#fic: glass houses

[butchreyes]

BETCHA THOUGHT YOU'D SEEN THE LAST OF THIS BANNER!!!! ladies and gentlemen and nonbinary loved ones, i present to you seven(ish) new (unedited) sentences of glass houses...

tagged by @strandnreyes @reyesstrand @carlos-in-glasses @carlossreaders @heartstringsduet @nisbanisba <3

He fastens Carlos’s buttons and loops the tie around his thick neck. All the while he can feel Carlos’s eyes on him, his warm breath on his cheeks making the blood rush to TK’s head. He blurts out, “Don’t kiss me.” The corners of Carlos’s mouth turn upward. “I wasn’t planning on it,” he says, his tone challenging. Fuck. “Shut up,” TK tells him. “You’re totally thinking about it.” “I am thinking about it,” Carlos admits. “But I won’t. You smell like puke.”

leaving an open tag because i'm running late once again... i haven't changed guys

[xhunnybeeex]

Kinktober post 3 

Black lipstick 

(TW//: NSFW content, force-feminization, mommy kink, degradation, slight dacryphilia, makeup on a male character, goth! Reader, Sub! Sam, female pet names, nipple play,)    

Sam always has an interest in your makeup. Watching you adoringly as you tried out different gothic styles. It was really no surprise to you when you walk into your bathroom to find him trying it out for himself. 

You open the door, eyeing him as he spreads black cream across his lips. He turns around quickly, leaving a black streak to rub onto his cheek. “Y/n it’s not what it looks like, I’m sorry.” He pleads. You giggle at the sound of him sounding so guilty. “”Why should you be sorry, everyone deserves to feel pretty.” you smile. His face turns from panic to confusion in a matter of seconds.

You push Sam to sit on your sink counter. He obeys like a dog for you. Always has, and probably always will. “You wanna try some makeup on.” You ask kindly. His cheeks heat up and sheepishly nods, avoiding your gaze. You chuckle quietly and lift his chin up to look at you. You  pick up a cotton pad, covering it in micellar water and clearing off all the smudged makeup. 

He sits there quietly,  watching his lap. “Is there a certain look you want me to do on you baby?” You ask gently, taking out a couple things before you get started. “Can you um.. Can you do the one you did the other day? With the blue glitter?” he asks humbly. You smile and hiss his cheek. “Of course. Just close your eyes for me.” He obeys immediately, fluttering his eyes closed just for you. 

Sam sits on your counter patiently, humming Altar De Fey and tapping his fingers against his jeans. You cover his eyelids in black and blue eyeshadow, spreading the colors until they mix the way you want. “Open” you ask quietly.  His eyes flicker open and he sees you holding eyeliner and mascara. He’s timmed and flinches as you start to put the pencil towards his eye. You pull back and offer him a comforting smile. His demeanor changes and you slowly go black to smearing eyeliner under his eyes and applying mascara. 

You touch up his messily put on lipstick and snap on the cap. “You're done!” you announce to him. He quickly stands to his feet, looking at himself in your mirror and admiring your work, and the way he looks. “I look pretty,” he says quietly. You smile as you hold your arms around his waist. 

“I’m glad you like it.” You say, leaving soft kisses up his neck. “Thank you.” his hands are gripping the counter as he watches you from the mirror. “Thank you..?” He recognizes your tone instantly, it sends shocks up his spine. “Thank you mommy.” He breathes out. You gently bite down on his neck and his knuckles begin to turn white. “Why don't you try something on for me, yeah?” He nods eagerly and you pull him into your bedroom. You sit him on your bed and walk over to your dresser. “Take those off for me okay.” you command as you shuffle through your drawers. 

You turn back around to see him fully stripped for you. You smile in approval and hold out a pair of black lace underwear. They arent your black panties, you know that wouldn’t be able to hold him, but a cute pair for him to try on. He eyes them delicately and slides them up his thighs. He looks at himself through your floor length mirror hanging on your door. His breath is heavy in his throat. His mouth lays open, his tongue almost hanging out,  but words aren't able to come out. 

You kneel down in front of him. Up bite on his thigh and he whines and goes to hold onto your shoulders, but he knows better than to touch you without permission. “Go ahead pretty girl, you can touch.” Sam's hands instantly move to your hair, tangling his fingers into it.You lick up his lace-covered bulge, salt covering your tongue and he pulls your hair and whimpers in response. Your spit and his precum leaves the panties wet. “My girl’s so soaked for me.” 

You take his cock out of the lace and fold the underwear to the side, licking a stripe up his thigh . Your hand moves up to hold his balls as your mouth moves to the head of his cock, so close where he feels your breath on him, cooling his precum that's spilling. He whines and bucks his hips up. He’s needy and frustrated. He’s been a good boy for you, and he expects his reward for doing so. You laugh at his eagerness and squeeze his balls. “Don't be a brat.” His hips go back into their former position and you release your grip. You move your mouth up and swirl your tongue around his nipple. Pulling and tugging the nub between your teeth. 

“You’re so pathetic for me, you’re all needy for me, you like being all dolled up for me? Being called a beautiful girl?” You degrade. He's a whining mess under you and he nods, helpless. “Yes mommy, I've been a good girl for you, just, please.” He pants. You give in and wrap your 

Lips around his tip, pushing your head down his length. 

Sam lets out a loud, whiney moan and one hand gripping your hair the other tangled in the sheets. Your hand continues to squeezes his balls, leaving sam overstimulated. His cock twitches in your mouth and you pull off of him. “Don't come yet, I will tell you when you're allowed.” He nods and squeezes his eyes shut. “Yes, mommy.” his mascara drips down his cheeks as tears puddle in his eyes, only encouraging you more. “Don’t cry pretty girl, you're smudging your makeup.” 

You move your mouth quicker around Sam and you tap his thigh. He knows what this means from previous times and he immediately is spilling his come into your mouth. You swallow his come, his dick still in your mouth. You suck your spit off of his cock and pull him out of your mouth. Sam falls back onto your bed, panting and sensitive. “Let's get you cleaned up baby girl.”

AN//: Hey lovers! Third kinktober is finally here!! please enjoy and let me know if you would like to be added to the current tag list. stay horny and safe <3 - beee!

[alealuvshayden]

obsessed with sammy

i need a realllyyyy good c.ai bot asap!

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

🐈‍⬛

[nananooti]

YALL NEED TO MAKE MORE STEPHEN GLASS FICS AMD SAM MONROE FICS, PLEASEEE!! IM BEGGING.

💔💔💔

LOOK AT THEM AND TELL ME YOU DONT WANT TO WRITE A WHOLE FANTASY ABT THEM, DONT LIE TO ME

[erraomens]

GLASS_HOUSES.wav

teaser_00_glass_houses.wav

“She was supposed to die. Instead, he gave her a name.”

Cult Leader!Noah Sebastian x Final Girl turned Miracle

The Omen x The Miracle Word Count: 670

Summary: She was meant to be a sacrifice. Just another offering, another name lost to ash and scripture. But when The Omen—Noah—lifted her hood, he didn’t see fear. He saw fire. This is how she was spared, how the doctrine changed. This is how the girl who wasn't supposed to survive became The Miracle.

A found footage horror fic told through corrupted sermons, leaked audio files, and sacred media relics. Structured in 13 Reflections. This is not a story, but a transmission.

Themes/Warnings: Blood, ritual sacrifice, psychological manipulation, religious horror, cult ideology, trauma, body horror (mild), morally gray characters, obsession, corrupted intimacy, found footage style, references to past sexual relationships, grooming themes (deconstructed), spiritual blasphemy, alt worship, unstable narration, and seductive doctrine.

This is a horror fic. Read at your own discretion.

a/n . the thought came to me while eating dino nuggets. the found footage idea came while thinking about the movie, The Fourth Kind. I hope I can do this justice. Thank you for letting me share my crazy thoughts and ideas with you guys. Also, I asked for help with the video transmission stamps / etc. I did not come up with those myself as I am not knowledgable with those.

[PLAY] [00:00:01] [Glitched Audio Detected – Reconstructing Visual Feed…]

What they believed was that she had no name when they dragged her in. Hood over her head, knees bruised, untouched skin meant for carving religious scriptures. She was one of three in the room, wrists bound by red silk, calmed with slight sedatives and prepared. She was meant to be a message, meant to bleed and feed The Voice.

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Blood.

[VIDEO STABILIZING] [00:00:36]

But when Noah, The Omen, stepped forward—barefoot, body marked, lips cracked from fasting—he stopped in front of her, kneeling down and lifting her hood.

[UNAUTHORIZED MOTION DETECTED]

His expression didn’t falter, but he could see that she wasn’t scared. Not terrified, not resigned—she knew what this was. She knew what he was there for. She was practically daring him.

“She looked at me,” he says, in the sermon. “And I saw something that hadn't been spoken in centuries. Not guilt. Not shame. Not submission. I saw fire.”

[00:01:12]

The girl beside him was already sobbing, thanking The Voice for giving them such a sacrifice, for blessing them.

[VOLUME SPIKE – DISTORTION BEGINS]

The Omen stepped back, turning to the woman sobbing, and kissed her. Promised transcendence, scriptures whispered between kisses. He kissed her forehead, thanked her for her devotion—and then slit her throat without blinking.

[00:01:34]

[VIDEO SKIPS // FRAME LOOP: 00:01:34–00:01:36 // “slit her throat” repeats x3]

[AUDIO LAG: LOW MOAN / DATA FEEDBACK]

The recording glitches. A low moan echoes beneath the sound, as if someone is reliving the pain again and again and again.

“Faith isn’t in the rituals. It’s in the moments you disobey your own gospel and create a new one. Tonight, I will rewrite the first Reflection. I saw fire in you, and you will make it into flesh.”

[LIGHT FLICKER — CAMERA SHAKE]

She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t cry—she welcomed whatever came next. She sat on the cold floor, legs tucked under her like she hadn’t just watched someone die—like she hadn’t felt the spray of unholy red on her lips.

It dried sticky along her throat, in her hair, down her breasts. She didn’t flinch, didn’t wipe it away. She just stared past him, eyes fixed on their biblical symbols that were engraved on the wall.

Her voice soft and steady: “She thought she was special, too. Before you slit her open.”

[00:02:29]

It wasn’t an accusation, nor was it an attempt to upset him. She was speaking facts, knowing he was using her like he used the girl who lay lifeless beside her. Blue eyes dull, staring up. She should feel guilt.

Shame. But something stirred.

“I know how this ends,” she continued, looking up at him from her kneeling position, blood spattered across her chest. “You’ll fuck me like The Whore. Preach through me like the Madonna. Use me until you’re bored, or find fire in the eyes of another you are meant to sacrifice. You will never be satiated.”

[UNAUTHORIZED AUDIO INSERT – VOICE: UNKNOWN // “you will never be satiated” // repeats x2]

Noah crossed the room in silence, kneeling before her as he took her chin in his hand. He studied her face. She didn’t flinch.

He pressed kisses to her eyelids—[glitch: frame freeze, overlay distortion]—an offering.

“She was supposed to be the sacrifice,” he said. “You’re the altar. The fucking reason we needed a sacrifice. The Voice will only listen to you, and it is still listening—every time you breathe, it’s listening.”

She remains on her knees, still watching him as something moves through him like fever. His voice sharpens. His presence magnifies, and she feels herself smile. Grin.

“I saved you because I see through you. I know what you are.”

She tilts her head.

“And what am I?”

He smiles like it’s scripture.

“A Miracle.”

[DATA LOOP INITIATED – “A Miracle” repeats faintly under all future audio]

[END PLAYBACK]

[teaser_00_glass_houses.wav TERMINATED]

[DO NOT SHARE – RESTRICTED ACCESS LEVEL IV]

transmission_leaked status: exposed risk: terminal You weren’t supposed to see this. The Voice is listening now.

[house-towers-westfall]

Stars and Gooseberries

title: stars and gooseberries

pairing: chaol westfall x yrene towers

synopsis: chaol and yrene are glad to move into their new house after surviving a greatest war of their lifetimes. years later, along with their two-year-old daughter, an old family tradition is reintroduced.

for: @sjmromanceweek 2025, day 6 (what comes next?)

notes: i had a very different plan for this - but i don't lead the characters, the characters lead me. especially when their names are chaol or yrene. happy reading! (will post ao3 link when i get an invite which is in a few days)

Chaol had made sure to have Yrene blindfolded. He’d tied a piece of cloth around her eyes when she’d dismounted her mare and, for extra measure, had stood right in front of her as he’d slipped it around her face so that she wouldn’t catch even the barest glimpse of the house. Their house.

The words clanged strangely in his mind. He still couldn’t comprehend the truth – that the building of the house which he and Yrene had supervised for nearly a year now was finished. That this building was now their home.

Home. He had never really known what a word that simple truly meant but he could find out, could he not? Home was what you made it – and who better to find out with than his wife?

Chaol glanced towards the woman at his side, at the hair sparkling in the sunlight, and the beautiful eyes that he knew were hidden beneath that cloth. He could see them, in his mind’s eye, as he had seen them as she’d walked in on that first day in Antica.

How far from that lord and healer they were now.

Yrene tapped an impatient foot on the gravel. “And when, exactly will I be allowed to take this wretched thing off?” She tugged at the burgundy cloth in emphasis.

A corner of Chaol’s mouth tugged up. “Whenever I feel like it.”

Scowling, Yrene placed both hands on her hips and, though he could not read her eyes, her countenance told him enough about her growing frustration. Oh, there was no doubt about that. Chaol was willing to pay good money that if he could have seen her eyes, they would be burning with the same sort of golden flame that Chaol had come to know and love.

Chaol took her hand in his and led her towards the entrance of the house. A garden teemed with life around them, sporting an abundance of flowers: tulips of varying colour, geraniums that had reminded him of the precise shade of one of Yrene’s dresses, sunflowers who were turned toward the sun just starting to creep up along the sky. The sun left behind blooms of colour, shades of orange and red and yellow that seemed stolen out of a whimsical dream, along its path.

Such summers had rarely been seen in Adarlan but the seasons themselves had decided to take mercy upon them this time, following Erawan’s defeat. The beginning of summer had been the hottest Adarlan had seen – much to Yrene’s delight. The perfect start to what would be the best day of Chaol’s life.

Chaol looked to his wife, who was very slowly progressing down the path, by his side, a hand on her swollen abdomen.

“Is it not strange that you’re doing the very thing you said you would not?” Chaol asked.

“What?”

Grinning, Chaol replied, “Waddling along.”

She slapped his arm. “I am not!”

“Whatever you say.”

He halted her with a hand at her arm when they’d reached the archway leading to the door. It was adorned with thick vines, growing around the white archway. They had to be the flowering kind, because lilac flowers bloomed from them. Delicate petals, the size and shape of pomegranate seeds, hung from the top of the arch, falling down like a waterfall of blooms.

“We’re here,” Chaol told her. Yrene turned her head towards him and he drew her thick curls away from her neck before unknotting the scarlet cloth. He pocketed it and turned to Yrene.

Yrene gasped and reached up to touch the flowers – albeit with a lot of effort, due to the growing bump in her abdomen. Her fingertips just about grazed the ends of the flowers before she fell back to inspect the remainder of the garden.

The grass was damp from yesterday’s rain, as were the gooseberry plants that Chaol had been sure to plant over the past month. Rainwater glimmered on a few of the gooseberry flowers, which had just started to bloom.

“Gooseberries,” Chaol said quietly, approaching her carefully to gauge what she thought. His breath halted as he read her expression and imagined her lovely face, always aglow with light, crumpling as she remembered her mother and the tradition that had been forgotten after her death.

Silence lingered for a while in the garden, broken only by the slow drips of remaining rainwater off the plants. Moments in which Chaol held his breath and waited, a sharp slice of pain going through him at the thought of causing her suffering.

“You remembered the memory,” Yrene said. “The memory of my mother.” Her hand almost imperceptibly drifted towards her abdomen. The movement would have been invisible to anyone but him.

“Why would I not?” he murmured. “It was your mother.” He again waited for a reply, bracing himself. “And I love you.”

Her eyes lit once again and Chaol thought a man had never been more relieved as he was now. Yrene at last looked at him, a slight smile gracing her lips, and said, “We’ll just have to make more gooseberry pie then.”

“We will,” he said, smiling, partly relieved and partly amused. “Oh, we will.”

Her hand slipped into his, her warmth seeping into him. “I love you too.”

His heart beat faster than Chaol thought was possible. But who wondered about a trivial thing such as possibility when in the acquaintance of Yrene Towers?

Certainly not him.

xxx

Two tiny hands clung to Chaol’s jacket, a touch familiarised to him over the past two years.

Turning from the starlit sky that hung above them, Chaol said, “She’s asleep.”

Yrene propped her head up on a hand. “Is she really?”

“She only clings this hard when she’s asleep.”

Yrene's eyes were still on their daughter and the brown-gold curls beginning to frame her face.

Yrene drew her attention away from their child and said, “She looks just like you when asleep.”

Her tiny breaths were soft on his neck as Chaol turned slightly, being sure not to disturb their daughter Josefin. “I’d say she still looks like you.”

Yrene rolled her eyes. “You say that all the time.”

“And it’s the truth. I thought we’d settled the matter of your likeness already.”

Chaol put an arm around Yrene as she shuffled closer to him. Her hair glowed in moonlight, which cast a beautiful silver sheen over it.

He followed her gaze up, up, up to the pearlescent moon, an ever-fixed mark upon the night sky. Yrene pointed upwards and laughed. “Farasha.”

Ah. Josie had taken to naming each constellation with whatever name she pleased, causing many unfortunate constellations to be named Farasha, after Chaol's eternally angry horse.

He laughed and redirected Yrene’s hand to another constellation. “That was…” She tilted her hand in question. After a moment of thought, her mouth fell open and Yrene began to laugh. “That was…” she said, in between her laughter. “That was you, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed.” He huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes. He certainly hoped he didn’t look like that clump of stars, but Josie had been very adamant about his likeness to that constellation. “I’m surprised you didn’t recognise it as soon as you saw it,” he said, pressing a kiss to her neck. “If I recall correctly, we spent quite a long time laughing after that proclamation.”

“Oh, yes. About half an hour,” Yrene grinned. Silence grew between them as they both gazed up towards the stars, which winked at the family of three sprawled out onto a blanket on their rooftop. Abruptly, she blurted, “Do you remember our first day here?”

“I do.” He paused for a while, letting the colours and emotions of the day wash over him like he were reliving it all again. “I remember thinking seeing the gooseberries would upset you.”

“The gooseberries?” Yrene's face scrunched up in bemusement.

"Yes, the gooseberries,” he said slowly. “I knew what that memory meant to you and thought you’d be reminded of…” He hesitated.

“My mother?” she finished for him.

“Yes.”

“It didn’t upset me,” Yrene said softly. “Because it reminded me. It reminded me that you can take what happened in the past – whatever horrible thing it was – and grow it into something new, something beautiful and breathtaking.”

“The way scars heal over,” he whispered as she raised a hand to her face and brushed a hand down the unmarred skin of his cheek. She still remembered where that particular scar had been, as did he.

“Exactly that.”

Chaol closed the little distance that remained between them and kissed her. Softly, gently. Like the way she had told him what seeing that small bush grow had been like for her. Not upsetting nor harrowing but bringing hope.

He didn’t take his mouth off hers until Yrene drew away, glowing face morphing into shock. Her mouth hung open as Josie leapt onto Chaol.

He caught her with both hands and set her firmly upon his chest. “Josefin, you aren’t asleep, are you?”

She giggled and giggled even more as Yrene began to tickle her.

“Josie not asleep! Josie not asleep!” she sputtered out, before toppling over to the space in between Chaol and Yrene, falling onto the sunflower-yellow blanket they had laid out on the roof.

Yrene tucked her into their other blue blanket and Josie immediately began beating her fists against Chaol’s chest, as she often did to amuse herself. He let her, though she was certainly strong. She’d grow up to be a fighter, if that was what she wanted.

Yrene came up around her and halted her beating fists with a hand. Like an accomplice in crime, she leaned into their daughter’s ear and whispered, “What do we do with gooseberries, Josie?”

“Gooseberry pie!”

Chaol and Yrene smiled at each other. “Gooseberry pie, it is.”

thank you for reading!

[blankfairy]

Finn Flint in All Things Devour

" all your secrets lie in pieces on the floor, crowding the corners of the rooms that you adore. "

Finn has lived his entire life believing it to be one wrong after the next: born a woman, born without a leg; intelligent far beyond his years yet second-born to a brother and barred from the Citadel for having the wrong parts. Dam to a bastard who was forced upon him and lady mother to a pathetic boy that reminds him of everything he is not.

In King's Landing, Finn has found a fragile peace in his husband, Larys Strong, who cares not for what he calls himself and fondly names him little lord, and his companion, Queen Alicent Hightower, who he serves as a 'lady'-in-waiting. Even his son, Trystane Strong, has learned not to bother him anymore. This fragility is destroyed, like a child crushing bugs, when Samsa Waters, his bastard daughter, comes to court and makes it her mission to know her mother.

Features in: All Things Devour (TBA)

Family Tree:

Other links: Character tag. Toyhouse. Pinterest.

flaticon. unsplash. template. artist (nsfw).

[transfemmesam]

normally i'm not one for 'normal life' AUs but there's one in particular that has radically altered my brain chemistry

[butchreyes]

well.... here we are. part one (out of two) is officially complete if anyone was wondering!!! part two will hopefully be much quicker to write since i don't have anything going on at the moment...

tagged by @strandnreyes @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses @paperstorm & @nisbanisba <33

A breeze passes between them— the dying breaths of summer. TK wants to commit it all to memory. Everything will be different the next time he’s here. Maybe it will be better. Probably, it will be worse. “Can I ask you one more thing?” “As your lawyer? Or as your friend?” “Just as you.” Just him. Whoever that is. “Go for it,” TK says. Carlos looks around. The paparazzi are still across the street, out of earshot. “Do you really believe that I’m innocent?” “You want the honest answer?” Carlos laughs humorlessly. “No. I guess not.” He steps back from TK and turns on his heel up the walkway. His house keys are still sitting in a plastic bag at the police station, TK figures, but he doesn’t need them anyway. His place is still without a lock. “Carlos.” He turns. “I believe in us, okay? We’re going to win this.”

leaving an open tag for any other late lucies who wanna sneak something in before wednesday is over!!!

[semitruckshrimp02]

working on a tgs/toh (the glass scientist/the owl house) crossover fic hear me out

hunter decides to remain in the human realm okay?? and he discovers he can craft palismen there (don’t ask how idfk) and he eventually hears about the society and is like “oh damn lemme get a bite of that” you feel me?

currently cooking this shit up

[alealuvshayden]

hes looking at me btw!

₊˚⊹♡

[divinemare]

Masterlist

ACOTAR

acotar oc’s

acotar oc couples

acotar oc’s incorrect quotes

azriel

rhys

nyx archeron

requests open

FOURTH WING

fourth wing ocs

fourth wing oc couples

liam mairi

brennan sorrengail

xaden riorson

requests open

CRESCENT CITY

soon to come

requests open

THRONE OF GLASS

soon to come

requests open

[blueskyscribeupdates]

Just updated Life in Glass Houses :)

[whenitgetsdark]

Since I’m curious about how people imagine the Glass house, here’s some pixilated screenshots of my sims build - second floor.

I exaggerated the room proportions so that the overall layout is easier to see zoomed out - zoom in for details.

I’m obviously limited to what’s available in the game, so items are mostly placeholders. Please forgive the bare walls, the picture options suck. I also forgot curtains entirely lmao.

[house-towers-westfall]

The Most Brilliant Father

title: "the most brilliant father"

pairing: chaol westfall x yrene towers

synopsis: chaol and yrene have had a baby and it seems they couldn't get any happier. but chaol has some doubts and fears... it's up to yrene to convince him otherwise.

for: @sjmromanceweek 2025, day 5 (tropes). hurt/comfort.

notes: i love chaorene so much (i will go down with this ship) and this conversation seemed a very them thing to me. (after all a lot of tower of dawn is hurt/comfort.) enjoy!

Chaol watched his daughter being lulled to sleep by the rocking motions of her cradle. It swung gently from side to side and, judging by Josie’s slower breathing, Chaol would have guessed she was already asleep.

Thank the gods. He’d give anything for a moment of respite from the cries that woke either him or Yrene (and sometimes both) up hours past midnight. He placed his book face down on the rolled arm of his chair: he’d been unsuccessful in reading to take his horrible mind off the events of the day.

Silently, he walked towards the wooden cradle, which was still rocking back and forth.

His gaze lingered on his daughter, on the smooth, rounded cheeks and the tufts of hair beginning to grow on her head. She made a small fist with her hand, even in her slumber, and Chaol couldn’t help but think that that small hand could have been painted by a master painter, for how perfectly it was shaped.

Most times, it was difficult to believe that he and Yrene had made this beautiful thing together.

Chaol’s gaze caught on the toy clenched tightly in her other fist. He’d been told to take any small toys away from her when she was asleep, should they pose a choking hazard. Gently, he took the toy away, prying her fingers away from their tight grip on the figurine. She would be a strong one, when she grew older.

Chaol heard Yrene approach, knowing the cadence of her steps apart from anybody else, even through the soft padding of the carpet. She came up beside him, shoulder brushing against his, without saying a word. Chaol had a suspicion she was just as enamoured of their babe as he was.

Such silence was not an uncommon thing in their household, with both Chaol and Yrene taking care of their own duties in the company of the other, but still, Chaol broke their silence. “How did that concoction turn out?”

Yrene shrugged, tossing her rich brown curls behind her shoulder. “I’m not entirely sure. I’ve given it the right amount of sunlight and used mirrors to catch it all… and it looks the right colour…. but I won't be certain of its effectiveness until I use it on a volunteer.”

“If you made it,” Chaol said, “I’m sure it will work.”

Yrene rolled her eyes but said no more, instead leaving his side to take a seat on their golden couch. She gave a small sigh as she leaned against the cushions and put her feet up on the sofa’s arm.

She overworked herself – far more than he thought necessary. There were acolytes willing to take on any of her duties: they’d be delighted to be designated but a fraction of it.

“How was work?” he asked. “Did you overwork yourself, as always?” “No,” Yrene protested. “I didn’t see patients at all today. I spent the whole day making that potion I told you about. And you?”

“It was fine, until…” Quietly, Chaol said, “My father sent me a letter today.”

Alarm flared in Yrene’s eyes and she sat up, the hem of her embroidered gold dress hitting the floor. “What did he say?”

A quiet sort of anger simmered in her eyes, letting him know that if he had said anything hurtful about Chaol, Yrene would have some choice words with his father.

“The usual.” Yrene’s eyes narrowed. “That I didn’t back him in his newest proposal at court, that I still hadn’t upheld my promise, what a disgrace I was to the family name.”

He meant the words in jest, but he couldn’t help the current of tension that ran underneath it. Chaol might have taken more care to hide it, back when he hadn’t met his wife, the woman that made him want to bare those parts of himself to her. As he had done with so few other people.

“Give me the letter.” Chaol withdrew the letter from his pocket and handed it to her. He watched as her eyes ran over the neat, meticulously penned letter. A crease formed between her eyebrows as she read further and her eyes were narrowed to slits by the time she finished.

Chaol took a breath and found himself unable to speak, even more speechless than he had been after he’d read that cursed letter the first time. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to say anything or if he had the strength to.

Hiding was all well and good, he reminded himself, but to be who you are and display it to the whole world, unabashed, was something that took courage.

So Chaol swallowed and took off the armour that he’d kept on for too long. Voice wavering, he asked, “Am I anything like him?” He looked into Yrene’s eyes and willed his voice to stop trembling. “Tell me. For her sake.”

His gaze flitted over to the cradle, still rocking, rocking, rocking, like his insides felt: plunged into the ocean, thrown in the air.

His mind whirred through all the deplorable messages in that letter.

They call you a noble man, and yet you cannot keep a single oath?

Any child you raise is no granddaughter of mine. Fancy that, having a woman for an heir!

I am ashamed to call you my son. I would rather refer to you as a disgrace. That does fit far better, do you not agree?

Those last words echoed in his mind. His father had known how best to wound him. He had known far too well.

“Come here,” Yrene said to him as if from an ocean's depth away. He shook himself out of the abyss and sat on their golden couch, next to her.

She set the letter on the rolled arm of the couch and turned her eyes upon him. And instantly, he was stunned.

Yrene was beautiful, he knew that, better than he knew his own heartbeat, but it didn’t stop him from feeling as if all the light of a summer's dawn had hit him when she looked at him. There was scarcely a time when his breath didn’t hitch as she walked into the room.

“Listen.” Yrene shuffled closer, closing the distance between them, and interlaced her fingers with his. “I told you, when I was with child, that you would be the most brilliant father to ever exist.”

Her voice was quiet but filled with emotion, brimming with it. And the last few words – the most brilliant father to ever exist – were said with the sort of pride and belief that no one could fake. “That has not changed in the slightest.”

Chaol delighted in her words and little by little, the waves of doubt that had engulfed him began to ebb.

The most brilliant father to ever exist. That has not changed in the slightest.

Yrene used her hand to lift his chin, bent towards their linked hands, to face her. “Do you understand?”

Chaol nodded, breath gone out of him for an entirely different reason than previously. “Yes. I do.”

“And this?” Yrene picked up the letter, placed on the couch’s arm with little care. “This is nonsense.”

Chaol heard the sound of crinkling parchment and it was only when he looked at Yrene’s other hand that he realised that she had crushed it in her hands. It fell to the floor and made scarcely any sound.

Chaol choked. His mouth hung open for a few seconds, probably like a fish out of water, and a laugh escaped Yrene. “You look ridiculous.”

He closed his mouth. “Well, it was quite a shocking move to make.”

“Unfortunately, my temper gets the better of me sometimes.” Yrene shrugged.

“You’re lying, Yrene Towers,” Chaol said, chuckling. “I refuse to believe for a second that that was any more than a calculated decision.”

“You know me far too well, don’t you?” A corner of Yrene’s mouth went up.

“And a very well calculated decision it was too,” he told her. “And... I agree with you.”

He continued, “As far as I’m concerned, he’s the disgrace to the family line.”

Yrene smiled beautifully. “It is nice to see that we agree on one thing,” she replied, before kissing him.

Her warmth leaked into him as her hand pulled his face down, and, for one peaceful moment, there was nowhere else that Chaol wanted to be but this safe haven. Just the two of them, kissing in the faint lantern-light as if there were nothing else in the world.

And then the cries began. He winced, drawing back. “Is it my turn or yours today?”

“Yours,” Yrene said, hiding a smile.

“You’re coming with me,” Chaol replied, a smile spreading across his face to mirror hers. Yrene raised an eyebrow. “After all, ‘the most brilliant father to ever exist’ can’t complete his fatherly duties on his own.”

thank you for reading!

[civilization-illstayrighthere]

FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK, a silverVdyne fic | 21k words, rated E |

chapters one | two | three | four | epilogue | playlist

summary: It’s been months since V brought Johnny back from beyond the Blackwall into his own new, cloned body. Physically, Johnny’s recovered. He goes out and does the odd gig with V. Everything’s going relatively fine for a former dead man.

It’s just, now that he’s in his own body, Kerry doesn’t want to see him anymore.

Inspired by @m0cktails artwork

tags: silverdyne, silvervdyne, hurt/comfort, johnny silverhand has a body, post-canon, false memories,