thinking we should kindly relieve them of the trident posthaste. After all, said item should really be in your rightful hands.”

His expression darkened, a calculating gleam in his eyes as a smirk curls his lips. Such words do cater to him so well.

“And how do you propose we abscond with such a wanted prize?”

She approached, a contemplative look on her face and her hands held behind her back.

“Hmmm...Pirates are kind of all over the place. Gung-ho, superstitious, protective, and paranoid, but also reckless and foolhardy. If word has gotten out to this point, then they will be expecting underhanded tactics. We more than likely won't be the only ones aiming to steal it. So...I suggest a well-coordinated strike.”

His brow cocks and she continues.

“Ports aren't too large. A team can cover the area and lock off escape routes, effectively making any potential runners that may or may not have nabbed it go down selected paths that lead to ambushes. It's a funneling tactic to force your target into a better position of attack. A main unit can go in and attempt to score without the group, but can always fall back on the group for aid if needed.”

He let such an idea play out in his head as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he studied her.

“And you can arrange such a thing?”

She smiled slyly.

“I can start the groundwork at your approval. We have contacts who owe us favors and can be persuaded to help. The promise of coin goes a long way. Overall...It will take some coordination, but it's doable.”

His eyes glinted with approval. She had proven herself capable time and time again, and this plan was another example of her resourcefulness. He couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation.

“Good. You may proceed.”

He said, his voice firm.

“Prepare a team and make sure everything is airtight. No loose ends.”

She nodded.

“Understood. I'll make the arrangements and keep you informed.”

As she turned to leave he called her back, his tone softening slightly.

“Lynsie.”

She paused, turning back to face him. He hesitated for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“Don't disappoint me."

A flicker of fright crossed her eyes, and she gave him a small hardened stare.

“I won't.”

With that, she left the room, closing the door behind her. He sat back in his chair, lost in thought. He honestly didn't care if he got the trident or not. At least right now. It would be his, after all, patience is a virtue he learned to use when it came to important matters. This wasn't important. This was just a fun little test. Pushing her buttons for results. This was one with a small meaning though. A box in his desk drawer is her reward. One she has to earn. Her loyalty and competence were proving invaluable, so a little token of menial gratitude was due. Especially since...never mind. He shoved such thoughts away. As he gazed at the artifacts in his trophy room, anticipation welled within him. The future held untold power and possibilities, and he would stop at nothing to claim every last bit of it for himself. For now, he would focus on the task at hand and ensure everything went according to plan. After all, the game was only just beginning, and he intended to win.

It's a dark and quiet night. The moon hangs low, shining brightly over the still waters of a quaint port town. Docked like a proud beacon above all else, a pirate ship. Simple yet fair enough to see from a distance. Such calm serenity is far from true, not when chaos erupts on the deck of the ship.

It had all started when Puss in Boots had snuck aboard as the crew of cutthroats haphazardly slept on the deck. Like the stealthy thief he is, Puss pounced around and avoided waking the sleeping crew. He searched around, looking for any sign of the prize he sought. Unfortunately, the seaside hilltop village of Del Mar had been hit with a rather harsh drought, causing thirst, famine, and much hardship for the people. Puss, being a charitable Gato and hero, sought the trident to bring rain and save the town from further grief.

His search doesn't take long. Sleeping at a desk is the captain and in his grip is the trident, the blue-green gem in the core shimmered off the gold metal. Carefully, he shimmied the object from the man's grasp. Confidant in his skill, Puss lets his guard down, unaware that the captain had woken and spied the pilfering pussycat. The captain comes up from behind and snatches the weapon, attempting to stab Puss. The tabby is fleet of foot, avoiding the attempted impalement, and delivers a series of rapid kicks to the man's face. This knocks the man out but the trident is sent flying. Puss grabs it yet the momentum has it going overboard...straight for the jaws of a hungry shark.

The shark, however, goes hungry. Puss and Trident are pulled back from the brink by Papa Bear, who is of course with his family, Mama, Baby, and Goldilocks. The crime family separates the cat from the weapon and nearly rouses a pirate from their sleep when the trident is fumbled. Luckily, they stay asleep. Unluckily, this is when another enters the picture and stirs things up for the worse, at least for them. Kitty Softpaws, high up on the mast, busts out a guitar and strums loudly which wakes the ship's crew.

An all-out brawl broke out between the ship's crew, Puss in Boots, Goldilocks & the Three Bears, and Kitty Softpaws. The trident is tossed around like a hot potato as one and all fight for it. Weapons clash and claws slash. Then within moments of it starting, it seems over. Kitty gets her paws on the trident and takes off. Goldi and the bears abandon ship after her, leaving Puss to the wrath of a pissed-off band of marauding pirates...who proceed to stuff him into a canon intending to fire. But such action doesn't happen though. Not when Kitty saves him by using the Trident to summon a massive wave that washes the crew off the ship.

With threats mostly taken out and whatever pleasantries done between old familiar faces, the thieves scatter into the night, running through streets to flee the little town before daybreak. Kitty, with the trident in paw, finds most paths oddly crowded since she entered. This isn't too much of a bother, a cat is more than capable of leaping around like the world is a playground. This...was a poor move.

A faint low whistle cuts the still air. A single arrow splits into four. She can't react in time. In a flash, she's pinned to a wall by a thin but strong net. A few on horseback make themselves known but one emerges from the shadows further back, bow in hand. Kitty scrambles, unable to claw the net. Curse her former owners for this! The farthest figure comes moving in fast, her visage becoming clear in the moonlight, upon recognition Kitty's thrashing stops and her calm returns.

“I thought we were on the same team, Little Lynn.”

The cat's sassy tone falls on deaf ears yet the woman does slow down.

“Forgiveness, Miss Softpaws. I aimed to follow the glow of the trident. You just so happen to have the target.”

Lynsie reaches her and pulls the item from the netting, slinging it to her back under the bow.

“Fine work, Miss Softpaws. Master Jack will be pleased.”

She takes a dagger out and cuts the netting, freeing the captured cat.

“So...What of the others I had sent?”

Kitty scoffs.

“You might want to check the water. Those fools got chummy with the pirates and passed out after all the fun they had. If you ask me, they needed a good whooping.”

Lynsie rumbles lowly, displeased by this news. The feline stretches and jumps in surprise when a bag of gold is dropped by her.

“Payment, in full, as promised. I hope we can continue to do business with you in the future, Miss Softpaws.”

Kitty collects the bag with a smirk.

“Always a pleasure.”

She bounds away but pauses to look back.

“Tell Jack I'm available if ever he needs some real help!”

She leaps away before she can notice the murderous glare sent her way. Lynsie reaches back and clutches the trident, her grip turning her knuckles bone white.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut. It can get you into some faulty situations.”

The gem on the trident glows, causing the ground to quake. A crack rips at her feet and travels like a shark zoning in on unfortunate prey. The men on horseback come in, one holding the reins of another steed.

“Are things okay, Miss Lynn?”

She just looks off silently, as if expectantly waiting for something to happen. Suddenly a yowl erupts, and a faint black speck flings up into the moon's glow. A smirk comes to her and she accepts the reins.

“Yes. All is fine.”

She mounts the horse and takes the lead, signaling to the rest of the units around to follow.

“What of the others?”

“They can walk. I do not tolerate such insolence. If they bother returning they shall learn this lesson personally.”

“Isn't that a bit harsh?”

The night air feels colder all of a sudden.

“Are you questioning how I run things? Because, by all means, do tell. I'd love to hear your thoughts.”

The man shrinks more and more into his saddle at her snarling.

“N-No, Miss Lynn. My mistake.”

She sneers and snaps the reins, urging the animal to take off like a shot. She intends to return with haste, racing the moon as it sinks and the sun rises.

Mission complete.

Status...Success.

...

The journey back was uneventful, the silence filled only with the soft thud of hooves against the dirt road. The moonlight bathed the landscape in a silvery glow, creating an almost serene atmosphere. As dawn approached, the returning team rode through the gates of the pie factory, their success evident in their confident demeanor and the secured trident. The night's events had gone according to plan, with minimal complications and maximum efficiency. Lynsie dismounted and handed the reins to a stable hand before making her way inside to Jack's office, the artifact held tightly in her grip.

Jack watched the dawn break from his office window, the first light illuminating the meticulously organized space. Pulling all-nighters isn't uncommon for him but it was less often than before since he had help. Help that should be returning any time now. As the seconds ticked by, he allowed himself a rare moment of contemplation, reflecting on the journey that had brought him here and the path that lay ahead.

The sound of a light knock on the heavy door sounds, waiting for the command to enter before it creaks open.

Lynsie stepped in as he leaned back in his chair. She carried the trident with both hands and then kneels, presenting it to him with a slight bow of her head. Jack's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he rose from his chair, walking over to inspect the relic. He took the trident from her, feeling its weight and examining the craftsmanship. It was a magnificent piece, pulsating with power, its legendary aura almost palpable. He nodded appreciatively, his eyes flickering back to Lynsie.

“Impressive work.”

He murmured, his eyes never leaving the trident.

“No complications, I assume?”

“None, Master Jack.”

“Well done.”

He said, his voice carrying a rare note of genuine praise. She couldn't hide the small smile that tugged at her lips.

“I'm glad I continue to meet your expectations.”

Jack nodded, a faint smirk curling his lips. He placed the trident on his desk. Turning back to Lynsie, he crossed his arms, studying her. There was a newfound confidence in her stance, a subtle but noticeable shift in how she carried herself mere months ago.

He walked back around to his desk, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a small intricately carved box. Placing it on the desk, he slid it towards her, his expression unreadable as he leaned forward.

“Open it.”

He instructed. With confusion and caution, she took the box. She opened it to reveal a finely crafted silver choker band, lined with five large amethysts. It was simple yet elegant, and it puzzled her greatly.

“What do you think.”

“It's lovely.”

“It's yours.”

She nearly drops the box in shock.

“W-What?”

He merely turns his back and faces the window, being as nonchalantly detached as one would expect.

“Consider it a token of my, uh, acknowledgment. An incentive to continue serving me or whatever.”

She looks at him, then the box, then back to him, and then the box again before putting it down on his desk. The sound is enough to get him to look back and now he's the puzzled one.

“What are you doing?”

“I can't accept this.”

His eyebrows furrowed in surprise and irritation. He turned fully to face her, his gaze hardening as he tried to read her expression. The rejection of a gift, especially one given in a gesture of acknowledgment, was unexpected. He was accustomed to people clamoring for his approval, not turning it down.

“And why not?”

He demanded, his tone sharp.

“You know I don't GIVE things away, right? I TAKE what I want and make sure others don't have it if I can't.”

She stood her ground, her eyes meeting his with a stubborn intensity.

“This feels, how do I put it...Awkward.”

She said guardedly, choosing her words carefully.

“I serve you because that is my want, not to collect rewards. Heck, I have to quarrel with you about being paid as is. My loyalty isn't something that can be bought with gifts. Because it's something I have already given to you freely.”

Jack studied her for a long moment, weighing her words. Her sincerity was clear, and it struck a chord with him, though he wouldn't admit it.

“Fine. Then let me rephrase myself.”

He walked over to her, picked up the box, and held it out to her again, his eyes locking onto hers.

“This is yours.”

He said, his voice lower but no less firm.

“You've earned it. I am...gifting...this to you.”

His face bunched up with straining effort to utter such words.

“As a symbol of your position and your value to me.”

His face began to flush with vibrant red tones, not due to fluster, but from a lack of air as concentrating on putting on this act took all his focus and breathing was something he had completely forgotten about doing.

“Wear it with pride, as a reminder of what you've achieved and what you're capable of. That I...”

“For the love of god, man, stop!”

A heavy labored gasp comes from him as he gulps air for his life, being somewhat decent took more effort than he was used to.

“I...am never...doing that...again...”

“Please don't. While I appreciate what you were trying to do. That was just...so very wrong.”

“Noted...”

She took in this moment and watched as he regained his composure. He was a remorseless and greedy bugger, yet for a brief moment, the harsh calculating exterior he always presented seemed to soften, revealing a glimpse of something more human. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about that, so best to pretend like it didn't happen and move on to something far less awkward. She slowly reached out and took the box from him, her fingers brushing against his large palms.

“Thank you, Jack.”

She said quietly, her voice filled with genuine gratitude.

“I am humbled by this most gracious of honors.”

Now back to normal, he nodded, satisfied with her acceptance of this 'gift'. Ugh, that word made him feel dirty. The hell was he thinking? Nope. Never doing this kind of thing. Doesn't matter if it's her birthday. This was way to damn unpleasant for him. Best forget this happened and get back on track.

“Good. Now, go get some rest. I want you back to duty in the afternoon. We mustn't disrupt our natural schedule.”

“Then you too should sleep. I can tell you haven't.”

Any of that humanity is tossed out the window as he glares at her.

“Just do as I say. I'll rest when I'm ready.”

Much better. All is right with her world as he is being himself again.

“As you wish.”

“Good girl.”

She nodded and left the office, clutching the box to her chest, the door closing quietly behind her. He sat back in his chair, his gaze lingering on the trident. For the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of satisfaction not just from acquiring a powerful artifact but from the loyalty and competence of someone. It was risky, what he was doing, letting someone close and being vulnerable. Just this once. Maybe he'll see how it goes. He'll invest in this risk and hope it pays off in his favor.

As the morning sun continued to rise, Jack allowed himself a brief moment of contentment. He had built an empire, surrounded himself with capable individuals, and was on the cusp of achieving the ultimate power he craved. But there was still much to be done, many more artifacts to acquire, and rivals to overcome. The game was far from over, and Jack Horner intended to play it to the very end, ensuring his victory in the most spectacular way possible. For now, he would enjoy this small triumph and plan his next move, confident that with Lynsie and his other loyal followers by his side, nothing could stand in his way. The future was his for the taking, and he would stop at nothing to claim it all.

She returned to her room, a mixture of emotions swirling within her. Placing the box on her nightstand, she sat on her bed and stared at it, the weight of her journey and the responsibilities she had taken on pressing down on her. But not in a bad way. This was validation. This was proof. This was meaningful.

“You know I don't GIVE things away, right?”

A smirk creeps on her lips.

“I TAKE what I want and make sure others don't have it if I can't.”

Yet he gave her so much. Not just the choker. But this room. The her job. The clothes on her back. A sense of belonging. And the very spark that started her down a road to a different fate than life had.

“You vex me, Jack. You really do.”

After a moment, she opened the box again and took out the choker. She ran her fingers over the smooth silver and the amethysts, feeling their coolness against her skin. With a determined breath, she fastened it around her neck. The feel of it was both comforting and empowering, a tangible reminder of her progress and her place in Jack's world.

The morning light streamed through the window, casting a soft glow over the room. Lynsie lays back on her bed, feeling the exhaustion of the night's mission catching up with her. She closed her eyes, a sense of purpose and resolve settling over her. She had found her path, and she was determined to walk it with unwavering loyalty and strength. Serving at the side of the one she felt worthy by.

~~~~~~

[I love writing for this pair. The dynamic is fun and the lore I've crafted I try to keep in check with the in-universe canon. I hope to make more when inspiration hits. There's always room for more even if it's one-shots.]

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Update to the last ask…….

My dad is now acting like nothing happened and my mom Claims it was the alcohol talking but to me, it doesn't matter. what happened the night still hurt me he still said those hurtful words and now I'm not acting like I used to and I only see a stronger. I thought parents were supposed to love you and protect you but it's them the ones that make the biggest damage. Now I don't talk to my dad like I used to I burly look him in the eye and I try to not spend too much time around him so he won't call me a burden again. Now that I look back I kind of raised myself I did everything on my own I never asked for help with homework when I was at school and before I started to work I burly asked him for anything so for him to say all that really hurts. And I feel broken and unloved. I don't know what's like to be loved or to be told that you are important all I get is the end of the stick calling me extra or whatever but sometimes I wish I could disappear and maybe everyone would be happier I only bring stress and annoyance to people.

The advice you gave me really helped thank you so much ❤️

Oh bub... Thank you for the update and pls feel free to update me whenever!

You don't deserve that- you're owed more than a proper apology. And him brushing it off like it didn't happen... And the alcohol excuse is lame. And you're right- it doesn't matter. What they said to you and what transpired was wrong- and cruel. I see why you see him as a stranger. I've seen my dad as one too a lot of my life. That's exactly what parents are supposed to do. They are supposed to love unconditionally, take care of you, and protect you even well after you are 18... It sucks that yours don't want to do so. Their job once they have kids never ends- they're supposed to be there for you- not throw you to the wolves. They're supposed to be someone safe to return to. I'm so sorry you didn't get the parents you deserved. No one deserves to be treated the way you have been.

I want you to know that hwvr you feel like being around your dad is the right choice. You do not have to talk to him or engage or do anything that would make you feel unsafe. I want you to know that you are not burden. He fucking knew what he signed up for when he had you. And now he's not upholding his bargain. You're not a burden. You are anything but that, okay? I promise you that.

Sadly, the only way we can connect dots is when we look back. And I'm sorry these are the dots you have to connect. I was the same way- I raised myself too. And I'm sorry you had to have that experience too. A kid shouldn't have to... And I didn't ask for help on homework and until I got a job- I learned not to ask for anything either. I know it sucks when you hear someone say 'I understand how you feel' but I genuinely do. That part of my life is greatly the same... Anyways- I hope you use your money to buy yourself things that make you happy even if they're small. I hope you know you were never a burden. He was wrong to say that (along with everything else he's said). What he said was uncalled for and hurtful.

All you feel is valid, okay? You have every right to feel that. But I hope you know that there are going to be people who will love every piece of you. And that your parents aren't the end all be all to that safety/happiness/love. They are just a starting point (at least for us)- and you're going to find better and better people I promise you that. You don't know it right now. But you will. I know so- why? Because I thought the same. And now while I am still stuck here. I've found people who love and care for me. A concept I thought was implausible... I promise you'll find genuine people. (it may take a bit too- but just know not everyone can be what you need- you may need 10-20 friends just to fill even the smallest of gaps). But for now, I want you to know that I'm your friend.

And bubba- I know you want to think you are a form of stress and annoyance to people. But you're not. If your dad or mom said that or made you think that. I want you to know that they were completely wrong. Money is a source of stress. Taxes and work are forms of stress. Loving someone and receiving love- isn't supposed to be stressful. You are not supposed to feel like you are an annoyance to people. You aren't. Someday you'll get to move out "disappear" and I promise you that. You just have to work towards that. And it seems like it'll take "forever" but you'll get there.

A little advice for today:

It might be hard but if it's possible- I want you to try to make friends in real life. It'll sound silly until I explain. If you hang out with enough friends and are at work the other times outside of sleeping. Doesn't matter if you come to huffy puffy asking you where you've been all day. It'll keep you out of the house. And it'll keep you safe and it'll help you stay sane. I won't lie it is hard to make and maintain friendships. And only do what will be non-exhaustive for you. It might be hard- but you may have to set into boundaries (which may be difficult to do at first too). But I want you to know these friends and acitivies you do with them- will keep you out of that house. And I want you to know that you never have to tell your friends what it's like at home. Okay? If that doesn't make you feel safe- you can just gloss over what your parents are like/do. Say your dad is like mine and is into cars- that's what you tell them about him. You don't have to go further. You can protect yourself and gloss over things until you feel comfortable, okay?

This "glossing over" bit may sound awful- like you are protecting your abusers. I want you to know that- it's not protecting them. It's keeping you from falling apart when you talk about it. Because these wounds are so fresh. And esp because you're just starting to uncover these wounds... So, until you are ready to talk about it with others- you don't have to. But again- I will reiterate the point that you are my friend, and you can come to me. Okay? I'll be here every step of the way.

Feel free to reach out whenever- even if it's for the smallest thing, okay?

[canon-fcdder]

✩ 「 @stcries​ 」 ✩ - Continued from ★

「 ☆ 」   Where his father sees nobility, Red Son sees inability. Unable to rescue his father without the aid of those who DESPISE them. Or rather, who Red Son had assumed held nothing but disdain for the Demon Bull Family. Perhaps it was a foolish view, to think people as simple-minded and easily-swayed as the Noodle Boy and Dragon-Horse Girl could feel a hatred as deep as he envisioned. Even for someone who brought them nothing but pain— or at the very least, annoyances —as he did. Yet the more he thinks about their interactions, the less sense it makes. Necessary as the truce may have been, it should have been a tenuous agreement at best. Full of wary looks and distrust so potent one could choke on it. 

But, after the initially-unpleasant greeting, they had placed naive faith in him... For the most part. Had believed that, with their efforts combined, they could free the people they held dear. By the end was a team-up in the truest sense of the word, from the peasant’s side. But that alone is enough to make his stomach twist, palms sweaty and ashamed gaze unable to meet the man he had swallowed his pride to rescue. What worth is his pride, anyway? There’s nothing worthy of pride standing before the Demon Bull King. Nothing but a weak, unimposing, failure of a son who can’t even cause the likes of MK and his band of losers fear.

Hero work... As much as he wants to deny it, he had agreed to do anything— free ANYONE, even Sun Wukong —if it meant getting his dad back.

Breath catching when his father speaks, eyes shut before Red Son can stop them. Fists clenched at his sides, they tremble with apprehension, the demon heir holding his breath as a fear he should not be feeling— but has been struggling to shake ever since the... incident with the Talking Bones —accosts his body. Only eased when his father’s voice fills with an emotion Red Son can’t quite place. Something deep within him, desperately SCREAMS that it’s love affection. Unfamiliar and intoxicating; proof that being called son wasn’t a fluke but a genuine reaction from someone he craves nothing more than to be able to call father and not feel like he’s telling himself some elaborate lie. 

Yet he can’t believe it. Can’t shake the certainty that he’s feeding himself the same delusions that caused him to try and take the peasant’s ship; hoping against all logic that he’d be able to go about his business without them clinging to his coattails. Without NEEDING them to, even if he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Opening his eyes, chest stalling as his father’s forehead rests against his own— close... warm and REAL in a way that he suspects fathers are supposed to be —Red Son’s breath is shaky as he quietly asks,  ❝  You mean... You aren’t- mad at me?  ❞ 

❝  I... I had to work with ou— ... with- your enemies.  ❞  Grimacing, hot tears bead in the corner of his eyes, blurring his vision as he shakily swallows. ❝  I needed help. I— I couldn’t rescue you on my own. I wasn’t strong enough. I’m— ... I’m NEVER strong enough.  ❞  Choking on his admission, tears slide down his cheeks as if to prove his claim. Shaking where he stands, he fights back a hiccup, refusing to completely succumb to his tears in front of his father. Glaring at the ground as if blaming it for his failures, Red Son’s tears remain warm... but not scalding.

He’s not angry... As much as he wishes fear was the strongest thing he felt right now, it’s not even close. Frustrated as he may be with his ineptness, there’s a far stronger nausea gnawing at his stomach as he stands there before his father, given praise and meeting it with nothing but insecurity... He’s scared. Scared that DBK will agree with him.   「 ☆ 」 

[exalted-slaughter]

Even in the throes of what is meant to be nothing more than a glorious, vicious slaughter, he still will not cease that wretched caterwauling. It’s enough to make Lute’s teeth briefly grit together as her lips twist into a scowl under her mask, though one that is nevertheless quick to vanish into a wide, eager smile when she sees the sight of splattering gore, of bones broken and splintered and organs spilling onto the pavement in waves of scarlet crimson as torsos are ripped open by slavering fangs and cold steel blades. The sight of her fellow kin, taking delight in their brutal domination, in their birthright to trample the foul sinners and wretched damned under their boots and reduce them to carrion for the flies and maggots to feast on, it will never fail to make her wings shiver, make her own bloodlust and the craving for flesh between her teeth grow until she felt drool start to drip down her chin.

It is the only thing she will ever privately agree with the Commander on, the only thing that never fails to bring an excited, vicious glee to her frame and fill her mind and body with the pounding heat of joy and the desperate thirst for bloodshed; that the slaughter, of all things, is the most important aspect of their shared work. But even then, even with the sound of screaming and the crying and sobbing of her chosen prey all around her, grin on her face, she still feels a burning, ticking annoyance, every time she sees a flash of that holy power in the air, a roiling stew of hot anger and souring jealousy that makes her grip on her short sword, dripping with red, tighten harder.

Even now she loathes him. Loathes the way he cavorts around with his powers, using them so thoughtlessly and tactlessly to carve away entire swathes of the city around them with no regard as to how it may leave behind stragglers trapped, but alive, underneath the rubble, how it may trap some of her own kin underneath the wreckage of the battlefield, loathes how he takes no thought as to use those blessed, holy abilities properly so as to truly ensure his prey is helpless, to allow her kin to do their work as viciously and effectively as possible, to take his time and make sure each and every one of the damned is slowly ripped apart and reduced to unrecognizable lumps of meat and bone, so that none, none at all, may escape.

Still. This is her one time that she gets to be free to do as she wishes. Free to spill blood, carnage, gore and viscera. And she sets to it with eager abandon, her uniform smeared and dripping and stained with so much splatters and puddles of crimson that it runs off of her armor in the form of faint rivers, her visor glaring bright with white hot light as her smile stretches to the very edges of the glass display. The ones she finds, the cowering, crying, sniveling things that she finds no interest in, no real desire, she cuts down, slices through them and tears them to shreds so that their bodies are left open in all of their quivering, twitching viscera, perhaps a heart or a chunk of liver cut from their pitiful corpses that is quickly crunched and swallowed between her teeth. But the ones she does find that captivate her, draw her in with their terror, their sobs, their beauty and hopelessness, she takes to slowly. Pinning them down, letting them see the horrid monster that she is, about to end their life, to expose them to unimaginable pain and agony, letting them squeal and struggle and sob before she lets her teeth finally pierce their flesh, and tear in deep.

Hearing their screaming right there in her ears, in her bones, their sharp, agonized wailing and sobbing and screeching as she slowly carves them open with her jaws, ripping, chewing, swallowing. Her throat never fails to rumble in a purr at the very sound, so perfect and lovely as she takes her fill of the pitifully wriggling body underneath her, her mind so entrenched in the smell of blood and the beautiful taste between her teeth that she does not stop until she feels the flesh finally give way to bone, the blood growing cold, thick, and congealed all over her, the perfect screams having long faded to sobs, to gurgles, and then to nothing.

It is where she hears that obnoxious voice singing once more over her head, that vile sound of obnoxious rock music that makes the delicious flesh in her teeth taste sour, the pleasure and bliss she feels thrumming in her body from the kill being flooded away, replaced with the cold, steely anger of her own annoyance. She wrenches her head up and out of the thin ribcage of the sinner she had been in the midst of properly devouring with a slick sound of splitting bone and tearing flesh, a piece of blood dripping viscera still clutched in her fangs as she turns her head up toward her boss with a cold, heavy glare, quickly moving to stand up from her position on the ground to take flight, her wings and feathers already beginning to feel heavy from the gunk of past kills as they dried against her skin. No matter. She would simply find another place to hide from his obnoxious voice.

The street stragglers were the first slain. Barely through anyone's landing phase and not all that exciting. That was reserved for the next part- flipping over and vaporizing every little nook and cranny to find every rotten, shivering soul. He's practically a blood hound by now after thousands of years digging through hell's trash, and he doesn't tire of it- not by even an inch. It's his favorite fucking holiday, and he's celebrating, baby.

He of course doesn't need to get up close and personal, sporting lasers that can clean up from afar. Like that stops him from snagging the back of a fleeing sinner's hair and jerking back at such a harsh angle that her neck snaps there and spills a red ring around her dropped body in the street.

"Dead! I am the pool ~ spreading from the fool! Weak and want you need- dying as you bleed!"

In another scuffle led by his girls, a knocked over dumpster revealed a cat-like demon puffed up and covered in the trash she'd attempted to hide in. He makes quick work of it by lifting and slamming the several ton trash box over and over until there's nothing left of a cat girl and more left of a steaming pile of gore.

"Dead! I am the rat ~ feast upon the cat. Tender is the fur- dying as you purr!"

As he drifts back into the air to survey the progress of his troops, he grins maniacally, strumming explosive waves of riffs to upset the balance of those fleeing so they're easier to pick off. Much more fun to watch the girls fight over kill numbers and literally rip some wretch apart like starved dogs to stake their claim.

"Do it, baby ~ DO IT, BAAAAABYYYY!!"

A harsh strum sends a blinding wave of golden fire outward, bowling over a line of fleeing bitches with their bitchier kids and burning them into black ashes.

"BURN like an animal !!"

Chirping away as the carnage racks up, he brushes wings with a few of his favorites as if to anoint their next kill with his divine presence before rising into the sky with a harsh fling of the arms to send a massive laser outward towards the over lit shopping district- vaporizing it in one singular slam and several following headbangs.

"Dig through the ditches! And BURN through the witches! I slam in the back of my...DRAGULA!"

[spiriteddreams]

this was going to be all angst but i wanted comfort sooo.. i still want to write angst though lol

albedo is easy to be around. he's attentive and understanding, slowly navigating what it means to love with each waking day. his teal eyes are almost always filled with warmth whenever he looks at you, gentle smile curling upon his lips as his hands reach for yours. he's perfect, like a prince, ready to sweep you off your feet whenever you desire and whisk you away on an adventure that will probably take place up in the snowy mountains of dragonspine.

he's warm when the snow blows around you, snowflakes nipping at exposed skin and the wind howling in your ear, threatening to throw you into the midst of a snowstorm without help. but albedo is there, hand tangled with yours as he tugs you in the direction of the cave where his works are filed away. his arms move to wrap around you, body pressed close to yours as he mumbles sweet nothings in your ear and offers comfort as the sun sinks into the shadows.

he's bright and teasing, a familiar smile warming your heart as his eyes light up at the sight of you. he ignores the teasing words of kaeya as he sweeps you up in his arms, face tucking into the crook of your neck as he pulls you close to him. he asks about your day, intrigued by the little jokes and side stories that seem to distract you. all while his eyes never leave your face, as if he was trying to memorize every little feature.

but archons, albedo can be hard to love. there are days when you wish that he wouldn't compare every little thing to an observation. relationships aren't an experiment, they're not something that can be documented on paper with hypotheses and data, bound together by a conclusion at the end of the day.

he's uncaring stares as you try to pull him away from his work, tone bland as he tells you to stop worrying about him. he'll spend hours on end, his time spent on his work now bleeding into days spent locked up alone in his office, poring over notes and observations from his previous expeditions. sometimes you won't hear from him for a week before he's pushing open the door to your home, tired footsteps dragging along the floor before he collapses onto the bed to rest.

he's sharp words and half-hearted apologies when you try to confront him about the thoughts that are clouding your mind. he doesn't quite get why you're upset that he's only allowed sucrose to visit him in his office, nor does he understand why his chest flares with annoyance whenever he sees you walking through the knights of favonius headquarters with a bright grin on your face as kaeya pokes fun at you. arguments with him are hurtful and cruel, bringing you to the verge of tears before you're slamming the door and grumbling that he can sleep on the couch for all you care.

and yet, for all the stumbles along the way, the tear stained cheeks and petty words, you can't find it in yourself to pull away from him. because with each argument, each slammed door and muffled cry, albedo once more, learns what it means to be human, to love as a human, to allow that little blooming feeling in his chest to blossom and wrap around him.

he still makes mistakes and so do you, but at the end of the day, there isn't anyone you'd rather love, than albedo.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3

[middleearthpixie]

Family

Armitage Summer Splash #22 ~ Rolling along thanks to @lathalea and @fizzyxcustard!

Trope: Break up

Quote: “We have all the time in the world”

RA Character: Thorin Oakenshield 

Relationship: Thorin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: A little angst, a little fluff

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,096 

Khuzdul Translations: 

Mimûn/Mimûna ~ little one (m/f)

’Adad ~ father

Mesmel ~ jewel of jewels 

Maralmizi/maralmizu ~ I love you (f/m)

’Amad ~ mother

Dashat ~ son 

Irak-‘amad ~ aunt

Raklûn ~ precious one 

Amrâlimê ~ my love

***

Wind howled through the valley all around you, but you paid no heed to it. Leaves scuttled across the hard-packed earth upon which you stood, but you heard nothing. Dappled sunlight wove through the trees just coming to life after the long, brutal winter. 

You were numb as you stared at the fresh scar in the earth. All around you was rebirth, but right before you was death. You tried to ignore the sounds of dirt hitting the simple coffin in which your father lay as the dwarves who’d acted as his pallbearers now filled in his grave. 

“Come, mimûna,” Thorin murmured, draping his cloak about your shoulders, “before you catch your death.”

“No. I wish to stay right here,” you told him without looking at him. You couldn't tear your eyes from the grave as it was filled. If you left, it would be real. Your house would be empty, the only voice yours, the only sounds the ones you made. You would never again hear ’Adad call for you. Would never hear him rasp, “Raklûna,” whether in annoyance or in thanks or because he was feeling sentimental. You would never adjust to the fact that you were now, for all intents and purposes, an orphan. Your mother had walked out years ago, leaving ’Adad with a baby girl to raise alone and even if she showed up tomorrow, you would rather spit in her face than speak to her. 

“Think of the little one,” he murmured, his voice barely audible for you had not yet shared your secret with everyone in Ered Luin. Only ’Adad knew you were with child. Not even Thorin’s sister knew and they were as close as brothers and sisters could be.

You looked up at him, his blue eyes were soft, flooded with concern, and you knew he worried, so you nodded and only then, let him lead you away from the small, shade-splashed cemetery at the end of Stone Street. ’Adad would forever sleep beneath an oak tree that would provide him with all of the shade and cool comfort he’d been denied in his life as a baker surrounded by fire and ovens. 

Everyone came back to the house with you, but they couldn’t stay for long and when night fell, and you and Thorin were alone, you looked up at him again. “You should go. I’ll be fine.”

“I’d rather not leave you alone, mimûna,” he said, shaking his head. “You’ve been through a terrible day.”

“I need the time, Thorin. In fact, I’ve been thinking that perhaps we should postpone the wedding.”

“What?”

You nodded slowly. “I think we should. I need a bit of space, some time to adjust. And I—I think it would be best if we didn't see one another for a while.”

“Mimûna?”

Tears stung your eyes. You loved Thorin more than anyone or anything in the world, in some ways even more than you loved ’Adad, and it killed you to tell him to go away. But, you felt it was terribly disrespectful to plan a wedding when you were still so freshly mourning your loss. It felt disrespectful to ’Adad’s memory to plan a celebration he would now not get to see.

“It’s best. Please. Just leave me alone.”

Pain flashed through those cerulean eyes, but he nodded and stepped up to press a kiss into your head. “Take all the time you need, mesmel,” he murmured, “We have all the time in the world and I will wait.”

Tears stung your eyes, so you let them close as you nodded. He kissed your forehead then, and you heard his boots as he thudded across the great room toward the door. They paused and he said, “Maralmizi.”

Your throat tightened at his soft admission of love and you nodded once again, whispering, “Maralmizu, Thorin.”

Then he was gone and you were completely alone.

You sank to the floor in a heap of crumpled linen and black bombazine, and dissolved into tears. 

***

“You should go and see her.”

Thorin shook his head without turning away from the window. He didn't need to look at Dís to know how she looked at him. She would be frowning, a deep groove forming between her thick dark eyebrows. Her eyes, the same shade of blue as his, would be narrow and her lips would be pursed, her forefinger tapping at them as she tried to think of some way to get her older brother to come see you.

“She does not wish to see me, Dís,” he said, shaking his head, his hands clasped behind his back. Day after day, he stood up at in the room at the top of the modest house he shared with her and his two young nephews. From there, he could see the cozy house in the valley, tucked amongst the trees and from time to time, he saw you when you emerged on rare occasions. 

Two weeks had passed since the funeral. Two weeks of waiting and wondering and hoping all was well with you. He’d ride past your cottage whenever possible, down to the river in the hopes of seeing you. But you remained sequestered in behind the door, going through your father’s things, sorting out which memories to keep and which to put out with the rubbish. You went out only when absolutely necessary. 

“She is hurting,” Dís replied softly, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Remember how it was in the days after we lost ’Amad. We were all three of us lost. Remember in the days after Vili and Frerin were taken?”

“I do remember,” he replied slowly, his eyes closing as the familiar sense of loss swirled through him. “And I remember how I did not wish to be disturbed. I want the world to just leave me be.”

“Ah, but you had me. She has no one. Don’t be a fool. Go and check on her. Thorin. You love her, don’t you?”

Without taking his eyes from the cottage in the distance, he nodded slowly. “With everything I am.”

“Then go to her and let her know you are not abandoning her. She needs you now, even if she doesn’t realize it herself.”

Did you need him? He wasn’t at all certain, as you were one of the most independent women he’d ever met. But, even the strongest of shoulders needed rest, needed to be held and reassured at times. 

And he missed you. 

He missed the way you felt in his arms, the scent of your hair, your skin, the way your eyes sparkled when you were happy. He missed the little things, such as a stroll along the river, where you spoke of the future together and what you hoped for the child you carried, of the future children you planned to have together. 

He rubbed his beard slowly, debating whether or not to tell Dís the secret you and he shared. Then, glancing over at her, he said, “She’s expecting a child, Dís.”

Dís’ eyes widened, them quickly returned to their normal size and shape. A hint of a smile played at her lips. “Your child, I assume?”

“My child.”

The door swung open then and a little dark-haired cannonball of a boy raced in. “‘Amad! Fíli  hit me with a rock!”

On his heels came his brother, hollering, “He was supposed to catch it!”

Dís scooped up her youngest son. “Let me see, Kíli,” she said, brushing his hair away from his face. “Oh, it’s but a tiny bruise. And Fíli, do not throw rocks at your brother and I don’t care if he was supposed to catch it.”

Fíli sighed. “Yes, ’Amad.”

She set Kíli down and both boys took off like a shot, screaming all the way down the corridor. Thorin smiled. “I’ll wager Fíli is hit with a rock next.”

“Most likely. But, you will not worry about it. You are going to go and look in on a certain someone, aren’t you?”

Thorin sighed. “Yes. I suppose I am.”

“You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

He nodded. “I know. But if space is what she needs…”

“Thorin, space can and does quickly become isolation. You will never forgive yourself if you let this relationship end. Especially if there’s a child on the way. Your heir, Thorin.”

“I know. And I never said she and I were broken up, Dís. She’s asked me to leave her be for now.”

“Now is when she needs you the most.” Dís held up both hands. “And I know you know that, so go.”

You heard the familiar gait of hoofbeats and your heart sped up while your mouth went dry. You hadn’t seen Thorin since the morning of ’Adad’s funeral. He’d respected your wishes to be left alone, and you found yourself missing him so very much. Time had a way of slowing to a crawl now that you were alone and you hated the silence so much, you’d taken to talking to yourself. Every time a horse clopped by the cottage, you hurried to the window in the hopes that it was Thorin because you missed him so. You thought about going to him, but knew how you’d hurt him, and the thought of his slamming a door in your face was too horrifying to contemplate. 

Day after day, you cleaned out ’Adad’s room, the cottage itself, anything to keep busy and to take your mind off the fact your stomach roiled from sunup to sundown. The baby, no doubt, although you hesitated to seek out Narnerra. If you and Thorin were over, you weren’t at all certain what would happen once the baby was born. Heir to the throne of Durin, your son would most likely be taken from you to be raised by Thorin and his sister. And that would break your heart into more fragments.

The white cotton curtains fluttered on the breeze and you moved to peer out the window as Thorin strode purposefully up the flagstone walk. Your heart leaped into your throat, your hands went clammy, and you thought for a moment you just might faint as he knocked at the door.

Wiping your palms on your simple cotton housedress, you crossed to the door and opened it, your heart skipping a beat at the sight of your handsome dwarf across the threshold. 

“Thorin…”

“I know you’ve asked me to leave you be, mimûna, but I cannot ignore my concern for you. If you wish me to go away, know that I cannot do than any longer. I’m worried for you. For you and for our child, and I will do anything else you ask of me, but I will not leave you alone here another moment.”

You stared up at him, pressing your lips together as your heart hammered your ribs with such force, you were momentarily dizzy. In the first few days after the funeral, people showed up at your door with food and wine to make things easier, but now, they’d stopped coming around. When you went into the village, into the marketplace, people stared and whispered about you, but seemed almost afraid to come up to you, as if somehow they would be tainted or touched by death because of your loss. 

He took your silence as an invitation to come into the cottage, stepping by you into the great room, and closed the door behind him. “I love you,” he said, his voice a low growl, “and I want to be here for you. Lean on me, mimûna, cry on my shoulder if you need to, but don’t push me away again.”

Your eyes stung at those words, at the rumbling reassurance that he was not going to leave you again. You drew in a deep breath and whispered, “I’ve missed you.”

“Why didn't you send for me?”

“I… I don’t know… you were angry when you left, hurt, I thought. I thought you might not want to hear from me.”

Two steps and he’d closed the space between you, gathering you in his arms to lift you easily to meet his eyes. “You little fool,” he growled, although his eyes were soft and tender, “I haven’t slept more than an hour a night with worrying about you. About you. About the baby. Come back to stay with Dís and me, mimûna. Say you’ll marry me again and let’s celebrate as your father would have wanted us to celebrate, for he was thrilled at the prospect of our wedding.”

“His son in law would be the future king, should Erebor be reclaimed,” you told him, fighting to keep from smiling and losing in short order, “he would have to be mad to not be thrilled.”

“He liked me.”

“Again, future king.”

He chuckled. “You are bullheaded at times, know you this?”

“You just left, remember.”

“I was but honoring your wishes.” He tightened his hold on you, moving to the sofa, where he carefully sank into it, cradling you against him. “And if you wish me to go, you need only say so again.”

You leaned back to catch his face in your hands, his beard soft and scratchy against your palms. “I’ve missed you terribly, Thorin.”

“And I you. I’ve found I don’t care to sleep alone any longer. I sleep much better when I’ve your head on my chest and your warm body against mine.”

A pleasant heat swirled through you at his confession. One that had you dipping your head as you murmured, “I find the same, actually.”

Thorin’s fingers kneaded your backside gently. “Does this mean you might still wish to marry me? I’ve not cancelled anything yet, you know.”

You lifted your head at that, staring at him. “You haven’t?”

He shook his head. “I was foolishly optimistic that you would come around. So, will you still marry me, amrâlimê?”

“Do you still wish to have me?”

“I’ve never wanted anything more.” His lips found yours, his kiss slow and teasing and wonderful. It had you curling your toes as your blood warmed and when your lips parted and his tongue touched yours, unexpected tears came to your eyes. You’d missed him so very much, were so convinced it was over between you. You missed him, you worried what would happen when you could no longer hide your condition, and now? Now you melted against him, breaking the kiss to bury your face in the warmth of his neck. 

“Thorin… I thought it was over,” you managed to whisper, his hair muffling your words a tad.

“No, mesmel,” he whispered back, stroking your hair with one hand and your back with the other. “It isn’t. It takes far more than this to rid yourself of me. Haven’t you realized that by now?”

You pulled away to gaze up at him. “I do love you, you know.”

“And I love you, mimûna. Now, let me help you finish what needs be done here, then you are coming back home with me. Where you belong.”

***

“Mimûna?”

“Come in.” You smiled up at Thorin as he came into the room. You’d labored a day and a night, and into the next morning and now held your daughter in your arms, smiling up at him as he came closer. “Come and see your handiwork, dwarf.”

His smile stretched from ear to ear as he gingerly sank onto the edge of your bed and gazed at the blanketed bundle in your arms with all of the wonder and awe one could muster. “She looks like you.”

“No. Just as Frerin, she looks like her ’adad.”

“I see it with neither of them.”

The door opened once more and Narnerra said, “Go on, mimûn. ’Adad and ’Amad are right here and you can meet your sister.”

Frerin II Durin was his father in miniature, with long black curls and the beginnings of a black beard and mustache and he approached your bed cautiously. “’Amad? Is that the baby?”

“Come up and say welcome to your sister, raklûn,” you told him, patting the bed.

Thorin bent to lift your three year old son from the floor, balancing him on his knee, one arm firmly about Frerin’s waist. “So, what do you think?”

Frerin’s blue eyes went wider still. “She’s so small.”

“She is,” Thorin nodded, looking over Frerin’s head to wink at you, “but you were as well, dashat. But fear not, she will grow and soon will be driving you mad just as your irak-‘amad drove me mad when we were children.”

“Really? When?”

“Well, not for a few years, but it will go by fast. I promise you.” Thorin ruffled his hair, then leaned over and pressed a kiss into the top of your head. “It will go by so very fast, indeed. It seems it was only yesterday ’Amad and I were meeting you for the first time, raklûn.”

“Wait…” Frerin stared up at his father with such wide-eyed astonishment that you had to fight back a smile, “I was this small once?”

“You were smaller, Frerin,” you told him. “’Adad used to rock you to sleep on his forearm, your head in his hand, just as my ’Adad did for me.”

Frerin’s eyes went wider still, his, “You did?” ringing with astonishment

Thorin nodded. “Every night, yes. You’d fuss otherwise.”

“Oh…” He stared down at his sister and then looked over at you. “Will she fuss, too?”

“Probably, at first. But we will all adjust quickly. I hope.”

“We will be fine,” Thorin pressed another kiss into the top of your head. “You and I work well as a team, mimûna, and we have since you first knocked me into the dirt.”

“I should’ve done it much sooner,” you told him.

“Yes,” he nodded, squeezing you gently against his side. “You should have, indeed. Who knows how many more little ones we’d have running about with Fíli and Kíli.”

You sighed softly as you gazed first at your newborn daughter, then your son, and finally at the man sitting beside you. You came so close to not making it this far, but Thorin was nothing if not determined and he loved you enough to see you through the worst days of your life. There was no one else with whom you’d rather be as you celebrated the best days, either. From adversaries, to lovers, to a family, you were where you belonged and as you looked up at Thorin, his eyes softened. 

He understood. 

***

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