#ch: trill

[cyborgsurprise]

I REALLY like that the first Shadowheart romance scene ends in hand holding and a kiss. Neither of these women know their own last name, there's no way they could handle the morning after conversation.

[goodomensafterdark]

Writers Guild Presents - Tethered - Ch 7 - Memories

Big thank you to @gleafer for accepting to let me use this piece as illustration to this chapter! Go support her on Patreon -we promise that your loins will catch on FIRE ;)

Written by NegotiationReal6508 on our subreddit!

Chapter 7 of work in progress

TW/CW: Angst, Discussion of attempted suicide, implied character death, panic attack, some light smut.

Summary:

Crowley wakes up in a mental hospital with no memory of how he got there. Without his demonic powers, neither the doctors, nor the people who claim to be his family will believe he is who he says he is. With the evidence against him mounting, his only lifeline to the real world is a cryptic note left by an unseen messenger. The longer he stays in this hospital, the harder it becomes to recall for sure, is Crowley really a demon of Hell? Or has his entire existence been nothing more than a delusion conjured by a grieving mind?

Excerpt:

Crowley stood in a noisy airport at the arrivals gate holding a bouquet of red roses, fidgeting nervously. All of his usual laidback swagger was buried under a blanket of anxiety, his spine was a solid metal rod. He was always a little bouncy when Aziraphale came to visit, but this time was different. Crowley hopped his feet up and down like the floor was burning hot sand. He juggled the little box in his jacket pocket as he stared at the sliding glass doors, willing the familiar head of blond hair to appear through them. Were the roses too cliché? Maybe he should have gotten the peonies instead. Too late now.

“There, I see him.” Crowley turned to the young man beside him. “Are you recording?”

“Yeah, it's on,” said Adam.

“Right, here he comes.” Crowley shook out his shoulders and trilled his lips. He knew he looked ridiculous, but it was an airport; no one ever looked their best at an airport. He moved towards the beacon that was Aziraphale’s gleaming smile. His heart thudded like hoofbeats in his chest. Breathe, he reminded himself. Breathing and walking, those were the two main requirements at the moment. He had no idea what his facial expression was, he just hoped he was smiling too. God, Aziraphale was so gorgeous, even after eight hours on a plane. How was that even possible?

“Hello, my darling!” Aziraphale greeted him.

“Hi,” said Crowley, because that was about as eloquent as he could manage. He unceremoniously handed the bouquet to Aziraphale.

“Oh my!” Aziraphale chuckled. “Flowers? What's the occasion?”

And there was Crowley’s opening. Aziraphale was reaching out his arms for an embrace but Crowley needed to do what he came to do first. He bent down on one knee, and pulled the little box from his pocket.

Continue reading on AO3

Or start from chapter 1 - Dies Lunae

Special thanks to my beautiful betas: u/KotiasCamorra, u/Paperclip_Ninja

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ Marquis of Los Angeles: Ch. I - Lucky Find

ཐི♡ཋྀ Thank you for the beta-read, @evrensadwrn! ཐི♡ཋྀ

Summary: On a visit to his home country, Sebastian LaCroix has the good fortune to find a beautiful and powerful Marquis dying of a bullet wound. Why not take him home as a ghoul?

Author's Note: Okay, um...remember when I said this was a one-shot? Excuse me while I spit out another enemies-to-lovers slowburn because I can't help myself. I may or may not finish it, but I'd rather give the story plenty of room to breathe than rush through it, even if I don't get to the end. I'm excited to see where it goes!

TW: hallucination, kidnapping, religious imagery, vampires doing vampire stuff

If you have a century or two to wait, sometimes the world delivers gifts, just lying there, ready to be pocketed. A seashell, pearlescent and only a little chipped at the edges. A shiny new quarter forgotten on the sidewalk. Los Angeles.

It even might deliver what Sebastian LaCroix would have called, in his day, a “dandy”, freshly dying, on the steps of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica.

Only minutes remained until sunrise. LaCroix’s heart, though it had no need to beat, contracted in terror at the nearness of sunlight, at the piercing golden glow already illuminating that beautiful creature’s parted, breathless lips. This was risky business, swooping in like a vulture at such a time. A little longer, and they might never have met. Sebastian thought of that too often in the days and years and centuries that followed.

Only minutes remained until the bullet in his brain would have laid waste to the most vigorous life force Sebastian had ever encountered.

But as matters stood, he watched from the shadowy columns where he had chosen to shelter during the daylight hours of his visit to France, and clung to the sound of a distant pulse. It persisted (though feebly) even once its scent exploded into open air.

A great bulk of a man in a dark overcoat bowed down his head and sighed. He lifted Vincent’s body with the solemnity of one who knows what death means, and carried it within, into the shadow where Sebastian waited, under those forgotten awnings just beyond the pews. The carnival of stained-glass light pouring through the windows did not penetrate there.

As they passed, the man halted, overcome with a sudden unease, and could not move his feet. Sebastian smiled on him, an open hand outstretched. “Would you allow me to bless this man before he passes on?”

The man had, of course, no choice, and he would not remember laying his charge at Sebastian’s feet, or saying, “Who are you, sir? A man of God?”

“Think of me as a healing angel.”

He stared, knowing quite frankly that this was bullshit. He could see a barely restrained urge to devour flaring up within Sebastian even now, not so different from the look his own superior had worn on occasion, equally recognizable on both kindred and kine. “If you are an angel, then so is he.”

.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸. ཐི♡ཋྀ.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.*✧*.¸¸.

There was never total certainty that it would work. A headshot was unfortunate to say the least, and even with a truly massive outpouring of vitae, the bullet still had to be pushed out of Vincent’s brain, dragging on the neurons as it went.

There wasn’t physical pain, exactly. No nerves are to be found in the grey matter. Inside the brain itself, the only pain is mental.

Time and place fragmented themselves, breaking apart in front of Vincent to form a dazzling kaleidoscope. He was drifting on his back, through a flooded Château de Versailles. The water must have been deep, because he was lifted so high, close to the frescoed ceiling where angels leaned down over him amongst the roiling clouds. Why was the palace full of water? No…not water. Blood. Of course. He was being carried up to judgement on the tide of blood he’d spilt, that was it. He could hear his own music coming from another room, the reveries he used to play at the piano, but it was wildly distorted, devolving into devils’ trills. The angels crawled down over the mountains of clouds, over the ledge of the upper moulding, down the columns on all fours to descend on him, snarling as angels never snarl, with fangs at their lips. Their unnatural motions sparked a total horror in him but he could not flee, could only float paralyzed on the sea of blood that was starting to seep into his mouth, into his eyes. They were upon him, someone was bending over him, a face that flickered and distorted and jeered. A devil. His father. Then John Wick. His heart strained with wild terror.

“Your heartbeat is growing stronger. Good. It took long enough.”

And the face resolved. It was, at least, none of the faces he had feared a few moments ago. And it wasn’t unpleasant to look at, with strikingly high cheekbones and full lips, with a strawberry blond slick of hair and eyes like pools of pale honey. It had a magnetism about it, deeper than its inherent charm and beauty. He had trouble looking away from that face – it was in focus even though the rest of the world remained blurred, and it made something sickly sweet well up inside of him. He could have forgiven the cruel satisfaction painted all over it, but that sweet magnetism, tugging on his heartstrings…he could not forgive that. He decided that whoever this was, he disliked them very, very much.

For a few moments, Vincent tried to speak, but his brain had not yet made contact with his tongue, it seemed. He just gasped and gasped until the man laughed and held up the bullet, coated in blood. “Can you believe this little scrap of metal was all it took to put you into a state of such total confusion? And you would be far worse off if I hadn’t taken a liking to you. Life is so fragile.” And the man…well, there was no getting around it. He popped the bullet into his mouth like a candy and licked his fingers, apparently savoring the taste, before pulling it out of his mouth again, sucked clean of blood. He swallowed and grinned widely, this time baring fangs.

Okay. So he was still hallucinating, then. Good good, nothing to worry about. Just slowly breathing his last breaths on the steps of the Basilica, hallucinating violently while John Wick probably gloated over his body. It was fine! Everything was fine. The world started to go fuzzy and dark at the edges as his wild gasping continued.

“Oh no no no, you’re not passing out again just yet. Solo jet rides are interminably dull. We ought to use our time wisely and get to know each other.” The man slapped lightly at his cheek, trying to keep him conscious. Vincent felt his brows furrow, and couldn’t control his muscles enough to wipe that affronted look off his face.

“Who…who…” do you think you are, that had been his intention for the sentence. But he couldn’t quite get there, and the man answered just the same.

“Sebastian LaCroix, Camarilla Prince of Los Angeles and your new regnant.” The man took his hand and shook it. “Of course, none of that means anything to you just yet, but it will very soon.”

It didn’t, except for “Los Angeles.” Vincent was still catching up to the part about “jet rides,” and noticing that the ceiling above them was curved in the manner of an aircraft cabin. Where the hell was he? Was he…kidnapped? A feeling set in then. Whether it was made of greater parts relief or sinking dread, he couldn’t tell. But he had the feeling that this was far too vivid to be a hallucination.

He wasn’t dead after all, and Sebastian LaCroix, whatever he may be, was real.

[ranahan]

Concordian Mando’a

Quick idea for the phonology of Concordian Mando’a:

This is basically based on one sentence in The Clone Wars, the fact that one sentence has verbal morphology that resembles Harlin’s Mando’a more than Traviss’s, a couple of things Traviss said about sound changes in Mando’a, and my headcanon about Concordia being the earliest settled Mandalorian world right after Manda’yaim itself.

Changes compared to (my reconstruction of) Traviss’s Mando’a:

The sound represented by the digraph ch is /x ~ χ/ instead of /tʃ/

The sound represented by the letter j is the soft /ʝ/ instead of hard /dʒ/. This is the “original” sound that has changed in Traviss’s Mando’a. And it also results in a nice fricative series (I know languages aren’t necessarily symmetrical but symmetry pleases me anyway).

R is trilled.

I thought about making the v sound /β/, but not sure yet.

Went back to Harlin’s five-vowel system + contrastive length.

Diphthongs will probably be a slightly different set, allowing both /aɪ̯/ and /ɪ̯a/ for example.

Phonotactics will probably be basically identical to Traviss’s Mando’a.

Might change everything later, but here’s a late night brainwave…

[clockwayswrites]

Shadow of a Bat Ch. 3 Snippet

WC: 915 CW: Vivisection, Implied/Referenced Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Off Screen Character Death, GIW, Bad Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton Danny Fenton, Panic Attacks

Their little shadow was showing themselves more. Dick’s nickname seemed to have stuck with the family occasionally actively addressing the entity by some variation of ‘little shadow’ in various languages. They still didn’t know the exact identity of the being, but Bruce had his suspicions.

Trusting his gut was something that was always hard for Bruce, what with his need to know. He would rather trust research and facts. But right then his gut was telling him that their little shadow was the boy who had been coldly labeled as the entity FBA-P_01. The boy who had bled red like a human when the scientists cut into him before it ran green. But Bruce also knew that he couldn’t be objective, not when the boy had looked so much like Jason had laid out on the autopsy table.

The Justice League had been working their way through more of the encryption on the files and making their own database from the information. FBA: full body apparition. It was a title for the ghosts who took on a humanoid form that could be fully interacted with. The GIW considered these the most important test subjects. Unlike the A-E classes, which had multiple files, the P was a classification had only been used twice. Once for the boy and once for a FBA-P_02, who was listed as ‘unsuitable for long term study’ and marked as terminated. ‘Phantom’ had come up in once in a file connected to FBA-P_01, leading them to believe that was was the origin of the P marker. Reports from Amity Park— the city that had brought the Anti-Ecto Acts to light— cited Phantom as their town’s hero.

The boy had been a vigilante. Another black haired, blue eyed teen hero that had died; that might have stayed dead.

Bruce pushed himself away from the computer after locking it down. He knew he needed to brief his children on the information the Justice League was finding— they had a right to know what with the little shadow becoming part of their home— but Bruce didn’t know how to broach it. He wanted a few more answers first, a few more certainties.

Besides, the children had been doing so well at making them feel more at home. Now that they were showing themselves more, made it easier to try and meet their needs. Bruce was sure that when he made it upstairs for lunch there would be a place at the table set for their newest member also.

It was never a full plate, but Alfred had started being sure to set out a little bit of what the family was having for the little shadow. It had started with Jason and the other children slipping bits under the table, but Alfred soon declared that unacceptable behavior— their shadow was not a dog— and so a place at the table with a small plate had been set. The food only ever disappeared when no one was looking, but it seemed to be enjoyed if the noises the shadow made was an indication.

Sure enough, there was an empty plate other than Bruce’s. It was a rather full table for a weekend lunch— Damian, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Dick were all gathered. Another thing that the little shadow had brought Bruce: more time with his children.

-

Phantom watched the family at the meal. Watched Bruce (not Batman, the man tried so hard be Bruce around his children) ask Dick (golden and smiling) about his day. Watched Tim and Cass fight (play fighting, not real) over the last piece of garlic bread on the serving plate.

He had a little piece of garlic bread too. He waited, carefully, until no one was looking to pull it down under the edge of the table. Oh, it was good. Of course it was, everything that Alfred made was good, but this was very good. This was almost cookie level good. Phantom trilled happily at the taste. When he peered back over the edge of the table, there was another piece on his small plate!

Phantom looked up. Duke was smiling down at him.

Phantom shrunk back. He didn’t mean to. He knew (part of him knew) that the plate was for him and so the others must know he was there, but he still felt so seen when one of them looked at where he was. Being seen was dangerous.

Being seen meant tests and blades and being cut cut cut.

The sound of the table quieted suddenly.

Oh, he must have made a noise.

“I do hope the silence is due to everyone simply being too busy eating,” Alfred said as he swept into the room, breaking the tension of the moment. “Though heavens knows that a full mouth has never kept any of you from talking.”

“I would never,” Damian said with a haughty sniff.

Conversation surged again, picking back up as people defended themselves or called others out. Without looking, attention seemingly on the new argument, Duke nudged the plate towards Phantom. Phantom… not breathed, he didn’t need to breath, but he… relaxed, like all the air had gone out of lungs he didn’t have in a sudden relieved whoosh.

He was safe here. He was safe with Batman Bruce. He was safe with Bruce’s family. He knew that, he knew that, he knew that.

Sometimes, still, the fear choked at him; made him feel like he couldn’t breath.

(He wondered what it was like to breath.)

(He used to breath, he thought.)

-----

AN: Getting back into writing both Bruce and this version of Phantom has been a task! But I think it's getting there. Our poor little shadow...

First two chapters are up on ao3 here:

I hope to have this chapter done and up in a week or two! As always, sorry for any typos in this first draft version, I'm suffering from the after effects of a sensory induced migraine still and my vision is a bit doubled. This is why I beg Moku to beta things for me lol

[fanaroff]

Above the Nasty Burger Ch. 3

Ao3 Link Here

<< Previous Ch. Next Ch. >> Companion Piece >>

He could…

He could feel everything . There was so much around him, in him. Danny was a being, but this? This was so much more .

Energy was sparking through his core.

Wild emotions tore through him, instinctual and sharp, yet blurred all the same. It whirled and swirled and twirled and- oh that was him. He was floaty, gently flying through the soft, soft, soft, air. His eyes were trained upwards and he saw everything . 

The moon, stars, constellations, galaxies-

Stars.

Stars!

Stars!

He could join them! Danny could join them! Look! They are right there! Right within reach! He could grasp each and every shining orb that called to him! Oh! And the moon! The craters along Her surface was just waiting to cradle him. How he wanted to be there. 

He could! He could, he could, he could! Danny could fly! That was a thing he could do! Rockets flew, yes they did! He was a rocket, he could blast off into those constellations and live there forever! And how he wanted to go! 

Go? Yes! He would! Danny would! He-

There was something stopping him. He pulled, but there was a grounding grasp on his arm. Danny tugged and gained a bit of leeway, but lost it a moment later as his other arm was grabbed and he was dragged backwards. 

A sharp whine erupted from his throat and a pain unlike any other lit up his core. He had to go! He had to be there! It hurt to not be there! 

“—nny!” 

Noise, there was a noise. 

Stars made noise! They performed a concert in the sky that only the celestial bodies could hear! The biggest stars made the lowest, deepest sounds! Like tubas in the sky! Smaller stars were soft and high pitched, like flutes! Danny wanted to hear them! He wanted to-

“Danny!” 

Noise again. Not one he wanted to hear. He tugged again, no luck. He hurt . Please let him go! He had to go! He needed to be out there! 

Agony flared in his core. 

“Phantom!”

Danny whipped around with a snarl on his lips, teeth bared into sharp fangs, eyes glowing a dangerous neon green. Something was keeping him from his Obsession. That had to stop. Right now. 

He snapped his jaws towards whatever held him. His teeth clacked together sharply as he bit on air, but whatever was tugging on him let go in an instant. Feeling his chance, he shot upwards. 

The stars. The stars. The stars. 

No! 

There was a tight grip on his arms again, jerking him to a stop. He struggled. Whining, growling, snarling. A litany of angry, hurt, desperate noises escaped his throat. 

“Fuck! Phantom! Danny, listen to me!” 

The tightness on his arms moved and squeezed at his chest, trapping his limbs to his side as something pressed against his back. 

“Shit! What set you off? Fuck!”

No, no, nononono! He was being pulled back. Danny had to go up! He struggled and managed to get an arm loose. He reached upwards, eyes wide as he stared up at the stars being pulled away. 

Please!

”The- the sky? But you see the sky everyday!” That noise again. It wasn’t a noise he wanted. “Fuck, not the sky. The stars? The moon?” 

Those were words. He knew those words! Danny liked those words! 

“Stars! Stars, moon, stars!” Celestial terms tumbled from his lips in staticky Ghost Speak as his body almost seemed to remember that speech was a thing it could do. He listed words that he liked with a tone in almost child-like wonder. 

“Okay! Okay, Baby-Pop. Space ghost, gotcha.” 

“ Space !”

”Yep, uh-huh. Space. Fuck, what do I do?” 

Something tentatively carded through Danny’s hair, scratching along his scalp. Something hummed and vibrations reached him through his back. 

“Um… uh… Rockets? Do you like rockets? NASA? Or just space? Danny, tell me when NASA was founded!” 

NASA! Yes, NASA was good. That led to space. Danny needed to know about NASA to know what lay in the solar system, and outside of it. 

“1958! July 29th!” Danny all but trilled, a burst of happy pleasure jumping through his core and immediately replaced that agony that had taken root. 

“Good! That’s good! That’s so cool! Why- uh- why was NASA founded?” 

The noise was about things he liked! Things he knew about! Things about space. 

“In response to Sputnik l! It’s a satellite!” Danny babbled, listing when it was created and launched and-

He wanted to launch! It was his turn now! He could be a satellite if he wanted to be! Oh how he wanted .

Danny renewed his struggles, but he was still held tightly. Why couldn’t he break free? Did he not have enough propulsion? Could he not break through the Ozone? 

“Danny! Danny, Danny listen! Sh, sh, it’s okay! Uh- I… uh… shit . Uuuuuh… oh! Uh, Danny, do you want to play game? Do you want to play a space game? It’s very, very important. There’s a star without any planets to circle around it.” 

Danny paused. A space game? He liked space. He liked games. A lonely star? Oh, that is very sad, but it will eventually get a planet of it’s own. Oh! Danny could help it not be lonely! He could go visit! 

“The star is right here!” 

Here? Where? There were no close enough to reach except Sol and Sol was very much not a lonely star. It had nine planets and many, many moons to keep it company! Not that Danny would mind adding to that company. 

”Yep! Right here! Look, turn around and see!” 

The grip around his chest shifted and Danny almost took off on instinct, but if there was a star right here he had to see it. Where was it? 

He was turned and was greeted by a bright blue glow. It was his size and was slowly backing away from him. A person-sized ball of flame. 

“See? A bright and shiny, planet-less star! And the game is that you get to be the planet! But you have to stay around it or you loose and don’t get to be a planet anymore!”

Danny whined. He wanted to be a planet! He had to play!

He let gravity compel him towards the small star. He was it’s friend now! He was here! It wouldn’t have to be alone anymore! 

Danny did a lazy circle around it, the star rotating in place as if to keep him in its sights as he went. He circled and circled, drawing closer and closer. 

Yes! This is what he wants! He likes this! He gets to be a planet! 

Circle, rotate, circle, rotate! He counted the days it would have been that the rotations equaled, the years that the circles represented, and compared them to the Earth-years he was so familiar with. 

One rotation equals one day! Three hundred and sixty five rotations equal one year! One circle around the star is one year! 

Danny lost himself in his game, core humming happily with temporary completion as he circled, and circled, and circled. The heat from the sun warmed him, drew him closer. It seemed a collision was almost inevitable. 

Danny circled closer and closer until, finally, he wrapped himself around his small sun. Happy and content. Core purring. He kept close to his star, satisfied for now as he gazed dreamily into the night. 

“You with me, Space-cadet?” 

He gave a questioning hum, blinking lazily upwards. 

“Not quite? Damn, Baby-Pop. Obsession Trance has you stuck . You gotta snap out of it though, it’s almost day time.” 

“Hm?” 

“Words, Danny. C’mon, you can do it.” 

“Mm…” He felt safe. And tired. He wanted to stay wrapped around his star forever and bask in this feeling. 

“Please don’t make me drag you to FentonWorks and have Jazz put you in a thermos.” 

Dannt growled softly. The thermos was decidedly not his star. It was not safe or comfortable. He was fine where he was, thanks. 

Fingers brushed through his hair again and he blinked. Fingers? He blinked again, feeling distinctly as if static were starting to lift from his mind. He shook his head, but it was slow to clear. 

Space was at the forefront of his mind, but Danny realized he could think. No longer consumed by one thing. The fingers continued and he took his time twisting around to see the owner of them. 

Ember’s softly grinning face greeted him as her turned. For some reason, the usual blue flames that made up her hair surrounded her entire body. He blinked and looked down. He found that he was draped around her waist, ghostly tail wrapped around her legs, and- wow, how did that happen? 

“Well, Space-cadet. You found your Obsession.” << Previous Ch. Next Ch. >> Companion Piece >> >>There's a companion piece to this chapter from Ember's POV! I liked the idea of writing both the instinctual end of things as well as what it looks like from the outside. The idea of Obsessions is super cool to me and I wanted to explore how it can affect a ghost that has found theirs. Playing with instincts is fun, but a bit off. Danny is already strong AF. Only gonna get stronger from here.

[sinclairmaxwellao3]

Dousing Fires With Gasoline Ch.3 Quote

“I have it on good authority that today is someone’s special anniversary day.” Sun hummed, holding up a plate of cookies that he had painstakingly baked this morning, a bright smile on his lovely face.

“S-special day?” The mechanic queried curiously, all ration and higher levels of thought fleeing out of the window when the attendant entered the room, draped in a stunning two piece dress. A gauzy, thing made of tulle and silk with a skirt that fell to the bot’s ankle and the long sleeved, tight mid-drift top rising just high enough above the waistline that a hand’s width of Sun’s belly was on clear display. 

W-what day was it again?

Where was he? 

How could he be expected to think clearly when faced with a sight like that? 

Sun giggled, his cheeks turning pink at Solar’s obvious, brain-dead staring. 

“Kill Code told me that- that today is the anniversary of when you came to them here at the Celestial House. Your Gotcha Day!” Sun trilled happily, his smile bright and beaming, seeming to light up the entire room like a high-powered bulb.

[astoldbyaja]

Primal: The Clan of Blood and Water - Ch. 6 ~AU Predator (Franchise)~

Two massive unmasked yautja’s approached each other with only wrist blades standing beside the large fire. I was expecting an uproar of cheers and clacking of mandibles but surprisingly everyone was quiet.

The two opponents trilled heavily at each other, and I wondered if these were youngbloods or blooded. The two charged each other slamming together and creating such a massive booming sound. I gasped some watching as one yautja got the other on its back, slamming its arms into his opponent with such force. The warrior on his back dodged a blow before getting an uppercut to the yautja on top and using his feet to kick him off.

I looked around at the other members of the clan who watched as if they were observing some type of lecture from a professor. They all seemed so focus. I looked across the fire to see a familiar yautja that made my stomach churn a bit. Vashti and Ty’ruk. Vashti looked my way with her mandibles clicking together. I could only imagine her feelings at this moment from seeing me. I looked back toward the fighting to see the two opponents now slashing their blades together creating sparks that rolled into the sand. They roared and trilled, and I watched as green blood was meeting the sand.

To see such a bright color was definitely strange. I always felt my mate was invincible and that nothing could kill him, but that would be naïve thinking. Anything can die, I was sure. This competition lasted for quite some time, Elder T’Kala would declare a winner and new sets of yautja paired up to fight. I leaned into Scorpion.

“Are all of these warriors seasoned?” I asked.

“No many are youngbloods looking to show their worth and power. But there are a few who enjoy a good spar to bring back memories of their youth.” he replied.

A perfect example, Blade and Jack Hammer were now facing each other, and I found myself more attentive. The two were very swift yautja, throwing punches and dodging them as well as showing their skills with a combi stick. Blade spun around Jack Hammer slicing his back causing me to gasp. He’s so fast. But they were not the only veterans to show their strength. After Blade was named the winner, more and more yautja challenged each other. And now the once quiet crowd was slowly starting to come alive. Many were hissing and cackling.

Now female yautja began to approach, challenging both females and males. The women seemed more vicious and cunninger in their movements. Vashti even showed her skill. She had powerful kicks and knocked many of her opponents on their backs. Each time, she looked at me with a snarl of disgust and I couldn’t help but frown to show her I was not intimidated by her. These challenges continued, and I noticed Ty’Ruk was joining in the matches. I could tell from how fast and swift he was with his movement; he was trying to claim victory and move up the competition. He was ensuring he remained the winner over all his opponents. Could he be trying to face his father? Now all the victors of the first group were now starting to go head-to-head.

I looked to Scorpion noticing he was paying close attention to each opponent, studying their strengths and weaknesses. He was figuring out the best way to defeat each one. Tiera approached me with another slab of meat, her gaze remaining on her feet.

“More food, Wife A’tuma?” she asked. I was not expecting that title.

I looked at her noticing how tired she looked. I could imagine many of the humans here were exhausted, having to serve their master’s during the day and then come out to a ceremony and continue to serve into the night must have been tiring. So, I turned to her a bit.

“Have you eaten?” I asked. She looked up at me and then quickly down.

“I have had my meal hours before the ceremony started.” she answered. I nodded wondering exactly when she ate. I motioned for her to sit beside me.

“Join me.” I replied. Scorpion glanced at me now and I glanced back at up at him. He didn’t seem bothered by my request, so he looked back to the fight focusing once more. Tiera looked at me stunned and looked around at the other eyes watching us now.

“I’m sorry Wife A’tuma, but it is not allowed. You are the enforcer’s mate; I am a servant. I cannot sit and relax when I have others to tend to.” I replied. I tilted my head up at her some before looking at the other yautja with firmness as they too were watching me. I looked up at her with strict eyes.

“You are to be my servant. I am heavily pregnant so I will require things of you that is not going to be asked of you by your other masters. I don’t need you passing out on me from exhaustion when I need you the most. I expect you to be well rested so you can serve me… am I overstepping by requesting this, Scorpion?” I asked looking at my mate. He shrilled down at me.

“If she is too weak to serve you then she will be useless to me as the human I expect to tend to you.” he replied in a no nonsense type tone, before bringing his focus back to the fighting. I smiled at his support before looking at Tiera. She seemed very taken aback by the conversation.

“Now please fetch us both some water and sit with me so that I may give the final conclusion on if you are a good fit for me.” I replied. Woah where did this fire come from? Perhaps I was eager to show the other yautja I too had some sort of power in my mate ship to Scorpion. I wanted to show this evolved human was worthy of the position she held.

Tiera nodded quickly and moved back with the other humans to give the tray to another human. I gently looked down at my swollen stomach rubbing it. A sharp roar of victory caught my attention as I looked up as Ty’Ruk had just bested Blade.

“Your son is eager to fight you.” I noted to Scorpion who nodded.

“Good. I wish to see how much his lessons have impacted him.” he said getting up now and moving across the fighting to stand near Blade and Jack Hammer. Tiera came back with two metal cups and handed one to me. She awkwardly sat down looking around at the other yautja with embarrassment. I turned some to her.

“I know this is odd for you, so I will not hold up your time too much. How many have you served?” I asked her. She looked at me and held her cup close to her body.

“Only Elder’ T’Kala and soon you and Master A’tuma.” she replied. I nodded glancing at my mate before looking back at her.

“Tell me what exactly the life for a human is here?” I asked. She looked up at me almost nervously.

“All humans serve a master yautja, usually an elder, no human lives long enough to serve an ancient unless their genes are altered by their master to serve them longer. This is seen as a generous gift.” she explained.

“And when your master dies?” I asked.

“We serve his or her suckling. We remain protected and cared for in the family until we pass. If we have children, they will learn to serve in our stead.” she said. I nodded wanting to know how Elder T’Kala treated his servants, but I refrained. Even if he treats her cruelly there was nothing, I could do about it nor would I make her tell me in front of all these other yautja.

“Do you have a family, parents, siblings, a mate?” I asked. She nodded looking toward the humans who were serving Wraith. One was a woman with loose black hair and a long streak of white down her head. Beside her was an older man.

“My parents, and my brother and sister are serving elsewhere in the celebration. I have no mate.” she said. I nodded.

“Are you all branded to serve your masters?” I asked. She nodded.

“Yes. We have all been branded to show we are Hydraxi property.” she said raising her hair to show her neck. I noticed the black scarring shaped just like the symbols on the warrior’s masks. I nodded slowly looking around at the small group of humans serving the large yautja. None of them looked mistreated from what I could tell. They all wore dull colors of beads and mesh around their chests and groins with beads and shells around them. None of them wore collars or anything that I could see would label them as property. They didn't even look malnourished. But maybe them just being in a tribe of alien hunters was enough to show their status.

I noticed more eyes were on us and I drank the refreshing water before nodding at her.

“Thank you for speaking with me. Please tend to your duties. I will see you at first light.” I replied. Tiera nodded and quickly got up as if she were desperate to leave. I hope I didn’t get her into any trouble for having her sit with me. The celebration chatter began to lower, and I looked up noticing that two yautja were now standing face to face, one Scorpion and the other his son, Ty’Ruk. I was tense now at the sight. Scorpion stood a few inches taller than his son who looked up at him with hard eyes, much like his father.

He looks so much like him. The only weapons on them were wrist blades. When Elder Rak’Zor barked out a scaly ‘Begin’ the two charged at each other with Scorpion taking the force easily and knocking Ty’Ruk back. The two crashed their blades together causing sparks to fly off into the dirt. They exchanged violent shrieks and growls as each blow was given.

Ty’Ruk managed to charge Scorpion and get him on his back landing what looked like heavily blows that Scorpio dodged. He kneed the younger yautja in the side with such force Ty’Ruk landed in the sand violently. Scorpion jumped up and approached grabbing him and spinning him, throwing him over the fire and he rolled into the sand before Vashti.

He got up immediately and roared at Scorpion running for him and jumping through the fire and meeting his blade with his father’s.

“Ty’Ruk is the top of his class of youngblood.” I jumped looking up at Gaia who was sitting right beside me. I didn’t even hear her approach. I nodded slowly.

“He seems like a strong warrior. I would hope his mother and father are proud of him.” I replied. She gave a low hiss.

“Tell me what it is you feel when you see a father and son fighting in this way?” she asked. Was this some kind of test? Would she think me weak if I answered with my true thoughts.

“Well, my thoughts are based on those of my people… fathers and sons should never truly hurt each other. I would hope that even though his father is with his true mate, Ty’Ruk will know he will always be protected by his family.” I replied. Her eyes were hard like all of the other yautja, but I could see the mild distance in her hues.

“You are right, that is based off of your people. Your mate is your mate no matter how many suckling he has given to other females. You are the dominate and your suckling will always come first. You should learn this well Teh-leya, females hold the most power and you would do well to show your power so other females don’t think you are weak, like I do.” she said with huff before getting up and walking toward other females. I groaned quietly.

“Good talk.” I muttered. However, a large thud before me made me jump as I saw Ty’Ruk on his back with Scorpion towering over him with his blade beneath the youngblood’s neck. My eyes widened. I could see green blood pouring down the side of the younger yautja’s mouth. His chest and stomach had light cuts to them. What the hell! I was too busy looking at Gaia, I didn’t notice the violence had gotten more intense here.

Scorpion hissed lowly as if in warning.

“Don’t you ever disrespect my mate or unborn suckling ever again.” he threatened lowly. Disrespect, when did that- oh no. Earlier today when Scorpion was fishing for me. Blade or Jack Hammer must have told him that Ty’Ruk had called our child a mongrel.

I looked down and then glanced around at the others to see many watching with low hisses and nods of approval almost. Ty’Ruk gave a low hiss in return before letting his head fall in defeat. Scorpion leaned back up, retracted his blade, then marched over to me in all his glory. Warriors barked and roared in victory all around.

But Scorpion did not seem happy about this win. I looked up at his giant form as he towered over me for a second before finally leaning over and holding his hand out to me. I took it and helped me up to my feet before scooping me up bridal style.

“Come a heavy storm is coming tonight and I will not have you catching an illness.” he replied. And leave all of the guests who gathered here for him? That was the least of his concerns as he just turned and nodded at the elders before marching off with me in his hands. I stared at his face, the stoic mask was tightly attached. I quietly and submissively nuzzled my head under his chin.

[lefaystrent]

Me, Myself, and These Guys Who Kinda Look Like Me Ch. 3

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: Thomas/The Sides

Summary: It starts with dreams. Then Thomas starts seeing the dream people in the waking world.

Thomas doesn't know how to bring it up to anybody or if he even should at this point.

AKA, Thomas has to acknowledge the six colorful characters in the room, much to their long-awaited delight.

AO3 Link: click here

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

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

Thomas comes back to consciousness without realizing he left it.

The room is dark and the TV's volume turned down. A movie plays now, Harry Potter but he's not awake enough to decipher which one. He's seen all of them, loves them all. He owns plenty of merchandise to boot(probably too much merchandise). The familiar trills of music are a lullaby to his sleepy brain.

For a wonderful moment, Thomas can pretend he fell asleep on the couch and nothing weird or bad or potentially mind-altering is going on.

A hand pets at his head sending a jolt of awareness through him. Fingers slip under his bangs, and the coolness is a startling contrast to his heated skin. The rest of Thomas's body catches up and tells him he is freezing and this one thin blanket is not doing enough. He gives a pathetic whimper and a shiver wracks up his spine.

"I think his fever has come back," a low voice says. He's not sure who. The hand presses against his forehead more firmly. "I uh, I think his head feels hot. I'm not used to being able to touch things though, so don't quote me on temperature differences."

"Thomas? You awake kiddo?"

"Uh-uh," Thomas moans in spite. He'd very much like to be back asleep.

Someone snorts and the hand falls away from him quick as lightning. He opens his eyes to see Virgil in the dim light of the TV, blocking his view as he hovers over him. He's on his knees in the spot where Roman last sat, and he's chewing at his lip fiercely.

Thomas eyes his jacket, the thickness of the sleeves, the lines of patchwork sewn in... Would Virgil lend it to him if he asked pathetically enough? It looks very warm and bulky in a way that would be like wearing a cloud.

Virgil rears back a bit, catching his gaze and unable to look away. "You can still see us, right Sanders?"

"Yeah... You're Virgil."

That catches him off guard. It occurs to Thomas that Virgil never formerly introduced himself. Thomas had just picked up on his name at some point from the others talking.

Speaking of the others, he notices Logan, Patton, and Roman huddled over and around him, heads poking over each other almost comically.

"You're still here," he says, a little dumbfounded, a lot tired.

"And you can still see us," Patton says sappily. He's flapping his hands up and down in excitement.

Roman pushes through. "Quick, me next! Do you remember me too?"

Thomas resigns himself to them being strange about him saying their names. "Roman. And Patton and Logan. Where's the other two?"

"Stepped out," Virgil replies. Like last time, Thomas has no idea what that means. He imagines they're out on his front doorstep, just making a phone call. Highly likely. When he continues to stare at Virgil, the emo fidgets with his hoodie-zipper.

"How are you feeling?" Patton interjects before Thomas can gear himself up for a proper questioning.

"Not good," Thomas admits. "Very not good."

"Right, uh, medicine?" Virgil looks left and right as if a bottle of medicine will appear.

Logan pauses him. "First, we should check his temperature. It's important to monitor any major fluctuations."

"I don't have a thermometer," Thomas mumbles. "I had one, don't know where anymore. It probably ran away. "

"Your life is in shambles, man," Roman muses.

"I know."

"Then we will have to use means by comparison." Logan sits on the edge of the coffee table. During Thomas's sleep, he had stretched out on the couch and taken a lot of the room to sit. No, he will not feel guilty about that. "Thomas, how do you feel now on a scale of one to ten?"

"Negative zero."

"By definition, zeroes cannot be negative. Besides, the numeric rating scale is traditionally an ascending test of pain or illness, with zero representing perfect health and ten suggesting intolerable or dire levels of symptoms."

"Did he fail the test?" Patton asks in concern.

"Shoulda studied," Virgil quips.

"Negative one then," Thomas grumps. "I feel negative one."

"If you must remain obtuse about this and reverse the scale, zero would then mean near-death. Tell me Thomas, do you feel close to death right now?"

"I'm not good with numbers, but does dead inside count?"

Logan adjusts his glasses. Twice. Then he holds his hands palms upwards and stares beseeching at the others. There is an unsaid, "What do I do with this idiot?"

Roman pitches in, "Thomas, on this negative scale of badness, how did you feel last night?"

Thomas hums and thinks about it for a moment. "I guess like a solid negative nine?"

Roman smirks at Logan. "There you go, comparison point made. He feels bad but not as bad."

"Bad is still bad though," Patton says. "Do you feel like you're running a fever?"

"Uh-huh."

"Would you like some more medicine?"

"Uh-huh."

"Okay, sweetheart, let's get you taken care of."

Taking medicine, as it turns out, involves sitting up. He could swallow a pill sideways. Drink some water while horizontal. He doesn't have to get up for that and leave his meager nest of warmth.

Virgil points out that he could choke and die and that it'd be really embarrassing if his friends or family found his body like that. Thomas commits to the horrible process of becoming vertical.

"I feel icky. And whicky. And all forms of sicky." Thomas is just being petulant and needy at this point. He's almost forgotten that these are dream people and not his friends who he's used to bantering with. It feels...scarily natural for him to be this way with these guys.

He blames the fever.

"Alright Mr. Icky Whicky. Bottoms up."

Thomas takes the glass of water from Patton and drinks down the pills.

Thomas pouts. "It didn't work."

"Ibuprofen generally takes about thirty minutes to take affect and reduce symptoms."

"He's not serious, Dr. Pill."

"I'm so serious that I'm black," Thomas says.

There is a solid five seconds of everyone staring at him uncomprehendingly. Finally, Roman snaps his fingers.

"Ah, Harry Potter! It's a reference, not a confused caucasian."

"I'm always confused." Thomas wants to drift back into the embrace of the couch cushions. He wants to close his eyes and will away the low throbbing sensation in his temples. He wants to ask for them to bring him another blanket and let him go back to sleep.

He wants to pee, most of all.

"I'll be back," he tells them.

They part for him. Patton calls after him as he climbs up the stairs, and Roman asks if he needs a battle buddy, but Thomas waves them off. He just needs a moment to himself and feel like he's in control of his own space.

***

He finishes up his business and wanders into his bedroom in search of his robe. He knows he has one somewhere, the blue one...

Remus sits primly on his dresser, one leg crossed over the other and hands daintily placed on his knee.

"Don't mind me, I've only been up to devious schemes while you were gone to Snore-ville." Remus smiles, very cheshire-cat like. This close, Thomas can see the purple tint of his eye-shadow. Paired with the mustache and ruffled costume, he looks like a dramatic villain. The kind that tie up damsels to train rails while busting out into a musical number.

Thomas glances around the somewhat messy room. Nothing is out of place, but all of the pictures and posters he has on the walls have been turned upside down.

"But why?" he asks.

Remus cackles, "Whys are only for why-ners! Maybe you should think more 'why nots' instead. It can open a lot of doors for you, you know. And windows that you can jump out of."

"Did the other guy jump out of the window? Is that where he went?"

"Sure, why not?"

Thomas shifts on his feet and glances towards the window, still out of sight behind his curtains and presumably closed. Out of all of the dream people, Remus makes him feel the most uneasy. He shares Roman's bold flair, but none of the others' tact or restraint. There's a real possibility that Remus threw Bowler Hat out the window. Or Thomas. He could throw Thomas out the window. It'd be like tossing a limp noodle.

"It's not that I just can't see him again, is it?" Thomas asks. He doesn't know how any of this works. If this is temporary, or if they'll fade in and out. Or if they're setting him up for...something.

Thomas had seen a lot of movies. Lots of TV shows. These guys could be angels, or devils on his shoulder.

Devils that swoop in and make him oatmeal and watch Harry Potter while he's sleeping. How dastardly.

Remus hums and shakes his head. "Not like you're thinking. I can't see him either, if it makes you feel any better. He sunk out a bit ago."

Sunk out. Not 'stepped' out.

As much as these people claimed they didn't fully understand their existence or tie to Thomas, they were definitely hiding things from him.

Thomas shivers and it's not entirely the fever to blame. "Can you guys... are you guys... Can you leave when you want? Do you go elsewhere at times? Like away from me or- or different realities?"

Remus slinks off the dresser, the material of his gaudy sleeves rustling like a titled moracca. There's no more smile on his face, but there's a smugness in the way he tilts his head back to stare down his nose at him. In exaggerated movements, he opens the nearby closet door, arm braced against the door frame. He's almost posing, or leering.

"There's no denying that we're tied to you Thomas. We're all sewn together in your silly string, tangled and knotted. But you're starting to think 'why not'. Keep it up, Tommy Boy."

He falls backwards into the rack of clothes, slamming the closet door behind him.

When Thomas throws the door back open, no one is there amongst his shirts and pants. But he does find his blue robe hanging off the door handle where once it hadn't been.

Why him. That's what he's been thinking the entire time.

"Why not," Thomas mutters and throws the robe on.

***

Following Remus's over-the-top exit, Thomas goes downstairs. Roman and Logan have migrated to the kitchen and are fussing over a boiling pot on the stove-top. From the sounds of it, they're fighting over the nutritional value of ramen (it has none). Patton sits on the couch with an arm slung over Virgil's shoulder while the other bites at his nails. They perk up when they see him.

Virgil jumps to his feet. "Everything...good?"

Thomas smiles bitter-sweet. "I don't think so."

The two in the kitchen have stopped in favor of listening to him.

"Oh..." Virgil says, and it's so damn crestfallen. In an instant, the discontent wars with empathy.

He grew up with brothers. Lord knows they had plenty of disagreements. The one thing that would break them every time was when one of them showed they were sad or upset. How many times had Thomas cut himself off mid-sentence to go give his brothers a hug? They'd do the same for him too, enough that their mom had gotten into the habit of telling them to "hug it out" whenever their disputes became too heated.

Thomas hugs himself in measly consolation. It's nowhere near the same. "Everything isn't bad either though... It's... I don't know what everything is."

"You don't have to do that," Patton says. His fingers are twined in his lap, his gaze focused on them. They all appear to be around Thomas's age, give or take. And by their accounts, they've only been conscious of their existence for, what? Ten years tops?

Patton though, he seems old right now with his honey eyes and crow's feet.

"None of us will think any less of you Thomas, if you're having a hard time with this. I think we'd be more surprised if you found this easy. You don't know us. We know you, but you don't know us."

No, he really doesn't. They have him at a complete disadvantage. "You guys have been watching me for a long time."

"We have," Patton agrees. His eyes are warm, if tinged sadly.

"Not in a creepy way!" Virgil blurts out. Then he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed. He grabs at his jacket several times before flipping his hood over his head. "God, I'm just making it sound more creepy. I swear we don't watch you all the time. We're not- it's not like that."

All the quiet moments he thought he was alone.

All the private times, the intimate ones.

The times he closed his doors and drew his blinds, and he let himself relax with no expectations. No one to please, and no one to see him at his lowest.

All those times he hadn't truly been alone.

Distantly, he's been aware of this fact since they showed up. But putting it into perspective...

"What is it like then?" Thomas asks, and it comes out surprisingly much more stable than he feels. "If it's not like that, what is it like?"

Virgil turns to Patton and mumbles, "I'm just messing this up."

Patton scoots forward to perch on the edge of the couch so he can pat at Virgil's arm. "No one's messing anything up. To answer your question, Thomas, it's like a one-sided friendship. We've hung out with you, watched you play games, watched you cook–"

"Try to cook," Roman intercedes. Logan elbows him to shut him up. "Right, sorry, not the vibe."

Despite the sass, Patton smiles, "Yeah, we've seen you try to cook. But we've also seen you practice lines and write songs. We've been to your performances, and we've seen you interact with the theater community and your fans. Your family and friends. And we've seen you do a lot of good kiddo. You're really amazing! And inspiring! You're able to inspire all of your friends to be better, because you do better for them. And I think that affects us too."

Patton stands up and approaches Thomas. His hands are clasped still and he makes no sign that he'll touch Thomas if Thomas doesn't want him to.

"It's been like a privilege," he says. His eyes don't water, yet the emotion is there all the same. "We've been rooting for you this whole time."

Thomas has to look away. His face feels like it's on fire. He's a total sap for mushy sentiments, and he's a melting puddle when they're directed towards him.

He just can't see why it's deserved.

Why not, Remus's voice whispers in his ears.

Thomas shuffles. He busies himself, retying his robe.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Virgil asks.

"Okay." Thomas nods. "But I want to know more. Like about you and where the others are right now. What does sinking out mean?"

That throws them for a loop. Patton and Virgil pause to stare at each other. They go on a journey of silent conversation through a serious of facial expressions.

"Perhaps I can explain."

Logan comes around the kitchen archway. His hands are behind his back and he stands sure of himself. Paired with the tie and glasses, Thomas thinks he wouldn't be out of place in a classroom setting. He's got the tone for it too, speaking more clinically.

"We are not corporeal, or wholly so. We can move through walls and objects, and until recently, we were able to touch or move inorganic material only rarely."

Thomas remembers Remus disappearing in his closet. He could have went through the floor or walls. Oh God, were they just- hanging out in the walls right now? Was that hurting the insulation?

Wait.

"Is that why sometimes I can't find things? Like my keys?"

"Mostly no. That would be more attributed to you being incredibly disorganized and absent-minded."

"Ah, I suspected, but thank you for confirming."

"Indeed. To demonstrate," Logan lifts his arm to touch the back of the couch. Except his fist goes into the material. His hand is simply gone up to the wrist, as if there is a hole he had stuck it through.

"Hah, okay," Thomas exclaims. He holds a hand to his face, mouth open. "Okay, okay, okay."

Patton shrugs innocently. "Can't really cushion the blow on that one."

The exasperated expression Logan gives him is enough to startle a choked laugh out of Thomas. Especially when Roman chimes in with a, "Sofa, so good!"

It's honestly the little jokes like that, that have kept him from becoming entirely unhinged. It's not unlike him to crack jokes to cover up the bad feelings. These people so get him that it's hard not to like them.

"As I was saying," Logan says with a clear tone of disdane. "We have the ability to pass through inorganic matter or interact with it. Save for last night, we have never done so efficiently, and we certainly never were able to interact with organic matter."

"Can you talk any less like a textbook, Bill Nye the Science Tie?"

"Can you boil water properly, Roman?"

Roman realizes at that point that the pot is bubbling over. He curses and rushes to turn down the heat.

"We've never touched people. Real people, I mean," Virgil offers. "They just walk through us like we're ghosts."

"But we can touch each other!" Patton proves this by hugging Virgil. He acts like he doesn't notice the other's grumbling.

"So you feel real to each other?" Thomas questions, peering forward. It doesn't look off or anything. It's just two people hugging in his living room. Or one being assaulted with hugs, rather.

"Real enough!"

"So...not real?"

"Have you ever imagined touching someone?" Roman calls over while he's busy pouring in squares of ramen.

"He was once a teenaged boy. It's only natural with heightened hormones–"

"Not like that, Logan!" Roman is so flustered he doesn't bother with a nickname. He swipes a hand through his hair. "Sheesh, platonic touching! Platonic!"

"Well you didn't specify–"

"I'm specifying now! Thomas, have you ever daydreamed of holding someone's hand? Of embracing your friends, or leaning against a shoulder? Have you thought about fingers tracing your skin, or hands cupping your cheeks?"

"I'm not sure where this is going, but yes. Touch is nice and I think about it a normal amount."

"That is how we feel to each other. The sensation is there, but only almost."

That...sounds fairly close to ghost territory, or what he'd imagine it would be like to be a ghost.

It's also incredibly depressing. He thinks back to that morning after his shower when he came out and Roman kept touching him.

"Is it different with me?" Thomas asks, holding up his hands as if he can see a difference between them. "When you interacted with me?"

Logan shuffles and stills himself just as quickly. "There is a noticeable tangible difference, you are correct. As Roman has described, touch between ourselves has a detached quality. Our limited experiences with you have involved a startling substantial quality."

"It's nice," Patton agrees.

Thomas takes a step back from them all. He pretends not to see the hints of hurt. He plays it off with grabbing his abandoned glass of water and takes some sips.

"So, how does this have to do with my question though? With where the others are?"

Logan again takes the reins. "Our metaphysical bodies are not bound by the same laws of physics as yours or other people's are. We are able to pass through walls as well as what I believe to be this dimension as we know it. Tell me Thomas, are you familiar with String Theory?"

"As in I have heard that it's a term that exists?"

"You know the Marvel movies?" Virgil throws out and Thomas brightens immediately.

"Oh yeah! Like with the multi-verse!"

"You gotta cater to your audience," Virgil explains to Logan's askance look.

"So the multi-verse is real?!" Sickness begone, Thomas has new priorities now. He can and will leap around the room. He nearly drops his cup in excitement.

"Why wouldn't it be!" Roman says. He's waving around a pasta spoon like it's a sword and Thomas wants to join him. Where's the TV remote?

"No, no, not like you're thinking," Logan attempts to settle them down. Then reevaluates. "Well, maybe, but it can't be proven as of yet. I don't wish to burst your figurative bubble, but the evidence we have accumulated, while suggesting more is plausible, is limited to smaller scale dimensions. Each of us have a fold in space that we 'sink' into that is specific to each individual."

"So Remus and Bowler Hat are in a tiny dimension right now?"

"Bowler Hat? Who– oh, he never did introduce himself, did he?"

"Don't you dare hijack his introduction too, Microsoft Nerd!"

"We can just keep calling him Bowler Hat," Virgil suggests in an amused lilt. "I'd like to see his reaction."

"Maybe Janus is the spy, you guys! He's pretty sussss, if you know what I mean!"

"This isn't Among Us, Popstar."

"So they're in a tiny dimension?!" Thomas yells over them.

Virgil shrugs. "Like a pocket dimension."

As if on cue, both Patton and Roman start singing "Pocket Full of Sunshine". It's incredibly good actually. Like they do harmonies and riffs in perfect sync.

If they've had years to themselves, stuck around Thomas, and unable to interact much with the world around them, they must have gotten awfully bored. If it were Thomas, he imagines he'd comfort himself with singing. A lot.

Or no, they weren't stuck around him?

"So you guys aren't attached to me? You can go to different dimensions?" Thomas asks, feeling like he's getting mixed signals.

"Just the one," Logan answers. "Think of it like walking into another room, but that room is a reflection of the previous room without any outside influence. Our 'rooms' are personalized to ourselves. To compare, my room looks like this living room but the art work is inspired by the De Stijl movement, there are more bookcases, and everything is neatly organized. Meanwhile, Patton's room is a veritable pile of stuffed animals."

Patton nods while grinning. "It's a com-pile-ation of all the best things."

"So like a literal pocket dimension," Thomas says. He sits the glass back down so he can move his hands in the air to elucidate. "Here we have my living room. And then underneath that, there's Logan's room. And underneath that, there's Patton's room. And when you sink out of...this reality, you go to your own rooms?"

"Well done, Thomas!" Logan beams, and whoa. That's weird to see him excited. And proud. These guys are way too encouraging to his need for validation.

"Freaked out yet?" Virgil asks.

The mood shifts. Underneath the jokes and conversation, there's a tension to them. Thomas sees it in Virgil's bitter smirk, how Patton tugs at his collar. Logan's momentary smile disappears and the gaze left behind is anticipatory. Roman has stopped watching him, eyes burning holes in the noodles he stirs.

They're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

They're waiting for Thomas to panic and reject them.

"Maybe," Thomas concedes. "I won't lie, it's probably going to hit me later. Um, if you guys see me having an anxiety attack, I apologize. Please don't take offense."

"Aw, kiddo-" Patton gasps, hands flying to his chest.

Thomas bulldozes over him and the pin-prickling sensation of being perceived as a person. "Not that it's a new thing, or anything! Which you guys probably already know because you've been watching me for years, and wow, that's embarrassing. I've had some really ugly ones, but that's not the point! It's all a part of the processing process!"

"Compartmentalizing," Logan summarizes.

"Yes, common tex-tiling!"

"No, compartmentalizing. It is a form of psychological defense mechanism in which thoughts and feelings that seem to conflict are kept separated or isolated from each other in the mind. Its purpose is to avoid the mental discomfort and anxiety caused by a person having conflicting values, cognitions, emotions, beliefs, etcetera within themselves."

"That makes me sound smarter than I am."

"It sounds like repression," Virgil comments.

Logan waves a finger. "Not quite. It can be the precursor to repression, but it is not inherently an unhealthy habit. Psychologist Tara Swart posited that compartmentalizing can be useful when dealing with difficult issues that cannot be prioritized in the moment. In fact, it can even be healthy when one needs to carry on daily tasks or work and is not in the proper environment to process their thoughts and emotions about a particularly troubling matter occurring in the background. It is only unhealthy if you avoid the matter with the intention of never returning to it."

"Um, where did all that come from?" Roman asks.

"As I said, psychologist Tara Swart-"

"No, we got that part. Since when have you been reading up on psychology enough to cite sources?"

Logan's mouth opens briefly, only to close again. His eyes narrow in thought. "I... must have remembered it from a text Thomas read. Perhaps during his college education?"

"I don't even remember college, and I was the one who went," Thomas says. His brain hurts just thinking about it. Not that his head ever stopped hurting. He's starting to feel tuckered out. Second-wind done blown away.

"It must have been something that stuck with me," Logan explains. "I happen to have an excellent memory."

"That means he never let's go of anything," Roman stage-whispers loudly.

"Falsehood."

Thomas collapses onto the couch. He debates keeping score on how many times Logan and Roman will dissolve into spats. He'd need a hefty notebook.

"Have they always been like that?" Thomas asks quietly to the calmer two who refuse to be drawn in. Patton does appear to be tempted to say something to them, if the way he bites his lip is any indication. He chooses to leave them to it in favor of flopping down on the couch beside Thomas.

"It used to be worse," Patton admits. Virgil gives a little, "You have no idea," under his breath, making the bespectacled man giggle. "They used to lash out at each other often back then. They're both pretty strong-willed. Remus used to be the only thing that could break up their fights."

"Yeah, by causing more fights," Virgil huffs. He climbs onto the coffee table and hunches there over his crossed legs. His black pants have artistic rips in the thighs, and he picks at them.

"Mm-hm, but it worked. They would stop yelling at each other and would team up against Remus instead."

"Remus would make them mad on purpose?" Thomas asks. He knows there are people like that, attention-seeking, but it doesn't sound very healthy.

Patton smiles like he knows what he's thinking. "It was fun for him, though that's not why he did it. And eventually he didn't have to do it as often."

"What about you guys?" Thomas asks.

"What about us?"

Thomas doesn't know what he's asking. He's looking at Patton with his cardigan-clad shoulders and wearing his Sunday best, and he's staring at Virgil with his painted fingernails and purple dyed bangs. There's a draw to them. Thomas stands over a well and the world is tilting him on its axis, beckoning him to fall in. He wants to fall in.

At length, Thomas wipes at his face. He sighs, "Nothing, never mind."

Worry etches lines into Patton's forehead. He frowns and gives a tentative pat to Thomas's knee. "How are you doing?"

"Tired?" Thomas says, and that about sums it up. His stomach growls and it's loud enough that he knows they hear it. "And hungry?"

Just like that, Patton's smile returns. "Okay, kiddo. Let me go hurry dinner along."

He leaves him with Virgil to go wrestle the others into shape.

Virgil doesn't say anything, giving him some room to breathe.

Thomas is infinitely grateful.

[cyborgsurprise]

This is like my worst nightmare: imagine tripping with a friend and seeing this shit. Trill is yea close to turning straight edge.

[an-abyss-of-stars]

𖤓 Don't You Dare Do This Without Me 𖤓 Ch. 4

Pairing: Rhaena x Aemond

Warnings: Smut, oral sex (f), teasing

Word Count: 8.6k

Summary: Aemond faces off against his pregnant dragoness and does his best to coax her into bed with him...Rhaena is having none of it...at first...

.

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ao3 | 

Notes: SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT SMUT ...incominggg

A little bit of oral to start...

As the heavy aged doors of his royal chambers closed behind him, a sense of deep seeded calm and serenity seeped into his very bones. Aemond had even closed his eye, slipped off his eye patch as he took a deep settling breath. Inhaling that sweet fresh scent before he exhaled heavily, a silent wordless prayer to his soul. 

He already felt slightly healed compared to how he had felt before he'd entered the castle.

"Ao sagon arlī," you're back.

Mmmm…

He'd know her voice anywhere, that soft delicate timbre that was clearly priming like a prelude to a violent storm. Though, at that moment he could care less about the impending danger, she still felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the ever enduring lecture he'd just subjected himself to. Here, it was so easy to ignore the inevitable when his heart ached at the sound of her voice. His blood trilled at the sound of her effortlessly rolled R's, the silky tone that fluttered from her lips in their family's ancient tongue.

"Iksan," I am, Aemond only managed to breathe the word, slowly opening his eye to find her standing before him. A sudden apparition, she'd appeared like a vision. All glittery and alight, utter perfection in her crimson velvety gown. Black lace dragons and flowers intricately embroidered to contrast the red silk. Fitted taut to her bodice, while her skirts flowed loosely. It was as he remembered, the dress she’d had on when he’d initially charged out of this room hours ago. 

That dress…it was stirring it all up again, that storm within him. The things he'd wanted from her…the very things she'd denied him. 

And just like before…he couldn't help himself. The trajectory of where his eye often fell these days, the slightest exposure of her cleavage that led to the ample heft of her milk filled breasts. The near animalistic, unfettered urge to reach for them now...to ignore the battle she so obviously wished to have in favour of tearing her dress from her body. Uttering whatever empty agreement she'd need reached just to have her settled upon his lap, to allow him access to her pillowy bare mounds. He still so wished to bury his face there, to massage the tender soreness away as he usually did around this time for her.

It would soothe him to do so, he knew it would. 

Just as he was sure he could ease the growing pressure and discomfort she was surely feeling. If she'd only give herself over to him, allow him the access he craved from her. 

To take to her teat with vigor….the act of freely suckling from her.

It was the image of it, the wanting…he was sick with it. The all-consuming need to have her in his arms, to be wrapped and curled around her soft body. 

He almost wanted to groan aloud, the frustration was giving way to something more. Burning him deep within his center, causing restless shivers to unnerve his entire being. 

To be frank, she was already standing so close. Rhaena had waddled her way over to him, standing at her full height…just barely reaching the height of his shoulder. The close proximity of her had raised the speed in which his heart thumped within his chest. It was arousal and fury that coursed within him now, that irritation that itched at him, it was leading him to some rather unsightly places within his mind. 

At the sight of her presence alone, he could envision scooping her up without a word. Furiously carrying her to their bed and having his way with her. 

It would have been easy.

And in that moment, in the darkest seed of his mind…he figured he’d blame her for it. 

She’d allowed these needs of his to fester, she’d rebuffed him when all he had wanted was her company...physical company. And now he hungered for more…he hungered for every inch of her. That rage that always laid within him, a sunken gorge filled with black tar…it craved her very essence. 

Blood would not satiate this. 

He could see that now, Aemond could tell by the fire roaring in his veins. It wouldn‘t have mattered how many people he’d killed to numb the feeling, how many villages, cities, ships…scorched earth or not. 

His salvation was here…

So what would it take?

The weakness she’d managed to embed in him, stitched to the core of his heart…he still needed her to enjoy his touch. He couldn’t stomach causing another situation in which she laid unmoving and unfeeling beneath him, the wretched feeling of fucking what felt like a lifeless corpse was not satisfying in the least. Nor was mere thought of ever repeating a mirror to the night she cried beneath him a few years prior. 

What he wanted…was to return to this morning. The way she’d been before the sun rose…before everything went to shit.

As Rhaena stopped inches away from him, her face came into clear view, tilting upwards to catch his gaze. Aemond’s mind untangled as she garnered his full undivided attention. Her beautiful soft visage, the faint smattering of freckles upon the apple of her cheeks. Her pale eyes sparkling in the light of the late afternoon sun, with her plush heart-shaped lips, he watched intensely as they settled into a rather firm line at the sight of him, "ao iēdrosa yknagon hen ōrbar se zaldrīzes's perzys…Iksā ribazmoqitta, ao gīmigon bona ȳdra daor ao," you still smell of smoke and dragon's fire…you are mad, you know that don't you.

Ah, he should have known... 

Sweet words would not be bestowed upon him just yet. 

Biting his lower lip, he sought to fight the sinister grin that threatened to form upon his face. It wasn’t the bloom of pride that spread within his gut, but something remarkably similar was working its way through him. Because, of course she’d started at him in this way. Nodding her head slightly as if to prove that this was an absolute certainty she’d directed at him. That he must be mad, how else would he have chosen to act as he did…her eyes said it all. Her words wielded at him like a blade, her voice even held a slight edge to it. Something so faint, so miniscule, it was a wonder he could detect such differences in her tone at all. 

But he knew his wife well, she could be just as petty as he could. Hurling such specific words at him…aiming for his ego, his heart.

Oh, how she often wished to wound him. 

As he’d wounded her so many years ago.

Though, in his case he’d purposely isolated her to the point of no return. Taken from her that which could never be returned to her…she’d never have her loved ones back. And truthfully she knew, with Helaena gone, Aemond had no one else she could or would ever harm that would matter to him truly. Choosing not to foster a relationship with his mother did not cut him the way she probably would have hoped that it would. And she loved their children far too much to ever harm them…so really, she could never strike at him in a way that lasted. 

But she could always jab at him, personally, remind him of his sins…his faults. 

She so loved to insult him. 

And he so loved to feign coyness, purposely allowing that dark grin of his to properly stretch upon his curved lips. Easing his chin upwards, truly looking down at her with a heavily lidded gaze. Scanning her face and finding joy in the pretty yet infuriated look upon it, Aemond then lowered his voice down an octave, "ao kessa emagon naejot ȳrda ziry ilagon, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys," you shall have to narrow it down, my sweet wife. 

Surely in the grand scheme of things it didn't really matter. Like Lucerys, the boy was dead...intent or not. Regret or no. This farming village was torched to the ground. Why he did it, no longer really mattered now that it was done. Besides, the move was calculated enough…he had his own misgivings to sift through when the dust settled. But in the interim, all he cared about now was fulfilling the wants he was denied several hours ago. 

He wanted his wife in their bed and this time he would have her there.

Slowly but surely, he was closing the gap between them, taking relaxed yet precise steps towards her. That urge to tug her against him spiked like a beacon, the closer he was…the more he eyed her entire form. With the way her gentle slender hands caressed her stomach absentmindedly, the sweet rounding swell of it. The evidence of their bonds, the ever enticing roundness of her swollen belly. It was hypnotic to him, the sight alone created so many heated notches along his spine. The knowledge of it, the reality that he alone fucked that child into her. Bred her perfectly, for the third time in a row. Three pregnancies, two births…not one complication thus far, surely a silent blessing from the Gods. A proven point as he’d always believed it to be true, they were fated to be with one another. 

Rhaena Targaryen was made to be his Queen…no matter how much she liked to deny that fact whenever their arguments grew heated. 

Whenever the fact that she had become the mother to the next generation of Targaryens to sit the throne…it weighed on her. Soon enough they’d have another…and soon enough he’d fill her with another…and another…

This constant state of pregnancy was a dream of his and now they were living it…and it was exquisite. His heartbeat battered within his chest, his gaze surely burned her as he watched her intently. Predatorily eyeing his prey, but his prey could read him. Rhaena stepped through the rays of sunlight like a goddess, soaking in all of his attention. Her tawny complexion warmed into a golden brown in the sun as her silvery-white twists that she'd sported pinned upon her head earlier in the morning. Had been loosened, unbound, draped behind her shoulders and down her back, leveling down to her waist. 

He wanted to palm it. 

To have her on all fours as he tugged a handful of it 

Rutted himself deep inside of her warmth as he took her from behind…

Even in the details, his mind wandered…he tried to focus on what was right in front of him, Eyeing the roots of her hair, several soft wispy curls had slipped free from the loosened twists she'd kept for the week. And he could wonder then, that had he stayed in bed with her this morning, she would have told him that she found her current style in need of freshening. She would have hummed in his arms about the task of undoing them, combing through her pretty curly coils before she set about the intensive process of washing and caring for her hair.

And perhaps, he supposed such a topic should bore him...it probably would have if he’d been wed to anyone else. It certainly would for the average married nobleman. Yet, instead, Aemond found himself regretting having missed it. He’d regretted leaving as early as he did this morning, regretted cutting his time with her so soon. It was his will, to fixate on every little part of her…every aspect of her. 

He’d cut himself off from her too soon.

And then she returned the favour. 

Perhaps, he had done this to himself. 

Rhaena’s pale lilac eyes gazed up at him heavily. Her brows set deeply then her expression faltered, she’d caught something in his eye…the look of it…the undeniable stark arousal within it. But she dared to push past it, boldly moving even closer to him. If he hadn’t known any better, Aemond would have wagered that his dragoness still wished to be in his embrace. Walking into his space like a prey would into a trap they already bore witness to. 

She still wanted him…she only wished to be in the midst of combat with him while she indulged him.

And with her sweet scent drawing even closer...drowning him in it. A scent he was already addicted to, so potent with the source so near…he had the half the mind to acquiesce her unworded request. To drink her in…to steep himself in her scent and clear his mind entirely. 

Ah, and now her cheeks were reddening, her body heated as her voice hitched before she levelled it, "ao gīmigon olvie skoros ao gōntan! Ao zaltan iā lentor ilagon! Kesrio syt nyke gōntan daor jaelagon naejot qogralbar pirtir lēda ao!?" you know exactly what you did! You burned a village down! Because I did not wish to fucking lie with you!?

Oh how she knew him well, his little wife knew he paid far more attention to her beratements when she spoke to him in High Valyrian. And now she was waiting for a reply she did not truly care to hear. Though he figured he'd give her one nonetheless, such a glutton he was for her form of punishment. Leaning in closely to her, so eager to push her emotions further, eager to draw her right into his arms whether it was through anger or sheer want. Whichever came first. So with his arms folded behind his back, he pouted slightly, “pār ao gīmigon olvie skoro syt, ao yenka emagon ilagontan lēda nyke. Ñuha byka ābrazȳrys," then you know exactly why, you should have lain with me. My little wife.

Rhaena groaned furiously, eager to hit him, he was sure. Baring her teeth, her face grew a slight tinge rosier. She was a sight in her fury, such an ethereal woman…such an adorable expression. As her hands fell to fists at her hips, she turned away from him quickly, growling lowly, “bisa iksis daor dōna. Issa daor kirimves. Ao daor gaomagon gomagho bisa!" This is not cute. It is not funny. You cannot keep doing this! She exclaimed, groaning as she finally aimed to step around him, her hands reaching up into her hair as she tugged in a semblance of decompression. Still, her moving around him forced his gaze to zero in on her heaving chest. The curvy swoop of her waist and the shapely width of her widened hips. A true hourglass figure, by the Gods…he’d never thought her body would only grow to morph into an even shapelier figure. Shifting with each childbirth, becoming even more enticing as time went on.

For, he was more than simply enthralled…he was entirely hard. His cock already straining against his breeches, tight and painfully full with need. All of that weight she gained for each babe…every part of her so curved and soft…round and plush and weighted. 

He was losing focus, that much was clear.

It was obvious now, he couldn’t let her move away from him. As she had moved to step around him, his arm quickly snatched her forearm and pulled her back. She couldn’t help but follow the momentum, her weight tipping towards him as he already stood open armed and ready to catch her. And she did fall against him with a soft grunt. Already groaning when she felt his arms snake around her waist, his hands grabbing at her…pulling her flush against his firm body. Aemond could be unrelenting, patience having already long left his senses as he began to swarm her. Holding her soft body against him with such an unyielding grip, leaning into her, lowering himself down enough to nudge her nose with his own. In an effort to chase her lips…to pull her into his own hypnotic orbit.

Still, low effort as it was, she grunted and evaded his kiss. 

This game…it was growing tiresome with such little reward being given. 

Instead, he lowered himself further, burying his face in the crook of her neck, he smoothly lingered there. Breathing her in, nuzzling her there, grazing his lips along her warm skin. Just as his hot tongue began to drag along her pulse-

"Mmm…FUCK!" she screamed at him, the immediate switch back to the common tongue snapped his concentration for only a millisecond, but not long enough to release her. Not long to stop his warm pressing kisses. Rhaena, however, tried and failed to pull away, “stop it. Stop…I want you to focus! This is not a game, real people died!”

She was whining, so sweetly like that and yet she thought he’d be able to stop. All she’d done was entice him further, causing him to growl against her, tightening his hold of her. And really through it all he was just so fucking tired of hearing about that small inconsequential village, what did it matter to them. Land that held no Lord, land that had no real value. So many traitors lay there in the mist to begin with. 

That rebellion that broke out near those lands.

So fucking near to Lannisport, not three days ride away…and yet, it was not House Lanny or  House Lannett or even House Lantell that put down the rebellion before it could rise up. The three closest Houses to the lands of Oxcross…and yet they’d heard no word of a whisper. And they lifted not one finger to handle things on behalf of their sworn King. 

Three Houses…three branches of distant kin to the residents of the equally near Casterly Rock. 

House Lannister…the largest seat in the area. Sat by the young child of a Lord, Loreon Lannister. Or really in truth, the one who pulled the strings was still the Dowager Lady Johanna Westerling. If the Lannetts, the Lannys and the Lantells all deferred to her first. If she deterred them…if she still held bitterness over Aemond’s indifference to taking any of her daughters to wed as his Queen four years ago. 

The suspicions were there. 

To leave Lannisport so unguarded with a rebellion on the loose. One of the most major ports of the Seven Kingdoms, the largest settlement in the westerlands…and Lady Johanna did not call to have it put down sooner. Instead she waited for the aid of a dragon…she’d waited until Aemond had grown tired of the inaction and decided it was best to simply send his brother to deal with the mess. 

There were facets to this…and yet his Queen only wished to speak about the insignificant lives that were lost when her husband still so clearly needed her focus to be put upon him. He could discuss his theories with her at length when his mind was settled…for now…he needed her. 

With his teeth now grazing her skin, threatening to break the tenderness, threatening to leave a trail of several marks along her slender neck. Through it all, his growls grew darker, “I am not the one who needs to focus. You, my dear, are too preoccupied with lives that do not concern you.”

“Mmmm, but of course, nothing should supersede the needs of your wanting cock,” she scoffed, hoping to dig her nails in upon his biceps. As if she hoped her claws could pierce through the many layers he wore in his everyday life. Through his fine leather tunic, his layered jerkin, his under-cloth shirt. But it was the effort of it, he liked to know she was trying to bite back at him. Loved the feel of her arms draping over his shoulders if only for her nails to scratch at the nape of his neck. The delicious twinge of pain she elicited. 

“I’m not going to tend to you now. Rewarding you for needless murder is not something I find to be enticing,” Rhaena posed the words as if she wished for him to respond to it, only to cut off the birth of silence she’d supplied him, “I did not even wish for you to leave earlier…I only wanted you to explain yourself. Instead you fly off and torch a village. You cannot keep doing that everytime I refuse to hold you. That's madness!"

Everytime? He’d only done it twice…and that would be including now. The first two were reckless enough, spontaneous acts of violence. But this one…well…if he included that other occasion…perhaps she could view this as three occurrences. 

Even so, it could be equally argued that he could partially explain his destination this time. 

Though to think, she wanted him to stay earlier…

Who would’ve thought. 

Smirking against her neck, Aemond decided he was quite done with it all. He wanted to be in bed with her, so that is where they would continue this if it was her wish. Loosening his hold for only a minute, Rhaena eyed him curiously right as he leaned down and picked her up without warning. Cradling her to him bridal style, he settled her weight against him with ease. Finding pure comfort in holding her in his arms, balancing them both as he began to carry her through their solar.

“Aemond!” she gasped, her hands instantly clutching onto his chest for secured purchase, then she reached for the collar of his tunic, “you can’t-”

“You seem to be denying your King an awful lot today,” he responded dryly, unmoved by her little dramatic display as she even tried to wiggle out his hold at first. A futile effort that she thankfully abandoned soon enough. Reluctantly settling in against him almost immediately afterwards, draping her arm over his shoulder as he would have expected. Her frown setting deeper as she eyed him…that was also to be expected. 

“I’m only exercising my authority. As your Queen, am I not allowed to speak freely,” she turned away from his gaze, pouting now, “besides…some denying would clearly do you some good, no one else will dare do it.”

A smirk spread across his face as he made long strides through their solar. Stepping over scattered toys as he weaved them around their furniture and headed towards their bedchamber. Sneaking in a warm pressing kiss to the dip of her temple before she could shirk away, he smirked, "I promise, dear girl. Others have dared today, my mother for one.”

Her lips smacked as she parted them, not out of shock or astonishment…more out of confusion…skepticism. She seemed to be at a loss for a response. 

“Mmm…in either case, if you really are intent on lecturing me, I must admit, my mother has already beaten you to that as well. I’d rather not have to subject myself to another," the bass in his voice remained resonant, purring almost directly into her ear. He felt her shiver in his arms, watched her lips twitch before she began to nibble upon them. 

When he carefully placed her down on their raised canopy bed, he could see her shoulders relax…the subconscious need to get off her feet finally setting in. She was so focused on arguing with him she’d begun to neglect herself, tsk tsk, “you know what's true madness in all this, is that you'd ever refuse me to begin with. I’ve never made our lovemaking so selfish, your needs would have been met.”

She'd rolled her eyes at that, parting her rose toned lips just as she sank her teeth down upon her lower lip, “I-...this is not a lecture, for one. You are not a child and I should not have to…ugh. Look, I would not have refused you if you’d left my seat upon the council intact…had you at the very least, given me the courtesy of a warning ahead of time…”

As she shifted herself upon the bed’s edge, Aemond took to kneeling in front of her. Eyeing her all the while, he made a small grimace. 

And there it was…in the heat of their back and forth, Aemond knew his stubborn little wife wouldn’t have let it go. 

Honestly, he hoped that she would have moved past that slight by now. In truth, he expected the majority of her anger towards him to be about the village. But the fucking council seat? That was the core of it all wasn't it. Running his fingers through his hair, he undid the braid he'd kept his hair in for most of the day, occupying his fingers with the action as he contemplated his response. In all fairness, he could have worded things kindly for her…seeing as she felt quite personally wounded about it all. 

Then again, the facts of the matter seemed all too obvious to him to even bother. 

“I am allowed to be upset with you…” she’d grumbled beneath her breath, crossing her arms in a huff, propping them underneath her bosom…pushing up her plump cleavage even more so. 

With his heated gaze leveled upon her, he clenched his jaw, grinding it slightly, "I did not think you needed the word told directly by me. You're meant to be in confinement. You're nearly nine moons along, it is only right."

"Right? You gave me no warning! And I know my body well enough, I do not need you to tell me when it's time to be put in confinement! I'm not a horse, there is no period in my pregnancies in which I wish to be locked here in this room again," she huffed, with the intention of standing up and walking away from him. However, that was not going to happen. Aemond was quick to place his large hands down upon her thighs, keeping her seated with a gentle set of force. 

To her immediate dismay. 

Yet, her movement was not the focal point for him. No, it was her phrasing that caught his ear. ‘Locked here in this room again’, he knew exactly what she meant by that. The not so subtle jab at the way he had treated her during her first pregnancy. How she’d been largely confined to this chamber for almost the entirety of it, because he did not trust her to keep their babe as he needed her to. With their second babe, he had granted her far more freedoms. He'd returned her precious Morning to her, he'd allowed her to stroll the grounds with guards at her back and maids at her side. And as negotiated upon the birth of their second born, he'd even given her a spot on his council, as his Queen, free to witness, listen in and even interject if need be.

So, gently, he slotted himself between her thighs, his pulse practically palpitating at the innate warmth of her. There he slid his hands beneath the mildly weighted silk of her skirts, he began to push the flowy fabric up along her legs. She tutted at him, but he didn’t stop himself, he folded the bunched material at her hips. Tucked beneath her belly as he admired the smooth feel of her bare thighs and then her calves, running his calloused hands along them. Bringing his attention down the dainty poppy red slippers upon her feet, as he popped them off one at a time. Leaning himself into her as his hands casually messaged her sore feet. 

He could be both considerate and attentive to her needs if only given the chance. If only she could see that’s all he’d done today…it had been for her benefit…with her needs in mind. 

As his fingers deftly massaged her feet, Aemond could have sworn he’d heard the breathiest little moan of satisfaction slip from her lips. A little chink in her armour, how he loved to cause it. Rhaena’s own hands remained planted on either side of her hips, palmed down against the bed, fingers gripping the dark folded fur blanket there. She was desperate to hold on to the last semblance of control that she had now…her reluctance to reach for him was wearing her down, he could see it. So that was when he struck, releasing her feet, his hands slid up her thighs once again. Settling on the plush curve at her hips, his left hand already rubbing the underside of her belly. 

“Jurnegon rȳ nyke, hmm,” look at me, he murmured softly. And after a stalled moment, her furrowed brows brought her pale eyes back to him, her button nose scrunching as her lips twisted at him. 

Rhaena would always be the first to say their eldest son took after him, but this expression that was so utterly hers…little Aemon had inherited those inflections almost exactly. 

It warmed his soul to see it really, that look was a sign that he was winning. That her rage was crumbling in the sight of his efforts. Slowly, he could reel her into him, even as she weakly fought against him. Curling his hands around her, he secured his arms around her tightly. Gazing up at her with both his pale indigo eye as well as gleaming sapphire, that was when her hands finally landed upon his shoulders. She finally sighed and allowed her body to guide her closer, close enough for Aemond to nudge his forehead up against hers, "this time it is different, you already know that it is. This confinement is not a prison, I only wished to ease your burdens…to make things comfortable for you."

"How considerate of you," she swallowed thickly, surely aiming to make her response sound as sarcastic as possible, only her shaky delivery made it all sound heated and earnest, "it is a shame you didn't bother to ask me if I wanted that or to warn me even. You couldn’t be bothered, I suppose, to at the very least tell me yourself. Ser Willis is the one who told me after I'd already dressed and readied myself."

"Rhaena," he sighed her name as softly as ever, rasping at the end of it. Yes, he could be gentle if he tried…his patience however, had already stretched as thin as it would go. 

"It was aggravating. Borderline humiliating. You cannot act as if this was done as a kindness when it was handled as it was. Ser Willis is not known for pleasant deliveries,” she'd cut short with what sounded like a low drawn groan, as her nose threatened to nuzzle against his instinctually. The close proximity hypnotically luring her to melt against him, relaxing in his hold of her as her fingers roamed down along his chest. Sparking his senses, burning his skin as her hands warmly slid back towards his shoulders. Caressessing the sharp notch of his Adams apple as her touch traveled along his jaw. Her thumbs tracing the sharp edge of it before raising to cup his cheeks properly, “have I not handled being your mate, the mother of your children and most certainly taking on my role as your Queen, all well enough."

Aemond could feel himself falling victim to her orbit yet again, even though he'd purposely placed himself here...he would lose his upper hand if he wasn’t careful. He could already feel himself leaning into her already, her belly pressing against his chest, his hardening cock felt caught with the pressure of it all. As he raised one of his hands to feel the heat of the life they made, he smoothly brought the other hand up to hold her face. To keep her in place as he leaned his lips closer to hers. Chasing them eagerly, only then did her breath hitch, the sound made his cock grow absolutely rigid with want. As Rhaena's eyes flickered from his eyes down to his lips and then back again, and there she'd hummed to stop him. Halting his desire to close the sliver of distance between their lips, their heated breath already mingling.

"I wasn't done, my impatient zaldrīzes," dragon, she bit back a small faint smile, while he allowed his smirk to pull completely. Her dragon…he did love to hear her possessive terms for him. Loved to be considered hers even when she was cross with him, with her thumb playfully dragging down his lower lip, she smirked, “mmm Aemond, you are trying to distract me,”

A puff of air escaped him as he teased, “is it working?”

At that, she only shook her head, scoffing faintly, “…as your Queen, I need more assurety. You tell me I'm more than your broodmare and then you act without me or on my behalf with no warning at all. I just don't…I do not like being the last to know pertinent information that affects me so directly. I hate to be sidelined when you’ve spent years promising me the opposite. And I certainly mislike feeling powerless in my own life's decisions."

What a bother.

There’d be no distracting her from this topic. 

Mmmm…she wanted more assurety?

As if he hadn't spent the last four years giving her just that. Giving her nearly everything she wanted...a courtesy he’d granted her as she was his Queen.

Breathing deeply, he rested his chin upon the perch of her belly. He found himself reaching around her hips, snuggly holding her in place as he hummed a sound acknowledgement. Recalling his own thoughts from just a few minutes ago, he only wished to 'utter whatever empty agreement she'd need reached just to have her settled upon his lap'. 

Hmmm, it would take some maneuvering to get her onto his lap now...but he figured he could loosen her to that end. In truth, from where he knelt upon the stone floor of their bedchamber...his appetite hungered for something far more immediate. 

Far closer to his lips...far sweeter to the taste. 

Aemond's gaze had darkened almost instantly as his hands slid the curve of her hips, fingers applying the lightest of pressures. He was not being very subtle at all and his Queen knew it. Really, he didn't need to meet Rhaena's eyes directly to notice the furrow of her brows. The heavy sigh that blew from her was telling enough, though she seemed adamant to have his eye on her. Reaching for his chin, she gripped and tilted face upwards. The saturated sun still illuminating her beauty in the most majestic way, even as she spoke with a deep seeded vexation, "you're not listening to me, I can tell."

Well, he was...and he wasn't. 

Biting his lip and he smirked, "you mislike feeling belittled, I heard you," his lips expectantly endured the wandering caress of her thumb. 

If she sought such serious answers... playing with his lower lip was certainly one way to get them. 

"Then..." She paused, her gaze flickering to the window that currently doused her in sunlight, her wispy silver curls shone nearly a glittery white, "tell me, what happened earlier. What angered you so, besides my unwillingness to lie with you then? What was said at the council meeting?" 

Ah...

It wasn't necessarily confidential information, he could care less about keeping her excluded from the issue at hand. What bothered him really, was the thought of sitting here speaking on the delicate matter of the politics of the realm. 

It was a topic he'd enjoy with a clear mind.

A topic he'd revel in divulging with her...after he'd taken what he needed. But he most certainly needed her first, there was no way around that. He could not keep his cock so taut and full as it was for much longer...he could not shake the want from his mind when he sat so ideally right between her legs. 

Without warning he rose to his feet. The matter was settled as far as he was concerned, this was as far as he'd go with just words. He started with his weapons belt, unsheathing his dagger and biting the blade in his mouth as he unlatched his belt and dropped it on the floor. Blackfyre remained sheathed as it fell to the floor. Next, he began unbuttoning his sleek black leather riding tunic, shirking it off and allowing it to fall all the same. 

Rhaena, however, only watched him perplexed all the while. Shaking her head slightly, her hands now held at the edge of the bed, "what are you doing?" 

Aemond thought it obvious, though apparently he'd have to explain the state of things. Apparently the massive bulge beneath the waistband of his breeches was not clear enough for his little wife to see. Even as he threw off his black jerkin, followed by his white cloth undershirt. By then, he took the blade from his mouth, leaning over her, he was somewhat glad to see she seemed utterly unthreatened by the fact that he was holding a dagger over her. In truth, he'd aimed it lower anyhow. 

That was when her eyes lit up, "no...NO! You're not cutting off another one of my dresses! There are buttons precisely placed directly on the front of this one!" 

"I will not be fiddling with lace covered buttons, sweet wife. Besides, I'll have it replaced within the week anyhow," he grinned, already slipping his fingers underneath the neckline of her gown. Feeling the thickness of the fabric, mentally calculating the pressure needed to cut through her sturdy silk layered bodice as well as her thin cotton shift beneath.

Of course, the skill lied in the ability to swiftly slice both away without nicking her with the blade. 

Just as he'd prepared himself to move forward, Rhaena groaned aloud as she shifted. It sounded sultry yet there was something nearly juvenile and pouty about it. Her furrowed brows moved to fret as if she wished to cross her arms to obstruct him, though she never did. She'd quite frankly leaned into his touch, whether she was conscious about it or not...he couldn't say. Her pale eyes only batted at him as her rose tinted lips pushed out, "but this is one of my favourites,"

"I'll gift you several just like it then," he hummed warmly enough, already eyeing the safest path in which he intended to slice. 

"Right, and then you'll cut those just as well. Soon enough I'll be forced to walk these halls bare," she fought to keep her look of petulance, only a cheeky little smile won the battle in the end. That was the prime moment to strike, and Aemond took it, just managing to catch her lips with his own. The immediate warmth that engulfed him as he lazily caught her sweet tongue upon his own. Lingering in the moment just long to feel his own heart soothe and settle with the feel of her. Truly indulging himself with the taste of her mouth, the remnant flavour of a spiced tea and her favoured sugary custard pastries. 

It was a simultaneous act, occupying her captivating mouth just as he pulled his dagger through, snapping each individual button that lined her bodice before cutting down the length of her dress. With his long platinum tresses draping over her, he felt her fingers trace the line of his scar upon his left cheek before feeling the edge of his jawline. Reaching to tuck his arrant strands behind his ear, there he gently pulled himself from her. Timed equally with a breathy gasp, Rhaena huffed, "mmmm...you're still a mad man, you didn't even answer my question." 

Mad? 

She had no idea...

Licking his lips, he still savoured the taste of her...eager to taste the sweet spot between her legs for the second time today, "consider my eagerness to be a necessity then." His voice was growing hoarse with need, especially as he'd watched the two halves of her gown and undergarment slide off her form. Tantalizing as gravity naturally revealed the parts of her he'd desperately longed to see. The slow tumbling of her crimson gown sliding to reveal one full plump breast and then the other. The soft showing of her bare swollen belly, her shapely thighs still parted directly below. With her warm brown skin still glowing in the sunlight, Aemond was sure he'd never seen such a perfect image. 

With Rhaena leaning back on her elbows, her long silver twists streaming down her back...she was waiting for him. Her pale lilac eyes were calling to him, silently beckoning him to take her as she wished. 

Surely she knew how dangerous her gaze was. 

Surely, she could see what it did to him...what she did to him. 

Leaning over her, he reached to place his dagger down upon their bedside table. Freeing his hand to glide along the soft dip of her bare waist. Though he wouldn't climb over her, not yet, he couldn't resist the opportunity laid at his feet. Instead, he reached for her cheek, "you want me to answer your question?"

Rhaena eyed him heatedly, nodding sharply.

"Hmmm, then you'll have to play your game to get it," Aemond rasped, purposely aiming a lingering kiss to the corner of her mouth. With a cocky little flick of his tongue, he began to lower himself once again. Quietly kicking himself for leaving his breeches on as he did so, but he could wait no longer. Pressing warm sloppy kisses down in a streak along her body, his hair falling against her, tickling her as he trailed between her perfect mounds and the rounded bump of her belly. 

While Aemond's complete and utter focus had shifted, Rhaena's body had begun to melt against his touch. Though her focus remained the same, "and what game would that be? The one where you spread my legs and get exactly what you've come for." 

He'd chuckled darkly at that, now kneeling before her, placing his hands upon her smooth knees. The delicate yet familiar motion of spreading her legs to suit his hungered urges as he glanced up at her, "quid pro quo...a fair trade...is that not what you call it? When you ride me senseless, take my cock however I wish to give it to you. You ease my every sense, all to receive whatever goal you'd been after that day." 

Rhaena's fingers danced upon her thighs, her lips folding in a charming little guilty expression, "you say that as if I use you." 

"Tis your favourite weapon to wield against me, is it not," Aemond grinned, his eye flickering down to the damp thatch of pale curls that laid above her pretty entrance, "it's exactly how you managed to gain a seat upon my council in the first place-" 

It was a feather light touch, his fingers spreading the soft folds of her there just as his thumb grazed against her sensitive little bud. Her legs shuddered instantly at his touch, her breath hitching in time with a little small quiver as she opened for him. She was already so slick, wet and wanting...the tender pink of her hidden flesh already calling to him.

"Aemond-" Rhaena gasped again, biting down hard upon her lower lip. 

He'd missed that sound, missed hearing all of the breathy moans he knew his wife to be capable of. All the sweet ways she could call his name when she so wished to. And, yes, he'd been granted a few much earlier in the morning...but he could be selfish at times. Hoarding the sound, the melodic melody of it. He wanted more...he always wanted more. 

Teasingly, Aemond continued to dab at her clit, softly rubbing the area with the pad of his thumb. Flashing a cunning smirk as he leaned his mouth close enough to blow hot air against her needy entrance, "what was that? Did you want me to stop?" 

Pettiness...he could never have enough.

"Mmmm, you're such a..." Rhaena groaned as she laid her head back, her hands combing through her twists as Aemond settled her legs over his shoulders. Her left calf sliding over his old burn scar upon his right shoulder, his one memorial from his battle at Rook’s Rest. The day the formidable Rhaenys Targaryen took both him and Vhagar on with Meleys at her side. Matching him blow for blow…nearly killing him with her immense dragon riding experience. As well as the worn battle tested Meleys. 

Aemond remembered that battle well…perhaps he regretted it more than the others. But in that fight he'd taken Meleys' dragon's fire just scarcely to the shoulder while managing to douse and dodge the worst of the onslaught. Only taking her down with the added aid of his brother and Sunfyre. 

A half victory, really. 

As were the majority of his dragon battles. 

Though in the end he had won it all. Rhaenys was dead, in her stead, he had that very woman's granddaughter here at his disposal. Legs splayed to him as he clearly felt the call of her body, as if gravity itself was guiding him there. He didn't wait for her, delving between the warmth of her plush thighs. Eagerly licking a streak along the length of her spread cunt, his tongue purposely lavishing the saccharine flavour of her. Drawing light airy mewls from her as her hands floundered down at her sides. Fingers padding the fur blanket beneath her before she opted to grip onto it instead. 

Her legs were squirming already, he'd barely even begun and Rhaena already seemed to be fighting the urge to squeeze her legs around him.

It was enough to cause his cock to throb dangerously within his breeches, his heart burning with a sense of pure desire. He felt greedy with it all, that aching irritation of his gave way to the pace of his tongue working her almost ferociously. Licking along her delicate folds, trailing his tongue around her apex, flicking the tip of his tongue against her there- 

There, Rhaena's hands finally reached for him. With a sharply pitched moan, she slid her fingers through his hair and tugged, "s-stop, wait...wait," 

In truth, he had no interest in stopping at all. 

Not when he could get her there, not when he was finally feasting on her just as he'd wished to. Besides, it wasn't as if he could see the expression on her face at this very moment. With his own fingers tightly squeezing the soft pudge of her inner thighs, from his angle kneeling before. Her later-term belly was truly blocking his view of her entirely, he could see the top slumped peaks of her breasts...but her facial expression in this moment would remain a mystery. 

And so if all he could do was judge her words based on the sound of her voice, the breathy needy call for him to wait or stop. Said with the blatant undertones of a woman who was in the midst of experiencing immense pleasure. 

Stop?

Hmmm...he thought not. 

Playfully, he grinned as he dipped the tip of his tongue into the sweet heat of her. Drenched in her syrupy wetness, the point of his nose nudging her clit in time with his ministrations. It was enough for her to cry out, whining his name even louder this time, "Aemond!" 

Perhaps he was toying with her, but he couldn't deny this...that he loved nothing more than this. Burrowing himself within her one way or another. 

"Aemond...mmm...I do not wish to play this game, I would rather the simple answers," she fussed against him, pulling his hair even harder... finally causing him to hiss with the strain. 

Aggravating little thing, could she not simply take his tongue with gratitude. 

With a huff, Aemond grinded his jaw slowly. He wanted a better position, one with more purchase and control over her body. So he feigned compliance, slipping his tongue from her in the slowest most agonizing way possible. Savouring the honeyed taste of her, happily relishing the bright gasping breath she took as he did. He chuckled to himself there, licking his lips as he slowly pulled himself from between her legs. Nearly climbing atop her, Aemond lowered himself over her, gazing into her eyes he murmured, "the game's already started, sweet girl. And you haven't given me anything yet. That’s no trade at all." 

With a sob, she surely felt his fingers reach below. Sliding between her wet folds, causing her to bite her lip as her brows furrowed, "oh! But you've already had a taste, that's good enough!" 

"Mmm," he smirked devilishly, nuzzling his nose against hers, "now now, little wife. You're only stalling, you know this game better than that. If you want pertinent information from me, you'll have to give me more than a simple taste," 

With a smooth slip of his fingers, he brought his damp index and middle fingers to his lips purposely sucking off her glistening arousal. The look in her eyes as they widened at the sight of it, eyeing him with a fixed almost hypnotized stare. 

As if she’d seen him do this very thing, the countless times she’d watched him pull his fingers from her delicate wetness before sucking the remnants with pure fervor. 

In a fluid motion, Aemond used that very same hand to caress her jaw, leading her lips up to his. Deepening their kiss with the dexterity of his tongue tangling with her own, feeling the instant access to her mouth as she tasted herself upon his tongue. As her hands slid along his shoulders, he parted from her briefly, humming against her lips, "settle up here... I'm not done with you yet." 

As he spoke, he guided her body further up along the bed. Pulling down the fur blanket, effectively unmaking the bed as Rhaena finally obeyed his commands. Eyeing him the entire time as she moved to shed the remnants of her gown and undergarments down to the floor before she laid herself closer to the head of the bed. Resting herself horizontally amongst the nest of pillows they had there. 

And for a moment he couldn't help the way his gaze had lingered on her form. Laid out and splayed to him...in truth the very image he'd been most keen to return to ever since he left her this morning. It felt as if he'd been away for ages, like a warrior kept from home....even though there was no battle to speak of and he'd made the blunderous choice to leave all by himself. But he had her now, and she looked the picture of perfection. Like a painting of old, the erotic sketches of a goddess. She quite literally had the form of an image he'd seen once before. Deep within the pages of an old text he'd read a few years back, the original writer's envisioned idea of the fertility Goddess, Meleys. 

What she might have looked like if she'd taken the form of a woman.

Beyond Rhaena's naturally curlier hair and refined beautiful features, the image seemed nearly exact in his mind. Down to his wife’s lovely deep skin tone, her splendid figure, those wide curving hips and thighs, laid so prettily upon their bed. With the impeccable abundance of her plump bosom, the intoxicating roundness of her swollen belly. The bright sun still spilling over her, the luminous shimmer of her silver hair, the way her pale lilac eyes shone like jewels. 

Everything about her was calling him to her like a siren…like a spell. 

If he'd subscribed to the ideals of The Seven as faithfully as he once did...all of this coveting would feel far more sinful. To carnally want a woman with child this badly...his woman, his wife…carrying his child. 

Such distinctions would not have mattered to The Mother, surely, it was all a sin in her eyes. Said to feel displeasure towards any such depravity no matter the specifics. Yet, it all mattered so little to Aemond now, when he was with her. He could do away with thoughts of the Faith in the presence of Rhaena Targaryen. She had a knack for clouding his mind, his judgement…to focusing on one end alone. 

And to his near wonderment, here she was finally beckoning him to come to her. 

"Come then, dear husband, let us play the game," Rhaena's eyes practically glowed, her lips twisting into a bright little smile. 

His siren's song.

Notes: LMAO that breeding kink is really FRONT and center, the lactation kink will be coming too!!

Chapter 5 is in the works, but I do still have to write it! I've plotted out the sequence of events...but estimatation for completion wise, idk. I'd really like to finish it this week. We shall see!

[doodling-doodle]

Through The Eras (CH.9)

Finally, the MVA’s were here! It was tomorrow!

But… Tonight was dinner with Jack, and… He hadn’t been this nervous in a while, over a guy at least. He had asked Discoball if he was insane, or if Jack asked him out… Yeah. He got asked out.

He was finally less stressed from the MVA’s, and now stressed about going on a date with Jack Rose…

Holy shit. Maybe he should be stressed.

”What do you think, blue or pink? Or purple?” Wanderlust asked Discoball, turning and showing them the three different shirts he pulled out of his closet.

They trilled, moving as through they were tilting their head in thought, before changing their lights to mostly be purple.

“Yeah… yeah, I was thinking that too.” He said, putting the other two shirts back up and putting the purple one on, “Okay… outfit done… Makeup!” 

He went back over to his vanity, redoing his hair for likely the tenth time tonight as he did the rest of his makeup, putting on his eyeshadow and lipstick, a bit of glitter even. Look, if he wasn’t going to *feel* confident, he would at least *look* like it. That would do something to convince Jack that he wasn’t a ball of stress about to lose his FUCKING MIND-

Okay. He had about thirty minutes before he had to go meetup with Jack in the city… He just had to wait for thirty minutes. 

He just needed to calm his nerves… where was his water, he swore he just- Crap, he left it downstairs. He knew he was too panicked to open a portal, he figured he could rush down and back up with no one noticing him, right? Right! Just-

He tripped over Seilos knows what when he opened his door, managing to catch himself on his door frame. Great, what was it this time-?

…

A box?

From… Jack.

Fuck, what did he miss this time?

There was a small note taped to it… ”Forgot to give you these last night, more notes in the box”

What the- you know what, he’ll deal with it later, he needed to hydrate and sit down for the next twenty minutes.

he managed to get his water without being seen, and he almost laid down on his bed again before realizing he was going to just fall asleep if he did. So he decided to open the box Jack left for him, and he realized just how long ago it was left… Seilos, had it really been that long since he opened his door instead of portaling?

There were a few different things in there, mostly gun and knife equipment, things to clean his gun and sharpen his knife. Jack thought of everything…

He just felt so… fuzzy, whenever he thought about it. How Jack wanted to make sure he could protect himself… he was so thoughtful and kind, and caring, and-

Crap. He needed to stop daydreaming and go meet up with Jack

…

Jack was already on the roof, waiting for Wander to arrive, pacing around and trying to make sure he knew exactly what he was going to say… yeah, he was a fucking nervous wreak. He was about to take the damn Prince out on a date, and he was about to ask if he could kiss him. Yes, he was nervous! But he couldn’t back out now, because if he did, then Khloe would set them up herself, and make sure they kissed… even if Wander didn’t want that, so he was REALLY trying to avoid that possibility… he just wanted to actually hear Wander say “yes, I’ll be yours”… he could hope. There was no going back now…

… especially since Wander just showed up on the roof.

“Jack! Hey!” Wander said, grinning widely and… blushing softly? Either that or he just put blush on.

“Hey there, your highness.” He said, bowing slightly, and Wander chuckled, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Oh please, I thought we were over this!” Wander said, chuckling softly, “Now where are we going?”

Jack grinned, looking over Wander’s outfit quickly- fuck he was gorgeous- and gesturing to him to follow as he walked back in the building and down the stairwell, “it looks like a nice place- typical Dancity- but it looked different, so I figured why not?”

“And bring me with you?”

“because I want you to know I love you.”

“Well I can’t eat it all alone! And you deserve a treat!”

“because I want you. And I want you to be happy.”

“Heh… thanks, Jack…”

“Of course! Tomorrow is a big day for you, you need this.”

He just hoped he’d go into tomorrow with it being different. Better…

…

“Alright, tomorrow is the day.” The Traveler said, talking to the crew, “Wanderlust is opening, then it’s me. He’s going to be presenting as well. Cygnus will be after me, then it will be Estrella, Dahlia, Eva Chase… We have the preshow, and there’s going to be a few afterparties. Uh, Wanderlust will be leaving with Eva and he’ll likely go to an afterparty with her, plus he has a few outfit changes throughout the night. I assume all of the outfits are here already?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Thank you.” He sat down the clipboard on the table, “I’ll leave this here for Wanderlust tommorow, he’ll be here a little early. I’ll be heading out for the night, so you all finish up. Be back here before he is.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Have a good night.” He opened his portal, going through it and back to his room in the hotel, sighing as he shook his head.

Wanderlust was spending so many nights at Jack’s apartment. He was just a little annoyed by it… very annoyed, actually. He wasn’t really thrilled about it, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He’d deal with it when he could deal with it. He was going to go to bed early so he could get to The venue early with Si’ha. Wanderlust was going to meet them there.

He was actually excited. He hadn’t performed in at least three years, so this would be nice. Maybe he could convince Si’ha to perform again soon. 

…

”Thank you for that, Jack.” Wanderlust said as they started walking across the roof’s of all the buildings to get back to Jack’s apartment. He was honestly hoping that, if he made them walk, it would just last a little bit longer, and he wouldn’t have to go home, curl up in the cold of his room, and try and get through the rest of… whatever was going on.

“It’s no problem. You deserve a treat before the big day.” Jack replied, smiling and looking down at him, “That said… it is getting late, so I’m glad we’re getting home.”

He chuckled, “Yeah… Yeah, me too…”

He was trying to build up the confidence. He was trying to just say “I love you” but he couldn’t... Who would think that? The Prince being scared to ask Jack Rose if this was a date, if they were in a relationship… if they could be in one.

“I’m glad we could do this.” Jack said, “Thanks for… going out with me…”

”Going out with, you make this sound like this was actually a date…”

“I… had a lot of fun…” Jack continued.

He chuckled softly, “So did I…” He said, “I’d love to do it again.”

Plase let there be a second time.

“Me too. Maybe we can find another place to go to.” Jack smiled, looking out to the city from the rails of the roof, gesturing for Wander to join him so they could stop walking for a bit.

“We’ll… be able to do this again?”

“Of course. I love being able to hang out with you.” Jack said, grinning

He smied, huffling out a soft chuckle… but he sighed, looking up at Jack as he looked out to the city.

“Jack… I…”

“Know I’m acting weird?”

He blinked quickly, “Well… I’d say both of us are…”

Jack sighed, and turned to him slowly, “You… know this isn’t just… dinner… right?”

He nodded, “I was… hoping… it wasn’t…”

“Hoping…?”

“Yeah…”

Jack looked down slightly, “H… Hoping…”

He sighed, trying to inch closer to Jack, who quickly took him in his arms, hands resting on his waist.

“Wander…” He whispered.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming…” Wanderlust whispered, tearfully.

“Your not… your not.” Jack replied, “Wander… Can I?”

“Please.”

He felt Jack gently tilt his head up… and lock their lips into the softest kiss he ever had. 

“Please.” He thought, “for the love of Seilos and all that is divine, don’t let this end, please let me stay right here, don’t let me wake up, don’t take this away from me.”

He could have cried when Jack pulled away, still gently holding his face and stroking his cheek as he breathed out softly.

“Jack…?”

“Wander?”

“I…” He needed to say it. He could now. 

“I…”

He just kissed him, why couldn’t he say it?!-

“I love you.”

He finally looked up at Jack, seeing the sweetest smile on his face, slowly moving his hands off his face.

“I love you too.”

He chuckled lowly, letting himself finally collapse into Jack’s arms, holding onto him tight. He felt Jack’s arms wrap around him too.

“Can I say how long this has actually been in the works?” Jack asked.

“Heh. Sure.”

“Three weeks. At least.”

He laughed, “Three weeks?!”

“Look, it was either I finally do this, or Khloe come up with the plan for me, so…”

“I’m glad it was you… this was… a good plan.”

Jack smiled, fully pulling away and holding onto his waist softly, “Why don’t we get home?”

“Yeah… yeah, we… it’s late, I need to get out early tomorrow…”

“Then you get back home and sleep, okay?” He felt Jack’s hands leave his waist, and he nearly whined at the loss of the touch.

“You sleep too… can’t have you missing my performance.”

Jack chuckled, “Goodnight, Wander.” He said, smiling softly at him as he opened his portal back to his room.

“Goodnight Jack… I love you.” He said sheepishly as he started to go through the portal.

“I love you too.”

He sighed softly as he closed the portal, throwing his bag down on his bed before laying down, staring up at the ceiling…

He heard Discoball next to him, and he looked over to see them trying to cuddle up next to him

“I’m fine bud…” He said, smiling, “Jack kissed me… I’m more then fine.”

They looked so excited, suddenly jumping up and flying around.

Wanderlust chuckled, “Yeah… He… He said he loved me, and… I said it back…” He sighed, like a fucking lovestruck teenage girl, “It happened… I almost can’t believe it, it happened..”

Discoball went back next to him, and he fully curled up under his blankets

“Let me sleep… I need to actually get up early tomorrow… mind waking me up?”

They beeped in agreement.

“Thanks, bud… Night…”

[kittenintheden]

Not Your Sweetheart Ch 42 - Mundane Magic

Not Your Sweetheart Chapter 42 - Mundane Magic

Once, there was a haunted bluegrass-playing half-elf bard with a dark past who met a charmingly cringefail elven vampire with a dark past and they flirted one another into oblivion until they fell in love. They collect a group of delightful chucklefucks on the road and they all banter their way through the darkness to face their demons and save the world together.

A retelling of the campaign written with sitcom-level dialogue and tons of found family and healing from trauma tropes. Very Schitt's Creek but with more violence.

AKA 18 Charisma bard sees through 10 Charisma vamp-boy's bullshit and falls for him anyway. But he falls first.

---

A heartbreaking realization, a bout of dissociation, a helping of distracting sex and banter, and a difficult conversation. Read on AO3. Also I'm on Twitter now.

Commissioned piece of the dorks by the fantastically talented @hamrikaa (see the full thing in Ch 10).

---

“You look so good fucked out,” she whispers against his mouth.

He trills his tongue in a delighted purr and strokes his fingers up along her sides.

There’s a great thud as an object of indeterminate origin hits the canvas on the side of their tent and they both startle out of their kiss.

“If you’re quite finished,” Wyll calls out in the most exasperated tone they’ve ever heard from him.

Astarion sits up on his elbows in flustered incredulity, hair askew on one side. To the tent wall, he snarks, “You’ve all paired off, so by all means, go get literally fucked.”

“Could you at least be less bloody loud about it?” Karlach groans somewhere nearby.

He twists his head in that direction. “I can be louder if it helps.”

Ori stifles a giggle as she crawls off him to clean up, tossing a cloth his way, which he takes up and waves at the others as if they can see him.

"You didn't hear me complaining when Lae'zel and Shadowheart were screeching like owls, did you?" he calls out, distractedly wiping himself down. Beside him, Ori shrugs out of her robe and into a sleep shirt.

Shadowheart's voice joins the chorus. "Leave us out of this, you incredible twit. It's an hour past midnight."

A rumble from the opposite side can only be Halsin. "Not that I don't enjoy all the sounds of nature, but there are children present."

"Why's everyone yelling?" comes the sleep-muddled voice of a young girl, followed by a warbling meow.

[staceymcgillicuddy]

Prompt #9 please!

Oh, Nonnie, this is my last prompt in the inbox and it got me all in my emotions as well! Love an established relationship feelings-fest! (Prompt is "Listen to me.")

~~~~~~~

“Chrissy?” 

Eddie taps on the door of their overpriced hotel room and waits. He has a key, but he wants to respect her need to take a moment. After all, it isn’t every day that your wife flees her little brother’s rehearsal dinner in tears after telling her own sainted mother to “just shut up, okay?” 

Not that Laura Cunningham’s much of a saint. Still, Eddie’s treading carefully because this is the first significant time they’ve spent with the Cunninghams since the Christmas disaster of ’91, and there’s nothing that can send Chrissy spiraling back into the abyss of her childhood faster than a scathing comment from her mother. 

“Hey, Bets,” he says, trying again with a nickname that he only pulls out when the stakes are high. He can’t remember how it started—Christine Elizabeth shortened to Lizzie, Beth, Betty, Bets, maybe—but after eleven years together, eight of them married, and a hundred pet names split between them, what does remembering matter?

Pressing his ear to the door, he waits until he hears a sob before deciding that she’s had warning enough and uses his key.

The room smells like Chrissy’s perfume with an undercurrent of faux-floral toilet scrub. It’s not a place they could ever have afforded alone, which is part of the problem. As parents of the groom (and at said groom’s request), Phillip and Laura are paying for their attendance, which has set Chrissy on a self-destructive path where she has to battle a tornado of tolerance and an earthquake of obligation and yes, sure, Eddie’d suggested they just get a room at the Motel 8 and save themselves the hassle, but she’d wanted to do it for her brother. For Charlie. For his bride-to-be, Addie, who’s actually a cool girl. They’ve been to stay with Chrissy and Eddie in Chicago twice now, and Eddie digs her taste in music more than he’ll ever admit. 

(Addie also said she dug Eddie’s band-on-the-side, which is all he needs to love someone forever.) 

“Eddie,” comes a plaintive wail from the bed.

Chrissy’s curled on her side with a pillow hugged to her abdomen, still wearing the blue floral dress she’d sported to dinner. It has ridden up her thighs considerably, and Eddie must have grown as a person because he only thinks about that for maybe .02 seconds as he crawls onto the bed behind her and wraps an arm around her waist to pull her against his chest. 

“She had it coming,” he says into her artfully coiffed hair, which rests shellacked and sticky against his lips. “Baby. She did.” 

“Is Ch-Ch-Addie mad?” 

“Nobody’s mad except your mother.” In fact—and he won’t tell her this now—Addie’d been hiding a giggle behind a napkin. Eddie knows for a fact that she feels about Laura much the same as he does. Only, you know, she can’t say that to Chrissy because while Chrissy’s allowed to hate her mother, nobody else can say a word, and God, yeah, families are complicated. Eddie’s grateful that he only has to worry about Wayne, and Wayne never gives them any trouble. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says around another miserable little sniffle. 

“Eh.” He shrugs and kisses the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. “She was picking at you, and you snapped. It happens.” 

“But I wasn’t going to do it this time! I was… I worked on all those coping m-mechanisms!” That brings a fresh volley of tears. “Sandra’s going to be so disappointed.” 

“What, like you’re gonna get a bad grade in therapy?” 

“Yes!” She trills the word out on a wail.

Eddie loves her so much, but she’s making a mountain out of a molehill, and while he never minds comforting this particular damsel in distress, he’s also not gonna let her beat herself up when Laura’s the one who threw the first punch. 

“Alright, buddy, c’mon.” He pulls away enough to coax her onto her back, where she stares up at him from puffy, red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy complexion. “Hey.” 

“Hi,” she says. 

There’s snot beneath her nose, so he grabs a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand and holds it to her face. “Blow.”

She blows—honks if he’s honest—and he chucks the tissue onto the table before focusing on her. 

“Okay, counselor, facts of the case. Did your mother kick the evening off by telling you your dress was too tight?” 

Chrissy frowns. “It is, and—”

“Bzzt!” Eddie digs his fingers into her side, which has the intended effect of shocking her into a squeal. “Irrelevant. Conjecture. Also, bullshit. You look hot. So, true or false, counselor? Did she do that?” 

Chrissy nods, mute, pressing her lips into a thin line. But, hey. Not crying, so that’s something. 

“And did she, or did she not, tell everyone at the table that they’re paying for us to be here?” 

Another nod. 

“After which—and correct me if I’m wrong here—she put her hand over your plate so the waiter couldn’t give you any of the lobster risotto.” 

Chrissy’s mouth twists into what might be termed a smile, and she shrugs. 

“So then I switched plates with you, and she gave me that look she always gives me.” 

“What look?” 

“The look where I’m a pile of actual dogshit she’s just stepped in.” 

“Oh.” Chrissy’s smile widens, and she shrugs. “Right. That look.” 

“All of that to say, by the time she gave her little speech about grandchildren and welcoming a daughter into the family… I dunno, Bets, it felt like justifiable homicide to me.” 

“But I did it in front of everyone…” 

“Yeah, well, so did she.” 

“But—“ 

“No buts. Listen to me. Your mother’s never going to change, but you change every day. That’s why you’ve got me, and Sandra, and all our friends who actually like you instead of the stupid little dress-up doll your mother spent eighteen years trying to turn you into.” 

This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation. Chrissy already knows how he feels. However, if the message takes a million times to sink in, Eddie’s willing to keep talking. 

Chrissy blinks, sniffs, and rubs her eyes. “Okay,” she says because she’s not so good at acknowledging the truth of the matter. “I should call Charlie’s room. Apologize to him and Addie and—”

“Or,” Eddie says, cutting her off before she can work herself into another lather. “We could call up room service and charge two fucking massive slices of chocolate cake to your parents.” 

“Eddie…” 

“Best part is, they’re both for you.” 

"Eddie."

"I'll have a bite. And you can call your brother, too."

~~~~~~

All the prompts I've answered!

[deluxewhump]

The Scry

Ch 13 Gift Horse

CW: whumpee with powers, past medical trauma, mentions of surgical procedures including past noncon/unmedicated procedures

Doctor Holstrom’s house was in a southeastern suburb of the city, where the townhomes and snug brick apartment buildings from the nineties thinned out to sprawling plots of manicured land with white-columned Greek Revivals and beige French Provincials set further and further back from the curb like little manors. 

He first arrived the night the doctor had taken him to dinner, full from his recent rich meal and tired from the wine he’d drunk. The car was too smooth, too new-smelling, and it was making him carsick. He was happy to get out and put his feet on solid earth. The sprawling brick house was dark inside, but its face was lit by solar uplights staked at even intervals in the green lawn. The pathway to the door was lit too, which he appreciated in his current state. 

Dr Holstrom showed him to a guest room on the second floor that was impeccably neat and smelled of fresh linens. All Carlo had with him was a backpack, which he slung onto a persian carpet and laid back on the bed. It was bigger than his bed at Max’s and softer than the starched sheets at the hotel. Still, he closed his eyes and listened to the cicadas outside, pretending he was in the little room under the eaves and Max and Ingrid were down the hall. 

-

In the morning no one came to get him, which he realized he’d been expecting for some reason. He woke and slept again until creamy yellow sunlight was pouring over his face and birds were trilling in the trees. He laid there for some time feeling a sense of accomplishment at having done this himself. He hadn’t found the doctor, exactly, the doctor had reached out to him, but he’d vetted him and approached cautiously. He’d found out his motives and even dug for the messier one, the old feud with Martin Olsen. 

Was there something he was missing? He’d thought of the possibility that it was an elaborate trap but that felt comically paranoid. Martin Olsen had no issue with torturing him if it meant useful intel from his powers, but he wasn’t the sort of sadist that would set up something as elaborate as that. He’d be offended by how much of his time it took up. Besides, he had only ever asked for Carlo’s silence on their projects together. Demanding silence was not the same as demanding loyalty. 

At ten, he wandered into the attached bath and showered, towel dried his hair, dressed. He found miniature toothbrushes individually wrapped on the marble bathroom counter, along with travel sized toothpaste. He opened the medicine cabinet to similar miniature mouthwashes, floss, and makeup remover towelettes. He resisted the bizarre urge to pocket any of it. 

He almost got lost getting downstairs but found Dr Holstrom easily enough once he located the first floor. He was on his cellphone in a sunny, hectagonal room with a breakfast table and a chaise lounge, mahogany bookshelves tucked between stately windows that ran floor to ceiling. The doctor saw him and smiled gently, waving him in. He held up one finger, a universal “one minute” about the phone call, and then gestured for Carlo to have a seat opposite him at the table. He did, drawing his feet up in the chair with him so his knees pressed against his chest. 

“If there’s any reason to worry, you will get a call. Of course. Thank you, chairman. You too.”

He hung up and set his phone face down on the table. “Coffee?” he asked Carlo. 

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“If you change your mind. I’ve got tea as well. Fresh orange juice?”

“Maybe later.”

“…You’re anxious.”

“A little.”

“Understandable. I’ll take you to my facility today if you’d like, show you where you’ll be prepping for surgery, and where you’ll be recovering. You should be able to come back here Sunday night.”

He agreed to tour the surgery center, part of him wanting to back out and part of him wishing they could just get it over with today. He felt he was teetering on the edge of a very steep cliff, and wanted to crawl back to safety or jump already. 

The doctor gave him a knowing look. “You’re not obligated to go through with anything, you know. Not until the moment you give me the go-ahead to put you under.”

“I want this,” he answered. “I don’t have any other choice. It’s just…”

“Scary.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. 

“The unknown always is. Most fear is the fear of the unknown.”

Carlo huffed. “And some is based on very similar past experiences.”

“That’s true. Can I remind you my utmost priority is your safety and comfort?”

Carlo felt strangely shy at the display of concern. “You can.”

Maybe it was because he hated how a part of him opened to those words like a flower to sunlight. Some people treated him like a human being with a weird feature, a glitch that happened to be sort of a superpower. Others treated him like an android, or like AI that just looked unnervingly human. He could not for the life of him figure out what made up the difference in anyone. 

“I’ll remind you often, then,” the doctor indulged him. “You’re safe here.”

Carlo put his forehead on his tucked-up knees, mostly to avoid that gentle but somehow still searing gaze. “Thank you,” he said against his pant leg. 

-

Saturday night, Dr Holstrom (he’d asked Carlo to call him Erik) showed him his facility in Mt Vernon. It was empty, being a weekend and seven PM. Unlike a hospital, the surgery center operated on weekday hours. It was clean and bright, with a water fountain in the sparkling reception lobby and many complex, intimidating machines in the operating theater. Carlo deliberately didn’t ask about them, preferring to focus on the PACU room he’d be recovering in, with its soft lighting and slightly less hospitalized feel. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have toured the facility. The sight of equipment on stainless steel trays in white rooms was enough to set his nerves on fire, his teeth on edge. He followed Erik closely, looking at his clear, calm face for reassurance as he explained each room in his soothing voice. Soothing or not, it felt dangerous to surrender so much to one man, especially one in a white coat. To pin not only his future but his immediate safety on a few kind words from one person he’d met a week ago. But what choice did he have?

He wished Max could be here with him. Someone he knew would advocate for him, someone who had no ulterior motive, someone he could trust. When they left the facility he shoved his hands under his armpits and filled his lungs with the suburbian September air, hoping the dizziness he felt somewhere deep in his skull would abate soon. 

Back at Erik’s house, Carlo had his last liquid before he had to begin fasting. He’d barely eaten all day, despite several offers, but accepted a cup of hot peppermint tea the doctor made for him. He sipped it on the doctor’s living room sofa, hoping it would settle his thrumming nerves. Even the record player turning on made him jump. The music temporarily soothed him, though, and he closed his eyes to it, feeling tenderly grateful for something beautiful that distracted him. Erik sat in a wingback chair opposite him, crossed one ankle over the other knee. 

“I want to go over everything with you one more time,” he said patiently. “I know it’s tedious.”

“No,” Carlo said. His default was to be helpful and compliant, he couldn’t seem to help it. “It’s fine.”

“You want your precognitive ability destroyed. You understand there is no way to give it back to you.”

“Yes.”

“You understand there is a slight risk, as with any surgical procedure.”

Dr Holstrom had told him this before. “Mostly from an experimental form of anesthesia,” he repeated. “And standard risk of postoperative infection we will mitigate with antibiotics.”

Erik gave an indulgent half-smile. “And I’ll have to shave that pretty head.”

Carlo blinked. That hadn’t occurred to him. Of course he would. He’d be cutting into a section of his skull. That was fine. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had his head shaved. He didn’t know whether to fawn or prickle at the way Erik had called it pretty.  “Yeah,” he breathed on an exhale. “It’s just hair.”

“Is there anything you’d like to do before you do this?”

“What do you mean?”

“I know you have a certain level of resentment for your ability. And I understand, it’s brought you nothing but subjugation and misery. But it is still part of you, and powerfully rare. Is there anything you’d like to scry in that black mirror of yours before we shatter it?”

The peppermint taste on his tongue was suddenly bitter. “I can’t see my own future, if that’s what you mean. That’s not really how it works. I wouldn’t want to anyway. I think we’d misunderstand most of what we see, which would lead to either paralyzing fear or… disappointment later on, when it turns out differently.”

Erik listened intently, nodding his understanding. Carlo found himself looking at the doctor’s hands when his eyes became too much. Surgeon’s hands, steady and skilled. Hands he was going to let sedate and immobilize him, cut into his head with a sleek surgical saw.

Did he know the doctor was going to sedate him? He could just be saying that to get him in the facility. Maybe there was no way to sedate someone like him, maybe something in his physiology wouldn't allow it. Maybe something about the preternatural sight nestled in his brain would not allow him to be put under by any man made drug. Maybe this doctor, this stranger, was going to strap him down and do it anyway. He swallowed the feeling of old dread that bobbed up, again and again, right into his mouth. If he took another sip of peppermint tea now, he’d be sick. 

“I’ve only heard of the things you can do,” the doctor said. “I’ve never seen it firsthand.”

Carlo shrugged dismissively. “It’s not an exact science.”

“No. I would imagine it’s not a science at all. It’s possibly the last bit of magic left in the world.”

Carlo lifted his eyes from those dangerously capable hands to the doctor’s face. He didn’t like the sound of any of that. 

“Don’t mistake me,” Erik said, sensing his discomfort. “I want you to have what you want. We’re on the same side, Carlo.”

It felt as if someone had turned up the thermostat, as if the tea left in his cup might boil. Sweat pricked the back of his neck. “But what?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just wonder… would you begrudge me one small service, one desperate favor before I snuff out that Olympian spark forever?”

If it was so hot, why was the pit of his stomach so cold? Or maybe it was heat, and he couldn’t tell yet, like when you first stick your finger under a stream of very cold or very hot water.

“Don’t look so betrayed. Nothing has changed. I just thought you might consider using your ability one last time, willingly. An exercise in the free will I am about to give you.”

“I’ve always had free will,” Carlo answered numbly as his mind grew flighty and panicked. He would never understand how such smart people could say such stupid things. He got up so clumsily from the couch that he forgot his teacup and knocked it to the floor. It landed with a muffled thud on the carpet but did not break. His hands felt numb. 

“Carlo,” the doctor said gently, tilting his head. “Don’t overreact. I’m not your enemy.”

He picked up the cup and then wondered why he’d done it. To be polite, he guessed, an instinct that remained well past the point it should be abandoned. 

“What would you want to see?” he asked flatly.

“Sit down,” Erik said, halfway between a reprimand and a suggestion. “You’re shaking. Take a deep breath. It’s alright.”

He didn’t. “What do you want to see so bad you’d ask me this the night before you’re supposed to cut my head open and help me?”

Erik was silent for a moment, perhaps waiting for Carlo to take a seat and behave himself again. When he didn’t, he answered anyway. “My daughter. My only child. I haven’t known where she is, if she’s dead or alive,  in two very long years. I’d just like to know if she’s alive. If she’s well. That’s all.”

He frowned. “Why haven’t you seen her for two years?”

“She left us. Left her mother, too. She's an adult, and it was of her own volition, but I want to know if she is still safe. Two years is a long time, especially not to send her mother any word. We were close, once, but…” he spread his hands. “Families.”

“Why would she do that?”

“She was angry with us. She wanted to divorce herself of her family, her name, her history. Why do young people do the things they do?”

“How do I even know it’s really your daughter? How do I know you didn’t do something to make her leave like that?” he asked, though he knew he had scried less ethically under duress in the past. This was nothing. 

“I can prove to you she’s my daughter, but the rest you’ll just have to take on faith. I’m not asking you to track down her GPS coordinates. I just want to know she’s alright. I hired a P.I., and he couldn’t do anything for us.”

“But you think I can.”

“If anyone can, it’s you.”

“This is why you slipped me that note. You’ll help me if I help you.”

“No. I’ll help you regardless. I’m asking you to help me. You can say no.”

His initial panic had settled into something manageable. If he refused, he knew the doctor might become angry, might take back his offer. He might even call the cops, tell them Carlo had just showed up here uninvited, begging for his help. Worse, he could force him to scry for him. Carlo guessed he was in his early to mid fifties, but clearly strong and capable as ever. And he was tall, maybe six two. That meant he had a good three inches and thirty pounds on him, and Carlo was afraid if he bolted for the locked front door he wouldn’t get it open before he was physically overpowered. And he would do anything in his power to keep it from getting ugly. Once it got ugly, there was usually no going back to civility or little kindnesses. And there was no telling what this man might do to him.  He sat back down, holding his empty teacup like a talisman.

 “I’ll need something of hers,” he said quietly. “Do you have any home videos or saved voicemails with her voice on it?”

taglist

@whumpsday @distinctlywhumpthing @pumpkin-spice-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @tidalwhump @pigeonwhumps @interdimensional-chaos @top-hat-aye @thecyrulik @boxenby @mylifeisonthebookshelf @inpainandsuffering @heartsherps @latenightcupsofcoffee

[movedto-mrs-bluemarine]

MERMAID AU MERMAID AU!!! This is the first chap of a story so be on the lookout for the next update in fourteen years!! No warnings really except Wes is sick asff and Jay's half of the chapter talks in "creature". You'll get what I'm talking about soon

Lady with the Pearl Eye || Ch. 1

~ Angler!Wes x Mermaid!Jay Kay ~

Word count: 2.7K

What started as a simple late night cast for supper had slowly snowballed into something much, much more.

This is crazy.

Wes was dripping wet with icy cold sea water. His winter coat was shouldered off. People would call him a madman for dunking it in the ocean, the once pristine wool soaking in the salt, damaging it for sure. But he has a plan.

This is crazy.

His frozen hands shake as he pulls the sopping jacket over the bare shoulders of a blonde woman– a blonde thing. Whatever it was in front of him wasn't human. He wasn't sure if the winter air was playing tricks on his eyes. Ice threatened to pluck them from their sockets as the storm howled around him.

She looked human. She had human arms, they pulled the wet clothing closer to her body. Her skin was soft and kissed by the sun, glowing underneath the moonlight. Her bare chest was like that of a woman's. Wes' eyes trail down to her stomach. And that was where the similarities stop.

No legs, just a thriving extremity, sickly yellow with violent blue and pulsating rings, much like the ones in her hair. Despite her appearance, she was calm. She was silent and her clawed hands gripped at Wes' wet shirt once he collected the creature in his hands. Something inside him was drawn to this... Thing. She saved him from a watery grave. He realized after saving him from the ocean, she would have to return to the sea. To the icy cold water. Just the idea made him shiver. They didn't deserve that. He was only using some of his mind when he decided to bring the thing home, wrapping her in a water soaked jacket to keep her from drying out. He promised the silent creature warm waters. The extra body (and the extra water) weighed on his aching body heavily, but Wes persisted. He felt that his limbs had frozen after his refreshing dunk, they creaked and popped underneath him, but he ignored it until he reached home.It wasn't too far now. Since he moved to the beach-side town, he decided a place nearby would be best for fishing. guess he got what he wanted. Theft wasn't common around these parts, so Wes had no reason to lock his front door, which came in handy, because he was sure he'd accidentally drop something important if he needed to find his keys.

He barreled through his tiny living room, stumbling through his hallway and bedroom and into his attached bathroom. With all of his strength, he lowered the creature into the tub, putting in the plug and setting the water to an appropriate temp for them, not too hot, not too cold.

Finally, Wes was allowed to collapse to the floor, his back pressed against the sink while he caught his breath. His icy blue eyes watched the thing in his tub. She was interested in the running water, crawling over it's own tail to get it's face closer, until she was practically face-to-face against a waterfall.

A delighted shiver ran up her body once the warm water touched the base of her human spine. She suddenly made the first noise Wes had heard from her, startling him a bit once she trilled with joy.

This... is crazy, He agreed for the third and final time. But he already had the creature in his house, so, might as well get used to it.

Wes' body was suddenly wracked with a violent shudder of his own. He wrapped his arms around his body, pulling his knees close to his chest so he could rest his chin. His shirt was still wet, and very cold, and it stuck to his body uncomfortably. If he were alone, he would've stripped. He didn't want to make his guest uncomfortable. And his body aches too terribly to move anywhere. So he stayed on the floor, sick and cold.

Everything ached. There was a pulsing pain in his muscles, and a throbbing so violently behind his eyes he was afraid it would pop them out of his skull. Wes watched lazily from the crook of his arm, the lady-thing in his bathtub enjoying the water.

Mermaid, His brain shrieked. But that was impossible, He retorted back. And yet, here she was.

The blonde felt his staring, and stared back. Wes' head tilted to the side, and her's did the same. The wet hair in her face moved along with it, and allowed Wes to see the rest of her face. One eye, bright as the sea she rescued him from, the other eye was closed, staying that way even when she grew bored of their staring contest, and went back to tinkering with the shampoo bottle on the side of the tub.

"What are you?" Wes murmured. She didn't hear him, or ignored him. He unraveled from his little ball of pain, crawling on his hands and knees over to the tub lip. This caught her attention. She watched closely, allowing Wes' hand to touch the warm water, and dive lower near her tail. "You're not human. You're not a fish, either."

He wasn't sure why he was acting so impulsively. His sickness was poisoning his brain. He wanted desperately to touch her tail. If she was a mermaid, her tail wasn't anything like in the shows or books. It wasn't scaly, moreso fleshy.

His fingertips grazed near where her thighs would be. The touch to her sensitive tail made the creature twitch, and Wes quickly took back his hand, not wanting to upset them, and also being odded out by its texture.

"Not like any fish I've seen."

It was... Not fish-like at all. The texture was something more akin to flesh, but far more slick and squishy. "Kind of like some octopus species I've read about... You're not venomous, are you?"

The creature sniffed at Wes' hand. The act was uncanny to the man, seeing such a human face act so... Animalistic.

Her hand came out of the water, gently tracing his palm with her claws, before they came between his digits, clasping his hand with hers. Wes didn't say a thing, instead silently staring down at the woman.

She chitters some more, then her hand is replaced with her forehead. Despite the rest of his body still running cold from his deep swim in the ocean, his palm was warm. She cooed and rubbed her head against his open hand, reminding Wes a lot like a street cat he occasionally fed. It was... Cute. Not even the purring was missed, a small sound vibrated from her throat, just like the smaller animals were so known for.

He talks to the air, the creature in his hand obviously not interested in what he had to say, more than his open palm. "This is all... So much." Wes sighed, taking back his hand. The woman-thing slipped against the lip of the tub, trying to follow without success. The hand that once caressed her face pressed against his forehead, trying to calm the ache in his head that was suddenly twice as loud as before. He groaned in pain and pulled away. "I'm too tired for this."

He pulls his hand against the rest of his face until it settled over his mouth. She watched him curiously with a wide, innocent eye.

He was beginning to get the sinking realization of what's really happened tonight. He fell out of his boat, almost drowning in the sea. He was rescued by some woman of the ocean, but he was most definitely missing his bait and tackle, and his prized boat. He loved that boat...

And now he had this fish lady in his bathtub, and he was showing symptoms of a cold. Dear God.

"I can't stay like this," Wes groaned standing up with twin pops in his knees. "I need to get to bed. Uh..." He pointed a reluctant finger at his tub. "Just... Stay here, please?" The creature looked at him with a wide eye as Wes backed away from the bathtub. His shoulder hits against the doorframe, following with a stumble outside of the bathroom. He's able to shut the door itself before collapsing into bed.

He's still cold. His legs are shaking, wet, sticky clothes melting into his body like a second skin. It takes too much effort to peel it all off until he's down to his true bare body. It's all thrown to the floor in a sopping mess on the carpet. He'll carr about that tomorrow.

Wes doesn't like sleeping naked, but it's better than the alternative. Right now, he felt like he'd rather die than stand up and put on new clothes. His arms can barely bring him up against his pillows, his soft blanket encapsulating his aching body. The sheets and blanket aren't warm, but it feels like fire on his flesh, but he still continues to shake. His eyelids are too heavy to stay open, so lays in bed with his eyes closed, listening to the howling wind, inhuman chirps, and his own labored breathing for far too long before they help him drift off to sleep. His dreams are filled with fish swimming in golden skies and white clouds, spiraling blues swallowing him whole. And that night it's like his dreams and his sleep goes on for far too long.

The creature is left alone. The silence was deafening, only broken by the single, lonely drip that occasionally came from the empty waterfall. Though the warm bucket was nice, she missed the screaming song of the sea. She missed the deep blue blanket that wrapped around her entirely. It was replaced by a painful bright white, blistering sun so much more evil than the true yellow from outside. And it was so painfully silent.

Nights like this, with the howling sky, the creature liked to hide itself in a cave on land, not far from her pod in the ocean, just in crawling distance. The song of the sky sounded so beautiful climbing it's way through the holes in the cave ceiling. She could stay there for hours listening to it's song, even once her tail shriveled up , it took so much to leave the wonderful noise.

For the first time in her life, she'd never seen water so still. If she held her breath, she could watch the ripples in the water around her disappear, and leave her to her lonesome. She allowed herself to breathe to meet them again.

There wasn't much to do in this tiny sea. She felt extremely bored, a feeling she didn't expect to meet with again. She was sure once that land thing took her into it's arms, she would've been a goner, just like the others from her pod that were never seen again. But the moment It gave her their skin, soaked in the blood of her home, she wasn't sure what to think then. And It put her in this tiny ocean, and her body was kissed with the warmth she missed from so long ago. They held her hand. It wasn't much different from her own. But it was so naked. No claws to protect, no webbing to swim with. So similar, but so different.

Surely, a predator wouldn't be so kind.

The pair of things in front of her, mirroring on each side of the waterfall. She'd seen them before. The land folk used them to move their giant wooden whales. That's what It used before to make the waterfall start, then stop. How did they do it? The water was going cold. She missed it's warmth, she wanted it back so desperately, but as much as she pulled and wiggled the little contraptions, the tiny drops of water didn't stop, as her actions were all in vain.

The water was cold now.

During one of her silent fits, her ears picked up a new noise. Far away, like the call of a creature from the sky. But this came from her side, not above, from behind that wooden wall. It wasn't familiar at all, but she would acquaint it with the conversation between two whales. But it was speaking alone, no one to call back. So it continued to sing alone, almost deep enough for the creature to feel it in her bones.

Ah! Another body! Surely, it had to be the land folk from before.

Her body fought near desperately against the slippery walls of her man-made sea. Her claws were no help against the smooth silvery feeling of the bucket she was in. Triumphantly, the creature had made it halfway out, before a slip caused her to tumble outside of the bucket, onto the much colder beach floor below.

She'd been outside of the ocean before. She didn't enjoy how heavy her body felt without the gentle hand of the ocean to help carry her. Luckily, her arms were strong. She was able to carry herself across the room, and to the wooden wall. Something shiny caught her eye. She wanted it. It was stuck to the wall, and jiggled when she grabbed at it. A lucky twist allowed her to open the "wall", and she slipped against the floor again.

It opened to a brand new world. She was in here earlier before, for the blink of an eye. It was dark now, and that whale song from before was much louder, and much more painful on the ear. She slipped through the frame, despising the feeling of the fur underneath her, against her tail. She knew what she had to do, and her tail slipped off easily, laying in the door frame as she crawled away.

She hated "this" even more than the land's weight, her "land tails". They were so awkward, and so hard to use. They were supposed to let her move like the land folk, but it was so terribly tricky to do. It was hard enough to balance on three limbs, but two? Forget it. Although there was a way of moving with her now "four" limbs, it was quick, it was easy, and she liked to do it, and it didn't hurt as much as it did to crawl with her tail on.

She followed the noise, crawling onto something soft but firm. It didn't give away underneath her, and felt much more pleasant than the floor. As she expected from following the whale sounds, she found that land folk from before, asleep, making such terrible noises while it slept on it's back.

It's face was red, making even worse noises between the loud droning, as if choking on the same air it breathed. They were covered with the same softness she was standing on. Digging it up, she found the rest of it's body underneath, bare of the skin it was wearing before... That wasn't strange, though. She'd seen their kind strip of their flesh time and time again, much like how she could strip from her tail. They're supposed to do it before coming underwater, she's understood. But how come this one didn't? Maybe they die if they don't, which was what brought her to saving his life that night.

She dug up more of the softness... Oh, she'd seen that before. The males of her species had things similar to it. They must've been a male, too.

She also found warmth, warmth the thing didn't have before when they first met. It felt... Wonderful. She wanted it. So the creature fixed herself underneath the softness like he was, mirroring it's body. She buried herself underneath it, making sure it was fixed just like it was before she disrupted it. And she came closer to the land folk. He was much warmer now, but there was a soft tremble to his body. She clung to his body with hers. The warmth between them mixed, and subconsciously, the land folk melted against her, shuddering and sighing in his sleep. Her clawed hands were careful not to scare his delicate skin as she held him closer, enjoying his warmth and allowing him to do the same to her. Her body became heavy, not due to the weight of the dry world, but due to another reason, and the creature allowed herself to fall asleep next to him. As she drifted to another new, and exciting world, she found that the man next to her had stopped his dreadful whale call, thankfully.