#fic: Nooks & Crevices

[merlinfromberlin]

Nooks & Crevices - Chapter 1

- 5+1 fic of Autobots playing Hide and Seek with a young Bumblebee - a little bit silly and light-hearted; at least for now :) 

In the first chapter: Optimus teaches Bumblebee how to play Hide and Seek. 

Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Summary:

Hiding was a skill essential to those growing up on Cybertron during the Civil War. However, for a certain vibrantly yellow sparkling raised by the Autobot High Command, and highly sought after by the Decepticons, being able to stay undetected is even more vital than most. It’s a good thing then that Bumblebee is a natural.

Or: 5 times Bumblebee ‘played’ Hide & Seek with his family and 1 time a Decepticon played with him.

Short excerpt: 

When Bumblebee raised his servos towards his caregiver, silently asking to be picked up, the Prime obeyed without hesitation. Carefully he lifted the sparkling up, pulling the tiny minibot close to his chassis and allowing him to rest close to his spark.

For a moment, the yellow sparkling seemed content with the idea of allowing himself to be lulled back into recharge, leaning heavily into Optimus’ chassis as his doorwings drooped sleepily. Then, however, he started to squirm and dug his tiny digits into the crevices’ of his caregiver’s armour in an attempt to scale the Prime’s height. An attempt that ended futilely as Optimus carefully pried Bumblebee off of himself and set him down safely in his lap.

“Op’imus,” complained the sparkling, a pout edged into his faceplates. “Promised play.”

“Bumblebee,” answered the Prime without missing a beat before carefully petting the minibot in between his audial horns. He smiled softly as his charge leaned into the touch. “I promised to teach you a new game after your nap. Remember?”

“Climb?” asked Bumblebee, his whole frame perking up hopefully.

“No, it is not climbing,” replied Optimus with a gentle chuckle. The minibot’s doorwings drooped, his faceplate full of disappointment. One of these cycles, the sparkbyte was going to be the death of him. “Although we might play that later if you still want to.”

At that, Bumblebee brightened visibly, fluttering his doorwings lightly.

“The game I want to play with you first, though, is called Hide and Seek.”

“Hide and See?” The minibot had cocked his helm to the side, studying his caregiver with big curious optics. Optimus’ smile widened slightly.

“Hide and Seek, yes,” nodded the Prime softly. “It is quite simple, really. When I offline my optics, I will count to 30 and while I count, you hide. Once I am done with counting, I am going to look for you. The game ends either when I find you or when I tell you to come out of hiding. Understood?”

“Bee hide,” repeated the sparkling after a moment of silent contemplation, servos resting on his own chassis. Then he pointed up at Optimus’ faceplate. “Oppie seek. And count.”

“Good,” praised Optimus as he scooped the sparkling up in his servos and got to his pedes. His frame creaked slightly, stiff from sitting still for an extended period of time. “Do you want to try playing?”

“Yes!” Bumblebee nodded enthusiastically, his pedes dangling freely as the Prime carried him into the middle of the room. There he gently sat the young minibot down as he lowered himself into a crouch.

“Alright. Then let me count so you can hide.” As soon as Optimus offlined his optics, he could hear tiny pedes shuffling around. “One. Two. Three…”

Even as the lack of visual input unsettled him, the Prime made sure to count steadily, reading the numbers from a countdown he had placed at the corner of his HUD. Once he had reached ten, the sounds of steps seized. There was a quiet shuffling of metal on metal, but at thirteen even that noise subsided and silence settled around sparkling and caregiver.

“… Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.”

When Optimus onlined his optics once again, he could not quite stifle the short burst of surprised laughter escaping his intake. The Matrix of Leadership not only allowed it, but even hummed in approval. Apparently the Spirits of the Primes Past, too, were amused by his sparkling’s antics.

[sun-kissy]

heaven | r.l.

i don’t know what this is… not a fic, more like a word vomit about remus loving you HAHA enjoy <3

Remus Lupin wasn’t religious in one way or another. But even he knew you were godsent. 

Passed out, lying with twisted limbs and a drool-filled mouth; you looked nothing short of an angel.

He touches you, you don’t stir. That’s good, he thinks. It means he has more time to love you without having to accept undeserved affection in return. 

He’d asked the question a thousand times, thought about it even more. Why me? And you’d smile at him like he wasn’t a monster, like he wasn’t born to kill. Who else? you’d say. And that’s when Remus realised that it doesn’t take kindness to love somebody; all it takes is that ache in your heart and burn in your fingertips. He wasn’t kind; yet he loved you.

The tips of his fingers dance across your cheek, feeling the soft skin on which his lips had made their home. He has unordinary courage tonight; he dares to bring his other hand to rest on the curve of your hip.

He brushes his thumb, featherlike, underneath your shirt. His shirt. You make a soft sound, and it’s all he needs to hear to know what heaven sounds like.

Remus had never felt like yours was more than a title until he met you. He was yours, yours to love, yours to break, yours to throw away. He belonged to you, and that was the greatest badge of honour any man could wear. He wanted you to touch him, make your mark upon him until it burnt, and he’d thank you for branding him with the etch of your thumbprint.

You were perfect; in every sense of the word. He’d learn every tongue till he was fluent in showing you how utterly divine you were. The dark lines on your thighs didn’t bother him nearly as much as they did you, and neither did the scars. He cursed himself reverently for his own; but never yours. Every mark on your being was a part of you, every inch of your skin a holy grail he’d read without complaint.

He’d worship you if you’d let him. Let his hands find their haven in every nook and crevice of your perfect body, whisper feverish words of cadence and cruelty till you screamed his name. You allowed him to touch you; and that was enough for now.

As he feels you now, mindlessly splaying his hands on your bare back, your eyes flutter open. Remus doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the jerk of his heart stopping when you look at him like that. You reach for him with a smile even in half-lidded consciousness; he goes without protest because it’s you.

He knew forever wasn’t a word meant for lovers. But for now, he can hold you in his arms and hear your heartbeat when you pull him in. You'll let him tell you he loves you till the grave, and that is compensation enough.

[fairlyang]

Lucky⚔️🐺

imagine letting your boyfriends convince you to entertain one of their sick fantasies

w/c: 3K

pairing: ghostfaces!wadewilson&loganhowlett x gf!reader

tags: 18+ smut. a polycule, they’re both perverted AF, ghostface roleplay, hide n seek, predator & prey play, fear play, pain kink x2, knife play, stabbing them (bc they can regen), they asked for it n loveeee it, reallyyy getting into character, murder mention, teasing, dirty talk, stroking, fingering, blowjob, unprotected sex, mirror sex (?), doggy, missionary, two creampies

a/n: it’s october ofc i had to do a ghostface fic 🤞🏼bro it was meant to be a ramble…. and oml i’m so tired

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

it didn’t come as much of a surprise to you that your boyfriends both had a pain kink, it was something so obvious to anyone eyes. 

what was a surprise to you was the fact that the first time you properly dive into their kink and not just barely grazing them with a knife like you sometimes did, they wanted to do it in ghostface attire.

you instantly assumed it was wade’s idea, because why wouldn’t it be? but apparently after you were all watching the original scream movie recently, they had the brilliant idea at the same time and knew you had to be their sidney prescott. 

wade was so committed, he ended up renting the iconic house for the whole weekend. logan thought that was a bit of an exaggeration but once wade handed you a buck 120 knife, he said it only made sense.

this was going to go as a game of cat and mouse or in simpler terms, hide and seek. you'll all be leaning into the roleplay so there will be a sense of horror but also making sure it's horny. so you'd be their helpless victim that'll pretend to not love the whole ordeal but as soon as their hands are on you, you'll fold.

and since they want to play into their pain kink, you'd have to try to give them a little stab each before getting to the sex.

so now you were hidden beneath the bed in the master bedroom while you heard the loud sounds of them clearing the bottom floor. they had given you a minute to pick a hiding place and you didn't really want it to take long.

you'd be lying if you said this idea didn't turn you on because one check of your panties and there would lay the real answer. there was just something about your boyfriends pretending to hunt you down and knowing damn well they were checking every crevice while having raging boners.

and they say romance is dead.

you held your knife in hand, absolutely ready to use it and feeling your heart start to race. your breathing was as quiet as it could be but with the silence from the room, it felt like they'd be able to hear it so easily. 

you could hear them opening and closing doors fast, sensing that they also didn't have too much patience like they thought they would. 

suddenly you heard their loud footsteps coming up the stairs and you held your breath as they made their way up. your heart was beating faster now, a small feeling of terror creeping up on you as you heard them split up. one of them immediately went up the small staircase to enter the room you were in, which makes sense since it was the first room close to the staircase but it didn't make you feel any less scared.

he walked in slowly, taking a quick scan of the mini living room to the right side of the room and not seeing you so he then made his way around the bed to go to the bathroom. he quickly came out because there was nowhere to hide in there and suddenly his footsteps left the room. you could barely hear him leave through the second door near the bathroom which just led to another living room area with a reading nook.

you let out a breath you were holding and feel your heartbeat become steady as you heard them both on the other side of that floor. there was a quick thought of slipping out of the room to find a new hiding place just for fun but you realized they'd just be even more impatient if they had to double check each floor again since the house was decently big.

you heard their movements become faster, more frantic as if making it more realistic on purpose. then it was just silence. 

the silence only made this more freightening and it was a tiny bit scary. you breathed as quietly as you could, not wanting to alert them whatsoever then coming to the slow realization that that they both have amazing fucking hearing.

uh oh.

before you could even think of doing anything, your legs were grabbed and you were dragged out from under the bed while you started kicking and wiggling, "lookie who just remembered we have superpowers." wade's voice teased, making you groan.

you rolled on to your back, now facing them and quickly stabbed the one who wasn't holding on to your legs. you heard a grunt from underneath the mask and you pulled the knife out only for a moan to come out this time. 

you held in a laugh and were about to stab him again when the second one got on top of you and held your arms above your head. he grabbed the knife and handed it to the first one, who just toyed with it in his hands. “you really gotta love the original, don’t ya cupcake? i mean where else would we get such a good idea for murder?” wade said and your heart dropped. 

you knew this was all just a part of it but shit did it sound so fucking real. well you might as well you play their little game. 

“you’re fucking crazy you know that?” you spit and try to get him off. 

but it was to no use, he was much bigger than you and made sure to straddle your lap. nearly looked like he was about to give you the lap dance of a lifetime, which you wouldn’t put past him on doing. 

“don’t call us that baby, it hurts.” wade complains, putting a hand to his heart and you could just tell he was pouting underneath the mask. 

“and you perfectly went on with it, pretty girl.” logan teases, making you turn to look at him. 

you tried to lift your leg up to hit wade in the balls but you didn’t move an inch, you groaned in frustration and continued trying to fight him off, “you sick fucks shouldn’t have watched that fucking movie.” you spit and logan suddenly pulls a fast one and stabs wade in his side. 

he groans and lets your hands go just to start fake crying in his hands while logan says the infamous line, “now, baby, don’t blame the movies. movies don’t create psychos, movies make psychos more creative.”

he pulls the knife out of wade earning himself a moan as the blood seeped through the robe. the wound was a bit deep so it would take a little while to heal itself. “oh you son of a bitch- i knew you would try to be billy!! it’s not fair!!!” he whined and smacked the knife right out of his hands, quickly grabbing it. 

he pointed it at logan’s mask then trailed it down his body while looking down. “on another note, i think we’re gonna have to do this to you tomorrow, hot stuff.” he murmurs, making logan smirk under his mask. 

catching them both off guard, you snatch your knife right back and slice across wade’s chest. he gasped and shook his head, “not nice to do that princess, come on now…” 

you shrugged and now wanting to get to the real fun stuff, you bring your empty hand to his thigh. he looks down at your hand then back up at your face then repeats two more times while you slowly bring your hand up higher each time. your hand landed on his hard on and you hum, "huh.. what's this?" 

he shrugged and lifted the robe up to reveal his pants, "come find out?" 

you eagerly nodded as he got off your lap so fast and even pulled you up before logan picked you up and threw you onto the bed. you quickly laid down on your stomach and got as close to the edge as possible while they both lifted the black robes up and over their bodies. you ogled at both their torsos while they threw them on the floor, now shirtless and with their tight fitting pants begging for an escape.

you licked your lips and weren't sure where to begin but they decided to be kind enough to help you by both taking their pants off. you whistled at the sight, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world. "i sure am lucky huh?" you mumbled making logan chuckle, "that you are sweetheart.." 

"i think we're all lucky to be fair.. i mean not everyone is down to be fake hunted for fun…" wade murmurs as he fully slides his pants down. 

"or down to be stabbed…" you joke and he snorts, "thatta girl, see! be grateful you have two immortal boyfriends."

logan rolls his eyes and brings his hand to your head, pulling you close to his cock, "c'mon let's get to it."

"hey patience is key baby.." you mumble and bring your right hand up. making them remember you still had the knife. 

he wasn't nervous, didn't even budge. 

instead he watched you intently and carefully while you brought it up and down his thighs, the tip only barely grazing his skin. you trailed up higher, going around his pubic bone and just going back and forth. you pressed a little more so the tiniest bit of blood came out but the wound quickly disappeared before your eyes. meanwhile his cock was twitching and precum was oozing down. you pulled the knife away and looked over at wade's and his was the exact same, "you guys are kinda sick…" you mumble making them both groan.

"says the one doing it." wade retorts and you shrug. 

you let go of the knife and put it off to the side while grabbing a cock in each hand, them standing right next to each other was a major help. you spit on logan's then do the same to wade's while waiting for the saliva to go down to your knuckles before stroking them at the same time.  

they both moan, making you smile as you look up to watch both their reactions. logan was looking at you through the tiny holes in the mask while wade's head was hung back in bliss. you started stroking them faster, listening to the amazing sounds they were both letting out.

it was music to your ears.

 "just like that baby." logan purred, mesmerized by the view.

"oh fuck- god really is a woman." wade moaned out, making you do a double take before shaking it off. 

you continued your pace for a few minutes before you started to slow down then suddenly kept going again. just to keep them on their toes. 

they were getting grumpy and annoyed, too fast for your liking but they were needy so what can you really do? 

you knew that if you took one in your mouth it would only be a matter of time before you heard complaints from the other one so you had to stick with just your hands. at least that was until they suddenly flipped the switch on you.

wade smacked your hands away from them and before you even got a chance to say anything, logan manhandled you and made you do a 180 then flipped you over, spreading your legs apart in front of them. they both got on their knees, finally taking their masks off to reveal your boyfriends' handsome faces while they ogled at your dripping pussy. 

logan lifted your skirt up and let it drape over your stomach while wade pulled your already soaked panties to the side, "whose the sick fuck now?" wade mocked before taking his gloves off then throwing them behind him. 

you rolled your eyes at him while logan also took his gloves off and then immediately slid a finger inside you with no warning, "fuck!"

he slammed it as deep as he could go while wade watched in awe. the way your walls were just sucking his whole finger up just made him want to fuck you already. he should be excited this was happening at all and really take it in, maybe take his time, relish the moment but he couldn't help it. it was taking so much in him to not just fuck you like he needed. 

he had a feeling logan was on the same boat but knew they had to give you a bit of pleasure before fucking you. it was only a shame because he was so impatient now more than ever.

fortunately for him, he and logan were sharing a brain cell and he pulled his finger out, "sorry baby, we're too impatient.."

wade cheered and quickly got up before taking initiative and manhandling you to flip you onto your stomach then putting you in doggy. he made sure your ass was out and your back perfectly arched before taking his position behind you while logan sat down in front of you.

he looked down at his dick and you grabbed it, taking it into your mouth and going down because there was no point in waiting around. wade slipped inside you, letting you adjust for a solid minute before he started moving.

he started pulling out then thrusting back inside as deeply as he could while you moaned around logan’s cock. he was moaning right along with you while he watched the scene in front of him unfold.

you just looked too good sucking him off while getting fucked and wade looked too good losing his fucking mind fucking you.

“fucking shit baby- you feel so good-“ wade moans and grips onto your hips with his hands, watching your ass bounce and recoil with every thrust.

you whimpered and felt logan twitch in your mouth as you took as much of him as you could without accidentally choking because wade was going hard. he now started smacking your ass, feeling each cheek grow warm fast, “taking it so well sweet pea- so proud of you..” he murmured and you clenched against him.

he moaned and started going faster, having full faith that you’d empty his balls in no time.

you pull away from logan and feel a string of saliva come from your lips to his tip as you took a deep breath, “mmm there you go.. take that cock baby.” he murmurs and cups your jaw, softly rubbing his thumb to your cheek.

your eyes were glossy. so pretty and fucked out already even though it wasn’t that long.

“baby please-“ you pleaded and gripped into logan’s thighs, digging your nails into the skin.

“what do you need, sugar? don’t be shy now.” wade teased with broken breaths.

you didn’t even know what you were begging for, just desperate to cum because all that playing around had you feeling more insatiable than usual. then it popped into your head.

“cum inside me please.” you moaned and wade groaned.

he looked straight ahead and was barely able to looking at himself in the mirror fucking you. he chuckled then lowered himself down until his chest was pressed against your back, “whatever you want baby- fuck- gonna take two loads tonight?”

you whimpered and nodded your head yes while his thrusts became sloppier and he felt that knot in his belly tightening. he moved a hand over and down to your neck, wrapping his hand around it and lightly squeezing, “mmm look at yourself in the mirror baby… think i just found the prettiest of them all.”

you grin and look into his eyes through the mirror which was just the thing to push him right over the edge. he spilled his load inside you, letting go of your neck as he made sure you received every earned drop.

you caught your breath and laid your head onto logan’s lap while wade let out his final moans and slowly started to slip of you. right at that moment logan quickly stood up and took wade’s place, sliding inside you before any of his cum slipped out.

he moaned as soon as your walls entrapped him, feeling wade’s load as he thrusted hard, “fuck- oh my fucking god baby-“

you whimpered and now laid your head against wade’s lap. that was until logan flipped you over once against and now you were on your back with your legs spread as much as you could while he began pounding into you mercilessly.

you were a mess, eyes fucked, body warm, legs shaking while logan moaned out for you, gripping the back of your thighs while he watched your tits bounce.

his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he quickly looked back at you just to grope and squeeze your tits. he kept his hard and deep thrusts at an all time high, already feeling that you were getting close.

your legs started to shake and it was like he was able to feel your pussy pulsate against him. it felt amazing feeling you tightening around him like a vice, it was a feeling he could never truly get use to but would love to feel for the rest of his life.

you were letting out sweet moans of his name as he felt his own orgasm build in his stomach, “that’s a good girl- f-fuck yeah baby, cum with me-“

you whimpered and reached down to your tits and entertwine your fingers with his. “cum inside me too baby- need it so bad.” you whined with a little pout.

with one final look at your face, he did so. he groaned as he came inside you and making sure you were filled to the fucking brim because it’s what you deserve. you shut your eyes and feel your body shake when your orgasm hits you hard while he slows down.

with a few slow strokes, you rode out your highs and he slowly started to pull out of you. you didn’t even notice wade had been on standby next to logan with a towel to help clean up the mess.

yeah you were definitely the lucky one in this relationship.

[astralnymphh]

neck kissing with ellie.

gif creds: elenaxnate/tumblr. short indulgent fic :P romance/fluff.

Like a bee to nectar. Kids to sugar. Sunflowers to sunlight. Your neck is a preserved pollen: captivating, entrancing—it entrances that reddish-haired beau prancing around your kitchen searching for warmth. Branches to perch. Nooks to kiss.

Dying suns encapsulate the hours she feeds; in the evenings, devotion. At your neck, a prayer.

"Wish you'd lay the work off after dinner. Told you I'd get it," she kisses you there, too sweetly.

Cheeky prayers, muffled in your ear, and more so mundane covets. To save you trouble, is her duty. To prove her fondness, is her life's dream. And you never found your place amongst her forests to learn and understand why fleeting dreams of you are what motivated her all those years ago. First at your service, then your door, then your hands, lastly your neck.

For all you know, minds assume reason, and instinct falls short of it. Now, in the resign of autumn, reason dies, and tendency prevails. Tender tendencies.

"Why not together then?" you suggest every once in a while, and your tone curls as you do, "Dishes would get done much faster with four hands."

You fail to see it, but her eyes smile. "Because you distract me," laughingly, she says.

She isn't lying; your presence abstracts her thoughts, and the threads of what she was going to accomplish tangle and fray. Be it reading, painting, or guitar— a cacophony of silvers, oaks and water will languish her focus, and suddenly phantom imagery of you and whatever it is you're doing fills her every nerve. Contemplation departs.

But she loves to distract you more.

And because her laughs are stuffed in the crevice binding neck and shoulder, you giggle too. Not because her words are ticklish, or laughable—other days, her silly dad puns are— but because all you can feel is her mouth and her teeth and her chest to your back and everywhere her hands wander and fuck is it overwhelming. Almost facetious that she is doing it intentionally. An elaborate ruse to convince you time is worth wasting.

Her intentions lie between the fangs. Amusedly love-biting.

It fosters a slight shiver, a love-cringe. "Ellie," you weakly release, and roll your shoulders up as a way to peel her off. "That tickles.."

Don't you dare, babe.

Her nips get noisier. "'Spose to.." she insists in a whisper, laying the boundaries for her lips. They creep up, and up, leaping after your shy-away. "Do you hate this?"

"So much." you quip.

"Then it's working," her breathy giggle is hot against you, and it's contagious. A sound you want to eat and nourish from. "Will this take long?" Doubt already inhabits that antsy tone of hers. "I can't wait to show you what I found on patrol. Like, seriously can't wait."

"Can the kissing wait?"

".."

"Right."

"Shut up," her brows tweak against you, mouthing sass. "Pretend 'm not here," speech dimming, her lips lower into you once more, and find reason again. They pucker, suck, and pepper across plains of damp skin gone cold. Hungrily pulling the taste of your skin through her teeth, and down her throat; soft animalism.

It never stops—she never stops. Not for the moon, not for the sun, not for breath or silence.

"You're weird."

You can feel the evidence forming on your skin already. Phantom marks she embeds so she can admire them later. Revisit and reintroduce her tongue to them in bed.

"I know."

[joelalorian]

neighborhood watch

neighbor!frankie morales x f!reader | wc: 5.7k | masterlist

Summary: When someone - or something - starts causing mischief around your new neighborhood, you and your neighbor Frankie are paired up for the new neighborhood watch.

Warnings: Not much, just cursing. Though this fic is rated T for Tame, this blog as a whole is 18+ mdni. Fluff and humor. Reader is a blank slate. No use of y/n.

A/N: This is my contribution to @punkshort's AU August Challenge to celebrate Shortie's 1-year tumblrversary. I was given the AU prompt neighbor!Frankie and ran with it. Hope you enjoy!

Palm trees lined both sides of the road, fronds gently swaying in the sea breeze as you drove through the picturesque neighborhood of bungalows to your new home. After a long and winding journey nearly halfway across the country to get there, you sighed in relief when you pulled your Wrangler into the small driveway. With all your – admittedly limited – worldly possessions shoved into the backseat, truck, and every other available crevice; you couldn’t wait to get out of the cramped space.

An old Florida 2/1 painted the color of green sea glass, the bungalow greeted you with a charming porch and two large windows bisected by the front door. The gabled roof offered taller ceilings and the wood flooring was original. By far, your favorite feature was the reading nook nestled into the living room with built-in shelves for books and the comfiest cushion to lounge on while reading or simply staring out the bay window.

Yeah, everything about this place beat what you left behind. Shitty apartment in a shitty part of a shitty town and an even shittier ex-boyfriend. Not that you were bitter about that or anything. You were still in awe that you managed to dig yourself out of that toxic situation before it completely destroyed you and scrounge up the money for this place. Thankfully, it came furnished. You didn’t have much money left for anything else.

You spent the afternoon unloading your belongings, organizing, and rearranging the place to your liking, blinds open to let the natural light in – anything to save on electric when the AC unit would be running nonstop. With the router and wifi connected, you curled up in the reading nook and watched as your new neighbors started coming home from work or set about walking dogs and mowing their small yards. A few glanced curiously at the sight of a vehicle in your driveway, no doubt wondering about the new resident.

Was this the type of neighborhood where neighbors would bring you casseroles to introduce themselves? Surely that was something only done in television shows and cheesy movies, right?

No less than an hour later, a kindly looking older woman knocked on your door, a covered dish in her hands. She greeted you with aged eyes and a toothy smile when you opened the door.

“Well, hello dear. I’m Stella and just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” Stella casually peeked into the house as she spoke, not bothering to hide the blatant snooping, and you shook your head in amusement.

“Nice to meet you, Stella,” you replied, offering your name. “Would you like to come in?” The woman practically craned her neck to get a look, how could you not invite her in.

“Oh! That would be lovely, dear. As long as you don’t mind. Maybe we could snack on this key lime pie I made for you?” She bustled right in, making herself at home at your tiny dining table and you shut the door to follow her, grabbing plates and forks along the way.

“Would you like something to drink, Stella?” you asked from the kitchen. “I don’t have much yet, but I made lemonade.”

“Lemonade is great, thank you.” After a moment, she added, “Will anyone else be joining us?”

“Unless there’s a ghost hiding out in this place, I doubt it,” you replied, taking a seat across the table from her.

For the next hour, Stella grilled you for information – where were you from, what brought you to this particular neighborhood, were you single. The list of questions went on and on, but she was so kind and friendly about it that it didn’t feel intrusive. Still, relief washed over you when she changed topics from you to sharing information about the other neighbors. Much of it went in one ear and out the other until she got to someone who piqued your interest. Stella talked A LOT.

“There are two men about your age a few doors down. They are the nicest boys, always offering a hand when they can. Benny and Frankie are their names and they have been friends since they served in the military together. Quite handsome, too.”

Stella watched you as she spoke, keen eyes gauging your reaction, and she smiled when you perked up.

“Oh?” you said wanting to hear more.

“Mmhmm, thought those two might get your attention,” the older woman chuckled merrily. “Frankie is the one with dark hair and soulful eyes. He’d run into some sort of trouble a bit ago, which is why he lives with Benny while getting back on his feet.”

You hummed. “I know how that goes.” You wondered what kind of trouble he got into, but you didn’t ask Stella. That was something you’d want to hear firsthand from Frankie, if he ever wanted to share, not the rumor mill.

“Don’t we all,” Stella agreed. “Benny is the blonde one, a little younger and full of energy. Comes home with a bruised face a lot. I think he boxes or something. I’ll never understand young men and their desire to beat each other up.”

You smiled dreamily, mind wandering as Stella continued talking. While all the neighbors sounded normal, you looked forward to meeting Benny and Frankie from just the little Stella shared. They seemed most like your kind of people. The broken souls just trying to make it through life one day at a time.

It took a week to fully settle in and meet most of the neighbors. Stella lived right next door with another older couple, Ann and John, next to her. Benny and Frankie lived next door to them. One the other side of you lived a young couple, Kara and Matt, newlyweds who moved in not too long ago, followed by a quiet woman by the name of Lynn, and a busy couple in their 30s with two small children, who you referred to as “The Kellys”, finger quotes included. They scurried to and from their house like cockroaches afraid of the sun, never stopping to interact with the neighbors. You found it oddly amusing.

Across from you was another eclectic bunch of neighbors – an artist, two retired teachers, a retired cop, an insurance agent and housewife, and a variety of others whose names you were still learning.

You met Benny pretty quickly, crossing paths one morning while going for a run. Stella hadn’t lied, he was cute, but in like a golden retriever kind of way that made you want to scratch his head and throw him a ball to fetch. He was just not your type, if you even had a type. Given your track record… nah, you weren’t going down that road.

Frankie, on the other hand, was an elusive creature. He tended to work a lot if the hours were available, Benny told you. It took an extra week to meet him, and it happened completely by accident while going to check your mail. A collective mailbox area sat next to the small clubhouse, and you started swinging by at the end of your morning runs to check your mail. It gave you some time to cool down and get rid of the junk mail before you got home.

Eagerly awaiting the severance package from your last job, you excitedly rushed around the corner after that morning’s run to get to your mailbox. The collision with a hard chest knocked you right off your feet, leg muscles too fatigued from your three-mile run to stabilize after the impact.

“Oomph,” you grunted at the initial impact, quickly followed by, “Oh, shit!” as you fell backwards on your ass.

“Fucking hell! I’m so sorry!” came the rushed, masculine reply as strong arms shot out to catch you just a moment too late.

You stared up, wide-eyed, from your seated position on the grass – at least you didn’t crash down on the sidewalk – to meet the prettiest pair of baby cow eyes you’d ever seen, the irises a shade of coffee brown you could just drink in for days. Your eyes roved the man’s face, meeting tanned skin flecked with stubble and pouty lips, dark locks curled out beneath a ball cap, twisting around the backs of his ears and along the absolutely kissable stretch of skin on the back of his neck.

One large hand moved to rub along that exact expanse of skin, a nervous tic perhaps, as the other reached out to help you back to your feet.

“Are you alright? I’m really sorry ‘bout that. Wasn’t watching where I was going,” the man said once you stood before him.

Brushing the grass off your ass and the back of your thighs, you waved him off. “No, no, I’m fine and it was completely my fault. I charged around the corner like a bull in a China shop.”

The man laughed in relief, blush still visible on his pinchable cheeks. “Yeah, you kinda did. Almost knocked me off my feet, too.”

Eyeing his exceptionally broad form doubtfully, you shook your head. “I’m your new neighbor, by the way,” you said, reaching out a hand and giving him your name.

“Oh! I’ve heard about the pretty addition to the neighborhood,” he winked at you, taking your hand in a firm grip. “I’m Francisco Morales, but everyone calls me Frankie. I think you met my roommate Benny already. He’s the one who said you were pretty. He wasn’t lying.”

Heat rushed your face at the rambled compliments. Frankie was a delightful mix of flirty, nervous, and shy which you found incredibly endearing. He was also gorgeous.

Flustered and overheated, the need to flee overwhelmed you. “Well, it was nice to finally meet you, Frankie. I’m sure I’ll see you around,” you called over your shoulder as you moved to your mailbox in the back corner of the space.

“You can count on it,” he called back before departing. He didn’t notice you peek around the corner to check out his backside as he walked away. His jeans hugged his ass in a pleasing way and his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the seams hanging on for dear life.

Frankie was going to be trouble; you could feel it. The best kind of trouble, yes, but trouble none the less.

Working from home allowed you to keep a great schedule. No more long commutes to the office, getting caught in traffic on the interstate, spending too much money on gas, or racking up the mileage on your car. You loved the Wrangler, but fuel economy was not its best quality. Instead, you could sleep until a respectable hour, still get a morning run or walk in, and have time for a shower and breakfast before plopping down at your desk for the workday.

And you loved your new job. Not only did you get to work from home, but you were paid to learn and develop learning programs for corporate trainings all day. The nerd in you danced with joy every time you learned something new or received feedback on something you put together.

The only downfall to this new life of yours?

Loneliness.

Sure, video calls with clients and colleagues peppered your days and you occasionally ran into a neighbor on your morning runs. But real human connection? No, there was none of that. Aside from talking to the plants or yourself, you didn’t even have a pet to provide companionship.

Three weeks after settling in, you found yourself at the shelter browsing adoptable animals. Growing up loving animals but never allowed to have pets – even your asshole ex was adamant about not having any in the house, which you should have seen as a giant red flag much sooner – you were finally able to add a furry little being to your family. You weren’t picky either, going in completely open-minded and letting the universe choose a fur friend for you.

The universe delivered ten minutes after arriving at the shelter when a big-eared, blue-eyed, black and white shepherd looking dog bounded up to you excitedly, darting directly between your legs and goosing you so hard it felt like your soul left your body with the yelp that burst from your lips.

“Joshua! No!” a harried volunteer called out, rushing over to you and the overly eager four-legged fiend. “I am so sorry! He loves people and picks out his favorites with a little too much zest.”

The woman wrangled the dog, which was no easy feat. Bigger than a breadbox but smaller than a German Shepherd, Joshua was a sturdy boy – and strong, based on the visible muscles in his hind legs – presenting a challenge when he put his mind to it.

Right then, his mind focused on you, and he refused to leave your side, licking at your hands with his pink tongue, booping you with his snout until you scratched his head, ears perked up as he gazed at you with those ice blue eyes.

You fell in love instantly. Plopping down on the ground, right there in the middle of the kennel walkway, you ruffled Joshua’s short-haired fur. He practically smiled in delight and melted into you as you pet him, tongue lolling out of his mouth as he presented his belly.

A pile of paperwork and a small fee later, you and Joshua the two-year-old McNab Shepherd headed to the pet store for goodies to start your adventure together. Joshua herded you around the store with single-minded determination, choosing his toys and treats while you spoke to the staff about the best food to feed him. Hundreds of dollars later, a gangly teenager helped you load a large dog bed, 50-pound bag of dry food, and two bags full of toys and treats into the Wrangler. Joshua sat shotgun, head hanging out the window as you drove home.

Joshua settled right in with minimal fuss, spending his days laying under your desk while you worked, booping you with his snout when he needed attention or walkies, and – worst part – chomping on your right ass cheek when you weren’t going in the direction he wanted. That was a habit you needed to break, asap. With Joshua at your side, you found yourself outside more, stopping to talk to all the neighbors and being recruited to join the new neighborhood watch. Suddenly, you no longer felt lonely or left out.

Tim, the retired cop who lived across the street, started the neighborhood watch out of boredom, you reckoned. He served the public in larger cities for much of his law enforcement career, and the small-town life took a while for him to get used to. Thus, Tim liked to patrol the neighborhood, self-identifying as the Sheriff of Paradise, keeping an eye out for mischief.

Recently, Tim noticed evidence of some mischief in the form of knocked over garbage cans and missing or broken lawn ornaments. Minor things that could potentially be explained away by blaming the occasional trash panda searching for a midnight snack. Like a dog with a bone, Tim was unwilling to chalk it up to mischievous racoons and began recruiting neighbors to join him in keeping an eye on the neighborhood.

That’s how you found yourself seated on a couch in Tim’s living room, squeezed between the broad shouldered forms of Benny and Frankie, with other neighbors scattered around room. Tim stood in front of the small group with a dry erase marker in hand; a large whiteboard perched on a chair next to him.

“Thank you all for your interest in keeping this neighborhood safe. There have been several concerning things happening lately and I would like for us to make a collective effort in heading them off before things escalate,” Tim began.

His speech continued and the sudden vision of Scruff McGruff the Crime Dog popped into your head. You barely managed to stifle your laughter.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Benny flashing Frankie an incredulous look and mouthing “Is this guy for real?”

You wondered the same thing but kept those thoughts to yourself and listened as Tim continued.

“I took the liberty of assigning teams of two and setting patrol schedules,” he said, turning to the whiteboard. The sound of the dry erase marker squeaking across the board was the only noise in the room for a solid five minutes as you all stared at Tim’s back.

This dude was intense.

Frankie’s knee started bouncing next to you, jostling the cushion a little. Smiling warmly, you reached out a hand, placing it just above his knee to get him to stop. The warmth of his skin flowed through his jeans, igniting a fire inside your belly as his wide eyes shot to you, a hesitant smile on his face as he mouthed “Sorry”.

Tim spun around and called out the pairings then, breaking the eye contact between you and Frankie. Your breath caught when he announced your name and Frankie’s as the third team. Frankie beamed at you and bumped your shoulder.

“Looks like we’re a team,” he said, dark eyes shooting to frown at Benny over your shoulder for a moment. You turned to see what Benny did, but the man just grinned and winked at you.

“Yeah,” you replied, still a little flustered from the heat bubbling in your core. Jesus, could you not think of anything witty to say?

Tim called the meeting to an end ten minutes later – thank the fucking Lord above! – and you followed Frankie outside. He and Benny basically walked you to your door just to say hi to Joshua.

Your happy fur baby bounded down the front steps to say hi the moment you opened the door, tail wagging so hard his whole booty shook with the effort.

“No jumping, Joshua!” you called with a laugh as Benny practically fell to the ground to play with him.

After getting a few pets in, Frankie left the rambunctious pup to wrestle with Benny while he moved closer to you. “He’s really just a big kid,” he said with a chuckle.

“I can see that,” you replied, meeting Frankie’s chocolate eyes as a smile spread across your lips. Damn, he was gorgeous, and you could easily get lost in those eyes.

“So, uh, looks like our first neighborhood watch shift is tomorrow night from 9 ‘til midnight,” Frankie said as you both watched the makeshift WWE match happening in your little front yard.

“Yeah, that’s past my normal bedtime so it will be your job to keep me awake,” you responded with a laugh and a shrug of the shoulders. “Sad, but true.”

“Not a night owl? Me either. I’m sure I can come up with a few ways to keep you awake,” Frankie replied boldly, though a blush crept up his neck into his face.

You shot him a mock scandalized look before collapsing into laughter. “Yeah, I’m sure you could.” After a beat, you steered the conversation back to the neighborhood watch. “What do we need to do on this shift? I’ve never been part of something like this and, to be honest, I tuned out half of what Tim droned on about.”

Frankie’s smile widened until the dimple in his cheek popped, drawing your eyes. “That guy sure could talk, huh?” When you nodded, he added, “I guess we just walk around and make sure nothing’s happening. I’ll meet you here tomorrow night with flashlights in case we need them, feel free to bring Joshua. Nothing will get past the three of us.”

True to his word, Frankie stood at the base of your walkway at five minutes to 9 pm with a backpack containing bug spray, water, snacks, and flashlights. Joshua bounded towards him the moment you opened the door – you should have known to put his leash on first, but you were just as eager as the pup to see the handsome man waiting for you.

After handing you a flashlight, Frankie gestured for Joshua’s leash, clipping it to the dog’s collar and gripping it tightly in his right hand. You let Joshua lead the way, stopping every so often so he could sniff at something interesting.

You weren’t nervous, per say, but you did have some concerns about how awkward these three hours might be. Those concerns were all for naught as conversation flowed easy and free between the two of you as you both asked and answered questions about each other.

Frankie told you a little about his time in the military and how he met Benny and his other friends. He shared about his current job working on helicopters and trying to get his pilot’s license back after some misunderstandings. You told him about ditching your old life to start fresh, how your ex turned out to be controlling and isolated you from your friends. You told him about your new job and how happy you were to be in control of your own life again.

“Sounds like that guy was a real asshole. Me and the boys could go kick his ass for you, if you wanted.”

You appreciated the offer but turned it down. Instead, you asked about his love life. “You mean my complete lack of one?” Frankie replied teasingly.

“Hmmm,” you hummed distractedly. Something seemed off about Stella’s front garden. Your eyes narrowed, searching the shadows from the streetlights and Frankie followed your gaze, brows furrowed.

“That wasn’t like that when we passed by on our last lap,” he said as you both took in the destruction. Potted plants toppled over, some clay pots shattered, leaves ripped from shrubs, flowers crushed, and sporadic holes dug in the topsoil.

In a word, it was a mess.

“No, it most definitely was not,” you replied and immediately glanced around searching for the culprit. The street was empty save for the two of you. “I don’t see anyone. Whoever did this is hiding or long gone.”

“We better write this down in our notepad for Tim. He’ll want full documentation, so we can’t leave out a single detail.” Frankie pulled the small, spiral bound notepad and a pen from the front pocket of his backpack, handing them to you. At your raised brow, he shrugged with a boyish grin and added, “I’m holding a flashlight and your dog’s leash. Besides, you probably have much neater handwriting.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” Rolling your eyes, you accepted the items and flipped the notepad open to the first page. Noting the date, time, and location, you wrote a few notes about the destruction in Stella’s garden. After a moment, you pulled your phone from your back pocket and snapped a few pictures. Tim would appreciate the effort.

“You think I’m cute?” Frankie teased once you finished, sounding pleased as punch at the idea. You ignored him.

The rest of the night passed with no further incidents, and you waved to Frankie as he walked back to his house after handing you Joshua’s leash. Despite the exhaustion plaguing your body, your mind fixated on thoughts of Frankie for two more hours before you finally fell asleep with Joshua snuggled against your side.

Things only got stranger the next two nights you patrolled the neighborhood with Frankie.

“So, what do you do for fun, Frankie?” you asked, making conversation as you walked along the sidewalk.

“The usual, I guess. Hanging with friends, listening to music, playing the occasional video game, and having a few beers. Mostly just hang with the boys and reminisce about the old service days. Oh! And flying, of course. Can’t wait to get my license reinstated.” Frankie ran a hand along the back of his neck, a little embarrassed about how boring he sounded. “How about you?”

“Oh, you know, the same stuff,” you laughed. “I lead a very exciting life. I read, lounge on the couch watching reality tv shows, run in the mornings. Stuff all the cool kids do.”

“We’re an exciting pair, huh?”

“It only goes downhill from here.”

You bantered back and forth as you worked your way through the neighborhood, keeping an eye out for signs of mischief. Frankie was the first to spot the trouble in the mail area. A few mailboxes were wrenched open with envelopes and magazines ripped and scattered across the ground. Joshua sniffed at them unhelpfully.

“How’d someone even get these open?” you questioned. “They need a key.”

Frankie shrugged. “Must’ve pried them open with something. Wouldn’t be too hard, actually. These aren’t the best locking mechanisms. Here, write it down while I take some pictures.” He fished the notepad from the backpack and handed it to you, snapping photos of the mess while you jotted down observations.

“How long have you lived here?” you asked Frankie once you tidied up the mess into a small pile for the other residents to sort through in the morning.

“A few years. You?” He froze, realizing the stupidity of the question, and grimaced. “I clearly have foot in mouth disease. Forget I said that. Please.”

Waving him off with a chuckle, you told him not to fret. “Have you noticed anything like these shenanigans happening before?”

Silent for a few moments, Frankie thought about it. “Not that I recall, but I’m not too sure I paid much attention.”

“It’s weird though, right? Like all of this seems like something a couple of middle school kids would do but they wouldn’t be out this late. Shit, I haven’t even seen kids that age in this neighborhood.”

Frankie nodded. “Come to think of it, we haven’t seen any footprints or litter either. Kids always leave a mess, right? Like candy wrappers and soda cans and shit.”

The next night, things got more bizarre. Joshua stayed at home, exhausted after visiting the vet that afternoon and getting a few shots, leaving you and Frankie on your own.

Frankie spotted a light on in the detached single-car garage at Kara and Matt’s house after a few laps through the neighborhood. Both of you swore the light had been off the other times you passed by. It wouldn’t be so odd if it was a weekend night. But you knew the couple got up really early for work and there was no way one of them would be tinkering in the garage after 11 pm on a worknight.

The pair of you approached the garage warily, sounds of rummaging and glass breaking coming from inside the wooden structure. You looked to Frankie for direction. He gestured for you to stay put a couple yards back, shrugging the backpack from his shoulders, and pulled a handgun from the front pocket.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the weapon. “What are you gonna do with that?” you whispered as he handed you the bag.

“Nothing unless I have to,” Frankie replied quietly and edged closer to the garage. He crept up to the garage door, trying to peek through the dirt smudged windows, but it was impossible to see anything. Instead, he slowly made his way around toward the side of the garage.

A few steps from the corner, his foot caught on a stray cinderblock, causing him to trip with a yelp. The sound within the garage ceased, immediately followed by a scramble and rustling in the wooded area behind the garage. By the time Frankie righted himself and turned the corner, who- or whatever it had been in the garage was gone. A small window on the side of the garage sat open and Frankie peered inside, finding utter destruction within the garage.

“Well?” you inquired from your position. “Anything?”

“Nothing but a mess. I didn’t see anyone and there was nowhere for someone to hide.” He motioned you over now that it was clear. Slipping the weapon back into the bag, Frankie pulled out his phone and took photos through the window.

Gazing at the window, you said, “I can’t imagine they leave this open like this. It must be a person, right? How would an animal get a window like this open? Or turn on the light?”

Frankie shrugged. “I have no fucking clue. We should let Tim know about this. He’ll want to talk to Kara and Matt in the morning.”

Sliding the window shut, Frankie led you from the property.

“This is just getting ridiculous,” Benny muttered from the backseat. “I can’t believe that dickhead has us on a fuckin’ stakeout on a Friday night. Who died and made him Sheriff of fuckin’ Palmingham.”

“Sheriff of Palmingham,” you repeated with a guffaw. “Good one, Benny boy.”

You, Benny, and Frankie were parked at one end of the street in Frankie’s truck, with a few other neighbors stationed at the other end. A stakeout was Tim’s brilliant idea to finally catch the culprit terrorizing the otherwise quiet neighborhood. He created a few teams and stationed them at the end of the two main streets of the small neighborhood. Tim wanted the culprit caught tonight.

The first thing you learned about stakeouts was they were boring as fuck. If not for the company of two handsome men, you’d have been banging your head against the dashboard after the first fifteen minutes. After the first hour of staring through the windows, you and Frankie resorted to playing a variation of twenty questions.

“What is your favorite food?”

“To make or to order out?” you questioned. When Frankie rolled his eyes playfully, you added, “What? There’s a big difference!”

Nodding his head, Frankie laughed. “Ok, if you say so. Tell me both then.”

Sitting back in your seat, you tapped your chin with a finger. “Salmon to cook and beef wellington or scallops to order out. What about you?”

Benny watched from the backseat as the two of you went on and on. “For fuck’s sake, I feel like a third wheel on a first date,” he complained. “Will you just ask her out already?”

“Damnit, Benny,” Frankie growled. Enjoying the conversation with you so much, he almost forgot his friend was even there.

“You want some cheese to go with that whine, Ben Ben?” you teased. “I know little girls who whine less than you.”

“You want some cheese with that whine,” Benny mocked in a high-pitched voice. Leaning forward in his seat, Benny perched his chin on the back of the front bench seat, a shit-eating grin playing across his lips. “You know, if you like Salmon for the omega 3 fatty acids, my boy Fish here has some mega D fatty acid for you. It’s a lot better, or so I’ve heard.”

“What the fuck, Benny?!” Frankie exclaimed as your mouth dropped open in shocked amusement. He glared over his shoulder at the younger man before looking at you with dark, pleading eyes. “Please ignore this fucking idiot.”

“Come on, man. That shit was funny!” Benny insisted, broad shoulders shaking with laughter.

You patted Frankie’s thigh reassuringly. “I mean, it is pretty freaking hilarious, I’ll give him that. And Fish? Is that your nickname or something?”

“At least your girl has a sense of humor.” Benny slumped back in his seat at Frankie’s scowl.

Still staring down his friend in the rearview mirror, Frankie explained the call signs from their army days. Movement down the block drew his attention mid-sentence and he drifted to a stop. “Can you guys see that?”

You reached for the binoculars sitting on the dash, raising them to your eyes to peer into the distance. Something darted from the shadows into an area of the street brightened by a streetlight, and you gasped.

 “It’s a fucking monkey!”

The rest of the night turned into a shitshow as the three of you chased a small monkey – a capuchin, you guessed – around the neighborhood. After a quick call to Tim, the other neighbors on stakeout joined you in the effort to capture the mischievous little bugger. Shortly before dawn, someone found the monkey asleep on a low-hanging tree limb and scooped the thing up, quickly containing him in a travel pet crate.

Exhausted yet exhilarated, you walked toward your house when a sudden commotion sounded a couple doors down. Ann and John rushed from their home, frantically searching for something in the yard.

“Where could he have gone?” Ann called out to John.

“How did he even get out?” John yelled back, moving to search the backyard.

Pausing mid-step, you turned toward where Frankie stood talking to Tim. The capuchin monkey sat in a pet crate at the former cop’s feet as they talked about what to do with it. Eyes narrowing, you looked back at the older couple scouring their yard.

The pieces clicked into place, and you rushed over to Frankie. “Hey, uh, I think this little cutie belongs to Ann and John,” you said, pointing over your shoulder. “They’re searching for a missing pet, and it seems awfully coincidental.”

Sure enough, the older couple were searching for the little monkey named Cosmo, who they were pet sitting for their grandson. The little rascal had been sneaking out each night to wreak havoc on the neighborhood out of boredom. Cosmo was used to a much higher level of activity than the older couple could offer. Thankfully, the grandson was coming later that day to take Cosmo home.

“Hey, you wanna come over for some brunch?” you asked Frankie once all the drama wrapped up, not wanting to part from him just yet. You really enjoyed his company and wanted to get to know him even more. “I’m thinking pancakes and mimosas. What do you think?”

“I, uh, think that sounds like a perfect first date,” he replied with a shy smile, one hand lifting his cap as the other combed through his curls.

“Oh yeah? I think this might count as a third date given all the time we’ve spent alone together this week.”

Frankie’s lips spread until his smile split his face and his dark eyes burned with want. “Third date, huh? Do you have a rule about third dates?”

“Why don’t you come in and find out?” Grasping his large hand in yours, you led him inside.

[justahumanthislife]

Behind your back..

Note: pronouns aren't used, gn reader. Short, very short fic

Warning: stalking, victim/predator attitude, the reader is being hunted by one smiling deer, predator behavior, some creepy content at the end, angst, Al considers you his pet, get over it, maybe something else that I forgot to mention lol :)

MilBear: - "I apologize immediately if you find any errors in the text. I don't know English well and use a translator. Anyway, have fun reading! ^^"

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

He was behind you and you know it.

You can literally feel his presence behind you. And you didn't like it very much. It seemed that you just couldn't tear yourself away from him, because wherever you hid, he would always find you, in any nook, in any crevice.

But it was impossible to stop.

After all, then he would have won. Like all those times in the past when you just gave up. But not now. Now you were going to run, just run. It doesn't matter where, as long as it's away from him at least for a moment..

Run, run, run.... Just run!

Don't look back. He was in the back and you don't have to turn around to prove it to yourself!

You don't know how long you've been running. A few hours? Or maybe just a few minutes.. But it didn't matter. It was important to hide from him, but it seemed that it was simply impossible. And you knew it.

Always knew, but you tried not to think about it. But now it seems that these thoughts are coming back again, reminding you of how insignificant you are and what a stupid thing you did back then.

There was a noise behind you. Bestial, inhuman. It was a wild animal, a demon by nature, dressed in the skin of a red deer, which he was absolutely not at such moments. He was a monster who wanted to get his prize by playing a little with his victim so that prize would seem even sweeter to his perverted taste.

It was an eternal game of cat and mouse, which he always won.

Besides, what else excites the appetite so much, besides an interesting hunt for his funny little animal?

And so, you feel like your legs are just begging you to stop. Your breathing has been lost for a long time, and your lungs are just burning because of the constant running.

But you can't stop.

No, not now. You need a little more time, maybe then he'll finally give up.

And in the hope of finally breaking away and taking a break from this seemingly eternal game of catch-up, you turn around the corner, hoping to see even more roads and escape routes there, or at least some abandoned house in which you could wait it out, but unfortunately you made the wrong move.

It was a dead end.

There was a high wall in front of you, there was nowhere else to run.

The sounds behind you have stopped. You no longer heard these sounds of a predator or the sound of footsteps that sounded well in your ears while you were running. But you know, he's right there. He's standing right behind you. No matter how quiet it is, he's right there.

The pounding of your long-unbreakable heart reverberated in your ears, causing a headache. Your breathing was ragged and very fast. Your body was tired, but you couldn't relax.

You've been caught again..

After just a few moments, you heard the sound of approaching footsteps again, echoing off the walls of some dark buildings. Here it is. The predator finally cornered its prey. Again.

You heard someone stop a meter away from you, watching you and your condition for a moment.

At the same moment, one of the tentacles of the predator standing behind you wrapped around your waist, pulling you exactly into his arms, releasing you at the moment when his hands are squeezing your shoulders while he is still standing behind you, instilling danger with just his presence.

"You were able to hold out longer this time, my dear, well done. Your running and endurance skills have finally improved, which makes our game even more interesting and long, don't you think?" He said with a grin, clearly finding it all just a fun distraction for himself. "But at the end of the day, we both know what's going to happen at the end of every game, hmm?"

Immediately after his words, Alastor bent down and sank his razor-sharp teeth into your always open neck. You screamed because of the sharp and very strong pain, and he only tore out a piece of your flesh with his teeth, greedily devouring this poor and unfortunate piece of meat. Blood sprayed and just poured out of a part of your already severed neck, staining your clothes and falling to the floor. You were breathing hard and fast. Your body was shackled by fear and pain. You felt your consciousness quickly begin to slip away, listening to his quiet laughter and champing somewhere nearby.

Alastor licked his teeth and lips from the blood, enjoying your taste, which he has not yet tired of, looking with his red eyes at you and your poor body.

Your legs are starting to weaken, your consciousness is slipping away from you pretty quickly. Of course, this cannot kill the sinner, but it will still take time to recover. You try to stay on your feet and stay conscious, but it becomes very difficult. A little more and...

Damn it...

You lost consciousness, but Alastor's tentacles wrapped around you, preventing you from falling to the ground. A smirk appeared on his lips as he continued to stare at you.

"Well, well, my dear, you will not stay in such an empty and dark place, especially unconscious. We don't want anyone to touch the body of my cute pet," Alastor said and took your body in his arms and disappeared into the shadows.

He appeared in your hotel room and moved your body onto the bed, allowing it to finally rest and recover.

"Rest, because after that our little game will continue again, my little animal.." the Radio Demon said with a dark grin, disappearing into the shadows again, finally leaving you alone in your room. In your little comfortable space.

Alastor took a very small bite out of you this time, but no one knows what he'll want to do next. And as long as you are his new favorite toy, your game will continue..

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

The First Fairy Tale

ahdbalidbaidf I'M SUCH A SUCKER FOR UNREQUITED KNIGHT X PRINCESS STUFF (even if it's not clear whether or not Lilia's crush persisted beyond childhood in canon) SO. I'M WRITING THIS… 😭This fic is purposefully ambiguous about the type of love Lilia feels in the end for Meleanor. It’s up to the reader to interpret it as they please. This piece was inspired the story of Madame Red from Black Butler. You don't need to know either to enjoy, but if you do happen to know them then I think you'll appreciate it more. There’s also some references to a few Disney films besides Sleeping Beauty—can you find which ones? I also purposefully repeated some phrases and blended a few references together to give the fic a “dream-like”/deja vu feeling. There was going to be a wedding scene opening with “There wasn’t a cloud in the sky” in reference to We Don’t Talk About Bruno, but I had to cut that since the fic was getting long. Even without that and some other cut scenes, I think this is the longest fic I’ve written before. It’s almost 8k words!!

... Do you remember? I told my first fairy tale to you, my most beloved. ***Spoilers for book 7 part 5 of the main story!***

Imagine this...

In a castle forgotten by time, a lone figure walked among the creeping thorns. The plants swallowed the grounds, yet he moved swiftly and stealthily, passing over briar as easily as water over stone. Not a single movement was wasted as he traversed the brambled floors.

His ponytail—black streaked with red—fell in his path, the slight whip of it the only trace of his presence. He had traded his battle armor of old for plainclothes long ago, but still hadn’t filled into them yet. To shed the life of a general for that of a civilian was no simple task.

The small, doughy creature pressed against his shoulder sleepily lifted its head. Upon the infant’s crown was a cap of shockingly silver hair, the same color as moonlight. The boy thrusted a pudgy hand into his cheek, delivering a soft pap to the hardened veteran.

“Tch…!” Lilia pulled away brusquely. “Troublesome little creature, aren’t you? Hold still. We’d have made it out of here by now if only you weren’t so…”

Weak, defenseless, frail, vulnerable.

An array of potential words rose to fill in the gap. He settled on the least abrasive one he could muster.

Something cute.

Children like cute, right…? Right.

“… squishy.”

The infant—no, Silver, he corrected himself—seemed curious about the response, staring up with sudden interest. Lilia’s skin prickled at the sensation. He averted his eyes to an interior that had seen better days.

Once a shining jewel to house the crown princess, Wild Rose Castle was abandoned now. The thorns had invaded, climbing the walls and digging themselves into every nook and crevice. Furniture and weapons devoured, flags and tapestries consumed, meeting a similar fate as the nation that had once proudly flew them.

Ruins entombing stolen time.

What had once been a palace teeming with history, with life, was left a barren wasteland. All that remained were shadows of the past which clung thickly to the thorns. One misstep, and they would cut into him, bringing both pain and searing hot memories.

Funny, that: how the natural forces were unrelenting and indiscriminate. Yet the trace of an enchantment in the air suggested otherwise, its telltale tingle palpable. He knew the bramble had come from magical means.

A fairy's spell lingered. Some bygone blessing or curse, told in the tattered remains of a hazy vision and a wish for more halcyon days. Parents wanting to spare their child from the horrors of war.

Lilia's grip on Silver subconsciously tightened.

What rotten luck. I return after all this time to pay my respects, only to find Wild Rose Castle in this sorry state. How the mighty fall.

Silver fidgeted in his arms, as if sensing that something was off. A bit of saliva dribbling from the corner of his mouth, a soft whine gurgling up.

“You’re fussing again already?” Lilia frowned. He awkwardly laid a hand on the infant’s back. Are all infants this incorrigible? "The journey will be a long one if you aren't able to settle."

The infant turned its head, his cheek fitting neatly into Lilia's palm. There was a coo, then a sigh of contentment.

Still shaking off the sleepiness.

"... You're so needy," Lilia grumbled, noting the drool wetting his skin. Silver blinked at him with large, iridescent orbs. "I don't understand. Do people actually find this endearing? To find such joy in raising their young is..."

He hesitated to finish his sentence.

What did a man like him have to say on the matter? Long-lived as he was, that kind of love was something he had ever experienced for himself.

A gentle, warm hand to guide him through the darkness. The love of a parent.

Yet here I am, a loveless fae robbing a baby from its cradle. Just as the humans believe we do.

What irony.

Sadness nipped at Lilia as his thoughts turned to Silver. If anything, the little one had more power to shape the world around it than he ever could.

It was for this sort of creature that the Dawn Knight made a prayer for the future. It was for this sort of creature that Baul's rigid heart shifted. It was for this sort of creature that she...!!

Lilia's fingers had clenched into a vice grip on Silver. The infant cried out, squirming uncomfortably in his new guardian's grasp.

"Shoot...!! Er... there, there. It will be alright."

He clumsily rocked the baby back and forth. It was too vigorous, for Silver bursted into tears. His wails echoed off the desolate walls of the castle, piercing loud in Lilia's ears.

The fae jerked back, holding Silver at a safe distance from him. His grasp, precarious.

This is proving to be much more challenging than I initially thought... H-How do I silence it?!

Lilia glanced around helplessly at his surroundings. Everything was encased in a cage of thorns: antiques, drapes, even the axes mounted for decoration—to liven up the room. They were impossible for him to reach, else he could swing them around to amuse the boy.

Pieces of the past far out of his reach.

It’s not an option. A human babe is not like a fae babe. Lilia’s head swarmed with stress, Silver’s sobs only multiplying his worries. What do I do? What… would she do?

Meleanor…

The name of his princess emerged. Along with it, a scene blossoming in sepia shades.

Her, in a regal black gown and dripping in green gemstones and finery. Him, in a general's armor. A princess and her knight, straight out of a fairy tale.

She was humming while caressing a large egg, a marbled violet flecked with green, dark webbing laced the shell. It conformed perfectly to her chest, pulsating with a strange warmth as she ran taloned fingers over it. Another role she had adopted: mother.

A low chuckle rose from the back of her throat. "Fufufu Look, Malleus. Our dear Lilia has taken the time out of his busy schedule to come pay us a visit."

"It's been quite some time since I last heard you giggle like a schoolgirl. Nice to know that you remain in good spirits." He arched an eyebrow. "... But since when did you decide to name the child? I thought the medical mages hadn't even determined a gender for your heir yet."

"Oh, some time ago," she replied flippantly. Meleanor was always like a storm, unpredictable and acting on her own whims. "I don't need anyone to tell me what my child will be. I already know... my Malleus will grow up to be an upstanding, beautiful man just like my Raverne."

She had a dreamy, faraway look on her face. A slight blush to her high cheeks, a shine to her eyes, a kind smile at her lips. Completely unlike her, the tomboy who snuck out of the castle unsupervised and caused trouble for all the servants.

So utterly smitten.

For that moment and that moment alone, Lilia would have believed her a patient princess awaiting a knight in shining armor's rescue. Not him, but her beloved.

Raverne.

He had to bite back a terse laugh, mask it with a joke. "Your Raverne? Hold on now, you've got to share him with the rest of us. We'd simply crumble without his wisdom."

"I don't intend to share what's rightfully mine.” A teasing smirk he knew well had found its way onto her pert mouth again. “I'm a very possessive woman.”

"As I’m well aware. Alas, I serve such a cruel mistress of evil.”

She chuckled, resting a hand on her egg. "... When Raverne returns, we shall arrange for tea. The two of you can regale me with the stories of your journeys. It gets to be so dull trapped in these castle walls. Oh, and of course, Malleus will be joining us. He has yet to experience our cozy little get-togethers.”

Their group. Their trio. The three of them. And now a new member. An expansion of the family unit—no, rather, the realization that something didn’t belong among them.

His heartbeat quickened.

"There you go again, making rash requests of me. You really ought to be more considerate of others. I came all this way out of the goodness of my heart, only for you to bark more orders at me. Don't I get to take a break?"

"I am being considerate," she insisted. "I'm considering Malleus. He is invited. You cannot uninvite him."

"That's not the point. Agh, what am I going to do with you?" Lilia ran a hand through his hair. The frustration was familiar—but so was the fondness that chased it.

“My, my. Such insolence. I’m afraid you’ll be stuck with me for a long, looong time. You should be less stubborn and more kind to your princess,” she purred, her words touched with dry sarcasm. “Isn’t that right, Malleus?”

“I’m too kind to you. Too patient as well,” Lilia sighed. “… It’s you who is headstrong.”

“I must be. I have a country and now a family behind me. A scorned mother’s rage is insurmountable, you know.”

He should have said something back. Played into their usual banter. But he didn’t—couldn’t bring himself to. Lilia looked away quickly, but not quite quickly enough.

“Oh? What nerve you have to avoid the gaze of your princess.” She dropped her playful tone. “Something weighs heavy on your mind.”

“… I can never hide anything from you, can I?”

“You will inform me at once.”

“So you can obliterate what ails me?”

“So that I may put you at ease." She lifted a hand, gesturing toward him. "That is the duty of a queen to her people… and, more importantly, of a friend to another."

Friend.

It stung right down to his bones, hurting more than a blast of righteous lightning. A reminder of what he was: a footnote, a supporting cast member in her grand story. Without that, he was nothing.

An outcast.

His stomach clenched. He forced down a bitter pill and spoke.

"I was just wondering what it must feel like to be in your position, Meleanor-sama," Lilia whispered. "Mother to a nation, and to a child. To wholly devote oneself to the service of others... I will never know what that is like."

At this, she laughed darkly. "I am strong. I have to be, because I have people to protect. You have that strength as well. You wouldn't be able to serve as one of my generals without it. There are just some things in this world worth risking your life for, hmm?"

"I don't understand. My loyalty will always lie with you, with Briar Country... but for a child, I cannot...!!" Lilia stopped himself, reining his emotions back to calm. "I've never known how that kind of love feels. I'm not capable of it."

Meleanor narrowed her eyes as she listened to his woes. Unwise men would think her contemplative. He knew better—she was scheming.

"... Let me tell you a secret, Lilia," she said at last. "A dragon's egg needs its parents' love to hatch. However, true love is a special spell. It's more powerful than any magic, and able to be cast by anyone. If you are able to protect me, then that alone is proof enough that you are capable of 'true love'."

"You make it sound so simple, but is it really like that? The children of man say that fae cannot tell an untruth, yet you so expertly reassure me with lies."

"You're questioning me? Laughable. I am a woman of my honor, unlike you with all your tall tales."

"They're not tall tales. They're real stories of the danger I was in. Danger that, mind you, I got in half the time on behalf of your demands."

"Is that so?" Meleanor had smiled at him then, her teeth gleaming in the dim candlelight. Long lashes fluttering against the emeralds of her eyes. "Then you wouldn't mind sharing a story or two with Malleus."

Lilia bristled at the thought, an old wound reopened. There was a burst of relief that accompanied the dull pain.

I can't sing her lullabies. I don't have her strength either. No partner to speak of, no family to look to. What I do have is...

He pressed Silver into him, keeping a hand rested reassuringly on the infant's upper back. Muffled cries and a warm wetness pooled on Lilia's shoulder. His steps slowed, coming to a steady pace.

The first words were the most difficult to get out.

"... Once upon a time, there was a princess living in this castle." His voice was slow and deep and sorrowful. Not a song, but a longing croon for days he could never return to.

They entered a corridor lined with paintings. The sound of Silver's sobbing funneled into the passage, a greeting to the dour faces of important officials portrayed in each frame. Horned, with raven hair and reptilian eyes, obsidian scales dotting their skin, milky and smooth as wax.

Lilia lowered his head to one as they passed--a woman upon a throne, scepter in hand, her pointed features dappled by moonlight.

"She was many things. Selfish, impetuous, and stubborn… but also brave, strong, and beautiful."

So beautiful.

That had been his first impression of her. A single pale rose amid a garden of thorns.

She was tiny in those days, still trotting about in small, polished heels that clicked with each step, her black dress swishing about. A scaled tail—fluffy at the end--poked out from under there, proof of dragonic heritage. Her long hair was slicked back, proudly displaying a pair of horns and the scales that crowned her forehead.

When she wailed, the skies turned stormy. When she beamed, the sun came out. Her expressions so lively as she spun around in her skirts, the fabric unfurling like the petals of a blossoming flower.

A princess both adored and feared by her people.

"She befriended an unruly ragamuffin.” Lilia's lips quirked, unable to fight them from tugging up. “He was without loved ones, so the princess extended a hand to him."

Lilia had stolen glances at her when he was convinced she was distracted. During royal processions, tending to the horses, when they crossed paths in the halls.

He never let himself stare for too long. To do so was nearly a death sentence. The guards would be upon him in an instant—or worse, she would.

But without doubt, she did.

She would look back, letting a telltale grin take shape when their gazes met.

Him, the nobody picked up by the royal family on a whim. A hopeless squire boy, a knight-in-training, a ward.

Him.

She noticed him.

Picking up her skirts, she'd made a beeline over. Grinning like a gremlin, she would inevitably set a tragedy into motion.

"Lilia, I'm sick of studying! Let's play instead."

"What? I don't want to. Besides, I have training to tend to."

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport. That's an order from your princess, so you can't refuse!"

“And that's the way the story always goes, a princess and her knight." He passed a glance at Silver. The infant's crying had quieted, and he returned the look, eyes wet with wonder.

Lilia sighed. "... I guess you wouldn't know that, would you? Well, it’s not as though she were your average girl.

"A wicked princess, that’s what she was. There was not a day when she wasn't making mischief and pulling the knight into it with her."

She had had many games, not all of them clearly defined or with rules. Sometimes she changed them on the fly. Sometimes she played without guidelines at all.

Pretend escalated into full-scale magical duels. Scavenger hunts spanned the entire castle grounds. They’d race to see who could relieve the gallery of the most apples in the least amount of time, dig through the treasury for the biggest gems.

On particularly lazy days, a roll across the lawn was enough to amuse them. Petals were plucked, sugary honeysuckle trapped between their teeth.

"You have something stuck in your hair," she'd tease him, picking loose petals out. "Let me get that for you, my most loyal retainer."

He'd hold still, as commanded, let her take as long as she wanted tidying him up.

When the guards combed the garden for them, they’d squish into shrubbery and lay low until the coast was clear. Sometimes their lids would grow heavy and collapse—and when they roused, stars had spilled into the sky, and they’d count constellations until the morning.

Starlight dappling her noble face, her fiery spirit ablaze.

How many diplomatic meetings had they crashed? How many ancient items had they broken? How many headaches had they collectively caused?

Lilia chuckled faintly.

… Those were the good old days.

He continued down the path laid before him, the paintings seemingly chugging along in slow succession. Both people and time passing him by.

"There was another as well. A clever, kind-hearted duke who also warmed up to the knight. The three of them formed a most formidable group.”

“Are you two at it again? You never stop, do you?”

The voice came from the top of the stairwell.

"Raverne. So good of you to join us," Meleanor said breathlessly—she had been running about. She slicked back a strand of glossy raven hair and beamed toothily. It wasn't the smile of a princess, but of a dragon yet to be tamed.

He quirked a brow. "Am I joining you? Whoever said that?"

“If you’re jealous, no need to play coy," she teased as the Dragon Duke descended the stairs. "You’re welcome to join us anytime.”

"The princess has already roped me into her antics," Lilia sighed. "Why not make it a party of three? We can all get scolded together later. Misery loves company."

"A tempting offer." Raverne lazily tilted his head to one side. He always had a languid way of moving, like a curtain of night veiling the day. "I think you've got me convinced."

"Why did you agree when Lilia asked and not when your princess did?" Meleanor demanded, stomping a foot.

Raverne shrugged. Effortless, defiant. "Perhaps you're not as charming as you think you are."

Any other person would have faced her wrath. Anyone else would have been forced to tango with lightning.

Not Raverne. He was too hard to stay mad at, and too easy to forgive. His presence alone smoothed over tensions, settled storms.

“He’s a dreamer,” the dusty old court advisors would remark with disdain.

“He’s a dreamer,” Lilia would say, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“He’s a dreamer,” Meleanor would sigh, the stars in her eyes.

Now, she just smirked at him. "I'll have to demonstrate to you just how charming I can be."

She had looked at Raverne differently in that instant. Her eyes did not glint at the sight of new prey to toy with, but with keen interest. There was something else too, an undercurrent of some tender feeling Lilia couldn't quite place.

Meleanor had never looked at Lilia like that.

Only Raverne.

He shook his head.

I should have known then... I was fighting a losing battle.

"With time, they grew ever closer. Unexpected feelings arose. The knight came to love the princess.” Lilia's feet came down upon the bramble that knitted over the floor. He could not feel it through his boots, but it felt as though he was still being pierced in the chest.

Silver blinked as Lilia plodded along. The gentle rise and fall drying his tears.

It had been a heady spring day, another escapade dodging servants and sneaking beyond the gardens. The flowers had blossomed, the same as the princess. She had grown lovelier by the day, her spitfire attitude untempered.

His flower of evil.

They were crossing a brook then, Meleanor lifting up her skirts to float to the other side, Lilia hopping on rocks to cross. He could have flown with her if he tried, but he was feeling cocky, had wanted to shown off the fruits of his training.

One misstep, and Lilia went flying forward, crashing into her. Their bodies collapsed against one another's as they roll, roll, rolled into a field, blades of grass and stray petals collecting on them. When they at last came to a stop, they laid on their lacks and laughed until their lungs hurt.

Lilia had stared at her again. Her smile, a powerful spell. She caught him in the act, demanded what he was looking at.

"You have something stuck in your hair," Lilia told her as they sat up. "Let me get that for you, my most benevolent princess."

"Stop stealing my lines," she giggled back.

Only if you stop stealing my heart first, he thought. But Meleanor was selfish, and once she had claimed something as her own, she refused to return her new treasure.

Lilia reached--and produced a single white daisy between his fingers. Kneeling, he offered the token to her. "Here. For you."

"Prankster. You planted that so you could appear impressive," Meleanor chuckled, accepting it. "... However, the gesture is sweet, so I thank you for it."

She held the flower to her nose and inhaled its scent. Her lashes fluttered against her cheeks, lips brushing the velvet-soft petals of the daisy. Wind weaving its hands through jet back hair, spots of sunshine dancing across her.

The entire universe was conspiring against him, it seemed.

He remained kneeling, remembering his place. Him, the knight. Her, the princess. But if that was the case, then weren't they perfectly suited for a fairy tale?

Lilia steeled his courage and let the words he had been holding in all that time loose. "M-Meleanor-sama! I... I like you. Not just as a friend. More than that. P-Please accept my feelings!"

Rare surprise dashed her beauty. A crack of light, dawn chasing away the darkness. “Lilia...?"

Here was his weakness, more terrifying than any enemy their country had faced. One young lady, and he folded like a paper crane. His heart in her hands.

And she squeezed.

"I'm not sure if I enjoy this joke. What we had before... I liked that."

More delicate than he had ever heard her speak. Like she was afraid of breaking this.

"This isn't a joke. I'm... I'm serious about you! Please answer me!!" he pleaded. "Will you be mine?"

At once, her face fell. The daisy, and his heart, slipped from her grasp.

"Oh, Lilia," she whispered, a hand clamped over her mouth. "I'm sorry. So, so, sorry."

A resounding rejection, chased by a dreadful loneliness. It had been nothing like the storybooks had promised. Lilia almost wanted to weep at his juvenile naivete.

He hushed, the awareness of it all consuming him.

So this is love.

Love, and the lack of it. How it hurt him so, as it had from had the start. He was always alone, no matter how many people he surrounded himself with.

Was that really love then?

The thought struck him like a fist to the gut.

I thought I loved you. But maybe that wasn’t true love. Maybe I was desperate to be loved back. To have someone to call my own, when I had no one at all before. Maybe I clung to the first person that showed the slightest bit of attention to me.

Even so, my heart ached for you. Longed for you. Believed it was meant to be. Dreamt of you. I wanted to give you my everything.

Lilia tucked the infant’s cheek to his chest. Felt the child’s warmth, his physical presence. The steady drum of something buried deep in him.

There was a wobbly yawn in the silence. Silver, tuckered out from crying, awaited the next part of the story.

The breath Lilia held released. The words, painful as they dropped from his lips.

“But she had eyes for another: the duke. The knight watched as his two best friends fell in love.” Lilia’s nails dug into the cloth that swaddled Silver. “The princess and the duke were happy, so the knight, too, was happy. And why wouldn’t he be? The woman he loved the most was going to marry the man he loved the most. It was a happy ending for the trio."

He had been summoned by the princess that fateful day. Returning triumphant from the battlefield, adrenaline running high, he hadn’t even bothered to make himself presentable first. His hair was a mess, his armor stained with the remains of slain foes.

She waited for him beyond the door.

“Melea… Oh.”

His princess was seated beside Raverne. She clung to his arm like a vine on a trellis, beaming like the moon on a cloudless night. Meleanor was drunk on the Dragon Duke.

He had never seen her so happy.

“Lilia! You’re here at last,” she called, waving him over. “Just in time.”

He glanced from her to Raverne. “In time for what?”

“For our exciting announcement.” Meleanor wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she gazed adoringly at the man beside her. Somewhat shy. “Would you like to tell him? Or should I? Ooh, this is quite exciting."

Raverne smiled softly—but Lilia could sense the slight discomfort in his eyes, the way they darted to his. Guilty acknowledgement, an awareness of betrayal.

I'm sorry, he seemed to say.

Lilia’s blood ran cold.

“I think you ought to tell him,” Raverne suggested. His voice was gentle, but they felt like a slash to the throat, cutting deep.

Then Meleanor announced it, unable to contain the secret any longer. "We're getting married!!"

She showed her left hand. The flash of the silver band upon her fourth finger was unmistakable. A ring, binding them with a promise.

Together forever, those two.

Lilia’s world violently tilted. The castle crumbling, the sky collapsing around him. Yet he, the trained soldier, dug his feet in and stood his ground.

You've been bested. Admit it. Admit defeat...!!

He said the only word he could.

"Congratulations."

Lilia could make out the light at the other end of the tunnel now. The world beyond the walls and castle corridors. He knew the end of the story was fast approaching, and how it would sap his strength, his will to fight on.

Still, he continued.

“The new couple were soon expecting a baby. Someone much like yourself.” Lilia prodded at Silver’s flabby chin. “You’ll be graced with his presence soon enough. The princess’s legacy, Malleus Draconia… My responsibility these past 160 years.”

Silver gurgled.

“So enthusiastic. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” Lilia softly chided. “We fae and humans…”

… can never hope to understand each other.

"We fae and humans can understand each other," Raverne would have countered him. "We can make it a reality."

Tiny hands wrapped around Lilia’s finger. His touch, fragile.

You can afford to be hopeful. It drew a bitter chuckle from his handler. Brief reprieve before the plummet into something deeper and darker than the night that guarded them.

“… In a period of great unrest, the duke went missing. The princess was beside herself with worry—yet she remained stalwart for her people, and for their child. She wished every night for her husband to come home safely.”

They had magical might, but the humans had numbers. Each battle, an exchange of hard blows, casualties high on both sides. Reports rolled in as frequently as bodies did.

The people grew concerned, and so she had donned her mask to reassure them. Stoney faced and strong atop her tower.

“We will recover the missing couriers. We will secure our land and resources. We will beat back the outsiders. Briar Country will rise victorious in the war. Man will rue the day they came upon our shores. This, I swear to you as your princess!!”

Uproarious cheering and applause for her, their sovereign. A goddess of victory.

But he, watching from the shadows, knew better than that. All those years roughhousing with her, and he knew.

The face she showed the public and the face she made in private were two sides of the same card. Princess, mother, wife, friend. So many roles, all of them she played with such strength.

Meleanor only slipped when she thought no eyes were on her. When the servants had all retired for the night, and the moon and its stars came out.

Pressing his back to the wall, Lilia shielded his candle’s small circle of light from view. The hallway was drenched in darkness again.

A few paces away, her chambers to which she retreated every evening with her egg. With her dear little Malleus.

He listened.

Soft whimpers sounded from the abyss. Sounds and sights she would not dare show her people.

A leader such as she could not afford to be weak. The same leader who clutched her child to her and furiously prayed for a happy ending.

“Raverne, where are you? Come home… Come home, you idiotic, idealistic man!!”

CRASH!! BANG!! BOOM!!

Lightning lit up the sky. Lilia's flame trembled before righting itself.

Her voice dropped to a devious coo. "... I'm sorry, Malleus. Did that scare you? There, there. It's alright, your mother is here. Your father will be too... and when he does, I shall give him an earful for being away for so long!!"

He listened, for he was the only one who could. He listened until his lids began to droops. He listened until he had to tear himself away.

Before he knocked upon her door. Before he could tell her he was here, to please let him in. Before he could confess, “I miss him too.”

Hold her. Cry with her. Dream with her.

Ask for Raverne back.

“I will never wish for anything more than this. Please. Please…!!”

He had listened then, but no one had listened to him in return. Not even the stars.

Cruel celestial beings, he cursed—if they would not grant his wish, then he would take matters into his own hands.

Raverne…!!

Lilia swallowed thickly. His footfalls had grown heavy, as if weighed down by cinder blocks.

Silver sleepily gummed his finger. Oblivious as to what was to come.

“The conflict escalated.”

It had all happened so fast. Flying by, a blur. Time was not a concern to most fae—a year was barely the blink of an eye. Everything blending together into an indiscernible mush, taken down with ease.

But war never became more palatable. He had simply trained to become numb to it all. The strong smell of iron, the corpses piled high. It was sensory overload, the taste of too many things at once.

A crimson-eyed demon stood at the boundary of a burning village. Inhaled the fumes, smoke and flesh wrapped in fire. Witnessed the leaping flames stretching to the sky.

Who had lived here? Who had died here? Lilia thought of neither.

Had to, or he would fall to his knees and wail.

He held a small cloth doll, long black hair and red dress. Somehow it had survived the carnage. The lone survivor of a massacre. The rest had been slaughtered or evacuated from the area.

Abandoned, just as he had been.

His gaze lidded, fingers closing around the doll. "… As if it were a day. Everywhere I go, it will be in a blink of an eye. Far Cry Cradle.”

Memories arose, pulled by the strings of magic. They exploded across his vision like fireworks. Tinted green and blue and pink.

There was a ghostly child walking among the ruins, smiling as they clung to their mother, doll in their other hand. Daily life making the rounds in the village, helping with chores and playing games. Story events on fast forward.

Then came the knights stomping in their silver suits, masked fae cloaked in black. Buildings caving in, bodies falling, the clang of weapons colliding.

Screams.

Red, red, so much red.

The child horrified, dropping the doll. Staggering steps backward.

He barely cast an eye at them. Surveying the scene straight out of a hellish dream, he sought out a familiar shadow. Had he walked among them, seen the same things he had?

To no avail.

Lilia blinked, and it was the end.

He had not treaded along this path.

“… Damn it, Raverne.” He gripped the doll harder—as if to squeeze out its secrets. Making me hunt you down like this...

“General Vanrouge.”

Lilia did not turn. “Baul.”

“Sir.” He saluted to his superior. “The troops are rested. We are prepared for the final march to the Eastern Fortress.”

“… Yes, I understand. Let’s move out.”

He let the doll fall to the ground. His hands now freed, he pulled his hood up.

“General?” Baul called tentatively.

“The weather is chilly today, don’t you think?” The question, dismissive. Lilia slipped his mask back on—a beastly bat, glaring, teeth protruding.

His tears hidden from view.

Baul nodded. “… Yes, it is. I will remind the men to bundle up, sir.”

He looked away. “Good.”

Lilia firmly set his jaw. “War came knocking at their door, claiming many lives… and threatening to take the princess and her child too.”

There was something automatically off about the fortress when they slipped in. The infiltration too smooth, the corridors too quiet.

Combing the building yielded few results. There was no Raverne, no Dawn Knight. Only cowering staff and scattered humans in iron armor piloting sputtering metal monstrosities.

He cut them down the same as the rest. A mad boar, seeking a true challenge.

"Where are you?! Show yourself...!!" Lilia's demands were hollow in the empty hallways.

A demon snarling for sacrifice, the humans called him. A heartbroken dreamer, seeking the love that he had lost, his troops would whisper amongst themselves.

They found him at the end of a trail of carnage. Panting, sweating, hoarse. The lines between man and monster converged in Lilia Vanrouge.

Then the message was delivered, striking fear into the fearless fae.

"... What?"

The weapon in his hand faltered as realization ripped through him.

“Wild Rose Castle is under siege?!”

"She summoned her knight to her side.” Lilia’s voice quivered, growing small. You’re weak, he snarled at himself, so very, very weak.

Silver, too, seemed to sense the shift in him. He rubbed his cheek against the fae’s finger. Was he trying to comfort himself, or his newfound caretaker?

“The princess asked of him to take her child to safety somewhere far, far away. To forget her. It was her final selfish request for him.”

He had found her seated upon her throne, one arm curled around her precious egg, the other grasping her scepter. It was a sight so familiar, so safe, his chest lifted with relief. Lilia ran to her, calling her name.

"Meleanor-sama!!"

Her arm swept out in an arc, face twisted with fury. On command, a bolt of lightning crashed down in his path.

"Tch...!"

Tucking and rolling, Lilia darted off to the side, narrowly dodging the strike. Where he had once been was a massive scorch mark on the tiled floor.

“You’re LATE, Lilia!!” Meleanor roared. "What if something had happened to me or Malleus before you had arrived?!"

"Hah. As though you would allow that to happen," he scoffed. "You would kill the Silver Owls dead if I weren't here to stop you."

It was their usual game, a playful chase, the exchange of pokes and prods. Today, Meleanor had no such humor. Her expression turned from rage to one of eerie calm.

Lilia shivered.

"They've come for us," she whispered, hugging her egg tightly.

They had always known this day was a possibility. Now it was here, so palpable it was unreal.

From the bridge that ran to the castle came ugly chants twisted with hatred. Hot, oppressive, heavy. The sound like smoke snuffing out the daylight.

“Kill the witch!”

“Seize the castle!”

“Bring me the spoils!”

Horror raced through him.

“Let’s get you to safety, princess. Quickly, before they breach the drawbridge. My men can only hold them off for so long—”

She rose from her throne, descending from her dais. Her stride was not urgent, not eager to flee—the pace closer to the kind one might set for a garden stroll.

Meleanor faced her knight with a small smile. The same one she offered right before suggesting some sort of mischief.

“Lilia.”

“Princess…?”

“I refuse to run.” Her eyes flickered like green fire. “I will stand and fight.”

Panic pulsed in his ears.

“What?! Of all the foolish, hard-headed decisions you’ve made… This is absolutely the most foolish and the most hard-headed one!! I won’t let you go out there. I can’t. You’ll be…!”

A fist closed around his throat. The word died there, half-formed.

“What is it that you wish to say? That I will be hurt? Killed?” Meleanor challenged. So steadfast, so brazen. “You think so little of your princess.”

“This is NOT the time to argue the technicalities!! We need you safe and well, Meleanor-sama. Think of your people! Think of Raverne, your child...!"

Think of me.

She bared her teeth. “What is my power for, if not to protect those I love?”

Her gaze lowered to her egg, then to Lilia. “... You must flee to Black Scale Castle. They will not be able to follow you that deep into the mountain range.”

"I won’t abandon you. If you will stay, then let me fight alongside you as your sword and shield!"

"You have already done plenty for me. Do not mean to play the role of martyr too." Meleanor straightened, looking the part of a regal ruler. “You must go. I have guests to receive.”

"Argh, you stubborn princess!! How will you fight by yourself when you have your child to consider?"

"That," she laughed softly, "is a simple riddle."

His eyes sharpened with recognition of her next scheme. Meleanor wordlessly deposited the egg into Lilia’s arms. It was warm, humming from within the shell.

A life yet to be born, wishes yet to come true.

“I am entrusting you with Malleus,” she murmured sadly. “Please take care of him in his parents' absence."

“Don’t speak that way!!" Lilia snapped.

Don't speak as though we will never meet again, as though this is the final page of our story.

“In the first place, I could never… I can’t raise this child. I don’t know what it is like to love—not the way you and Raverne do. I’ve never had parents. I can’t be one, not when I don’t understand that kind of love!”

Meleanor’s face softened. “But you love me, don’t you? And you love Raverne too.”

He nodded. Slow, hesitant. “We were young. It was a long time ago,” Lilia mumbled.

“You love us,” she grinned, “so surely you are capable of loving our child, the product of our love—and Malleus will feel that. He will respond to you.”

“I’m not…”

“You are deserving of love, Lilia.” This, Meleanor spoke firmly. “Do not let yourself believe otherwise. I shall never forgive you if you do.”

The shouts were growing louder. The castle shuddered, stopped, and shuddered again. Doors being rammed at, forced open.

“Go,” Meleanor hisses. “This is an order from your princess. You cannot refuse.”

She had told that to him many times before. In dreams, in their games. Now, it hurt to hear more than any blow he had taken from battle.

Something in him gave, and instead of stepping away, he stepped forward. Inching closer to the woman out of his reach, but never touching her.

“I’m scared,” Lilia confessed, quiet as snowfall. “What if I lose you like we lost Raverne?”

Then I will be alone again.

“Be not afraid,” she reassured him. Meleanor did not meet him in the eyes.

“Do you promise we will meet again?” he pressed. The egg felt as molten as magma against his armor. “Do you swear?”

BAM!!

The grounds shook—the Silver Owls had successfully taken down a set of barricaded doors.

The cries had reached a fever pitch. Boots trampling upon the sacred grounds. Louder than ever.

Meleanor’s expression darkened, turning grave. It was the look of men at midnight, alone in the woods. Hollow, haunted, unsure of their fate.

No.

“No…!!”

He launched himself at his princess, a hand outstretched for hers. She made no effort to reach for his.

Did not have to.

Lilia fell short, his foot snagging on something. He instinctively twisted his body, shielding the egg in his arms from the floor. His gaze tore to his ankle, where bramble has sprouted up and tangled itself with him.

More thorns crept up around him, swallowing the ceiling, the walls. They latched onto his limbs, dragging him away, away from her. He grunted, struggling against them, against his fate.

Her doing, her magic.

"... Farewell, Lilia."

Tears prickled. His voice raised, pleading with her.

"Meleanor-sama, don't do this.”

She walked past him and ahead, forever out of his grasp.

"Farewell, Malleus."

He tried again, even knowing it was futile.

The bramble was weaving together, forming a tough wall between him and her.

"Meleanor-sama...!"

Through the last opening, a perfect circular window, she uttered her final words to him. That knowing, daring grin. Eyes beholding a gleam brighter than starlight.

"May the Night bless you."

And then she was lost to him forever.

"MELEANOR!!!"

Lilia laid a hand upon the ajar doors to the fallen castle. Fingers curled. At last, he had made it to the frame separating the inside from out.

“... That was the last time the princess was ever heard of. The end to her tragedy.”

He summoned his strength and broke free, entering the waiting night.

The moon, a spotlight for the two.

Silver bristled as he felt his first cool breeze. Still, he did not fully burrow into his blanket—for his glimpse of the stars stilled that instinct. That's right, Lilia thought, of course he would be enchanted. It's his first sky.

Many firsts.

"If you like that, you'll be excited to know that it's always changing. There are a number of new skies to see. It follows us wherever we go."

So we will never be alone.

The sky, so sprawling, so grand. So accustomed to everything and anything.

His small, lonely, insignificant existence was nothing compared to it.

Ah.

A single tear rolled down his cheek, landing on Silver's nose. The infant stilled, feeling the wetness upon his skin.

Lilia furiously wiped it away, then rubbed at his traitorous eyes. The sadness failed to recede, the memories welling. Promises, hopes, dreams dredged up. Yesterdays calling out to him.

"... You lied, Meleanor,” Lilia rasped into the night. “You told me I would be stuck with you for a long time. So why… Why did you have to leave us so soon?”

A thousand swords stabbed into his chest. The pain radiated outward, a bloody bloom.

"It’s not fair," he sobbed, hanging his head. "It’s not fair at all. Meleanor, Raverne… You’ve gone off together to a place I cannot reach, a place I cannot run to. You’ve left me behind. How am I meant to go on like this?”

I'm scared. I’m scared of the dawn and the tomorrows it will bring. Tomorrows without her and him in them. Tomorrows I must face alone.

More tears, plip, plip. A light drizzle upon Silver's face.

The infant stared up through aurora eyes. Not understanding, not knowing anything.

"How could I...”

Lilia’s voice caught on something sharp. He took a trembling gulp.

How could I learn to love you? When your kind, your very father, has taken nearly everything from me?

"... Hey, Silver."

The child cooed, as if in recognition of his own name. More likely, just responding to the sound of Lilia's voice.

Silver, the color of his hair. Silver, the shine of cloud linings. Silver, the start of something new.

"Tell me. What should I do?" Lilia's forehead and his touched.

Silver kicked his bendy little legs at the contact. Flailed his arms.

“Please guide me. I’m lost." He choked up. "I’m… so lost.”

Be the moonlight that guides me in the darkness. When all hope is lost and the stars have gone out, there will always be a silver light illuminating the path out of the black forest.

Show me the way, Silver.

“Show me if I can truly love you from the bottom of my heart.”

Lilia hugged the child to him. Felt his heartbeat, the same throbbing warmth that had radiated from Malleus’s egg.

After all that time alone amid the bramble… He was here. He was alive.

Up until her final moments, she had been thinking of them. Of this. The people she cared for, a baby not yet born.

The love he had let go, the love he had lost, the love he was he had to learn… It slipped away from him so easily, like grains of sand sifting between his fingers.

Lilia sighed with his entire body. The wind, drying his tears. He looked again at the child he had taken.

Silver giggled when he saw Lilia’s face. The boy’s eyes were clear. An unclouded, colorful aurora.

A weight in his chest lifted.

“… Did you enjoy that sad story?”

No answer, but a bop on his nose. Unintentional, he was sure.

Lilia rubbed at the place where he had been struck. There was no wound, no mark. Just a rapidly fading warmth where Silver's small fist had connected.

“… Silly thing,” he groused. In spite of himself, a stuttering chuckle rose from his throat. “If it will keep you from making needless noise, then I will tell you as many stories as you like. You need only promise to not laugh if I shed another tear.”

Silver squealed—close enough of a confirmation for him.

Lilia tried smiling. The corners of his mouth quiver before giving up.

Meleanor’s parting words floated to him. “May the Night bless you.” With that, it was the end of her tale.

The very same words uttered anew, a blessing for the boy once blonde. A fresh chance, the beginning of a new story.

Lilia looked to the horizon.

The first rays of sun were peering through the darkness. Gold streaking black in small slivers. Dawn had arrived.

A new chapter to their fairy tale.

[archieimagines]

two weeks, tops | karl weissman

Summary: The plan: adopt an evacuee to help on your Inverness farm. Not the plan: adopting two.

hi, it's me again! i've been away for a while (sorry) but the power that karl weissman holds is vast and only a fix-it fic for him and esther can save my soul. we'd all love to adopt them. if you haven't watched netflix's bodies, definitely give it a shot! if anyone has any ideas for lovely karl, please comment or send them in! i'd love to write more for him and some pointers would be great. <3warnings: mentions of war and death, mourning. karl using yet another name. word count: 2666 written by: archie

You hovered on the platform, watching as the countless evacuees from London came pouring out of the carriages. Dozens on dozens of children, ready for a new, safer life. They were each swept up by loving new mothers, fussing over their name tags and taking their wee little suitcases, escorting them to cars and buses for a few years of family. The smiling kids were chosen first. They’d clearly had coaching on how to be picked, smiling through the trauma of being uprooted from their lives and planted into the unknown. And then, one by one, the sorry looking ones were claimed. Tatters for clothes, no luggage, barely a silver coin to offer their new parents.

You could give them a better life. You could have, with your chickens and sheep. There’d be eggs for breakfast, newly knitted cardigans, markets on weekends-- and no air raids at all. You’d be warm to the new presence in your cottage, happy even to take siblings that didn’t want to be split, and yet… You just hovered there, wringing your hands, letting every opportunity hurry by. It wouldn’t be hard to reach out and introduce yourself. Why didn’t you? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to step amongst the aspiring foster parents, offering your life to the sweetlings that so desperately needed it?

You sighed, the ache in your chest hollowing as the train departed the station once more. The chatter of evacuees and new parents trickled away, eventually leaving an almost barren platform. The bite of Scottish air dusted your nose pink, but you weren’t sure that the water in your eyes was from the chill.

It wasn’t your first time almost taking in an evacuee. It’d been the same every time. You’d excite yourself with the prospect of the weekly train from London, the thought of a happy little voice in your cottage instead of the silence of your own existence and the occasional caw of a cockerel. You really needed it. To have someone around again. And it always seemed like such a good idea until you were stood on the platform, faced with the reality of the responsibility of a child on your own. A far cry from the future you’d imagined. You and your husband, raising a wee happy family of your own.

Ever since your husband had responded to the war’s call for soldiers, you’d intended to do your best for the war effort and save a child from the bombs of the London Blitz, like a practice for when he came home and you could try for a real family, bringing you a step closer to everything you’d wanted.

Until the postman brought one fateful letter, ending your ideal future and shaking you to the core. Your husband wouldn’t be returning, you wouldn’t have a child with him. The thought of bringing a child into your house and doing it alone…

Then why did the empty platform, devoid of opportunity, hurt you so? Ah, maybe if there was just one child left. A sad, lonely one, hiding somewhere? There’d be so much in common.

You steeled yourself, deciding that on the off chance there was one poor evacuee left in need, you’d take them in, no questions asked. No thinking. No room for doubt. It was time to be stern with yourself, so you marched up the platform, looking in the crevices of the station building, anywhere that a poor wee soul might fold themselves in a corner. The telephone nooks would be the most likely spot.

And sure enough, there was a child! A little girl in a bright red, soot-ridden coat. Only… She was already with a foster parent, peering up at the sharply-dressed man in a trilby hat while he was on the phone.

Her eyes were so round and sweet, her little fist clinging to the edge of the man’s coat, and something unpleasant made a home in your chest. Why did he get to have a child? Sure, he must be on good money to wear a pin-striped suit like that, important enough not to be called away for the military. Maybe he had a wife waiting for them back at home. Why should he have a spouse and a child when you had neither? And she seemed so lovely, too…

You met her eye accidentally, and couldn’t help noticing how absolutely exhausted she seemed. She clearly hadn’t had a bath in days and was in desperate need of a hot meal. The reality dawned on you, and you couldn’t help feeling guilty for your assumptions about the man. You had no business thinking in such a way. She needed all the help she could get, and the suited man was kind enough to offer it to her. He didn’t deserve your disapproval. You mustered the strength and offered the girl a smile and she gave one in return, her eyes so visibly haunted. She’d been through so much, and you’d never know.

You looked away before your smile turned sad. You’d finally decided on taking in an evacuee, only there were no more coming until next week. And by then, you’d probably need convincing all over again, and you’d miss that chance too.

It was a lot to handle. The urge to cry wasn’t sudden, but it was strong. You glanced around and spotted a nearby bench, but before you could take a step, you heard it.

The man’s accent. It didn’t make sense. The foster parent, who you’d assumed was a Scotsman if he lived locally, had a deep Cockney accent. “Nah, I got a kid with me now. You gotta put us up for a while ‘til I can sort summat out. Two weeks, tops.”

Something about the words stilled your feet, the bench blurred in your tearful vision. Saying you tried not to listen in would’ve been a lie. It was your first time hearing such an accent not on an evacuee and something about it was obnoxiously intriguing. That, and the fact he… He needed somewhere to stay? Had he travelled on the train with the evacuees?

“Mike, just shut your kisser and listen for a sec. I’ve got ‘er with me and there’s- No, no. Don’t you fucking call ‘em.” A long pause. With the outburst, you couldn’t help but glance back to the man hunched at the telephone. The little girl’s face told you it all. Those furrowed brows, the worry in the shallow lines of her forehead as she peered up at him. Whatever was going on there, things weren’t going to plan.

He glanced down at her with a sigh, an affectionate hand landing atop her head in weak reassurance. He must’ve seen your shoes from under the rim of his hat, for his face lifted and his eyes pinned on you.

The intensity of that glare surprised you. Heavy brows and a set jaw, a glint in his eye that was deeply critical, giving you a stern once-over. His hand atop the little girl’s head dropped to her nape, guiding her half a step closer to the telephone, tucking her against his side in a protective hold. One thing for sure, he hadn’t just picked her up at the station today. He’d come with her from London. Definitely. The girl’s real father perhaps? Why would he personally bring her all the way-?

“D’you mind?” his defensive call pulled you from your thoughts and you realised you’d been staring. You raised your hands in silent apology and took a step back, once again remembering your place. You’d come here to foster a child in need, not eavesdrop on the telephone calls of obscurely out-of-place Londoners. Your attention fell back on the bench that beckoned you, but you could still clearly hear that thick accent softer in the air as you departed. “...A’right, fine, don’t worry ‘bout it. We’ll be on the next train to Euston, then.”

You settled on the bench, no longer caring to listen to the man’s sigh and the ding of the telephone being put back on its hook. You pulled your coat tighter around you, the light sting of tears behind your eyes growing harder to resist, until you started building your to-do list in your mind. Busying yourself in your head was the quickest way to help yourself from falling into despair, you’d discovered. Staying busy with the farmwork kept your mind and hands busy, and even as you sat there with your afternoon tasks completed, you’d have many more by the time you got home. It was exhausting work to do alone, but at least it helped you stay numb.

The pain of returning home started to grow within you once again, so you dabbed at your eyes and readied yourself to head home. Until you noticed a hue of red from the corner of your eye. “Excuse me? Can I sit here?”

The girl spoke with another surprising accent. Considering her father, you expected a similar deep Londoner’s accent, but the one she came out with was… German? Your brows raised in puzzlement, but you wasted no time in gesturing to the empty side of the bench. “Of course.”

Her father’s face was far from impressed as he approached the bench too, hissing out in a low voice, “Esther! Think about it first.” But it was too late, she’d settled right beside you.

She’d clearly hurried away from him to come and sit with you, and paid no heed at his warning. A little troublemaker, perhaps. “Are you waiting for a train? We just got off ours.” Her grin was bright and sweet, a stark difference from how she carried herself just moments ago.

“Actually, I’m not. I was just--” The father’s steps finally drew to a pause within touching distance of Esther. A looming, protective figure. “Well. That doesn’t matter. I was just about to be off.”

You gathered yourself and stood up, but wee Esther didn’t care, voice bright as sunshine. “You were looking for an evacuee?”

Those eyes felt heavy on you from beneath the trilby hat and you did your best not to look at them. “I… W-well, yes.”

“You have a big house?”

“Uh, it’s more like a farm, really.”

“Wow!” Her beaming face looked back to her father, and you took a glance too. His lips seemed to be pursed in thought, a brow quirked as she rattled on. “You have animals? Land?”

This Esther girl was certainly endearing. You couldn’t help the raising of your cheeks in a smile of your own, infectious from hers. You nodded, “Chickens and sheep, and two whole fields.”

Esther scooted closer on the bench with that ever-contagious grin on her sweet face, her messy braids flopping around her. “Then you must need a hand with all that! My- my father would be super good at it, especially mucking out the animals!” She turned with a laugh towards her father, who seemed less than thrilled that she’d offered him up for such a task.

“Alright, alright, enough from you,” he chastised her, stepping close enough to lay a protective hand atop her head once more. He was clearly a wary man, and you knew something peculiar must’ve happened to bring the two of them here like this, but it didn’t stop his surprisingly charming smile shining at her. “You just like the thought of me covered in shit, eh?”

“It’s not like you’d smell much different!” she snarked.

Your brows raised at the exchange. Granted, you’d little experience with children and parenthood, but you were sure it wasn’t commonplace for a father to swear in front of their child, and it was even less rare that a young girl would talk back in such a way. And yet, they shared a humoured smile.

He raised his gaze to you once more, though it was different this time. The smile on his face was alarmingly attractive, and the cheeky light in his eyes told you he knew it. He tipped his hat and nodded his head, voice polite and clear even with that accent in its veins. “Ka-Ahem. Curtis Bramley, East London. This is my girl. If you’re in need of a hand on your farm, we can offer you four. No need for paying, just a roof and a meal every night. How’s that sound, love?”

It was a lot to be thrown at you, and very quickly. How unorthodox to foster both a child and a fully-grown man; if it were taking in Esther alone, you wouldn’t have to think twice about it. But Esther and her father? Another man… In your home? It’d be like having your dream back, but-- With the wrong man.

Something in you froze, and you blinked up at him. You could already tell, he was so very different from your lost love. Your sandy haired husband, mellow and sweet, with the gentlest disposition in the world. His clothes were always stained with mud or grass, the scruff of his facial hair haphazardly shaven when he found the time for it.

And yet here was Curtis, dressed to the nines even after a day-long steam train journey, his moustache perfectly shaped and sitting on his face just right. Dark hair and dark eyes that visibly held a great many secrets, a shield of charm thick enough to divert the attention. A deep fellow. Certainly more than you ever thought you could handle.

And yet, he had a sweet little girl in need, asking kindly to share your life. The life you’d been living in solitude for far too long. The prospect was nothing short of terrifying, and yet… The way she twirled the end of her braid through her fingers in nerves. It was knotted and dirty, and some maternal instinct inside of you ached to wash and brush it for her. Grant her the chance to live like a happy little girl should.

You glanced to Curtis, and he must’ve caught the wistful uncertainty in your eyes, for he attempted to keep his smile from becoming downtrodden. He must’ve known it was a lot to ask of a stranger on a train platform who only expected to bring home a child. But he wouldn’t leave her side, and you both knew that. He tried to keep the sigh from his words, but he must’ve been too exhausted to keep it at bay. “‘Ow’s about two weeks, tops?”

Two weeks… Wasn’t that long. If it was too much for you, you’d be safe in knowing they’d be gone pretty quickly, and you could go back to solitary life with the animals. Perhaps it’d be worth a try.

You turned your attention to the smiling Esther once more, and it was like a dam broke. The instant swell of affection in your chest had you questioning why you ever doubted sharing your home with her, no matter the smallprint. You reached out to lay a careful hand atop her head, giving a ruffle of her stray hairs. You’d love to help her rebraid it properly. 

A grin lit up on your face, an affirmative nod offered to Curtis. “Two weeks, tops.”

A dual sigh of relief from the pair of evacuees. Young arms flung themselves around your waist, and the tears that stung your sinuses were now on the opposite end of the scale. Sheer joy enveloped you just as Esther’s embrace did and you didn’t waste a moment before holding her snug in your arms, surprised by how natural it felt to rest your cheek on her head.

You laid your eyes on Curtis. That gaze, previously harsh, previously charming… It was now the truest it’d been so far. Nothing but softness and gratitude, his own exhaustion evident. You could see how the load on his shoulders had lightened, how caring for Esther on his own had been so hard for him. But now, he wouldn’t be alone either. 

“Cheers, love. You’re a fucking star.”

[oepionie]

— "AN ANGEL'S REVERENCE" kuras

SYNOPSIS: Drunk off your affections, Kuras is so overwhelmed by love for you that he makes a promise which will last for all of eternity and stand the test of time.

⊹ [ cw ] — slightly yandere-coded, ooc(?), religious themes◞

⊹ [ tags ] — FLUFF. ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP. GN! READER | kissing kuras, i luv lovesick men◞

⊹ [ a/n ] — hehe first fic for touchstarved! there's not much to go off in terms of characterization so this is quite vague but i just love kuras so much <//3 go play touchstarved!!!◞

Let your touch be the means of his salvation.

The press of your hands scorch his warm skin and ignite his nerves. Kuras conforms to you as though his entire body were a puzzle that needed to fit just so.

"I love you…" He hums against your lips, a slender hand running up the curve of your back. "I adore you…"

It seems as though the last eons of his existence have been completely obliterated in one instant. It seems as though he has forgotten the many years he has spent searching for redemption and atoning for his transgressions and sins.

In fact, it seems as though this is all he has ever known.

Although love was fickle, the doctor felt he couldn't get enough of yours. Even the gentlest of your kisses and touches seems to leave him breathless and lightheaded. Kuras acts nothing like the repentant angel he used to be—instead, he's lost in the kiss, and the unbridled joy he feels is so great that the next minute or so is but a blur.

"I belong to you…" You pant, equally drunk off of the exchange of affections. Kuras' divine gaze sweeps over your flushed form, igniting a scorching desire within the nooks and crevices of his heart. The doctor presses a warm kiss by the underside of your jaw, wanting nothing more than to bask in your luminescent light and love.

"And you, I belong to you." Kuras replies, simply parroting off of your words out of pure instinct. The honeyed words roll off his tongue without thought or even a second guess.

Only a single thought crosses his mind; this must never stop. He would be content to stay like this for the rest of his accursed life if it meant he could bathe himself in your seraphic presence.

"I am yours, always. I am yours today, I am yours tomorrow, and I am yours into eternity, and no one else's." Kuras murmurs, words filled with no hesitation. Behind the masqueraded veil of his golden eyes, a spark of determination appears, the embers blazing bright and bold like fire.

It almost sounds like he's made an eternal vow to you. And it certainly isn't the kind of vow that can be broken so easily, I assure you.

Kuras would see to it that it never did.

—TAGLIST ꒰ ♡🧷: if you want to be tagged, comment here!

@shkanoin

[bitterbutblue]

kokomi my love

when she loved me ☆ kokomi x reader

~ the amount of sad fucking relationship reels i got last night made me sad so now im projecting fuck u isntagram reels algorithm u made me CRY AT NIGHT

inspired by twenty five twenty one, 500 days of summer, u know the drill. if u guys want a full twenty five twenty one inspired long fic (with chapters) i am also down to write one.. i will cry writing it though

song: when she loved me - lyn lapid ~

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

The summer she fell for you, she wishes to never think about again. Whenever a specific song comes on, she wants nothing more than to go back in time but also wants to destroy the very stereo the music is playing from. She finds herself haunted by her own movements, how they mimic yours and how she still thinks about what you would do before she does anything.

"Don't throw it-"

Laughter rang through the empty violet forests as you threw your head back, uncontrolled and raw. She found herself smiling at the sight of you, so loose and so happy. She couldn't help the laughter that began bubbling out of her own lips as she covered her mouth with her hand, doubling over. She didn't know why she's laughing so hard, she didn't know what was so funny but seeing you so unbridled filled her with giddy she hasn't felt since she was a child.

"That was ridiculous." She giggled and the way you grinned at her had her smile softening- the previous laughter dying on her lips as she feels an overwhelming wave washing over her. It felt like a lyric of a song she doesn't know the tune of, but it's a lyric she can hum from the beats of her heart. It felt like a way back to a home she has not yet entered, it felt like you. You finally composed yourself, running a hand through your hair as the beam of moonlight lit you up like an angel in the night.

"Nothing wrong with that, right?"

You walk up to her, picking up the jacket that had been laid on the ground, used as a blanket to sit on and dusted it off. You wrapped it around Kokomi, buttoning it up snuggly for her as she fit her arms through the oversized sleeves of your jacket, the warmth from the jacket and heart causing her to overheat from an overwhelming feeling.

She has that moment in a picture frame in her heart, like a photo album that had been abandoned and recently found, still dusty but holds a fortune of memories that warm you up. Except this photo album was cold, desolate. Found in a junkyard, memories of strangers and who they once were.

"Nothing wrong with that."

It's a sickening feeling in her gut, churning and spinning and she orders for Gorou to turn off the damn stereo as quickly as possible. He just obliges, not saying anything. She throws down her quill, shaking away whatever memories she has of you. Her eyes dart over her desk, with papers once organised but now strewn all over the place, a lingering memory of the evening you tidied her desk for her hits her hard and fast before suddenly fading into what it was- the past.

"You can't live like this."

A soft voice echoed through the chambers of her desk- she looked up, bleary eyed and you just sigh. You walked up to her, wrapping your arms around her from behind her chair as she leaned into your touch, visibly exhausted. Her shoulders sagged downward, her head resting against your chest as she let out a breath she didn't realise she was holding in.

"I'm doing just fine."

"Really?"

You nestled your head on top of hers as you took one of her hands into your own, interlacing your fingers together.

"It's late. Let's go home?"

''I can't." She mumbles, eyes closing as exhaustion finally settles in between her bones, filling themselves in every crevice and every little nook and cranny of her body.

"Yes you can, darling." You whispered, squeezing her hand softly "They can't have their leader collapsing on them from exhaustion, can they now?"

Like a siren's song, she found herself drawn to your voice. She couldn't even stop herself from nodding as she moved subconsciously, her body just following the sound of your voice as you led her out of her office.

The next morning, she found her office tidied. Her papers organised into a neat stack with sticky notes labelling which papers are which. She picked up the note on her desk and she felt herself grinning ear to ear as she readthe contents on the paper.

Good morning, my love! I organised your desk for you, hope that's okay. If you need anything just text me, love youuu <3

Her desk has been a mess since that day. She had no energy in her to organise her notes or to sort her files. She finds it too difficult to do now, her lack of energy every day being too much. Getting out of bed is hard enough, and she's really not in the mood to have to clean everything when she function with it being a mess just fine (albeit a little harder to get through).

She hasn't had the time or energy to go home, to take the walk down the desolate and empty streets just scares her now with the build up of what has happened. She finds herself taking another way, a route where she won't have to relive the worst of it all.

"Why?"

The broken expression on your face had her swallowing in guilt.

"I'm sorry."

"You say that every time-"

You turned away, taking a shaky breath in as you tried to calm yourself down and Kokomi just stands there like a coward.

"This is exhausting, Kokomi."

She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers as she drops her work bag onto a chair, unsure if she should approach you or not.

She should've approached you that night.

You instead turned around angrily, facing her again and the pained look in your eyes had her looking away now because it ate her alive, knowing that she caused you this much pain.

"Couldn't you just let me know earlier? You keep disappearing on me, I keep worrying about if you died out there or not-"

"I will-"

"You said that last time."

She looked down.

"I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that."

She found herself not going to bed that night, sitting at the kitchen table as she listened to your muffled sobs through the door.

When Gorou tells her it's late, she just nods. The last thing she needs is to lie in an empty bed and feel the coldness of the night wrap its arms around her as an attempt to comfort her or to soothe the once-sharp pain, now faded into a dull thud with each thump of the heart. When she sleeps, she tucks her head into her arms, the hard wood digging into her elbows but the minorly uncomfortable pain is better than having to be overly consumed with her thoughts in the comforts of a bed.

She wakes up to a cup of tea in front of her and for a minute her heart leaps until she's hit with reality once more. She sees Gorou's handwriting and just wishes it was yours for a split second.

Kokomi, take care.

She screwed her eyes shut as she took a deep breath in, refusing to let you see the tears behind her eyes. You just stood opposite her, looking down at your shoes as tears fell down from your face and onto the ground.

"Was this my doing?"

The silence was broken by her shaky question as she finally brings herself to look up at you and she can feel her chest caving in again at the sight of you.

"It's not your fault."

Your voice was strained, as if you were using every atom in your body to try to make yourself sound as put together as possible.

"We've just grown so apart with all that's happened."

She has to stop herself from shaking, the entire world seems to be trembling until she realised it was just her.

"I don't want to say who's right or wrong. There isn't a right or wrong."

The evening chill that once held memories of cuddling under the stars is now just a sharp pierce through her skin, a blade running itself through each crevice of her beating and bleeding heart.

"We're making things difficult by blaming each other."

She bit down on her lower lip, trying to hold in the sob.

"You and I, we still care a lot for each other."

The words in her chest build up like word vomit.

"Did we have to come to this?" She whispered

"We were already coming to this."

She gasped when she felt a tug on her jacket, looking to see you buttoning up her jacket once more- your eyes filled with unshed tears as your trembling hands slowly slid each button through slit. A shaky gasp is let out as you tried not to sob, but it comes out choked as a tear falls and she couldn't stop herself. The shatter of her heart rang through the night as she feels the tear fall down her face, hot- burning a mark on her skin. She bit down on her lower lip once more, trying to stifle the sob but it still comes out and hearing your silent cries only made it harder for her to hold it in.

The dam breaks fully when she feels you pull her into a tight hug, and she knows this is the last time she'll feel your arms around hers like this so she holds on tight. The dam breaks and she sobs, loud and messy. The way you trembled had her feeling like she was going to shatter any minute. She held you as close as she could, arms tightening around your waist and hoping that maybe for the last time you two could just become one again.

"Let's not put ourselves through this again." You said softly, and she could feel your tears seep through her jacket- the jacket you buttoned for the last time.

She could only nod as she lets out a loud sob for the last time, and maybe the last thing you remember of her is the way she cries.

"Goodbye, Kokomi."

[merlinfromberlin]

I would LOVE to make fanart for your fics, are most of them just Tf Prime designs???

Oh, wow. Okay. That's ksdjfksajdflkjdsafl incredibly cool. I feel so honoured, thank you. <3

Yes, most of my fics just use the TF Prime designs, but there's a few exceptions:

Make You Feel Alright (universe): everything is TF Prime designs, but Bee has antennae similar to those he has in the Bumblebee movie;

Champions Aren't Born: this was initially a TFP prequel, but now no longer is - so, it is no longer associated with any specific continuity and its designs, but Bee still has doorwings;

A Little Left of Right: mostly TFP designs, but a lot of my Shattered Glass designs deviate from the official Shattered Glass designs/colour schemes;

Nooks & Crevices: not associated with any specific continuity, but I believe Bee is mentioned to have horns;

[stargareed]

In Between

Summary: Dany and Jon reflect on their lives while preparing for their next challenge; a.k.a. how much meta can Stargareed cram into a single fic?

(Jonerys fanfic) (Warning: smut)

Jon and Dany laid in bed in opposite directions, both staring at the ceiling, their heads parallel and almost touching. Jon cocked his head as he tried to estimate the distance between the ceiling beams, lightly brushing against Dany’s face and neck. Dany hummed, so Jon gently nuzzled against her soft skin. “Mmh, Jon,” Dany whispered. He felt dainty fingers lightly scratch the top of his head, as he began to melt like his old surname. They stopped just before he became a puddle.

Jon turned his head and looked at the large, ornate hourglass on the table against the wall. He was surprised to see the upper glass bulb was almost empty. It seemed full the last time he glanced at the clock. How long ago was that? An hour ago? A day? A week? He always seemed to lose track of time when he was with his aunt. The upper and lower bulbs separated by a narrow neck reminded him of Westeros. Unlike his uncle, Jon could say with certainty he was glad he ventured South. It was there he met the other half to his hourglass, with whom he’d forever be joined, as they each alternated filling the others’ emptiness with every turn in life.

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” Dany broke the silence. Though she was still staring at the ceiling, she knew exactly what her husband was looking at.

“There’s still time,” Jon responded, instinctively raising his sword arm to lightly squeeze Dany’s hand that had given him relaxing tingles moments earlier. Dany squeezed back against Jon’s smooth grip, basking in the feeling of security only her nephew could provide.

Jon raised his head slightly and glanced at the large, closed door that led out of the room. It seemed bigger and closer than it did the last time he looked. He could’ve sworn he heard faint whispers.

“So, Nephew. There’s still so many nooks and corners I’ve yet to explore when it comes to you,” Dany said, a hint of mischief in her tone.

“Believe me, Aunt, you yourself have plenty of crannies and crevices I would love to probe,” Jon retorted, not even bothering with the hint.

Dany snorted. “Fair enough. So . . .” she began, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Who are some people whose lives contrast well with your own?”

“I thought you were going to ask my favorite color?” Jon japed.

Dany huffed. “Black, white, red, gray. In that exact order. Come on Jon, nooks and corners,” Dany chided, clapping her hands together twice.

“Aye. Crannies and crevices, understood. But still, that’s a pretty broad question.”

“I like to cast a wide net. You get more fish that way,” Dany explained.

“Fine. I’ll bite,” Jon said in a gruff Northern burr. “Let’s see . . . well, Robb, first and foremost.”

“How so?”

“Well, we had the same father, supposedly, yet our lives were quite different. Seeing the disparity in how we were treated taught me what it meant to be a bastard.” Jon began thinking of someone else, that is until he saw Dany’s mouth turning toward him out of the corner of his eye.

“I need examples, Jon.”

Jon noticed Dany’s upside-down eyes. They looked strange. Thick silver lashes lined the bottom, rising to overtake the sparse top lashes every time she blinked. Despite the peculiar position, her eyes still somehow looked gorgeous, causing him to chuckle.

“What?” Dany asked, slightly annoyed.

“Your eyes look queer because they’re upside down, but they’re still beautiful somehow. You Valyrians don’t play fair.”

“You’re one to talk, Nephew. You may not have the coloring, but you took after my brother.”

“How would you know?”

“Uh, I saw him in the House of the Undying, remember? I thought he was Viserys at first. And while at first glance you two look different, upon closer inspection you both share certain traits. Like the shape of your eyes.” She clumsily draped a hand over his eyes, moving by touch alone. “Your nose.” She lightly tapped the tip of his with her forefinger. “And my personal favorite, your lips.” She placed her finger against Jon’s mouth, refusing to move until he kissed it.

“Speaking of nose,” Jon stretched his neck to look at Dany’s upside-down nostrils which were about level with his eyes, “I must say, sweet Aunt, you have impeccable nose hairs.”

“Seven Hells, Jon!” Her nostrils flared as she vigorously flicked the crown of his head.

“Oww. Fine, your nose hairs are less than impeccable. Better?”

“You. Are. An. ARSE!” She tugged on his hair, causing Jon to flinch, then instinctively rubbed the spot she just made sore. “No more distractions. I need examples.”

“Of? Oh, of Robb. Well,” Jon stroked the bottom of his chin, “the obvious one is when he and I were little boys. We trained together every morning in Winterfell.” Jon smiled as he remembered. “We would pretend to be famous swordsmen: Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Florian the Fool, Daeron the Young Dragon, Ryam Redwyne. We would shout and laugh, and even cry when no one was looking.” Jon’s smiled faded. “But then one morning I called out that I would be the Lord of Winterfell, which I’d done a hundred times before. But this time, Robb had answered that I couldn’t be the Lord of Winterfell because I was bastard-born, and that his lady mother said I could never be the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Oh Jon,” Dany said sympathetically, and scratched his head.

“I don’t think he was trying to be mean or anything. But the reason I remember it so vividly was because it was the first time I truly realized I was different than Robb. And though we spent almost all our time together, there would always be a wall between us separating who we were, and a ceiling over my head separating who we could become.”

“And it was Lady Stark who told Robb?” Dany asked with a flat, annoyed tone.

“Aye. She didn’t like that we were so close, but there wasn’t much she could do because Uncle Ned insisted on it. So, she’d make comments like that. I mean, there was nothing inherently wrong with telling Robb how the world worked, and what he stood to inherit.”

“But I have a feeling she neglected to tell him to never rub it in your face. After all, seven-year-olds aren’t know for their tact,” Dany said with a frown.

Jon just nodded and gave a sad smile. “She always used to glare at me with her deep blue eyes and hard cold mouth, whenever I bested Robb at swords or sums or most anything. You see, not only were Robb and I best friends and constant companions, we were rivals, always competing. Her look seemed to say, ‘Who are you?’ ‘This is not your place.’ ‘Why are you here?’” Jon imitated Lady Stark’s Southern accent. “But it would never stop me. Even though her stare made me feel uncomfortable and unwanted, I felt like I had to prove myself—to show the world I was worthy of being Lord Stark’s son, even if only a bastard. I hoped that if I did so, one day people would say Ned Stark had four sons, not three.”

Dany turned around so that she was laying her head on Jon’s chest. Then she rose for a moment so the tips of her hair kissed the parts of Jon’s chest not covered by his tunic, causing Jon to grin. “And what would Lady Stark do if she knew you were married to a queen?” Dany asked with a smirk.

Jon reached for a pillow and put it behind his head. “That would probably earn a scowl or three,” Jon answered, causing Dany to giggle at her favorite dragon reference as she laid her head back down on Jon. “But yes, not being allowed to sit with my siblings during the feast when King Robert visited Winterfell caused some resentment. Looking back, I’m not particularly proud of the thoughts I had as I watched Robb escort Myrcella to the feast. Tyrion said Myrcella was nothing like her mother, and of course Robb was the best brother I could’ve hoped for. But I was just upset at the situation. Oh, and I remember Prince Joffrey insulting Robb in the training yard, but completely ignoring me. It seemed bastards were beneath even his contempt, though of course, he turned out to be one himself.” Jon grinned.

“Gods, Cersei’s farce of a marriage to the King was such a disaster. I’ll never know how she could possibly think she could get away with fucking her brother behind the King’s back for years and passing off Jaime’s bastards as Robert’s heirs, when they looked nothing like him.” Dany lifted her head as Jon flipped his pillow to feel the coolness of the other side against neck and face. That was fast. I must be making him warm, she thought. She laid her head back on Jon’s chest. While Jon was warm, it was worth it because she loved hearing his heartbeat, something you could never enjoy with even the coolest pillow. Though now Jon’s heartbeat was so faint she could scarcely hear it.

“But back to Lady Stark,” Dany said. “What would you say was the worst thing she did to you? Telling you that Bran’s accident should’ve happened to you?”

“That was pretty bad, admittedly. Though I also think she was grieving and not in her right mind. Honestly, her attempts to poison any relationship I had with my siblings, and never calling me by name, only ‘bastard,’ were more painful because they weren’t a one-time thing. But the worst was when she kicked me out of Winterfell when I was four-and-ten. And Uncle Ned couldn’t take me with him to King’s Landing. The only other place I had family was the Wall, with my Uncle Benjen. To be honest, it was my idea to join the Watch in the beginning. I assumed the men there were like my Uncle Benjen, and it’d be a place where even a bastard could rise high. But once I got there, I realized Tyrion was right. It was mainly criminals who barely knew how to fight and knew even less of honor. I wanted to go back to Winterfell, to be with Robb, Bran, and Rickon. But I knew Lady Stark wouldn’t allow it. So, I said my vows and swore my life away, for better or worse.”

Dany threw an arm and leg over Jon and hugged him with her entire body. “I’m sorry the world is such an awful place for a lot of people,” she said in a muffled tone, her warm breath tickling Jon’s chest.

“Granted, when I got to the Wall, Donal Noye and others helped me realize how good I had it at Winterfell. Most of the common-born men of the Night’s Watch would’ve loved being raised as a noble bastard alongside trueborn half siblings. But it was still surreal when Robb became king. I mean, Robb and I played together, fought together, shared our first cup of wine. But because we didn’t share mother’s milk, he became a king who I imagined would be sipping summerwine from jeweled goblets, while I was kneeling beside a stream sucking snowmelt from cupped hands. I still remember what Lord Commander Mormont told me after Robb’s ascension: ‘They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You’ll have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they’ll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon, and I’ll name you a liar.’”

Dany laughed. “He had the right of it.”

Jon nodded. “Aye.”

“I’m curious, as you’ve gotten older, has your opinion of Lady Stark changed?” Dany asked, running her fingertip along the edge of Jon’s tunic.

Jon took a deep breath. “I think, for the most part, her actions were understandable. She had a duty to her Tully family to make sure Robb would inherit Winterfell and that her other children would have favorable matches. It was also rational for her to be wary of me, a bastard who, unlike her trueborn sons, looked like her lord husband. Seven Hells, just think of the trouble the Blackfyres caused our family over the years. And Ramsay Bolton likely murdered his trueborn brother who was nothing but kind to him. According to Lady Dustin, Domeric Bolton almost sounded like a Northern Rhaegar, with his love of books, harps, and horses.”

“Well, I don’t think all bastards should be judged based on Ramsay’s actions. He was definitely the worst of the worst,” Dany said, peaking underneath Jon’s shirt.  

“I’m not sure, everyone knows bastards are wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit,” Jon said sarcastically. “I had once meant to prove them wrong, to show my lord father that I could be as good and true a son as Robb.” Jon gave a bitter laugh. “But then Robb became a hero king, while I became a turncloak murderer.” Jon cracked his knuckles.

“But you were ordered to slay your superior to prove your loyalty to the wildlings so you could infiltrate their ranks, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. Truth is irrelevant. The only thing that matters is how things are perceived. Me and Robb’s divergent paths almost remind me of two leaves floating next to each other in a river. Once they take different paths around a rock, they can quickly find themselves on opposite sides of the river, at the mercy of currents beyond their control. It’s a shame more people don’t pause to consider whether bastards’ supposed behavior is the result of everyone treating them with suspicion and never giving them the benefit of the doubt. It’s easy to become how people treat you, even if it really isn’t who you are.”

“Regardless, I still don’t understand why Catelyn didn’t adjust her level of suspicion when she saw how close you were with your siblings,” Dany said, running her fingernails along Jon’s bare chest.

“Well, even Theon showed how someone who was treated kindly by a family could turn on them,” Jon said sadly. “But you’re right. I would’ve hoped that, because my love and loyalty to my trueborn siblings was obvious to everyone, I wouldn’t be viewed as a potential traitor.”

“I guess even if Lady Stark was not concerned about you, she still had no idea if your loyalty would be shared by your sons, and their sons,” Dany said.

“Aye.” Jon took a deep breath and stretched his arms, momentarily causing Dany’s head to rise. “That’s why I think the crux of our conflict was based on how custom and inheritance laws pitted us against one another. I’d like to think that, under different circumstances, we’d have gotten along. For example, if Rhaegar had won at the Trident, and I had grown up in King’s Landing and then went to Winterfell to foster with Uncle Ned, I believe we would have been on friendly terms.”

“Are you kidding? She would’ve been your best friend and probably would’ve begged you to marry Sansa!” Dany japed, running her fingertip beneath Jon’s tunic until she found a nipple, which she proceeded to tease until it stiffened.

Jon snorted and grabbed Dany’s hand so he could speak. “Aye, I believe it. Wait, would I be a legitimized bastard or a trueborn prince in this imaginary world?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dany said. “Sansa would want this either way.” Dany moved her hand to grab Jon’s cock through his small clothes. Then she leaned forward and whispered, “But I’d fly up to Winterfell on Drogon and tell her to leave you alone because this,” she squeezed his cock, “is all mine.”

Jon closed his eyes and moaned. Then he scrunched his face. “Wait, how do you have dragons in this imaginary world? You would’ve never met Illyrio.”

“I have dragons in every world, real or imaginary. It’s what I do. It’s who I am,” Dany replied, lightly stroking Jon’s cock through the thin fabric.

“Maybe so. But ‘Drogon’?” Jon opened his eyes and cocked his brow.

“No, obviously he wouldn’t be Drogon in this imaginary world,” Dany said, beginning to get annoyed. “I’d probably name him after someone I loved who had passed away. And if you keep it up, he just might be named Jongon,” Dany playfully threatened.

Jon shook his head and gave a half smile. “We need to work on your fictional names, my love.”

Dany made a face at him, wrinkling her nose in disdain, like Arya used to. Then she laid her head back on his chest. Her satin night gown felt cool against his side as his tunic had ridden up.

“That said, not everything Lady Stark did with regards to me was based on protecting her family. She clearly had a grudge against me. Which, again, is understandable to an extent, though not necessarily justified,” Jon said.

“Not justified at all, but I agree, we’re only human,” Dany said sadly.

“After Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover arrived in Winterfell with Robb’s Will which named me King in the North, Maege confided that Lady Stark argued for some distant Vale cousins to inherit Winterfell over me. And Catelyn kept worrying what would happen if I ever ‘bred.’”

Dany rolled her eyes. “According to Ser Barristan, King Robert was also worried that I might ‘breed,’ which is why he sent assassins against me after I married Drogo. Isn’t it great to be viewed as an animal?”

“Aye, though I can’t say I’m surprised Lady Stark used that language.” Jon smiled. “But apparently Robb refused, told her that Ned Stark had four sons, and said I should be the heir over some Vale lordling who had never even seen Winterfell.” Jon paused and swallowed as his vision began to blur.

“He really was a good brother, wasn’t he,” Dany said, looking up at Jon.

Jon nodded and wiped his eyes. “Aye. He always treated me as a brother, as an equal. He never made me feel lesser, especially the older he got and began to realize how unfair things were. He would’ve made a great King, Warden, or Lord of Winterfell. He had the best qualities of Ned and Catelyn. Though it’s a shame those good qualities got him killed by turncloaks desperate for power. The irony for Catelyn is that, by treating me badly to protect Robb, she actually sowed the seeds for his demise. Now, I don’t know this for sure, but I suspect the reason he insisted on marrying Jeyne after taking her maidenhead is in part because of Ned’s honor, but also because he didn’t want any potential child he had with her to grow up a bastard and be treated like his mother treated me.”

“That may very well be true,” Dany said. “Life is fully of sad ironies.” She removed the golden ring with the dragon signet Jon had given her and started playing with it. My mother’s.

“Speaking of metals,” Jon said, looking at Dany’s ring. “While Robb and I show the differences in how bastards and trueborn are treated, Theon Greyjoy and I show the different ways someone can react to being an outcast. We were both raised in Winterfell but were never part of the real family. Theon because he was a ward, me because I was a bastard. We both struggled with feelings of envy and not belonging. But, while I remained loyal to my family, Theon betrayed the family that had treated him well by sacking Winterfell and allegedly killing Bran and Rickon. Granted, I don’t think Theon owed the Starks loyalty like I did. After all, he was, essentially, Ned Stark’s hostage, whose life could end at any time based on Balon Greyjoy’s behavior. But he was well treated during his time in Winterfell, and to repay that with the level of betrayal he engaged in is inexcusable.”

Dany rotated the ring with her fingertips. “Even he admits that. But, of course, he suffered greatly for that betrayal,” Dany said, wincing.

“Aye, that he did. The gods don’t always reward the just and punish the wicked, but they did in Theon’s case.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

Jon scratched his nose and thought for a second. “From speaking with Asha, Theon initially tried to get the Ironborn to fight with Robb. But after being rejected by his father, humiliated by his sister, and enduring mockery for being a Northerner, I think he wanted to prove his blood was still salt and iron. So, he went along with Balon’s plan to attack the North while most of the North’s fighting men were South of the Neck. Ultimately, a young man concerned about his place in the world is a dangerous thing. While it sometimes leads to acts of bravery and heroism, it seems to equally lead to acts of shameless killing, though no doubt viewed as heroism by the killer in his desire for glory. I think the latter occurred with Theon.”

“And the former occurred with you,” Dany said in a sing-song voice, rising to kiss Jon on the cheek. She rested her head beside his own and stared at him with hooded eyes. Her kiss caused tingles to rush down Jon’s neck, while her praise reddened his face.

Dany looked at Jon’s unblemished eye. The eye I would’ve seen a thousand times had we grown up together, had Rhaegar won at the Trident, she thought. Jon lifted his hand and began lightly caressing her cheek with his thumb. Dany leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, a soft smile forming on her lips. Then Jon took the ring and slid it back on to Dany’s finger, studying the dragon.

“Speaking of dragons, black ones anyways, what about Aegon the Pretender?” Dany asked. “I feel like his life contrasted well with my own, but I’m curious if you think the same as to your own life.”

“Yes to both,” Jon said. “As for my life, while we were both ‘hidden,’ I didn’t realize I was being hidden, while he was very much aware.”

“But in a way he was being hidden from his true identity as Illyrio’s son and descendant of the female line of Blackfyres through his mother, Serra,” Dany pointed out.

“True. That’s because his hidden identify wasn’t actually his identity, while mine was. Also, I was being hidden for my own protection, not to take back the throne, while he was hidden so his handlers could gain power. That became obvious after speaking with Tyrion, who said Varys told him ‘power resides where men believes it resides. No more and no less.’”

“Don’t forget that Illyrio actually told Tyrion that ‘black or red, a dragon is still a dragon,’” Dany said, shaking her head. “Of course, I knew Aegon was fake when I saw my vision of a mummer’s dragon.”

“Another contrast is that many in Westeros accepted him as Rhaegar’s son—because he had the look, the sword, and other trappings—even though he wasn’t,” Jon said.

“It was strange that he carried Blackfyre, all the while insisting he wasn’t a . . . Blackfyre,” Dany joked.

“By contrast, I never proclaimed I was Rhaegar’s son, even though I was.”

“Do you regret not telling more people?” Dany asked.

“No. I told the people who needed to know: you, my Stark family, and our closest advisors. There was no need to make a formal announcement to the lords at large because they were already allowing me to lead the fight against the Dead. We didn’t need to be distracted by questions of paternity and legitimacy.”

“Well, I think most people realized the truth by the end. After all, not many Starks could have mounted Rhaegal. And the quartered sigil you took into battle likely put any doubts to rest.”

Jon grinned. “Aye, the sigil I used as King in the North—Ghost on a black background—was relegated to one quarter. House Targaryen’s sigil occupied two quarters. And a blue winter rose on a white background filled the fourth square. I still think I should’ve used the Knight of the Laughing Tree to honor my mother.

“No,” Dany insisted. “As I said then, a blue flower growing from a chink in a wall of ice filling the air with sweetness was a vision I had of you back in Essos. It was sentimental to me.”

“You also dreamed of me being your shadow lover,” Jon said with a wink.

“True, but that’s probably not something you should have on a sigil,” Dany japed.

Jon chuckled. “But, back to Aegon, I think my biggest contrast with him was that, while he claimed to be the rightful heir, even though he wasn’t, I never claimed to be the heir, even though I very well may’ve been.”

“Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower seemed to think so when they gave up their lives to protect you instead of fleeing to Dragonstone to protect Viserys,” Dany said.

“Aye. They knew about my parents’ marriage. And I don’t think they were the only ones. When I became Lord of Winterfell, I received notes the prior Maester had written before his death. Maester Luwin’s detailed writings went back years, discussing all manner of things, but there was a section for each of the Starks, including me. Most of it concerned illnesses and physical examinations, but Maester Luwin was also concerned with other matters.”

“Gossip?” Dany asked.

Jon laughed. “Not quite. Just, important information detailing the development of each Stark, both physically, mentally, and emotionally.”

“What did it say about you?”

“It mentioned that, a few times over the years, Lord Stark had to put the issue of my mother’s identity to rest. He would never say who my mother was, but would say I was his ‘blood’ and that was all anyone needed to know.”

Dany laughed. “Well, that was true.”

“Aye. Lord Stark hated lying and avoided it when he could. Which makes me wonder . . . you see, years later, according to Maester Luwin’s account, when Lady Stark insisted that I couldn’t stay in Winterfell, Ned Stark called her ‘damnably cruel’ because she knew ‘a boy with a bastard’s name’ would be shunned in King’s Landing. When I read it, I thought it strange that Lord Stark didn’t just say a ‘bastard’ would be shunned.”

“Because you weren’t a bastard; you were a boy with a bastard’s name,” Dany said, anticipating Jon’s line of thinking. Jon nodded, then he smirked. “What?” Dany asked, grinning.

“When I learned that my parents married, so that I arguably had a claim to the throne, it made many prior statements I and others had made deliciously ironic. For example, when Arya asked why I wasn’t sparring with Joffrey and Robb when King Robert came to Winterfell, I told her it was because ‘bastards are not allowed to damage young princes. Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords.’”

“Which was a true statement, it just applied in the reverse,” Dany said with a broad smile.

“Aye, the gods surely have a sense of humor when they’re not killing people,” Jon said. “Speaking of Arya, she said a guard once told her that a certain black cat that roamed the Red Keep, whom he referred to as a ‘black bastard,’ was ‘the real king of the castle.’ Arya had forgotten about it until she heard people in Braavos refer to me as the ‘Black Bastard of the Wall.’ I couldn’t help but laugh because I’d been called that by Tormund and other wildlings numerous times."

Dany laughed. “I think I’d like to meet that cat.” She absent-mindedly rubbed her thighs together as she thought of something to say to fill the silence. “Wait, Ser Barristan said my niece Rhaenys had a black kitten she called Balerion. I wonder what happened to him after she died? Do you think it’s possible they’re the same cat?”

A line appeared between Jon’s brows. “I don’t know. That would be fascinating if it were true. I’d have a connection to my half-sister through Arya and the cat.”

“Balerion,” Dany reminded him.

“Aye, Balerion.”

“You know, you two are also connected because you share the same father,” Dany added with a slight smirk.

Jon just shook his head and tapped Dany’s nose, though he had to retreat when his aunt tried to bite his finger. They were both quiet for a bit, and then Jon chuckled. “Back to the ironies, I also remember telling Sam it would be folly for Melisandre to burn Mance Rayder for a king’s blood sacrifice because ‘Mance’s blood is no more royal than mine own.’ I told Gilly not to kneel for me because ‘that’s just for kings.’ And Mance even told me that the skinchanger, Varamyr, asked if he could try to steal Ghost from me because Ghost ‘would be a second life worthy of a king.’”

“Well, was he right?” Dany asked with cocked brow.

Jon’s forehead creased for a moment. “Considering Ghost protected my mind during death and showed me who my mothers was, I’d say he was. Oh, and then there was Mormont’s raven who would always call me ‘king.’ Though, according to Bran, the raven was controlled by Bloodraven, who’d been guiding me, Bran, and others.”

“He was your Quaithe,” Dany said.

“Aye,” Jon agreed with a smile. “Another thing we have in common.”

Jon got up and poured them both some wine. There was only one cup, so they both sat cross legged on the bed, alternating sips.

“And then there’s you,” Jon said.

“Me?” Dany asked, genuinely surprised. “You may need to be careful, Lord Commander,” she half-japed.

Jon chuckled then took a sip. “No, just because you contrast with my life, doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It just means you contrast with my life.”

“I’m a woman, you’re a man. I have silver hair and purple eyes, you have brown and gray. You grew up in Westeros, I grew up in Essos,” Dany rattled off.

“True, those are differences. But I was thinking along another line. A big contrast is that you always knew your identity, whereas mine was hidden. And you accomplished so much early on, whereas, at least compared to you, I was a late bloomer.”

“You mean you didn’t single-handedly bring back dragons into the world at four-and-ten?” Dany asked with a smirk, taking the wine from Jon.

“No, I was too busy getting drunk because I wasn’t allowed to sit with my family at a feast,” Jon joked. “And it wasn’t quite singlehandedly.” Jon raised his brow. “Wasn’t there some blood magic involved?”

“I may’ve had a little help.” Dany shrugged and took a sip. “Mmm. This is good.”

“The things you did fit the Azor Ahai prophecy, almost exactly,” Jon said, taking the cup back. “You were born in Dragonstone, a place of salt and smoke. You walked unharmed into flames to wake dragons from petrified eggs, which were like stone, all the while a comet, a bleeding star, streaked across the sky.”

“The Dothraki word for the comet actually meant ‘bleeding star,’” Dany added.

“And just in case Dragonstone wasn’t enough, because you were walking into a funeral pyre, there was smoke, and no doubt salt from the tears,” Jon said, sloshing the wine around and inhaling the scent.

“There was also sweat,” Dany noted with a sheepish grin. “It was hot.”

“While you didn’t have a flaming sword, you did have three dragons that were even better.”

“Xaro actually once referred to my dragons as a ‘flaming sword above the world,’” Dany said, reaching for the wine.

“Though I guess you weren’t literally reborn, only figuratively.”

“You’ve got me beat there,” Dany said, taking a gulp.

“Regardless, then you went on to do amazing things like freeing the slaves. Benerro proclaimed you Azor Ahai, and our Great Uncle Aemon, who knew a thing or two about prophecies, became convinced just before his death that you were the Princess That Was Promised, at least according to Sam.”

Dany nodded. Jon snorted. “I wish you could’ve seen the look on Melisandre’s face when she learned about you: a Targaryen, born on Dragonstone of Aerys and Rhaella’s line, who hatched dragons from petrified eggs beneath a comet.”

Dany sighed and shook her head. “Poor thing. But I’ve said this before, I really think the gods showed her what she needed to see to help you become who you were meant to be. In the same way, Benerro didn’t see you in his flames, only me, because he was closer to me and more able to offer guidance through Moqorro.”

“It’s strange that both were so convinced there was only one hero. It’s like they never considered the possibility of a second Targaryen,” Jon said.

“Didn’t you say Melisandre would ask to see Azor Ahai, but R’hllor would show her you instead, and she would get frustrated because the gods were hiding Stannis from her?”

“I found that amusing as well. It’s interesting how questioning our assumptions is the last thing we think to do sometimes, even when everything else is telling us our assumptions are wrong.”

“How did she become so convinced it was Stannis in the first place?” Dany asked, showing Jon the empty wine cup when he asked for a sip and pretending to be sad for his sake.

Jon frowned. “She saw Dragonstone in her flames, and he was the current Lord of Dragonstone. She also saw a man in black armor with a burning sword leading the fight against the Others, and assumed it was Stannis.”

“But it was you,” Dany said, with a lazy smile.

“Aye, just like my dream. Armored in black ice with a sword that burned red hot in my hand.”

“Ice and fire,” Dany said. “I also had a dream, that I was mounted on a dragon and saw the Usurper’s rebel host armored all in ice at the Trident. I bathed them in fire and they melted away like dew.”

“I didn’t know you also dreamed of our fight against the Dead,” Jon said. “I wonder if Stannis had any dreams? I doubt it. It was so obvious to everyone that it wasn’t Stannis. Maester Aemon noted Stannis’s sword produced light without heat and was merely an empty glamor. Mel obviously knew that as well because she was the source of the magic, but she fooled herself into thinking it was legitimate.  Seven Hells, Davos said even Stannis questioned the efficacy of his glimmering sword when he complained that, on the Blackwater, his magic sword was no better than common steel, and that a dragon would’ve turned the battle. And I remember telling Melisandre that Stannis wasn’t actually born on Dragonstone. But she wouldn’t listen to reason.”

“But her stubbornness worked out for everyone in the end because she was in a position to help the real Prince That Was Promised: you.” Dany pointed the empty wine cup at Jon.

“What is the saying? Prophecy is like a half-trained mule who bites your prick off?” Jon japed.

Dany laughed. “No, Nephew, it’s a treacherous woman who kicks you in the head!”

“That’s right! I’d forgotten,” Jon said, grinning like a fool and taking Dany’s empty cup. My fool, Dany thought as he walked away.

Jon started to pour more wine. “Me being Azor Ahai is also amusing. Sam said that Maester Aemon once asked where the Prince That Was Promised was, and Melisandre replied, 'He stands before you though you do not have the eyes to see.'”

“Well, she wasn’t wrong. You were there the whole time,” Dany said, trying to guess how full the cup would be.  

Jon sat down on the bed and took a big gulp before passing the cup to Dany. “Even before my resurrection, I knew that I’d be fighting the Others. Tormund once asked me, as his people were entering Castle Black to escape the Others, if my sword could ‘cut cold.’ He said it was one thing to fight the dead, but their masters—white mist, shadows with teeth, air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest—were another thing entirely. Sam had discovered in a book that Valyrian steel could kill the Others. Though I knew books were different than battle, I had a strange sort of confidence. I also remember watching the wildlings enter Castle Black and observing how afraid they were of the shadows, of the night, of the Others. For some reason, at that moment, I heard Alys’s words in my mind: 'Dance with me.'”

“Dance with me? Like fight with me?” Dany asked, enjoying the wine’s fruity scent.

“Aye. I knew I was destined to cross swords with the cold shadows. It was also in my vows, now that I think about it. I swore I’d be ‘the sword in the darkness . . . the fire that burns against the cold . . . the light that brings the dawn.’”

“And then you were resurrected,” Dany said. “And everything changed.” She cocked her head. “Or maybe it didn’t, and everyone else just learned what you already knew: you’d save the world.”

“Aye. Melisandre had been warning me about daggers in the dark. But she’d been wrong about so much else, and I had other things to worry about: making sure we had enough food for the winter, making sure the wildlings, brothers of the Watch, and the queen’s men didn’t kill each other, making sure we were ready when the Dead came. And then I got that letter . . . Arya . . . it was too much.”

Dany gave a sympathetic look. She knew all about the strong desire to protect.

“My last words were ‘Ghost,’ and then the next thing I knew, I was inside the Lord Commander’s chambers. The door was locked. I’ve never felt such rage. It was all consuming. But then Melisandre somehow opened the door. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘You’re needed.’ I barked at her. Her eyes widened in shock because—"

“Ghost never barks,” Dany finished his sentence. She took a sip and handed the cup to Jon.

“Aye. She knew then what had happened. I ran down into the yard. Everything was chaos. The wildlings, black brothers, Northmen, and queen’s men were all fighting, swarming each other. I was able to cut through and find my targets. I could smell them. Wick was already dead, his throat slashed. But Bowen Marsh was still somehow on his feet, fending off wildling blades. I bit his sword arm and was surprised when it came off in my mouth. I then jumped on top of him and bit his neck. His blood tasted sweet. As I watched the life leave his body, I remember thinking: You killed me, I tried to save the Watch, the North, everyone, and you killed me for it.”

 Dany straightened her legs out and leaned back on her hands, a concerned look on her face as she’d never heard all the details of Jon’s death and resurrection.

“The next day they placed my body, Ser Patrek, and the others who died on a funeral pyre. Ser Patrek’s body had been mutilated by Wun Wun, so they covered it with his cloak of stars that had been turned red with his own blood. His cloak was so big it partially covered my body as well. Tormund and Melisandre insisted that our bodies burn to prevent us from rising as wights. The dead weren’t the only ones the red woman insisted on burning, though. Shortly after I received Ramsay’s letter stating that Stannis was dead, Castle Black received another letter, from Stannis, saying that should he perish in his battle against the Boltons, Melisandre should revive him with a King’s blood sacrifice, even from his own daughter, if necessary. Once it was discovered that Mance’s son was no longer there, it became necessary. So, the red woman had Shireen tied up next to our bodies, to burn along with us. As she cried out, and begged her mother to save her, Melisandre began asking the Lord of Light for Azor Ahai to rise. She was sacrificing Shireen to save Stannis.”

“Her mother allowed it?” Dany asked, horrified. She sat up and covered her mouth with her hand.

Jon put the wine cup on the bedside table. “Aye. Her own mother. It shows the dangers of religious zealotry. The Wildlings allowed it as well because, to them, Shireen was unclean, and a risk to everyone. Now, I wouldn’t have allowed it while inside Ghost, but I wasn’t there.”

“Where were you?”

Jon smiled. “Half a league beyond the Wall, resting in a grove of weirwood trees. It was there I finally finished my dream.”

“Your dream?” Dany furrowed her brow.

“I had a recurring dream, where I would go into Winterfell’s crypts filled with its stone statues of past kings of winter and lords of Winterfell. Though I was scared, I knew I had to go anyways. I would scream that it wasn’t my place because I’m not a Stark, and at times the stone statues would tell me the same in their heavy granite voices. I’d sometimes hear Uncle Ned or Robb’s voices, as if they were at a feast, yet there was a wall between us, and I knew they did not prepare a place for me. As I kept going deeper and deeper, the crypts grew darker and darker, until I’d finally wake up.”

“What do you think it meant?” Dany asked.

“I didn’t know at the time, but now I believe the crypts represented my death. I didn’t want to go into the crypts, just like I didn’t want to die, but I had to. That the stone kings would tell me I didn’t belong, and there wasn’t a place at the table with Ned and Robb, who had already passed, meant that I wouldn’t stay dead. It wasn’t my time, at least not yet. I believe it also meant that I wasn’t a Stark, though not in the way I originally thought.”

Dany smiled. “How did the dream finally end?”

“I kept walking deeper into the crypts, as it got darker. But then a queer thing happened. I began to see. At first, I could only make out the shapes of the statues, but then I began to see more and more detail, until I found myself looking at Lyanna Stark’s statue. It’s strange, because she, and my Uncle Brandon, were never kings of winter or lords of Winterfell. Yet Uncle Ned gave them statues all the same. Uncle Ned would sometimes bring Lyanna’s statue blue winter roses. But in my dream, she wore an entire crown of winter roses, and they were fresh and vibrant. Then she spoke to me. ‘My son,’ she said. ‘I have something for you.’ I was still trying to understand why my aunt Lyanna referred to me that way, and why her statue had come alive, when she reached behind her and pulled out a box. I remember wondering if there was a hollow portion of her statue. I tried to open the box, but I couldn’t as my hands had already turned to stone, as if I were becoming a statue, and were too clumsy. I remember telling Lyanna that I shouldn’t be turning to stone because I wasn’t a Stark. She said, ‘I know, you’re a Targaryen. You’re a dragon. And it’s time to wake, my dragon.’”

Jon paused and cleared his throat. “And then I opened my eyes and saw that I was surrounded by flames. I sat up, confused, and heard shrieks and cries. It was only when I walked out of the fire, and saw everyone’s look of confusion, that I realized I was no longer in Ghost, and that I had somehow been resurrected.”

Dany narrowed her eyes and moved her lower jaw back and forth. “Now that I think about it, I may’ve had a vision of your resurrection in Essos. When Mirri was doing her blood magic for Drogo, I was taken into her tent, and saw many strange things, including the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.”

“I didn’t know that,” Jon said, furrowing his brow, before allowing his lip to curl. “I love how we had visions of each other across continents. Melisandre later said she also saw my resurrection in her flames, though she didn’t know it at the time. She saw a vision of a man, then a wolf, then a man again.”

“What visions did you have of me, Nephew?” Dany asked, batting her lashes.

“There was one time I swore Val’s honey-blonde hair looked pale silver under the moonlight.”

“I’m the moon,” Dany said excitedly, and held out her hand for more wine.

“Aye. Maybe that’s why Ghost has always been drawn to you? I remember one time Melisandre was flirting with me, I think she wanted me to help her make a shadow baby?”

Dany’s face fell flat. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, I didn’t make a shadow baby with her. But I bring it up because she explained to me how every man who walks the earth casts a shadow on the world. Some are thin and weak, others are long and dark. Then she told me to look behind myself, because the moon had kissed me and etched a shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall. I’ve always considered that our first kiss.”

“Oh Jon,” Dany whimpered and kissed him, lingering on his lips. When they finally parted, she saw a look of hunger flash across his eyes. It gave her an idea.

She got up from the bed and padded across the floor, knowing full well which part of her was being closely watched, and adjusting her walk accordingly. She came back with a candle, which she placed on the bedside table.

“All right, Nephew, I want you to move a little this way, mmm, not quite, why don’t you scoot down a little, yes, perfect!” Though Jon had a confused look, he still eagerly obeyed because he knew what his reward might be.

“What?” Jon finally asked after Dany’s unbidden grin lingered.

“You’re the shadow lover from my dreams!” she exclaimed. “Well, that is, until you move out of the candlelight, then you’ll be just Jon.”

“Just Jon?” he asked with a pretend pout as he began to crawl to overtake her.

“Aye, just Jon. Though, he’s not so bad I suppose,” Dany mewled the last word when Jon began kissing her neck. She laid down, then sat up again to remove her satin night gown, before slowly sinking back into the bed. She watched Jon’s eyes darken as he gazed at her nude form. He slowly removed his tunic and small clothes, his fully-hard cock seeming to flex before her.

Her knees were bent and touching, so Jon wedged his fingertips in between and began to firmly pull them apart. As her knees slowly fell to the side, he ran his fingertips along her inner thighs until his hands met at her womanhood. Jon let the back of his knuckles brush against her curls, then ran his nails along her unmarked belly. He reached underneath her and massaged her cheeks, then dipped his finger into her slickness, coating her peaking nub in her juices.

Jon sucked his finger, savoring his wife’s taste, then began kissing Dany’s foot, which she eagerly extended to him. He moved to her ankle, then her shin, massaging her calf as he went. When he reached her knee, he pivoted and began leaving a trail of kisses down her inner thigh. He was just about to kiss her nub when he felt a steady hand stop him.

“Mmm!” Dany moaned, grabbing a fistful of his hair and then scratching his scalp. “I want you up here kissing my lips and sucking my nipples,” she whined. Jon looked at Dany’s ethereal face, her enlarged pupils no doubt matching his own. He obeyed, though not before moving Dany’s leg so she was no longer straddling him, which she did not like. But he made up for it when he began kissing along her jaw line, down her neck, and across her collar. She felt a finger enter her, slowly moving in and out to the rhythm of her soft whines.

Jon left a trail of kisses down Dany’s chest, straight to her nipple. He used his tongue to push her nipple flat, then sucked to make it erect again. He felt Dany’s hand grab the back of his head, her breaths becoming more staggered.

Just as Dany was focused on Jon’s mouth, she felt his finger begin to play with her clit. Soon, the two were moving in tandem, with Jon alternating between rubbing his finger across her swollen nub, then his tongue across her erect nipple, and then doing both in unison. Alternating, unison, alternating, unison. “Fuuuuuck!: Dany cried out. Soon, her whimpers died down, replaced by moans that became higher and higher pitched until she screamed, “Goooooooods!!! Mmm . . . Stop! St-- . . . mmm . . . Whew.”

She looked at her husband, a faint grin on his lips. Aye, I guess you’ve earned it, Nephew. He moved her leg so that she was once again straddling him, and she positioned her hips so she lined up with him. The look on Jon’s face when he first entered her was a mix of relief, relaxation, and pure joy. It was one of her favorite parts about coupling. She enjoyed watching Jon’s pleasure almost as much as she enjoyed experiencing her own.

“You all right?” Jon asked. When Dany nodded, he sunk down even further, causing her to whimper. As he slowly moved in and out, he watched her eyebrows knit in concentration as she chewed her bottom lip. She wrapped her legs around him, scratching his back with her nails, and then moved one hand so she could squeeze her breast while he fucked her.

He began slowly moving inside her, enjoying the little sounds she made in response, almost as if he were playing her like an instrument. After a few minutes, he felt his cock begin to tingle. “Dany, you feel so good, I’m not sure I’ll be able to last much longer,” he warned.

“That all right, love,” Dany reassured. “You can finish any time you want. You’ve already given me my plea-- . . . pleasure.” She grabbed Jon’s arse and squeezed.

Jon increased his pace for a few moments then quickly pulled out and took himself in hand, shooting his seed across his aunt’s stomach and chest. “My love, you don’t have to do that. You can always finish inside me,” Dany insisted.

“I know, I just felt like painting you with my seed,” Jon replied with a lopsided grin.

“Seven help me,” Dany responded, though she failed to suppress her own grin. She caught the towel Jon threw her and clean up Jon’s "paint." Then she took Jon’s outstretched hand as he helped her up off the bed.

“Time to wash up, love,” Jon said, as they padded over to the basin. Though the water had been sitting out for a while, it was still perfectly warm. Jon took a clean washcloth and dipped it in the liquid, the dripping sounds it made as he squeezed the excess out was music to her ears. He began on the relatively clean parts of her body. Her face and neck, which included rubbing her ears with the warm cloth which gave her tingles. Then he had her turn around and washed her back while he whispered into her ear and let his hot breath cascade down her neck, resulting in more chills. After wetting the cloth again, he did her arms, then knelt down to wash her legs. He asked her to stand with her feet further apart so he could better reach her inner thighs, which she dutifully obliged. He slowly worked his way up one leg, then the other, teasing her with his deliberate pace. He dipped the cloth in the water again, and this time cleaned the part of her that he had dirtied. He wrung the cloth so the water fell down her chest and flowed off her breasts. Then he slowly changed the cloth’s position until the water was split by her nipple, forming two separate streams around her teat.

“If you make a puddle and I slip—” Dany threatened.

“I’ll just catch you and pick you up, then you’ll be completely at my mercy. Would you like that, my little naughty aunt?” Jon held her with one arm and spanked her so hard she gasped. Then a wicked grin spread across his face. “I said, wouldn’t you like that?” he whispered in her ear.

“Mmm hmm,” she whimpered. A memory flashed in her mind from a few weeks before the final battle. That night, for some reason, an animalistic lust came over Jon, and he ripped her clothes and threw her over his lap. He then spanked her so hard her eyes watered. But gods, it was the sweetest pain. Being so vulnerable to someone she trusted with her life was a thrill she couldn’t put into words. She’d done a lot of things with the men in her life, but never that. She hoped Jon would ask to do it again, as she planned to roll her eyes and act like she was doing him a favor, though of course she’d secretly enjoy it. But he never did. Instead, he apologized for the hunger that came over him, and said it was a result of being in Ghost for so long. A part of her wanted to ask him to try again, but she was too embarrassed. I wonder if this means he enjoyed it like I did? If so, we have plenty of time to practice. The thought made her almost giddy.

He finished washing under her arms and across her chest and stomach. Then he washed between her legs, and lastly between her cheeks.

She returned the favor, enjoying kneeling down before her king. She couldn’t help herself, so she gave a small kiss to the tip of Jon’s semi-hard cock, causing it to twitch. This amused her, so she took the tip into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it, as Jon moaned in between staggered breaths. She could taste herself on Jon as he began to grow. She gave him a look which asked if he wanted her to continue, but he shook his head and ran his fingers through her hair, causing her to hum in contentment. While she preferred to clean him with her mouth, she made sure to thoroughly wash her juices off his glistening cock with the cloth, though she was strangely pleased to see he didn’t grow nearly as much with the cloth as he had in her mouth.

After they finished washing and drying each other off, they climbed back into bed, still naked. The two then assumed one of their favorite positions: lying on their sides facing each other with Dany resting her head on Jon’s arm while straddling Jon’s thigh like a pillow.

“What about you?” Jon asked abruptly.

“What?”

“Who do you think contrasts well with your own life?”

Dany thought for a moment. “Viserys. He was a good brother at first, when I was little. But I think the stress of always being on the run and never having any money broke him. Especially after he had to sell Mother’s crown. At that point, he frequently abused me, and viewed me as a pawn to take back the throne.”

“Selling your only sibling to a slaver who didn’t even speak her language just to get an army is something I’ll never understand,” Jon spat.

“He once told me he’d let the entire khalasar fuck me, all forty thousand men, even their horses, if it meant he could get an army,” Dany recounted sadly. Jon’s jaw clenched. “Do you think he’ll be behind?” Dany asked, glancing toward the door.

“I don’t know,” Jon said. “But if he is, I’ve a thing or two to say to him.”

Dany took off her mother’s ring and began twirling it in her fingers again. “I was alone for a long time. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small, scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens if not to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”

“Aye,” Jon said, impressed by his wife’s wisdom. While Jon knew he was a Targaryen before he ever met Dany, it was only after meeting her that he felt proud to be one.

“That’s why I tried to stop Drogo’s khalasar from raping the Lhazareen women. That’s why I protected the remnants of the khalasar that followed me. That’s why I freed the slaves, even if it meant more mouths to feed. That’s why I tried to be like an older sister to Missandei. I wanted others to have the protection I never had growing up. And I was fortunate the gods gave me the power to do so.”

“To this day, I’m still amazed at how, in the span of less than a year, you went from being a meek girl scared of her brother and husband, to gaining authority and respect as Khaleesi, to becoming the Dragon Queen, defying your brother and the fiercest Dothraki warriors along the way. You know that’s not normal, right?” Jon grinned.

Dany rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her unbidden smile and the warmth on her cheeks. She got used to being flattered in Essos by Xaro, Daario, Hizdahr, and countless others. But when praise came from someone like Jon, it actually meant something.

“It’s ironic,” Jon continued, “because, while Viserys threatened that you’d wake the dragon, he wasn’t wrong. It just turns out you were the dragon, and somewhere along the Dothraki Sea, you woke yourself up. And the world has never been the same since.”

Dany smiled. “When I first learned that you literally died to protect your sister, it made me feel . . . it’s hard to put into words. For a moment, I remember wishing that you were my older brother, instead of Viserys. And this was before I even knew you were a Targaryen. I found myself being jealous of Arya that Ned Stark’s bastard was her older brother, not mine.” Dany laughed.

Jon smiled sadly. “I don’t think that’s strange at all. It’s what you deserved.”

“I remember when you turned down marriage offers for Sansa and Arya. You said, ‘At the risk of disappointing thousands of years of Brandons, I care far less about House Stark’s legacy than I do about the safety and happiness of its members.’ You said your sisters would choose whether they married, and to whom.”

“Aye. We’d all been through so much. It’s the least they deserved.”

“Lord Tyrell was disappointed,” Dany said, with a slight smirk.

“He got over it,” Jon said, shaking his head.

“Before or after you made him cry?” Dany asked with a cocked brow.

“I didn’t make him cry. He made himself cry with how foolish he was acting,” Jon grumbled.

“Jon, you berated him in front of everyone. When he initially balked at fighting in the ‘Northern War’ as he called it, you got up in his face and handed him a shovel and made him start digging Margaery’s grave.”

“Well, he needed to understand the consequences of his choices.”

“You told him that if he’s going to fail as a Warden of the South, Leige Lord, father, husband, grandfather, and human, the least he could do was provide some much needed cheap labor. I think you hurt his feelings, Jon.”

“I merely bruised his ego.”

“Gods, and don’t get me started with poor Lord Tarly after you overheard him criticizing Sam. I’ve just never seen a good person bully so well. Usually good people are meek, and bad people are the successful bullies.” Dany tried to place the ring on her thumb, which made her stoutest finger look like it was wearing a collar.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon defended himself, though he knew it was a lost cause. “I may, on occasion, act a little less refined as a result of spending so much time in Ghost, but I’m perfectly pleasant.”

“You bully me all the time,” Dany retorted.

“When have I ever bullied you?” Jon asked, feigning offense at the accusation.

“When you were washing me,” Dany said, studying Jon’s eyes to see if he understood her meaning.

“You mean what I spanked you?”

“Yes.”

“But you enjoyed it?”

“Doesn’t matter. It was still bullying.”

Jon wrapped his hand around Dany’s throat, causing a slight gasp. “Do you want me to stop spanking you?”

Dany hesitated a moment, and then shook her head.

“So, you want me to continue spanking you?”

Dany nodded. Jon released his hand and kissed her forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Dany said, humming. She got up and walked over to the wine table, grabbed a bowl of pecans, and brought them back to the bed. She gave a handful to Jon, and then when she went to grab a few for herself, noticed that one was broken in half. She stared at it for a few moments.

“What are you thinking about?” Jon asked, mouth full.

“I still love him. Viserys. It’s why I named one of my dragons after him. For the man he once was.” Dany looked up to Jon and gave a sad smile. She felt Jon’s hand embrace her own. “He used to tell me stories when I was little. About House Targaryen. About the Seven Kingdoms. He taught me to be proud of our family. I want to see him again one day. Despite everything. I even sometimes wonder if I’d give it all up, the dragons, being queen, if it meant I could have the old Viserys back.” A tear fell into the bowl. Dany felt Jon take the pecans from her and guide her to lay on top of him, her head on his chest. He ran his fingers through her hair while she cried.

“I hope you get to see him. I want him to know what you became,” Jon said, raising his head to kiss her crown.

Eventually, Dany raised her head, resting her chin on Jon’s chest. “Hey,” she said, admiring her nephew’s stormy eyes in between sniffles.

“Hey,” Jon replied, with a lopsided smile.

“Euron would be another one.”

“Another contrast?”

“Yes.”

“In what way?” Jon took another handful of pecans.

Dany sat cross legged on the bed next to Jon. “He was very powerful, with a dragon, kraken, even greenseer abilities according to Bran, yet he always used his power for evil, to cause chaos.”

“He was like a magical Littlefinger,” Jon said, grimacing.

“The gods saw fit to give me a lot of power, and while I certainly didn’t wield it perfectly by any means, I always tried to protect those who couldn’t protect themselves.”

“And you did,” Jon said, smiling. “I mean, you also caused a bit of chaos as well, but it was always for a good reason. Not to enrich yourself, but to save others.”

“I still can’t believe Euron proposed to me. He was shocked when I said ‘No.’ For some reason he thought I’d be impressed with the fact that he destroyed an entire city. The look he gave me was like a hurt child whose mother wasn’t impressed with his drawing.”

Jon sucked in air through his teeth. “He may’ve gotten lucky with Oldtown, but he failed miserably to destroy Casterly Rock with his dragon. And then he lost his dragon because, unlike Targaryen dragon bonds, horns can be broken.”

“And then his brother killed him. Turns out when you’re cruel to someone their whole life, they sometimes grow to not like you,” Dany japed.

“Who would’ve thought?” Jon asked sarcastically. “Certainly not Tywin or Cersei.”

Dany snorted. “Aegon would be another. He had everything handed to him. He had a father figure, a half-maester, a septa, a knight at arms, seven hells, he even had an army given to him and he didn’t even have to get fucked for it!”

Jon chuckled. “Sorry, I’m imaging Young Griff ‘earning’ his army by coupling with some large, bearded, tattooed sellsword captain.”

“He’d probably enjoy Daario,” Dany said, then immediately regretted it when she saw Jon’s face. “Sorry,” she winced. Dany needed to change the subject quick. “Tyrion was right when he told Aegon that showing up to Meereen with his hand out wouldn’t have gone well for him. After all, unlike Aegon, I spent my childhood in exile, impoverished, living on dreams and schemes, running from one city to the next, always fearful, never safe, friendless, but for a brother who was by all accounts half-mad, a brother who sold my maidenhood to the Dothraki for the promise of an army. The Dothraki despise weakness, and if I had been, I would’ve perished with Viserys. I crossed the grasslands and red waste, survived assassins and conspiracies and fell sorceries, grieved for a brother and a husband and a son, and trod the slaver cities to dust beneath my dainty sandaled feet.”

Jon nodded, but still didn’t say much. So, Dany continued, “Varys loved to talk about how much of a different ruler Aegon the Pretender would’ve been. Aside from the fact that he wasn’t actually Aegon, even just looking at his abilities, everything was just so . . . inauthentic. He was shaped for rule since before he could walk. He was trained in arms, as befits a knight, he could read and write, speak several languages, and studied history and law and poetry. A septa instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith from an early age. He lived with the fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned how to wash his own clothes. He could fish and cook and bind a wound. All of that is great, but he was served those skills on a golden platter, he didn’t have to endure hardships to learn them.”

“I don’t know,” Jon finally spoke, “didn’t Varys say Aegon knew what it was like to be hungry, hunted, and afraid?”

“I doubt that very much,” Dany said. “Varys and Illyrio wouldn’t dare risk their precious Aegon, after all he was their path to power.”

Dany held out her hand and Jon gave her the remaining pecans, which she quickly started nibbling on. “Finally, there’s always you,” Dany said, raising her brow in challenge.

“Me?” Jon said.

“It’s only fair, I was one of yours.”

“All right, this should be good. Let’s see if you can dig the hole deeper after your Daario comment,” Jon said and sat up in the bed, rubbing his hands together.

Dany rolled her eyes, but she knew it was best not to respond. “I know in some ways you’ve had a difficult life,” she began. “Even though your life was better than most, it still must’ve been hard to be treated as an outsider by your own family. It’s like you were reminded everyday that you were lesser.”

Jon nodded, interested to see where she was going. “But still, I’m envious of the mentors you’ve had in your life. Ned Stark, despite his role in the Rebellion, was a good man. Especially now that I know he dishonored himself and risked his life to protect you, and even stood up to King Robert to protect me,” Dany explained.

“Aye. I was very fortunate to be raised as his son. He always made sure to teach me, right alongside his own heir, Robb. That’s why I have such a loud voice, you know.” Jon grinned. “Uncle Ned taught Robb and I that a captain’s lungs were as important as his sword arm, because it does not matter how brave or brilliant a man is if his commands cannot be heard. So, Robb and I used to climb the towers of Winterfell to shout at each other across the yard. Though, I still think Donal Noye had us both beat.”

Dany smiled. “And there’s no doubt that Ned instilled in you a sense of honor, which is another thing that attracted me to you. The men I knew in Essos were definitely lacking in that regard.”

“Speaking of, it seemed I got the honorable Mormont to guide me, while your Mormont had ulterior motives,” Jon said with a grimace.

“Whatsoever do you mean, Nephew?” Dany asked facetiously. “He only wanted to spy on me for Robert and fuck me even though he was old enough to be my father.”

“Admittedly, Lord Commander Mormont was a tough son of a bitch, but he never tried to kiss me,” Jon said. Jon handed Dany a pecan that had fallen on the bed and took the empty bowl from her and placed it on his head. Dany rolled her eyes, but then narrowed them and threw the pecan into the bowl, though Jon had to move slightly to make it happen.

“We make a good pair,” Dany said as Jon took the bowl off his head. “Defeating the Army of the Dead, throwing nuts into bowls, is there anything we can’t do?”

“No, the nut thing was the final test. We officially can do anything now,” Jon joked.

Dany grinned. “So, while Jorah had bad motives, he did provide me some mentoring, especially early on. And then when Barristan came, he provided even more, without any improper motives. But at that point, I was his queen, so he would always hesitate to tell me things, such as, you know, the extent of my father’s madness.”

“I think you being a known Targaryen was both a blessing and a curse,” Jon said. “It was a blessing because it gave you power and recognition that I obviously never got as a bastard. But it was also a curse because the people in your life, especially after Viserys and Drogo’s deaths, were always your subordinates. Whereas, with me, Donal Noye had no problem telling me I was bullying the other recruits and that I’ve had it better than most, nor did Qhorin Halfhand have any issue letting me know I shouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice my honor to keep the realm safe. Also, because you became so powerful early on, people always wanted that power for themselves, and so any advice they gave you was likely tainted.”

“Believe me, I was well aware,” Dany said. “Though, I think the mentor I’m most jealous of is Maester Aemon.”

“Gods, he would’ve loved you,” Jon said. “And you would’ve adored him. In the end he was also convinced you were the chosen one. But yes, he gave me some of my best advice: ‘Kill the boy, and let the man be born,’ ‘love is the death of duty.’ He also supported me as Lord Commander. The irony is, even though we grew close, he never knew I was a Targaryen, and instead only knew me as the bastard son of the man who helped bring down his family.”

Jon took the bowl and began moving it in a small circle, causing the nut to race around the bottom. “I’ll say this, though. One of the most impressive things about you is your instinct. No one taught you how to be a Khaleesi, so you taught yourself and earned the Dothraki’s respect. No one taught you how to hatch dragons, but you figured it out. No one taught you how to effectively govern a foreign city, but you did. The things you’ve just discovered on your own regarding magic and ruling are impressive. I can’t help but wonder how you would’ve done if you had the education and mentors you deserved.”

Dany smiled and blushed at Jon’s praise. “But I’m glad one of us was taught how to follow orders. I agree it makes you a better leader than you otherwise would’ve been. And your experience made us a stronger ruling pair.”

Jon nodded. “Well, I think we should probably get dressed.”

“Aye. It’s getting close to time,” Dany said. They got up and put on the formal clothes the maid had laid out for them. Clothes they would have worn to the coronation they never had.

Afterwards, they both sat on the bed as the last remaining grains of sand were falling from the hourglass’s upper bulb.

“Do you think our family will resent us because we didn’t take back the iron throne?” Dany asked, breaking the silence. “For years, I thought it was my duty to take the throne back for my family, to reestablish my House over the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You did,” Jon said, looking at her slightly confused. “Everyone followed us. We led the entire army of the living. For months, we were the undisputed king and queen though we never sat the iron throne.”

“But now House Targaryen is no more,” Dany said sadly. “It’s like all the work to protect us that your uncle and Ser Willem did merely delayed the inevitable conclusion of Robert’s Rebellion: the end of our House.”

“No!” Jon said emphatically. “Uncle Ned and Ser Willem’s brave actions allowed us to fulfill our House’s purpose: saving the world. I’ve been thinking. Maybe the gods only gave Targaryens the ability to bond with dragons for a reason, and not to accumulate power. Maybe we were the ‘fire’ that would counter the threat of ‘ice,’ and once we defeated that threat, we had served our purpose?”

“That’s depressing,” Dany said, picking at her nails. “But you may be right.”

“It doesn’t matter whether I’m right. What matters is we won. We fulfilled Aegon the Conqueror’s 300-year-old prophecy. Would it have been nice to survive and rule for another few hundred years? Sure. But I’m not sure Targaryens necessarily make better rulers than anyone else. But what we do better than anyone—using fire to defeat ice monsters—we did. And no one else could’ve done what we did. Without us, the entire world would be slaves in an eternal frozen night. As great as your victories in Essos were, they were just practice for the slavery we abolished, which was much worse because it would’ve enslaved the entire world for all eternity.”

Dany sighed and laid back to stare at the ceiling, not caring if her dress got wrinkled. Then she poked Jon’s side. “Hey, I’m just glad the gods let us spend some time together, just the two of us, before we had to face our family, friends, and others who’ve passed. Will everyone we had a connection with be behind the large door?”

“No, just family,” Jon said. “Friends, lovers, first husbands from arranged political marriages, can all be visited through the separate, smaller doors.” Dany grinned at Jon’s reference to her Sun and Stars and glanced at a handful of smaller doors that she assumed were closets. “There’s even a door that allows us to watch the living. Oh, we’re also allowed to come back to this room as often as we like, we just can’t stay in here without visiting our families first. At least, that’s what the serving girl who filled the water basin, brought us the wine and pecans, and laid out our clothes said.”

“Where was I when she said that?” Dany asked.

A concerned look appeared over Jon’s face. “Remember, love, you had a hard time when we first got here. You had a lot to think through. I’m at an advantage because this isn’t my first time, though it’s the first time I’ve been here.”

“I just felt so guilty when I realized what happened. So many people depended on me, and I felt like I abandoned them. How long was I--?” Dany asked.

“It’s hard to say. I can’t keep track of time here. But I held you while you cried for a long time. It may’ve been a few hours, a few days, it’s hard to know. When the maid got here, which was right in the beginning, you were curled up on the bed with a pillow over your head.”

Dany nodded. “Everything is such a blur.” Then her eyes widened. “Wait, do you think I’ll be able to see Rhaego?”

Jon nodded, smiling. “Yes, the maid said unborn children are here as well, though they will be grown when we see them. Everyone here is our age. It’ll be queer to see a young Maester Aemon.” Jon laughed.

Dany nodded. “And an adult Rhaego. Jon,” she grabbed his arm, “I need you to mentor Rhaego. I don’t know what he’s been taught since he’s been here, if he’s only been with Drogo learning Dothraki traditions, or if he’s been allowed to see my Targaryen family. But I want you to be his Uncle Ned. Please, Jon.”

“Of course, love. I’ll teach him everything I know,” Jon said with a wistful smile.

Dany noticed Jon’s look. Poor Jon, he always wanted a child of his—oh no. “Shit! Jon, I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t hate me. Please—”

“What? What is it?” Jon asked.

Dany gave a staggered sigh and held out her hands in a placating fashion. “I don’t know how I’m just now remembering this. So much has happened, and it’s all just so overwhelming, you must believe me, Jon, and . . . gods, Jon, please don’t hate me!”

“What, just tell me!” Jon said with furrowed brow, taking Dany’s hands in his own.

Dany began rubbing the back of Jon’s hands with her thumbs. “Three days before the great battle, I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Aye, I remember. I sent Sam to your chambers. He said it was something you ate.”

Dany bit her bottom lip and nodded. “Uh huh. That wasn’t completely a lie. It was caused by something I also happened to eat, though that I ate part of it was completely coincidental and unrelated.”

“What?”

“I was with child, Jon.”

“Seven Hells, Sam! I can’t believe he kept that from me!” Jon abruptly got up from the bed and began pacing the room.

Dany got up and began following him. “It wasn’t his fault. I threatened him. I, I didn’t want you worrying, and trying to keep me from battle, or trying to change our detailed war strategy on my account. I was going to tell you after the battle. It was going to be a surprise!” She hugged him tightly, hoping it would facilitate his forgiveness. When she looked at him again, his face had softened a bit.

“I just think, if Rhaego is there, there’s no reason our child wouldn’t be,” Dany hoped. Jon closed his glistening eyes and swallowed. Dany raised herself on her tip toes, kissed Jon’s cheek, and whispered in his ear, “What do you think? Brown hair or silver? Gray eyes or violet?”

Jon smiled. “Aye, the possibilities are endless. Long face or normal face?”

“Shut up, Jon!” She smacked him on the chest. “What about single child or twins? Or maybe dragonrider and warg, or only dragonrider?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Ghost?” Jon said.

Dany thought for a second, wondering if this world was big enough for her dragons. “I think I know which door he’ll be behind,” she encouraged.

They both sat down on the edge of the bed, holding hands. Dany glanced at the hourglass. It still somehow had a pinch of sand left in the top bulb. Has time slowed down?

“I’m most nervous about our reunions with those we haven’t met, like Rhaegar and Lyanna, Rhaella and Rhaego. I imagine my reunion with Uncle Ned and Robb will likely go how the reunion went with my other Stark siblings once we took back Winterfell from the Boltons,” Jon reasoned.  

Dany needed a distraction to calm her nerves. “I’m not sure you ever told me the details, only that they returned.”

“Well, I met Arya through Nymeria first. Nymeria and her pack helped my army defeat the Boltons and their hounds. Nymeria and Ghost played together and made up for lost time. But then she walked over to me and just kept staring at me and whimpering. It took me a second to realize it was Arya inside. When I did, she started barking loudly and running in circles.” Jon chuckled. “I told her to get her arse home!” A month later, she showed up. When I told her the Boltons were no more, she replied, ‘So are the Freys.’”

“I keep forgetting your sister is far more formidable that you are,” Dany said.

Jon snorted. “Aye, you’re not wrong.”

“I feel like you’re leaving a part out,” Dany said, narrowing her eyes in mock accusation.

“Oh, you mean the part where I openly wept and showered her face with snotty kisses all the while squeezing her so hard it’s a miracle her head didn’t pop off? Yes, that also happened,” Jon said with a grin.

Dany laughed. “What about the other Stark reunions?”

“My reunion with Sansa was nice. Littlefinger introduced her as his daughter, Alayne. She couldn’t even meet my eyes at first, but once she did, I knew. So, I told her I thought her name was pretty, which caused her eyes to widen, though she quickly composed herself. I apologized for being so forward and mentioned that my half-sister, Sansa, recommended I say that whenever a lady told me her name. I asked if she thought it was sound advice. Tears filled her eyes and she nodded, then I embraced her and said, ‘Welcome home, Sansa.’”

Dany smiled. “That’s sweet.”

Jon nodded. “Bran was just so quiet when he first arrived with Meera. But once he started talking, we quickly realized that he’d possibly had the strangest journey of us all. He put a lot of the pieces together, about my parentage, and about the events that led to the downfall of our House, particularly Littlefinger’s role in everything. It wasn’t long after that Sansa entered the solar where Arya and I were speaking and simply said, ‘Littlefinger is no more.’ It was also clear we would need Bran and his abilities to stand any chance against the Dead.”

Dany nodded. “I was astounded at some of the things he said, and what he knew. He truly had an important role to play, as did many others. And Rickon?”

“He was so young when he fled Winterfell, so his time in Skagos and warging Shaggydog slowed his development. Sansa and I both took on more of a parental role with him.”

Dany thought for a second. “I assume Bran and Rickon’s ages, coupled with everything they endured, played a role in you becoming King in the North?”

“Along with Robb’s Will,” Jon said.

“Aye, can’t forget about that,” Dany replied.

“And I’ll never forget the day I was chosen to be King. Arya told me to kneel and placed Robb’s crown upon my head, that she’d received from her mother. It was, until then, the best moment of my life.”

“What? Lady Stark died at the Red Wedding?” Dany asked.

Jon nodded. “Not many people know this, but Catelyn was resurrected a few days after her death. She wasn’t in a good condition, physically or mentally. She couldn’t speak. But apparently she, along with a group of men known as the Brotherhood Without Banners, had been seeking revenge for the Red Wedding, killing those involved one by one. Arya found her in the Riverlands. She gave her the gift of mercy, but not before receiving Robb’s crown.”

Dany pursed her lips. She turned and looked at the few grains that remained in the hourglass. “Do you want to talk about what happened? In the end? Before we . . .” she nodded toward the large door.

Jon took a deep breath and looked at the hourglass. “From what I remember, we were winning. Our dragons were keeping the wights at bay. Then I went to the ground to help those armed with Valyrian steel and dragonglass spears and daggers. The Others fled when they saw my burning sword, but we chased them down one by one. We had almost slain them all when Viserion somehow fell.”

Dany had a pained look as she began to remember. “Blue-eyed Viserion was unstoppable, killing people by the hundreds. I met him first in the air. Though Drogon was bigger, Viserion seemed unaffected by Drogon’s bites and cuts, even Drogon’s flames. But the damage Viserion inflicted was taking its toll on Drogon.”

Jon nodded. “Aye. I saw you battling in the air, so I mounted Rhaegal. Once he latched on to the other two dragons, the three dragons began to fall. I knew, even if we crashed at a speed that would kill Rhaegal and Drogon, Viserion could keep going, wreaking further death and destruction. And our dragons’ fire didn’t seem to pierce his skin. So, I jumped onto Viserion and plunged my sword as deep as it would go. Smoke and steam poured from Viserion’s mouth, as his eyes melted and dribbled down his cheeks. But by then it was too late. We were about to hit the ground. Maybe there was a small chance we could’ve survived—”

“But Viserion’s body burst into flame,” Dany said somberly.

Jon was silent as he wrestled with feelings of regret, second guessing his actions. Then his eyes widened, as if he remembered something. “You grabbed my hand, right before we . . . how?”

Dany smiled and bit her lower lip to hold back the tears. “I jumped onto Viserion after you stabbed him. I knew there was a good chance we weren’t going to live. And I wasn’t sure anything would be waiting for us after we died. So, in case it was our final moment together, I wanted you to know you were loved. I wanted that to be the last thing you ever felt.”

Jon stared at her, his eyes welling with tears and seeming to display a thousand different emotions. He looked down, as if trying to fully understand what she just said. Jon blinked, and a tear streaked down his cheek and vanished into his beard. He sniffled and began breathing through his mouth. Jon looked back up at her, eyes red and glistening. He peered into her eyes, subtly shifting his gaze from one to the other. Then his chin began to tremble, and he swallowed. She felt a cool drop slide down her own cheek. Watching Jon cry was the surest way to become a sobbing mess herself. She hugged her nephew and felt wetness on her shoulder as she and Jon both continued their chorus of sniffles. When they finally parted, they both began laughing and drying each other’s tears.

Jon glanced over her shoulder. “Times up,” he said. Dany nodded. She was finally ready.

They slowly walked to the largest door, which was rimmed in light from the feast on the other side. They heard loud talking, laughing. Even singing. Jon pulled the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He gave her a sheepish grin. “It’s probably a good thing the door was locked, considering . . . .”

“Aye,” she said. Her heart would’ve been pounding had she been alive. Though I feel more alive now than I ever have.

Jon took a key from a nearby hook, unlocked the door, and slowly opened it. The conversations got louder as they were greeted by a sea of silver and brown hair, often spilling out from beneath crowns, all feasting together. Suddenly, the conversations died as Jon and Dany were finally noticed. An eternity seemed to pass in silence as Dany’s eyes darted from face to face. “Jon—” she began, but she couldn’t finish as they were met with deafening cheers.

Dany breathed a sigh of relief. She felt Jon grab her hand. With their fingers interlaced, they stepped forward together into eternity.

[leomeoi]

Happier

The title is from the song "Happier" by Marshmello Bastille. The lyrics "I want you to be happier. Know that means I'll have to leave." spoke to me. Please read the wonderful @tapakah0's comic and watch the amazing animatic they did that this work is inspired from. (Please forgive any out of characterness or grammar mistakes, I had no Beta Reader and wrote this in one sitting.) Thank you so much to Tapakah for drawing this amazing comic and answering my questions, as well as allowing me to write a fic for their work.

Oh, obligatory warning. This is angst. There is major character death, violence, and sadness. It ends unhappy (for now.) Proceed with caution and make informed decisions!

Click here for a link to the Archive Of Our Own version!

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Today's a big day.

Arguably, every day that they go out to fight the Krang that have infiltrated every nook, cranny, and crevice of their lives all those years ago is a big day. Raphael can't help but feel the bone-crushing load of responsibility that weighs down on his shoulders as he watches the hubbub of activity from the head. As he scans the faces of each person—human and mutant alike—with his one good eye, Raph feels as if his shell might just crack. He's not naive. There's nothing normal about this. He knows that they won't be able to save everyone, there'll be casualties. Their days are numbered, and the world just isn't fair in that way. The Krang aren't merciful. It could be anyone that they lose, there's no off-limits, and there's no way of predicting what shade of grief they'll experience today. As more and more days go by, Raphael can't shake the feeling that every victory they have is just a pyrrhic one. Even still, they fight. Everyone currently in the shelter of this hangar does. They all hope for a better future, a chance to reclaim all that they lost and there's not a single person who isn't willing to sacrifice it all. There's nothing more important than to ensure the success of this battle they're about to fight in the world war they've been waging against the invading advanced alien species.

He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about all the people that they've lost. It sends ripples of agony tearing through his chest, a physical ache that he can feel permeate even his plastron. It's a horrid fact that death is actually the most merciful thing the Krang can gift them with. They've lost countless others to infection, the result of that blasted plague yielding pink, fleshy atrocities, the host twisted and manipulated into a mere shell of their former self. They cannot be qualified as a person by then, bestial creatures hellbent on destruction and controlled by the very violators that infected them to begin with. It's a fate worse than death, the loss of will and self; they move only to the will impressed upon them. Raph's arms cross even tighter across his broad chest, his teeth grinding. The cold metal of his right arm reminds him that he's gotten off lucky. His fingers dig into his elbows as he stands, a grim and foreboding figure against the thoughts that plague his mind. He knows that he's gotten lost under the pressure of his thoughts when he stirs only at a warm touch against his forearm.

"Raph? You okay, big man?"

The sound of Leo's voice snaps him out of it further. His tone is bright, but Raph can hear the undertow of concern. Raph tears his gaze away from the milling crowd and looks down, meeting his brother's gaze. Even though it's been years, Raphael still can't help the flare of pride every time he sees Leo and how much he's changed over the years. It seems like yesterday that Raphael had to scold, nag, and practically plead with his younger sibling to get him to take things seriously. He knows that being the leader was a pressure that Leonardo never wanted, but once he's received it, he'd learned the gravity of the role. Sometimes, Raph thinks Leonardo has outgrown him, just the way that Raphael thought he would. A lesser turtle would have broken under the pressure, but Leonardo is as strong as he is stubborn. He stands against the test of time and loss, brave and unrelenting. He now leads with a certainty that has saved them on numerous occasions, and Raphael truly couldn't be prouder of how much he's grown into the role given to him.

Leonardo must see the way Raph's eyes soften because the sharp grin on his face loses its charming edge, too. Raph's chest feels tight as if his heart would burst out from the confines of his plastron. It's an entirely different reason than just a few seconds before when the grim reality was moments from overwhelming him.

He really is so proud.

"Yeah, Raph's okay. Just thinking." Raphael flashes his snaggletooth in a wide smile, and Leo mirrors it.

Normally, the conversation would end there. Raph wasn't the best at expressing his feelings, and Leonardo was even less so. He doesn't have the same connection to Leo that Donatello seems to have—they are self-proclaimed twins after all. They communicate almost solely on looks and gestures as if that's enough to convey exactly what it is they want to say. They leave nearly everything unsaid, but that's simply not something Raph can do. It's easy to communicate with Mikey; he's the best of them all. Still, there's so much that he wants to say to Leo, but it's almost time to leave. Raph can tell by the way things are quieting, the chaos of getting prepared sinking into the hum of calm and determined poise. Even with it all, Raphael is gripped with the unshakable feeling that he simply needs to get out. He doesn't know what it is, but it's an undeniable urge.

Leonardo's about to turn away. Despite the eternity that Raph feels like he just went through in his struggle to find the right words, mere seconds have passed. Raph decides that he doesn't need pretty words like Donnie, or the innate ability Mikey has to say exactly what a turtle needs to hear. Leo will understand. He knows Raph. He knows that they're connected and understand each other in a way that only those who have and are responsible for the lives of many can.

"Leo," he starts, and Raph almost winces at how serious he sounds. Leo blinks at the sudden change in tone, but he doesn't falter. His easy grin changes almost immediately, and the fact he no longer tries to deflect serious conversation with humor when it comes to Raphael brings yet another wave of pride. Leo stands before him, waiting. He's listening.

Raphael nods to himself, lifting a hand to place on Leonardo's shoulder. He squeezes and shakes Leo lightly, a reassuring gesture. His snaggletooth makes even more of an appearance as he smiles wide. "Raph is so proud. You've kicked ass and grown. You don't need lil ol' me anymore. I could not be more proud."

Surprise flits through Leo's eyes before it's replaced by something else. His gaze is piercing, eyes dark and almost unreadable. Almost. In another time, Raph wouldn't have ever thought that he'd know Leo so well. The feeling is potent, and Raph can feel it, too. It charges him with strength, and a new lightness finds his spirit. The iron trust that Leo has in him shines in his eyes, and Raphael had almost felt too small to withstand the weight of it once. Now, it gives Raph the strength he needs to continue on.

It seems to have been the right time to say what he was thinking.

Leonardo's shoulders square, and he seems to grow even taller before Raphael's very eyes. "Don't kid yourself, Raph," Leo chuckles. He slaps at Raph's arm lightly with a pat. "I'll always need my big brother." They both laugh at that, the serious mood broken up as their chortles sound in the room. With that, Leonardo turns away, moving his attention to something else that they need to be as prepared as they ever will be. Raph doesn't really concern himself with that anymore unless Leo needs him to. Bolstered by warmth, Raph knows that he needs to make his own rounds. He walks through the crowd, and people part way for him to accommodate his bulk. He stops and talks to a few, bumps elbows with April, and high-fives Cassandra. Somewhere along the line, Cass and Raph had grown closer. Undoubtedly, it was because of a certain young individual they spent any spare moment they had with.

Somewhere in the middle of that, Raph finds who he's looking for. "Donnie," he calls, and his brother whirls towards him. Donnie's battle shell remains engaged in what seems to be furious typing, his purple holographs buzzing with ninpo. A fond smile lights up Raph's face—even in the midst of preparing for a big battle, Donatello is always moving. His mind is always working, and Raphael wonders if it's because it's so loud that Donnie rarely ever sleeps.

"Raph," Donnie greets, the lenses of his red and blue goggles whirring as they adjust to parse Raph. Then, Donnie groans. "What did Nardo break now? I swear, I told him I'm gonna kick his shell if he breaks one more damn thing, so he decides to send you to break the news? I'm gonna find him-" He starts to grouse, and Raphael is sent into a frenzy trying to placate him.

"No, no! Leo didn't break nothin'. Just... Raph just wanted to talk to you. Before everything." Raphael shrugs, his hands outstretched and spread to show his surrender. Donatello squints and it's obvious that he's suspicious. His drawn-on eyebrows arch, and Raphael can't help but laugh again. There is no doubt that Donatello is the most expressive one of them all. His eyebrows only add to his charm, and over the years, he's grown into his skin even more. Raph thinks that Donatello is also the one to hide his emotions the most, choosing pragmatism and logic over the pursuit of emotions at all times. It's also why Raph thinks that Donatello's mask—the persona that he adopts—rivals Leo's.

In truth, Donatello is generous. He's a genius, a maniacal scientist, and Raph knows that his mind works in ways unmatched. He knows that it's because Donnie is Donnie that they've been able to maintain a semblance of a life. Raph knows that Donnie works himself to the bone for them, and fixes every problem that crops up that others don't even know where to begin. The thing with Donnie is that he's so, so generous, with a heart that's about as soft as his shell. Raph knows that he doesn't want anyone to know. Donnie gives them his all every day, every minute, and every second. It's enough for Raph to worry that one day, Donnie will give, give, and give until there's nothing left. Raphael has always silenced that voice, knowing that it comes from a selfish part of Raph that wants his brothers cared for, apocalypse be damned. Now, though. Raph thinks he can convey what he wants to say to Donnie at least once in a way that he can't be misunderstood.

Taking Donnie's suspicious look in stride, Raphael reaches up to rap his knuckles against his metal prosthetic. It makes a sharp sound each time he does, and Raph grins in spite of it all. "I know I've said this already, but Dontron... Thanks again. I know that this-" Raph gestures to all around him, and then again to his arm, "-couldn't have happened without you." Donnie seems to have been caught off guard by the sincere way Raphael is saying what he wants to say. Still, he recovers fast.

"Why, of course. I'm glad you realize that you need my brilliant mind and recognize that this is all in courtesy of the great Donatello, a.k.a. moi." Donatello's eyes are half-moons, his goggles retreating to the top of his head. His grin is smug, but Raph can see the genuine curls of delight that cause the corners of the said grin to twitch into an almost smile. Donatello's arms outstretch to gesture to the entire facility, and the simple movement makes him look bigger than life. It's grandiose, enthusiastic, and just as bombastic as Raph would have expected Donnie to respond with. Raphael doesn't bother stopping the laugh that escapes him, and his deep laughter seems to infect Donnie, too. He laughs with Raph, a small rumble mixed with the beginnings of a chirp. After the laughter dies down, Donnie gives Raph another grin. "Okay, now that you have me sufficiently buttered up, what did you break?" Donnie asks, his voice teasing. Raphael recognizes it for the jest that it is, and he snorts again.

"I keep tellin' you, nothing's broke!" Raphael's hands lift and they settle on Donatello's shoulders. He can't be too serious. Donnie will be too busy trying to make light of the words leaving Raph's mouth in his mind to truly understand what he's trying to say. Raph smiles. "Just tryna say thank you, Dontron. You're right, we need your brilliant mind, but that's not all we need," he gently reminds the younger turtle. "You're our Donnie, too. Our brother. Raph just wants to make sure that you take care of yourself, too. Less coffee, more sleep." He shrugs, his voice light. For a moment or two, Donnie says nothing. His eyes are wide, fixated on Raph's. It's enough to make Raph nervous and wonder if he's gone too far, but his fears are dispelled when Donnie's shoulders slump slightly under his hands.

"When did you turn all Dr. Feelings? Isn't that Michelangelo's job?" Donnie jokes and makes a face, but his voice shakes just enough to convey that he understands what Raph is trying to say. Raphael chooses to act mock-offended, going along with the bit.

"Hey! Are you saying Raph can't say that he loves his brothers?" He huffs, and Donnie rolls his eyes. The heavier moment dispels and Donnie's attention is suddenly needed elsewhere, judging by the beeping that he can hear. Raph lets his hands fall from Donatello's shoulders.

"Duty calls. No rest for the wicked." Donnie sighs, somehow dramatic and sincere at the same time. His eyes are closed as he says this, but he peeks out at Raph. That's enough for Raph to spot the gentle glint in his brother's eye. "But..." he intones, combining the sound with another sigh. "I'll try." Raph grins.

"All I ask." He nods, and Donnie hums. He's reorienting himself, Raph has heard that noncommital hum too many times to not know. "I'll see you later, Dontron," Raphael says before he loses Donnie in a string of mutters, and Donnie gives him a wave as his goggles return to his face, already focusing on what had pulled him away.

Raphael keeps walking. He dodges children, people, and mutants. It's not easy with his build, and he sticks out like a sore thumb from size alone. Still, it's not enough to deter him from finding Mikey. Mikey's as easy to spot as it is to spot Raph in a crowd. His powerful ninpo rolls off him in waves, mysticality crackling under his fingertips. It surges through his entire body, and it's almost impossible to miss. He's often haloed in a golden light, something that's as warm as his spirit. Over the years, Mikey has only grown more powerful, but with his abilities, so does his wisdom. Mikey is no longer just the goofy turtle he'd been before; he is wise beyond his years, capable, and strong. He's the inspiration within the Resistance, the ever-burning beacon of hope. Raph has leaned on him for support more times than he can count, and Mikey has more than once single-handedly born the grief of hundreds after a bad battle. Many turn to him for guidance now.

Raph finds him in the exact position that he thought he would.

"Mikey," he says, trying to hold back laughter. At Raph's voice, Mikey looks up, expression bright.

"Raph! Hiya, bud. Apparently, my hair's getting too long!" He says, voice full of cheer and contentment. He's surrounded by an ethereal glow, and floating. His legs are crossed, and there is a gaggle of giggling children running around him. They dip below him from where he's floating, dodging each other while they play tag. The innocence of the view seems to heal all the old wounds and the scars littering Raph's heart momentarily. There's another taller child with her fingers in Mikey's hair, and upon closer inspection, she's braiding it. Mikey already has multiple little braids here and there in his hair, and it's a sight that makes Raph's caught laughter burst free.

"Really? Raph thinks it's fine." He tilts his head as he inspects Mikey, and he's sure his expression mirrors Mikey's. Raph edges closer before he sits down with a mighty groan, and maybe a bit of a heavier thud than he'd wanted. The children crow as the ground shakes a little when Raph sits down, and he's swarmed. They crawl all over his legs, chattering excitedly, and Raph sits and listens. He and Michelangelo both do. They bask in the simple joy that the children exude. They ask him all kinds of questions, and Raph answers the best he can. They tell him nonsensical stories, about everything Mikey has been telling them, stories of times before the Krang. It's a bittersweet experience, knowing that there's a chance that these children will never experience what they had. Still, the tenacity and hope these children hold to someday seeing all that they've been told of is infectious. It reminds him of something their dad has always told them.

Hope is a ninja's greatest weapon.

Eventually, the children go off to Mikey's gentle shooing, as if he knows that Raphael has something important to say. The bond they share is close to the silent bond that Leonardo and Donatello share. In the past, Raphael and Michelangelo had clashed on more than one occasion. Raph knows he could be overprotective. He had been, back then, and Raph is old enough to admit that. Michelangelo had been the youngest, and even though he still is, Raphael trusts that he can protect himself now. That he can protect all of them. More than anything, Raph trusts Mikey with the Resistance. He trusts Mikey with their family. It's an all-encompassing trust that's hard to explain, even if he tries. After the Krang, after they'd been forced to grow, their relationship had changed forever. It was for the better. They'd grown closer, and the need for verbal communication has nearly faded from existence. Michelangelo can read Raph like a book. Even now, he waits for Raphael to collect his thoughts because he knows that his older brother has something to say. Raphael is grateful for it, just like all the times before.

After another few moments of silence, Raph wordlessly leans. He leans enough that their shoulders touch. He can feel the warmth spilling from Michelangelo, and it's comforting in ways that he can't describe. Mikey hums, but he doesn't say anything. His short braids are slowly coming loose, and they both stare from the sidelines as their people gather the rowdy children, scooping them up for hugs and kisses. Raph swallows. The heavy feeling from earlier returns. How many of these children would end up orphaned after this fight? He ignores a palpable thought about Casey Jr. that flits through his mind as fast as lightning. He doesn't want to think about that now. Raphael knows that Mikey can sense the dread that is approaching, the muted fear and grief that is already threatening his horizon. In front of Mikey, Raphael doesn't really find the need to appear as strong as he feels he needs to be around everyone else. He knows Mikey understands.

"Mikey," he starts, his voice suddenly hoarse around the lump in his throat. Michelangelo doesn't respond, just nudges his shoulder into Raph's harder. Raph takes a deep breath. He needs to say what he actually has on his mind, or he might burst. He's mentioned it to Donatello before, but Donnie hadn't let him finish. He'd dismissed the notion, he'd been angry with Raph for thinking such things. Raph hadn't broached the subject again. Now, he thinks it's a good time to. "If Raph doesn't make it back, please take care of our family." He smiles, feeling a hot pressure starting to build behind his eye. He knows that it's tears. Michelangelo still doesn't say anything. Raph presses on. "If- Donnie said somethin’ before about the mission goin' wrong and said that it's likely going to be Leo who's out for the count. I dunno if Donnie's goin' to be right, but it's Donnie. He probably is." He laughs, trying to free some of the building pressure in his throat. He swallows, again. Harder this time.

"Don't let Leo blame himself. Or Donnie. An'... An' I don't want you blaming yourself either. Okay?" Raph finally turns his head to look at Mikey and finds that Mikey is staring at him. Michelangelo is looking at him with a pained expression on his face. He doesn't bother hiding it. He knows what Raph is talking about, and even if he doesn't interrupt, Raph knows that Mikey is struggling already with the thought of something going awry. "I know it's goin' to be hard. But... But you're the strongest of us all, Mikey. In here." Raph reaches over, placing a hand over his brother's plastron. "They're gonna need you. It's not fair, I know. But they are. Just... Just remember me for me, an' the good things. Keep goin'. Keep them goin'." Raph's smile is trembling, he knows. He sees Michelangelo struggle for a moment or two before he feels and sees Mikey let out a harsh, near-guttural breath. His eyes are glassy as if he's holding back tears. Then, Mikey nods.

"Okay," Mikey whispers. Raphael keeps the smile on his face and nods back. Then, Raphael pulls Mikey into a hug. He hugs him tight, and he can't help but notice just how small Mikey is compared to him. He feels even more sorrowful, knowing that Mikey is still the youngest but Raph is asking so much from him. He's come to realize and know that Mikey is incredibly powerful, and because of that, sometimes he forgets just how young Mikey still is. Raph tightens his grip. That seems to be enough for Michelangelo. He hugs back, and they stay that way for a few heartrending moments. Raphael eventually pulls back, and if he did so with a sniffle, no one is going to call him out on it.

Raph gives Mikey's shoulders one last squeeze before he releases his brother. He swivels his head back to their people, and Raph knows that they're ready. He finds his way back onto his feet and pushes through the crowd again, heading towards the front lines. He sees Leo. He's waiting for Raph. Raphael takes a deep breath to collect himself before he lets his focus overcome the dread that he'd experienced mere moments ago. He finds his rightful place next to Leo.

"You ready?" Leo's voice is quiet, a muted question. There's the slightest hint of uncertainty, and Raph knows more than anyone what Leo's feeling.

"Ready." Raphael agrees, and his response seems to bolster Leo. He grins. Raph returns it with a smirk, straightening as he turns to face the crowd. "We're moving out soon! Everyone get ready!" He rumbles, voice filling the hangar. There are a few cheers, and everyone scrambles to get last-minute preparations underway. Among them is Cass. He watches as she stoops to hug her son. Raph watches, his heart in his throat as Casey giggles in his mom's arms, his little head poking up past Cass' shoulder. He squeals when he's lifted up by his mom, and Raph feels like he shouldn't intrude on the moment. He turns away despite his aching heart. He's about to walk away when he hears Casey's unmistakable voice. It's not Casey's voice that stops him dead in his tracks. It's what he says.

"Pap?"

For what feels like an eternity, Raph's brain blanks. He stands still as his brothers all laugh, equal parts disbelief and amusement. All Raph can do is flounder. Flashes of Splinter enter his mind, memories of their father dancing before his very eyes. Suddenly, it all makes sense. It's like his world realigns. What his brothers say becomes mush, and he can't seem to process anything but the single word he'd heard. The tears that he's been holding back well up, and Raph turns around on his heels. He strides forward and then stoops down, making himself as small as possible with a waterlogged smile. "Casey!" Raph calls, and his voice cracks, arms reaching forward. His chest is impossibly tight again, but he doesn't care. This is all that matters.

Cassandra's expression melts from one of stark surprise to a quiet fondness, and she crouches to let Casey back onto the floor. Upon the sight of Raph's outstretched arms, Casey races over to him. There's no hesitation until he reaches Raph, and suddenly, Raphael doesn't know what to do with himself. He's become this small human's pap, and he loves little Case with all of his heart. His hands shake, and he can't seem to stop them. He hovers, more concerned than ever that he would somehow hurt Casey. It turns out that his uncertainty doesn't matter. Casey blinks at Raph owlishly, then turns towards the hand that isn't a prosthetic. Raph's heart clenches. Casey reaches out, settling his tiny hand in Raph's. It's barely big enough to circle around one of Raph's fingers halfway. Casey smiles, holding onto the hand even tighter. He hugs it with his whole body, and Raph can only stand so much. His throat burns and his tears make an appearance as he pulls the child—no, his son—close. He holds him against his face, eye closing. He's so small. Everything is clear now.

This war, this fight… It’s for their future. They fight for their right to hand down a world that is secure, safe, and bright. They fight for the right to live freely. They fight to ensure that their children will never have to face the same hardship that their guardians did. It's worth fighting for, down to the last drop of blood, and the last shred of breath.

Raphael doesn't want to, but he knows he has to. He pulls back, releasing Casey from his hug. Case giggles again in response, and his small hands reach for Raph's face. "Oh, Casey. Papa will be back very soon." He smiles through his tears, and Casey grows serious. Raphael can't help but be startled at the determination on Casey's young face, and he has to hold his breath as Case brushes away the tears from his face. Raph nudges his forehead against Casey's one last time, gentle and loving. He pushes his child towards the crowd that's accumulated to bid them luck and goodbye. Despite his young age, Casey seems to realize that it's time to say goodbye. He backs away, but he waves to Raphael the entire time.

With newfound strength and courage fortifying his soul, Raph can feel his ninpo practically crackling. He's going to bring down the Krang, no matter what. For his brothers. For the Resistance. For all those that he lost. For Casey. He lifts an arm to scrub at his face, getting rid of the remainder of his tears. When he talks again, his voice is strong and booms through the halls. "Let's move out!"

Raphael leads the entourage. His expression is set in stone, and his remaining eye burns with untamable fire.

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Somehow, Raph has always known that it would end this way. He's not one for grand maniacal plans like Donnie, not strategic like Leo, or even as mystically talented as Mikey. There is one thing that he knows how to do, something that he's better at than anybody else.

He knows it'll take everything he has.

But that's okay. It gives his brothers, Casey, April, and everyone in the Resistance a fighting chance. A shot at a better future.

He doesn't tell anyone that his mind is already made up. The chaos of the battle rages around them, but all sound is muffled to Raphael. There is an eerie calm descending on him. He can feel the dead weight of Leo in his arms. He glances around, and that's all he needs to conclude that they're in trouble. They're out of options. The sound of screams and cries of their people fighting—and losing—echo. It pierces through the shrouded veil that is surrounding Raphael. A newfound clarity settles, and the knowledge of what he's about to do makes him ache for all those he's leaving behind.

I'm sorry, Casey, he thinks, swallowing. Papa won't be making it home.

"Donnie. You were right," Raphael chuckles, the sound dry and wretched. He looks toward the holographic screen that has Donnie's face. "It is Leo that gets knocked out." At his words, Donatello's face twists. A flicker of understanding seems to bode before it disappears, a fierce look of denial taking over the lines of his face.

"Yes, well, I'm almost always right. 99.99% of the time," Donnie responds, his voice wrecked. It's a low sound, full of pain and a new kind of desperation.

Raphael lays Leonardo down, his ministrations endlessly careful and gentle. He forgets about his strength often because he's a tank; he's as destructive as he is obstinate. Even still, he is careful with his unconscious brother. Leo's prosthetic is destroyed. Raph glances at his own.

A Krang hound overwhelms Leo while he fights hundreds of others; it manages to sink its teeth into the metal of Leo's arm. Raph can do nothing but watch in horror as the hound shakes Leo like a ragdoll. The hound continues to slam the turtle around repeatedly with brutal strength as if it was determined to rip Leo's arm out of its socket as it had already done once before. In Raphael's hurry, he tackles the dog with his full body weight after he wrestles his way closer, sending Krang creatures sprawling from the sheer force he plows through them with. Leo slams into the ground, and the impact is hard enough to knock him out cold with a pained grunt. Raphael growls, the sound twisting into a bone-chilling snarl. His hands grasp the top of the Krang mutt's jaw in a crushing grip, the other latching onto the lower jaw. With a furious cry, Raph wrenches the dog's mouth open. Unnatural howls leave the creature's mouth as it struggles, its screams of pain growing more frequent. Raphael doen't stop there. Once the alien releases the wreckage that had once been Leo's prosthetic, Raphael gives a mighty heave accompanied by a roar of rage. How dare the Krang take Leo's arm again?

The gory sound of bones snapping and the wet, horrid sound of skin ripping fill the air until Raph releases the remains of what had been a Krang creature from his hands. He sucks in deep breaths of air, panting from the extra exertion of strength. He steps away from the bloody carnage, stumbling towards Leo. He presses his head to Leo's plastron, relief flooding in at the sound of a heartbeat. "Leo," he calls, throat hoarse. He shakes his brother, hoping to rouse him. "Leo!" There is no response. He's out cold, injured, and without an arm. Raphael has no way of getting him to safety.

His closed eye opens. Raphael shakes himself out of his reverie of recounting memories. He knows what he has to do. "Don, how long until the shuttles arrive?" He questions. He sounds calm, even to his own ears. He sees Donatello look away towards his wrist screen, and Raph knows what the answer is before Donnie even says it. Donnie's eyes are distant, his brain racing. It's going a mile a minute only to come to the same conclusion. Nothing. Donnie can't move, Mikey is overwhelmed and fighting to get people to safety, and Leo is unconscious. Raph is the last mutant standing.

"Donnie." Raph calls again. He still wants to hear the answer. His gaze is fixed on the holo screen, and Donnie looks back at him with fervent eyes.

"15 minutes." The answer is delivered in a voice that sounds small and defeated. Raphael nods. His nod is more to himself than anything. Everything comes at a price.

"Don. Remember what Raph said, okay?" That's all Raph has to say before a wretched cry sounds from Donnie.

"No! There's another way, we still have time! Raphael, don't fucking do this!" Donnie's panic, rage, and pain are imprinted clearly in his desperate plea. He knows what Raphael is about to do. Raphael only looks at him through the holo screen. He knows what he looks like. He looks grim, determined. Fierce. Donnie reads his intentions loud and clear and tries again anyway. Raph feels as if someone is twisting a katana in his heart when he sees the way Donatello's face crumples, the way his head slumps. He tips his head downwards. "Please, Raph. Please, don't do this. Please," Donnie begs, but there's nothing Raphael can give him as an answer. They have no choice. Donnie knows this. Raphael looks away from the screen. He looks down at Leonardo and the destroyed prosthetic. Wordlessly, Raphael smiles. It's soft, affectionate. Leo looks so young like this. Raph reaches over, and his large fingers find the spot he's looking for on his arm. His prosthetic detaches with a hiss. He presumes where he's going, he won't need this. He hears Donnie make a sound that sounds like a mournful, cut-off cry. Donatello is smart. He's already put together why Raph is doing this. There aren't many supplies to rebuild prosthetics anymore. Raph carefully places his metal arm over Leo. It positions over him as if it's cradling and holding the younger turtle.

"Donatello." The use of his full name forces Donnie to look up, and there are tears running down his face without reserve. Raphael grins, his infamous snaggletooth making an appearance. "Take care of yourself. Raph will always be with you. Don't blame yourself, or anyone else. I know you all, and I know you will keep fighting. Beat them for me. Then, when you win, like a boss-" Raph emphasizes, his voice trembling for just a moment, "-remember me. Tell everyone how much I love them." Donnie says nothing. He's looking away from Raphael now, and Raph understands.

Raphael stands up. The dust and wind generated by the battlefield whip the tail ends of his bandanna around. He takes a deep breath. His mind flashes to all the people he's met in his life. Behind his eyelids, all his memories play out. Mikey. Donnie. Leo. April. Splinter. Barry. Cassandra. The Resistance. Casey. His heart seems to swell. It's for them. A fierce inferno suddenly sparks to life, fueled by all his grief, love, and passion. He's doing this for them. He will protect them, even if it's the last thing he does.

When Raph opens his eye, it glows red. Surges of energy crawl over his body as electricity would, and his teeth grit. There is no more fear. He takes a step forward, and the very ground shakes from the force. Already, his ninpo has grown his size. Bigger, he thinks.

Another earth-shattering thud. Pain surges through him, his body warning him of its constraints. He ignores it. Bigger.

This time, the earth cracks open under his foot as he takes another step. The pain is excruciating. Raphael can see the red lines spidering through his flesh, the cracks he absorbs with his entire body. His form remains solid. With each movement, his body is falling apart. He knows that if he continues, his body will tear itself apart. He will break like glass, and he will die. The thought doesn't do anything for him, and it only emboldens him to go faster. "Bigger!" He roars, his voice carrying through the battlefield in a cry so searing and fierce, he gains the attention of the lead Krang.

Krang creatures scatter from under his feet. Those that don't, he crushes. He is far from caring. He moves his way forward, soul on fire. If he can protect his people, his family, Raph will gladly feed his soul as fodder to his ninpo. His eye is fixated on the lead Krang as he fast approaches. Even from this distance, he can see the way the disgusting pink flesh alien's arrogance melts away into pure, unadulterated fear. It feels good. Raph grins, and he knows that his form follows suit. By the time the Krang realizes his intentions, it's too late. The roar of rage, fear, and defeat that Raphael hears is music to his ears as he grasps the Technodrome. His sheer size dwarfs the once massive ship. It fits into his hands the way a ball would, and his sudden fury at the thought of all those he lost to this alien ship causes his fingers to grasp tighter. His fingertips dig into the ship, and the groaning creak it gives as he crushes it bit by bit is exhilarating.

Raphael lifts it above his head. His ninpo holds strong, but he can feel every molecule of his body breaking under the pressure. He looks up at the sky. He'd wanted to see the blue skies with everyone at the end. At least, this way, he could help them do that, even if it's without him. His eye closes. I'm so proud of you all. I'll see you again. For now, this is Raph out. Like a boss. With a heaving cry that threatens to cleave the sky open and rip the very fabric of time, Raph opens his one eye. Tears fall from it as he fixates it on the lead Krang, his savage smirk only growing wider. He swings his raised arms down, slamming the Technodrome ship down with all of his strength. He screams, channeling every fiber of his being into ensuring that the ship is completely, utterly destroyed. They will never endanger their people with this ship again.

There is a burst of light accompanied by an earthquake that topples buildings and splits the ground, dust clogging the sky in a dirty mist that is impossible to see through. With it, shards of red float and swirl through the air. Everyone who knows what it is also knows what it means.

Raphael is gone.

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

There's nothing Mikey can do. He watches as his brother tears himself apart to fight against the Krang. He watches in horror as Raphael screams in equal parts fury and agony, destroying something that is a detrimental blow to the Krang. His hands shake, and his vision blurs, but he can't look away. A sob rips from his throat as he holds Leo, his eyes fixated on the crackling red figure in the distance. One hand cradles Leo while the other is clenched tightly on Raph's prosthetic arm. Somehow, Raphael knew. Somehow. Mikey doesn't know if Raphael is able to hear him, but he grasps the fingers of Raphael's prosthetic as if he is clutching onto his hand. "I'm here! Raph, I'm here! You're not alone, I'm here!" He screams like a wild animal; his tears and grief are unending. He screams as loud as he can, hoping, praying, willing that Raphael hears that he's not alone and that Michelangelo will keep his promise.

He looks until he is forced to close his eyes at the burst of light. There is no one but Mikey to catalog Raphael's final moments. He has to remember, to see everything.

When he opens his eyes. all he sees is a crumbling red figure. It deteriorates, shards floating in the air before it disintegrates. Almost like it never existed. As if Raphael never existed. Mikey stays where he is, too stunned and grief-stricken to even cry out anymore. He watches as Raphael's ninpo disappears. He feels reality slipping from his grasp. His mind can't help but shy away from the possibility that Raphael is truly gone. He denies such a reality, but even that comes to a stop. Something red flits down from the sky, and Mikey reaches up. His ninpo grasps the item, and when he brings it closer, Mikey feels his heart shatter. In his trembling hand is Raphael's bandanna. The only remnant of their brother's body. The only proof that he existed, other than their ashen memories. With shaky hands, Michelangelo brings it closer. He lays Leo down and looks around. Almost numbly, he takes Leo's abandoned odachi. He ties the strip of red around the handle, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead against it. He's only like that for a moment before his eyes open again. The fire that burns within is an anger that burns brighter than magma in a volcano.

In another time, Mikey hadn't understood the word hate. The concept had eluded his grasp. Now... Now he knows what hate is, and more. His loathing now knows no bounds. He hates the Krang. He loathes them. The embers of his hate lodge in his throat as he snarls silently, eyes beginning to glow a fierce yellow. He burns with the force of the sun, his usual warm rays of light turning cruel. He will destroy them all. His orange bandanna falls from his face in ashes, and with it, his hair is released. He faces the enemy that has regrouped shakily from Raph's attack. The enemy that now has set their eyes upon their allies and the rest of them. Mikey knows that the shuttles have landed. He is the last line of defense against the enemy and his allies that need time to escape.

He's never been more glad for that fact. His power crackles, surrounding him like a violent whirlwind. The power surges through his body, and he can feel it chipping away at the years he has left in his body. His hair grows longer, blowing in the wind of his rage without his bandanna to hold it back. He floats, rising higher and higher into the sky as his power builds like a hurricane. He raises his arms, and Michelangelo holds onto his ninpo with a savage ferocity that almost outweighs the pain at the knowledge that Raph is now gone. His fury reaches new heights.

The coals that burn in his throat finally give, and the scream he lets out is like a banshee's. With it, he releases his ninpo. His power is as unforgiving and brutal as the sea, waves of light matching the caliber of a primordial force perhaps as old as time. It floods over the battlefield like an ocean, golden light rolling in with the strength of a tidal wave and the speed of a riptide. He screams again, but it is a wordless cry of unmatched wrath. Michelangelo will burn them. He will destroy every single one until there's nothing by ash and death. They will suffer the way that they have suffered. The blinding wave of light engulfs the approaching Krang, and with inhuman, blood-curdling shrieks, they burn in the fire of Michelangelo's hate.

Mikey lands down, his feet on the ground. He pants as he looks at the razed land before them. Suddenly, all his strength ebbs from him as he falls to his knees. He feels empty. With a sudden hiccuping sob, Michelangelo raises his hands to his face, burrowing into them as he cries uncontrollably. Raphael is still gone.

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

Donatello numbly watches as his wrist pad notifies him that the shuttle is arriving in 10 minutes. He feels detached. Everything is hazy, layered in a white fog. He feels as if nothing matters. He stays where he is, his eyes distant. His thoughts are quiet, for once. There's just... Nothing. He stares blankly at the horizon. He hadn't been able to see Raph's sacrifice. He isn't sure if he should feel grateful for that or not, so he doesn't think about it at all. There are other Krang and people fighting, but Donatello can't seem to pull himself together. It's all just so... Distant. Like he's not with this reality anymore. The logical part of his brain wonders if the powerful surges of energy and the earth-shattering showdown that has occurred have somehow transported him into a different universe. He almost laughs at the thought. Why does he feel nothing?

The shuttles arrive. The shuttles arrive but Donatello doesn't move. He watches as others run to the shuttle. He can't help but feel a little resentful towards them, a dull flare in the dark abyss. Do they know what sacrifice just occurred to save their lives? Are they grateful? A distant part of him observes from its detachment the observation he makes is unfair. Donnie doesn't care. In the far distance, he sees April looking around. He can even see her face wet with tears as she searches. Some part of him knows that she's looking for him. She's looking for Leo, Mikey, Raph, or him. His distant thoughts suddenly screech to a stop. Raph. Raphael. She... She won't be able to search for him anymore. She won't find him. Suddenly, everything becomes too sharp. Too clear. The agony that rushes in almost makes him wish for the detached daze he had just been in.

It's at that time that he hears Mikey's scream. It emotes all that he's feeling, and it delivers a blow so gut-wrenching that whatever breath is left in Donnie's lungs is stolen away. Another blinding white light envelops the field, and this time, he knows that it's Michelangelo. This knowledge makes this new reality jarringly, horrifically real.

Raphael is dead.

Just as the numb daze is about to return, Donatello is made aware of the hiccupping sobs that undoubtedly belong to Mikey. All his doubts disappear, and he is confronted with the reality that they've gone from four brothers to three. It's here that Donnie realizes—he'd never gotten to say goodbye. He'd never been able to tell Raphael that he loves him, too. Something wet trails down his face. He's shocked for a moment before he realizes, once again, that it's his tears. They run hot, splashing down his cheeks and onto his collarbone. Then, it's like the floodgates open. His shoulders shake as he wails, face upturned towards the sky as he screams, shouts, and rages. He can't breathe, but Donatello doesn't care. He doesn't. Everything hurts. Raphael had died alone, protecting them.

Donatello's sobs join Mikey's as they howl at the sky like feral, wounded animals, their grief raw and insurmountable. It presses on both of their shoulders, through their plastrons, and into their chests; the weight is so heavy that Donatello wonders if he'll ever be able to stand up again.

[androgynosaurus]

“Writer's ask game: send me a random word/name and I'll post a sentence or two from one of my WIPs that contains it (if any)”

a few random words just in case you don’t have any of them in your wips: spark, crevice, sun, grape

Some of these words I could only find in fics I’ve already finished but I’m including them anyway!!

SPARK: A hazy wave of magic - the kind you can feel more than see or hear - washed down the walls and coalesced again as another burst of sparks on the carpet before vanishing. Steve's ears thrummed as it passed over him, as if there had been a rapid change in air pressure.

The Sounds You Make Chapter 1 (finished, story ongoing)

CREVICE: With every push and press a little more of the pain dissolved away and he felt his body loosening. Those hands worked miracles; they could twist and press into every nook and crevice of Steve’s aching back, find the exact spot that needed work, and knead tirelessly at it without ever getting sore themselves, all while spreading a lovely healing warmth over his skin.

Preemptive Measures Chapter 1 (finished, story ongoing)

SUN: Murph smiled at him, the setting sun behind them making their outline glow gold. A square of pink tongue was visible through the gap between their two front teeth. Their other hand came up to his face and they pressed the pads of their thumbs gently into the squishiest parts of his cheeks, trying to coax a reaction out of them.

Lopsided (WIP)

GRAPE: Couldn’t find anything at all for this one!

Writer’s ask game: send me a word/words and I’ll post an extract from one of my WIPs that contains it (if any)

[halfpintpeach]

WIP Wednesday 9/27/23

Playing @kedreeva's once game again:

It's WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here's how it works:

• In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

• Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We're posting progress here. If you haven't made any, go make some and come back to play!

• After you've posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

• That's it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. l'II be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you're reading this, you're invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

The line up this week is:

1. Tattoos and Flowers (potentially gonna rewrite it all)

2. Arranged Marriage

3. Snow White AU

(Putting a disclaimer here that I might not get to them all this week 😭)

Snippet from Arranged Marriage from last weeks asks below :)

He pushed off of the window, slowly moving his feet down the long hallway. Long, thin tables lined the walls. Decorated with antique vases and glassware holding floral arrangements. The shades of green popped out everywhere he looked. Green was the color that dominated the Minyard coat of arms. A stag stood in the front and center with its horns framed a broad sword. They were protectors of the realm. The ones that hunted and fought along the borders where demonic monsters that crawled from the crevice in the earth.

Turning from the displays, he continued to walk. There was peace in the silence that surrounded him, but it wouldn’t last very long. With the master of the house returning everything was sure to change. Neil had had nearly an entire year to himself in the mansion. He was free to roam and explore every nook and cranny that existed. Unlike the stories he’d read, there were no secret passages or dungeons hidden beneath the floor. He had his own office where he reviewed the books and the finances of the estate and managed the staff. While his husband had been gone, Neil had essentially been Duke Minyard himself. It was a daunting task—managing everyone living within the large duchy—and Neil had done it without failure.

[kanthonyficrecs]

Featured Fic (Regency Era)

Hidden by ironsidee Rating: M Status: WIP Summary: Kate’s adept at hiding - in crevices, nooks and crannies, and even within herself. It’s only fitting that Anthony can always find her.