#god i wish we were given more information on this man

[coochellati]

I’VE NOTICED SOMETHING!!!!

According to the anime, Bruno was born in the suburbs of Naples.

Later on, when Bruno thinks he is speaking with Trish, he mentions that he owns a house in the suburbs of Naples.

Methinks there may be a connection—this information makes me wonder…

…is this house his childhood home? We’re never told exactly what happened to his family’s house—there’s a good chance Bruno inherited the place after his father passed away.

If it isn’t, did he buy a house near where he grew up to feel connected to his past? Sure, there many of suburbs around Naples, but I like to think he chose to live near to where he grew up.

And this thought doesn’t come without reasoning—there’s evidence in Purple Haze Feedback that supports the idea that Bruno wants to hold memories of his family close. (If you consider PHF to be canon, of course.) A passage within the book states that Bruno has one of his late father’s old fishing nets hanging on the wall in his living room.

If he’s sentimental enough to hang a direct reminder of his dad in his living room, then it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume he would want to live close to the place he was raised. Perhaps it comforts him.

[carebearbussy]

𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙨

ᥫ᭡ 𝙨𝙮𝙥𝙣𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙨: 𝙞𝙣 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝… 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖𝙨 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙮 𝙨𝙠𝙮𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣 𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙚𝙨 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙪𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙚𝙮𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙪𝙥.

ᥫ᭡ 𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙧𝙖! 𝙨𝙪𝙠𝙪𝙣𝙖 𝙭 𝙛𝙚𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧

ᥫ᭡ 𝙘𝙬: 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙨𝙩, 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙥 𝙞𝙣 𝙫, 𝙥*𝙨𝙨𝙮 𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙩h (𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙙), 𝙛𝙪𝙡𝙡 𝙣𝙚𝙡𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨, 𝙘𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙨, 𝙚𝙙𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙣𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙨𝙪𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙟𝙤𝙗, 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙟𝙤𝙗 (𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙚𝙣𝙙).

ᥫ᭡ 𝙬𝙘: 4.3𝙠 (𝙜𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙬𝙖𝙮…)

𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙣𝙖 𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

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You were sooo tired.

Sukuna had woken you up at the crack of dawn, seemingly out of nowhere. He had apparently informed you about your early awakening, but you cannot recall such events from him. But you knew how he became when he was upset, you you sucked it up and got out of your comfortable bed, leaving behind its warmth, for what exactly?

Another one of Sukuna's meetings, where he would sit hours on end in his large throne, as he awaits an endless line of citizens, listening to every one of their requests. The throne room at the estate was massive in size, being able to house thousands of people on end. And in the middle of it all, was Sukuna himself, nicely sat in it, legs spread slightly with one hand holding his drowsy head. You on the other hand, were seated right on his lap, one of his lower hands holding you close by the stomach, making you squirm in his lap every once and a while. Your kimono draping down your legs, covering most of your body. You looked ethereal, as you became the center of attention very quickly due to your appearance.

A civilian stood up, as he walked the crimson red carpet up to the steps of the throne. With a skittish look on the mans face, he respectfully bowed to the floor of the stairs, hovering his hands over his forehead, making sure to not make any unnecessary peeking, somewhat aware of the notorious temper Lord Sukuna gets when somebody oversteps their place when it comes to you. With a slightly shaky voice, he spoke.

"My Lord, you see, my family is in desperate times at the moment. My wife has fallen under an unknown illness, and we have no way of telling whether she will survive or not. Please, it is with my greatest esteem, if you could bless my family."

You furrow your eyebrows as you hear his story. To Sukuna, he has no reaction over such ridiculous things, but to you? You become very sensitive to such things, as you try to hide your discomfort by ajusting yourself on Sukunas lap, making him ever so slightly groan. He side eyes, you, as he continues to talk with the man kneeling before him. "I do not think you are worthy of my blessings, tiresome human. You may take your leave now." He says sternly, not giving any second thought.

Besides the throne on your left, is Uraume, keeping watch and a handy count over everybody who comes in and out. On your left, is a group of butlers, ready to take orders at any given moment. They stood tall, wanting to thoroughly impress Lord Sukuna to the fullest. And it seemed as though one particular one had wanted to impress you even more. He was tall, not as tall as Sukuna, but still tall compared to you. His eyes were dull with need, as they eyed your frame up and down, silently admiring you through his vision. God, he wished it was him instead of Sukuna. If he had a woman like you sitting all pretty on his lap like that, thats all a man like him could ask for.

Meanwhile, the man cowering on the floor was left in shambles, disappointment filling his system as he hears the words of Lord Sukuna. He stays on the ground for a while, not moving out of sheer disbelief. But his moment to himself was cut short. "Lord Sukuna said move, lackey." Uraume had said with a flick of the wrist, causing the man to quickly get up and make his leave, not wanting to disrupt the dwindling peace in the throne room.

"The nerve of some people to request such deplorable things from me, it makes me laugh, truly." He says, laughing to himself, causing you to slightly bounce in his lap, not going unnoticed by the same butler ogling at you from behind. But Sukuna is faster. He never makes any indications that he knows somebody is looking at you, but he is well aware of his staring. Sukuna has superhuman senses from all directions, making it a point to protect you from harm. He brings you in tighter to his chest, as he rubs the skin on your thigh under your kimono, causing shivers to crawl up your spine.

He brings your head closer to his with one hand as he pushes against it, his mouth coming dangerously close to your ear, as you can feel his hot breath gently fan against your neck. "I'm sure you are completely oblivious to this, but there is a man looking at my woman. You will know who I am talking about once I let you go." he says, squinting his eyes in annoyance at the man he can feel lingering his eyes on you. He is blissfully unaware that Sukuna knows what he is doing. He truly has no clue what he has gotten himself into.

Not only have none of the other butlers informed him on Sukunas constant desire for you, but the other butlers take note of what he is doing, too scared to move from their current position to stop him. They are afraid that interfering meant death, because they know what is about to happen shortly after this whole ordeal is over.

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It was nice to relax after a while, you thought.

The meeting with the civilians had lasted hours, your intuition being correct. You had come so close to just resting your eyes during the whole thing, but the tight grip Sukuna had on your waist prevented you from doing so. You were exhausted to say the least, needing a nice, well deserved bath to soothe your nerves.

You step into the large dimmed bathhouse with two handmaidens, immediately being enticed by the warmth of the atmosphere. Steam seemed to sprout from all sides, making you feel drowsy. But you felt at ease. You stepped over to a large bath, as it was slowly filled with warm water by your handmaidens with pitchers. You sat by the bath, as you watched them fill it to the brim with warm water. Your toes hit the water, making you hum with contentment.

"I'm ready." You say, signaling for the ladies to help you into the bath. You slowly strip yourself of all of your clothes, your handmaidens helping you do so. One of them holds your used kimono, as another slides off your shoes and undergarments. As you are fully undressed, both of your hands were held out in front of you, as each of your handmaidens take hold of each one, helping you keep your balance as you enter inside. You close your eyes, being content with the temperature. As you ease yourself into the water, you think back at todays events.

You had also somewhat noticed the man staring at you, only after Sukuna had mentioned it, and once the event had come to a close. But it couldn't have been that bad, right? Sukuna had a tendency to overreact to things like this when it came to you. This must have been one of those cases, surely. Or maybe, he was correct to think this way. After all, the butler had been starring for what was considered too personal. You could not see him, due to you being seated facing forward. But it was evident that he was thinking about more than what meets the eye. But as you relaxed into your string of thoughts, you were externally interrupted.

A large commotion could be heard from outside of the bathhouse, making you flinch and startling you by natural reaction. You turn your head in the direction of the noise, realizing it was the sound of one of the sliding doors slamming open. The doors in the estate were made with heavy material, so it could only be opened with such brute force from somebody as strong as Sukuna. The only person being as strong as him, being himself, of course. You knew how Sukuna got when he got mad, and you did not want him to be unattended when he got like this.

Wasting no time, you got up out of the bath, not thinking to put on your clothes, but instead grabbing the large bath towel that was next to you in the tub, instead of the robe that was freshly ironed for you. With hurried steps, you almost slipped as you exited the tub, causing your handmaidens to go into safety mode. "My lady, please! You should wear proper attire, and i'm sure another butler can handle Lord Sukuna at this moment!" She says, reaching for the robe, trying to hand it to you. But you were quick to ignore her, as you help up the towel to your body with one hand, as you stepped outside in broad daylight.

And to your horror, you had wished you stayed inside.

With your own two eyes, you saw Sukuna in all of his glory, basking in the feeling of strangling the poor butler that decided to linger his eyes on you for too long. The mans hands were trying to claw away Sukunas much larger ones, but to no avail. The sound of the air being knocked out of the mans lungs rung throughout the openness of the estate. Sukuna looked at the man, as he held him high in the air with one hand. He rested the rest of his hands on his hips, clearly unpleased by his previous actions.

"Tsk, you're pathetic. Laying your puny eyes on whats mine? Has nobody taught you any manners? Foolish." He says, smirking through his reactions. His face was turning more of a purple hue by the minute, seeming like he could pass out at any minute. He looks over to Uraume, who is smiling with him through the servants pain. "Yes, my lord, he made a very large mistake." Uraume says, agreeing. "Hm... what if I just..." He says, teasingly tightening his grip on the mans neck, as a loud 'pop' can be heard. This only amused Sukuna further, pushing himself to do more.

As you stood there watching in pure shock while resting your body on a wooden post, you really couldn't stand to see it any longer. You had to do something. You walked along the wooden floorboards of the foyer, trying not to make nay sound, but you fail miserably. A painfully loud 'creek' is heard from your direction, causing everybody in your vicinity to advert their attention towards you. You felt yourself grow how in embarrassment, realizing what you were wearing was highly inappropriate. Everybody except for the butler seemed unnafected, but on the inside, Sukuna was fuming.

So you're trying to show off now? He had seen your half naked body loads of times, but in front of another man? You were really pushing it at this point. His nose scrunches, as his eyebrows furrow in irritation. He eyes you up and down, not wasting any time before dropping the man before him, not taking into consideration his safety whatsoever. He walks towards you, each step making you more jittery than the next.

"Kuna, what are you doing to that poor man-!" You say, calling out to him as you stand on the foyer, almost standing at the same height as him, but still having to look up as he stood in front of you. "What the hell do you think you're wearing, woman?" He says, adding fuel to the fire, and completely disregarding the fact that he had just strangled a man. You look at him with wide eyes, as you scoff to yourself, trying to peek over his shoulder to get a better look of the man, but to no avail due to his tall stature. "That's not what's important right now, now tell me what happened!" You say, still searching for answers.

"Yes it is, do not make me ask twice. Go put some clothes on before anybody sees you in such a state." He says, starring daggers at your body. But you aren't focused on that, but instead on what was happening to the butler, who was clutching his bruised throat for dear life, making quick breaths in and out as he pants on the stone floor. Its uncomfortable to watch, but Uraume and Sukuna don't seem to care at all. You go to move past Sukuna, wanting to make sure the dying man on the floor was alright.

As you walk to where the man was, he instinctively tried to move away from you, not wanting to test Lord Sukuna's patience any further than he already has. But he finds himself unable to do anything other than stay still, as he watched the girl come closer to him by the second. Sukuna would let you have your moment, before he would decide how to penalize you for acting out of line.

You knelt down in front of the man, still holding up the towel wrapping your body. You looked at him with so much care, something Sukuna was selfish when it came down to it. "Hey, it's okay..." You say, reaching your free hand out to rub his back, hoping to soothe some of his pain. You knew what you were doing would be overstepping, but in the moment it really didn't matter. It seemed to work, as you noticed his breathing become ever so slightly more sturdy as you stood there. You smiled down on him by natural reaction, forgetting that a fuming monster of a man was watching this all unfold behind you.

This didn't last any longer, as Sukuna made heavy steps towards the two of you, as Uraume observed from afar. But you are too focused on helping the butler get back to his feet, as you attempt to try and hold him up with one hand. But all the sudden, your free hand that was once carrying the butler, now carried nothing, as Sukuna snatched your wrist into his tight clutch. This made you wince in shock, completely diverting your attention towards Sukuna. His eyes squinted as he looked at you, jealousy taking over his system once more.

"First you have men looking at you, then you walk outside practically naked, and now you are trying to seduce another man? I think I need to teach somebody a lesson." He says, forcibly bringing you up by the thighs, carrying you so your chests are pressed together. You wrap your arms around Sukunas neck, as you squeel from the shock of being carried so abruptly. You kick your feet as Sukunas hands lock underneath your thighs, making sure to not move the slipping towel. His hold on you bounce ever so slightly. "How was that flirting-"

"And you're also going to learn how to not talk back to those above you."

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"Please, m' sorry-"

You said, your eyes lolling back into your skull. It had been roughly an hour after Sukuna had brought you back to his quarters, and he planned on using this time wisely.

You were propped up nicely on the cozy comforters on the bed, but the comfort was far gone, with Sukuna edging you for what seemed like forever. It was getting tiring, as you chased upon a non existent race, which was your orgasm. Somehow, Sukuna always knew whenever you were about to release, having a sixth sense embedded in his body dedicated to you. His upper arms hooked under your upper thighs, his lower hands holding your hips up to maneuver you how he pleases.

This position he had kept you in made you feel practically numb, bringing you speechless. Your mouth squeezed shut from the pressure of his tongue secured onto your clit. He latched his lips, sucking on the bud, bringing you too much pleasure that you can handle at once.

"F-fuck, please let me come 'Kuna!" You say, barely able to look him in the eyes, hell, he wasn't even letting you touch him, let alone yourself. But this in his words, was to be deserved. "Tsk, acting like such a whore today, arent you?" He says, taking a pause in his antics, before giving your pussy some nice, playful slaps with his upper hand, making your hips jolt up, your eyes going wide as you yelp out. "Sensitive for your king, aren't we?"

He resumes his assault on your cunt, making sure to linger at your reactions. What he wants most, is a reaction out of you. And a reaction he is getting. You feel your legs start to tremble under his constant sucking, as you feel your body pulse every time he hits a nerve. You can't help the whimpers that fall from your mouth, from the combination of ungranted release, and the tingling due to the numbing sensation from how long he had been toying with you. But you could tell Sukuna was enjoying it. But you needed to cum, and soon. You felt as if you were going to explode if you didn't, and there was really nothing you could do to stop him.

The grip on his thighs tighten, as he soon realizes you are close to your release again, which seemed to pattern the last three? six? ten times? You couldn't keep track at this point the amount of times he had edged you, especially the way he swishes his head in the crevices of your folds, eating you out like a starved man deprived of nutrients. He blew into your wetness, causing waves of vibration to be loud enough to make a noise, almost sending you over the edge, before Sukuna halts his movements, then looking up at you. Your face was red, sweat trickling down every inch of your body. You felt hot, inside and out. Why did he have to be so difficult?

"Noooo, please just let me cum! I'll be good!" You plead, whining about your missed orgasm. You fiddled your hands above your stomach, eager to grip his silky pink hair, reaching out to it by instinct. But he notices this, and stop you by grabbing you by the wrist. "Ah ah ah, you have to wait a bit, brat. I'm not sure you quite deserve your reward." He says, crushing your high hopes in one sentence. You practically had tears in your eyes from how frustrated you were. "Beg for what you wish."

You shut your eyes, a loud exhale from your nose being heard. You looked down at him, still between your legs. He starts running his lengthy fingers along your slick, squishing your puffy folds each between his index and thumbs. You look away, not wanting to look him in the eyes at the thought of how pathetic you looked. You open your mouth, trying to find the right words for your tireless begging.

"Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to try to entice anybody, I was just worried, but that has nothing to do with this, please 'Kuna!" You say, looking down at him with glossy eyes, filled with need, You try to close your legs out of sheer shyness, but he stops you with two firm hands. He rewards you with a couple particularly harsh pussy slaps, making you jolt once more as he watches the way your hips buck upwards. He stays in his current position for a while, contemplating his decision.

He gets up from the edge of the bed, unhooking his arms as he towers over your resting form. You watch him slowly get closer to your body, crawling up the bed while looking at your face. He finds himself enticed by your neck, as he watches you extend it to the other side to hide your face. But that only shows off a noble part of your supple body that he adores. You peek up at him, as his face is mere inches away from yours. But he decides to attack your neck, going in like a moth to a flame. Sucking on the soft skin of your neck, he creates a multitude of different bruising, further marking you. Yeah, you were going to have a hard time trying to cover this up.

Coating your neck in his thick saliva, you whimper at the feeling of his thick fangs sinking ever so slightly into your neck. You try to grab onto his hair, but he stops you once more, pinning your hand to the bed with one of his upper hands, his lower hands reaching down to rub rough circles on your sensitive bud. You felt yourself bring a plethora of different emotions to yourself, no knowing what part of your body to focus on. You lifted your head back as a natural reaction, letting Sukuna fully dwarf you on the bed, as well as accidentally grant him full access to your neck. You try to close your legs, bringing your knees to your stomach, but his girthy hands keep them plied open.

He lets go of your nape with a 'pop', as he slowly pulls away, basking in the sight of his marks on your nimble skin. You are left panting, the combination of pain and pleasure seeping into you. He truly didn't mean to go too far, but he cant help it when it comes to you.

"Y'know, I was planning on having my fun with you until I tire, but since you asked oh so nicely, and the way you look right now, god, I think you're ready."

At his words, you felt a smile of relief hit your face, happy that after all this time, he is finally giving in. He felt his cock throb with precum, but one thing Sukuna is good at, is gaslighting you. He looks at you with a sinister smile, tilting his head as he moves his robe off of his body, pointing down at his pulsing length through his pants. "You see this brat? You did this. This is all your fault, and I know how you can fix it." He says, following with a loud sigh.

With one swift movement, he tugs off his undergarments. Your face contorts into that of surprise, being shocked every single time without fail whenever you see his two lengthy cocks, proudly pulsating against your thigh. You know you'll be able to take it, but with the kind of mood he is in right now, you are unsure. Sukuna is a very unpredictable man, after all. But one thing you were not expecting, was for him to be the one sitting up. His chest hit your back, as his legs resting on the floor at the edge of the bed for leverage. His lower arms held your hips up nicely, his upper arms hooking under your knees.

With another swift movement, no prep involved, he slipped inside of you with his bottom cock, his top one sliding against your pubic area. You moan out upon his arrival inside you, unprepared for the sheer size he was. His teeth connected to your shoulder as he slouched down to accommodate your height. "Wait-" You said, but were interrupted as he began to move at a moderate pace, as you sucked him in and out of your gummy walls repeatedly.

Wanton moans threatened to come out every second, as he plunged himself deeper into you, smacking his hips against yours as he did all of the work. You felt like you were floating, as you were being used like a ragdoll for Sukuna's pleasure. "Shit, just sucking me in like a vice, arent'cha? Are you gonna be a good little whore? You adore your kings cock that much?" He said, finding it amusing how your body reacts to his treatment. "Look down woman, theres something else there besides just the one inside you." He says, signaling to his free cock that was sliding against your lower stomach.

"Kuna, I can feel it in my-" "Your tummy? I know, you can handle it, it'll all be worth it. Now pay attention." He says, shutting you up once more. It was hard to focus, the bouncing of your body paired with the tight position Sukuna had kept you in being key factors. You slowly reach down with your right hand, cupping his free cock in your now wet hands, soaking them in pre cum. The squelching of the wetness of his cock thrusting in your hand, his hips and your pussy smacking against each other, and the sounds of your uncontrollable moans filled the room.

"You wish it was that pesky butlers cock in your tight, pretty hand, huh? Well i've got news for you, he is nothing compared to me. I shouldn't even be giving him a second thought, but thats what happens when you are in the picture."

You lazied your head on his bicep, trying to gain leverage on yourself. You were sooooo close. "What if I just..." He said, hitting the spot inside you that only he knows, repeatedly driving against the sweet ridge that sits nicely in your canal, thus almost sending you over the edge. "F-fuck! Right there-, holy-! I'm about to-"

But he stops everything, seemingly placing your world at an everlasting halt. That was to be your most intense orgasm of the night, but he ruined it. You were devastated, to the point where you tried moving yourself again, but the grip he had on you prevented you from doing so. You let out a loud sigh, tired of your release being denied.

"But you said you would let me, you said-!"

"Aww, whats wrong? You thought you would get it that easily? Now get on those knees of yours and put yourself to use, show me that you are truly sorry, brat."

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[barbieaemond]

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting  to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos." 

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror. 

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

[annwrites]

a call to arms. part five.

— pairing: jacaerys velaryon x dragonseed!reader

— type: part of a series

— summary: you & jace hide yourselves away in a familiar alcove after a morning tiff.

— word count: 3,286

When you wake the next morn, you feel in at least slightly better spirits.

You’d, after your 'incident' with Jace, sent the coin he’d given you to your family in King’s Landing, writing for them to send notice to you as soon as possible, informing you that they've received it.

Once you’ve broken your fast and dressed, you emerge from your chambers, wanting for an early-morning walk along the beach…only to be greeted by an unfamiliar guard outside your door.

“Where…where is Ser Myles?”

He bows his head to you. “I believe he has been reassigned, My Lady.”

You blink up at the strange man before you, anger quickly flooding your every sense.

You head directly for Jacaerys’ room.

Jace is interrupted from breaking his fast by a loud pounding on his door.

He panics, immediately worried that, mayhaps, it is Baela. 

What if she knows of last night—what nearly occurred between the two of you? What if she has come to call off their betrothal? Gods, what in Seven fucking Hells had he been thinking? What has he been since your first meeting but a couple of nights ago?

When you’re near, he finds himself unable to think straight. You cloud his judgements. Rather, force him to think with only one part of himself—and it is most certainly not with what sits between his ears, but rather his legs.

He stands, walking toward the door—lightly jumping when the pounding begins again. He wrenches it open—ready to loose his sharp tongue on whomever has forgotten their manners so early in the morn, only to be immediately cut off by you barging into his chambers.

“Where is he?” You ask acidically, swiftly swinging round to him, your loose silver hair falling over your shoulders. 

His mouth tugs into a frown.

The pleasant girl from last night has clearly fled him once again, instead replaced by one filled with fire.

“You’ll need be more specific, I’m afraid,” he replies cooly.

You take a step closer, your hands balled into tight fists at your sides, your nostrils flared. “Ser Myles, my guard. Where is he?”

He grits his teeth. “He has been reassigned.”

“To whom?” You spit.

“Not to whom, but to where,” he states flatly.

You seethe. “You sent him away.”

“I did. He was no longer suited to his role here as your protector.”

“Because he dared touch me, as if I did not do it back?” You ask with a raised brow and a hammering heart.

He takes a small step toward you, and then another. “You barely knew him. Why does it matter?”

His brow twitches in irritation. “Unless it was more than just a few ‘innocent’ touches which were shared. Mayhaps...”

He grins then, chuckling darkly, shaking his head.

“What?” You bark with vehemence. 

He steps closer, followed by another step and another, while you back up, glancing behind you, the wall on the right side of the room growing ever-closer.

“It is just your nature, isn’t it? I should’ve known as much the night last when you encouraged me to…to dishonor my betrothed.”

Your jaw falls slightly open. 

“You can’t help yourself. A wanton woman who can think only with that which is between her le—”

You slap him.

Slowly, he turns back in your direction, watching silently as tears slip down your cheeks and your chin wobbles.

“I am not the only one to blame,” you say between sobs.

His face falls slightly at the state of you. Of his own causing, no less.

“He was my friend. He was like me: lowborn. I’d found someone to talk to, and you took him away from me. Leaving me left with only the likes of you. If you wish for someone to blame for what we did, you should first take a look in the mirror, and remember whom it was who summoned whom to sup with them.”

He remains silent, only breathing steadily as he continues to stare at you.

“Jealousy and pride is no excuse to treat people as you do: disposable, lesser than, inconsequential.”

You step closer, jutting your chin upward as you stare into his brown eyes. “We are many. It is all of you who is few. You should remember that for when you are one day king, and inevitably go a step too far.”

You turn, heading for the door, slamming it behind you.

You find a quiet spot on the beach where you turn your back to your new guard and cry. 

You refuse to even speak to him. Not because you do not wish to, but because you are afraid of what may happen to him if you try.

No place is safe here.

You are filled with immeasurable guilt. For Myles—losing his position here is all your fault. Had the two of you never met, he would still be in his position. And for Baela. 

You could see it yesterday when she looked at the two of you, could hear it in her tone—the worry that Jacaerys looks upon you in a way he should not. 

She deserves better than someone like him, you’re sure. Then again, she, too, is highborn. Most like, she sees you just as he does.

As they all do.

You hate it here.

You don’t bother coming in, even when you begin to shiver from being cold. You merely sit and stare at the endless expanse of sea that lies before you.

You know your guard must be growing tired, but when you had tried telling him that if he would like to go inside he may, he’d merely told you his post was protecting you.

So you drift away in your thoughts, returning to your small abode in King's Landing, pretending you are sat upon a rocking chair, your little girl in your lap as she snacks on pastries you've made for her as you tell her stories.

Mayhaps you should instead steal away on Silverwing, as opposed to remaining here. Offer yourself to the Greens. At least that way, you will be closer to home.

You cannot support a family such as this. Neither of them deserve that which they fight for.

You wrap your arms round yourself, debating.

Jacaerys had given you a bit of time after your morning tiff in hopes that you would cool down.

He, himself, has felt in a daze in the hours since—your heated words going round and round within his mind.

And the heartbroken look he had instilled upon your face... His own had deserved to sting in return when you repaid him for his offensive accusations.

And now he treads the beach in search of you.

He is unsure what he means to do when he finds you.

More lessons in High Valyrian? Gods know you need further tutoring.

Another flying lesson upon Silverwing? He is sure you do not wish to be so close to him again.

Not today, at the very least.

Just as he begins to consider turning round and going back inside, he spots you sitting atop a small boulder, your guard at your back as you stare at the sea that lies before you with a solemn, blank expression.

You look...pale. And you shiver from the cold.

Now he has driven you even from feeling welcome in the castle where you should instead be, finding warmth.

Not that he's sure you ever did feel welcome to begin with.

All his fault...

When he meets your guard's eyes, he motions for him to return to the castle, and the man bows his head in return before turning round to leave.

You do not even notice his sudden absence.

Nor do you notice as Jacaerys stalks ever-closer.

Not until he is draping a warm cloak round your shoulders do you realize his presence.

Your head shoots up, and you quickly scowl, promptly standing.

You throw off his metaphorical olive branch, quickly marching in the other direction.

"Stop," he calls to you, retrieving his cloak, jogging to catch up to you.

You keep your mouth clamped firmly shut, refusing to speak to him.

"Please stop. I only wish to—"

You skip ahead a few steps, nearly tripping over your skirts you're so eager to create distance between you and he.

He lets out a low curse, spots an opportunity off to the side, then swiftly reaches forward, taking your hand in an iron-tight grip as he pulls you alongside him into a familiar alcove.

"Let go of me!" You shout, trying desperately to yank yourself free of him.

He holds firm, refusing to let you escape him as he hides the two of you away round a corner.

He pushes you back against a stone wall, desperate to make you listen, until you slap his face again, tears running down your own.

"I hate you! I cannot stand the sight of you! Being near you is unbearable! You royal arse!"

You begin pounding tiny fists against his chest, trying to push him away, until he has reached his limit, and he pins your arms to the wall behind you, just the same as before.

"I'm sorry!" He shouts.

You quiet then, staring up at him with vehemence.

"For all of it. My beastly behavior since we met. It has been..." He shakes his head. "Un-princely of me. I just..."

He cannot say it—that he both envies your looks, while they are also simultaneously the reason he lusts after you. And that you have figured him out with ease time and again. His insecurities over someone like you claiming a dragon, which he had thought made him special to have. And someone like you somehow being more worldly than he—a royal prince.

You know more than him, and it had stoked his ire time and again with how...mature you seem. Making him feel a child in return.

But that same maturity... Gods, how he longs to see you exemplify it again and again.

"You just what?" You spit, pushing back against him, though it does you little good.

There is a brief silence which hangs between you, until he comes closer, the familiar feel of his erection becoming present as he presses it to your abdomen.

"I want you."

You roll your eyes. "As I am well-aware. The feeling is not returned, I assure you. Now, let me—"

"Gods, you're fucking impossible, aren't you?"

"Me?! You've no idea what you want. Me, or Baela, or—"

He crushes his lips to yours while you squeal and squirm against him. And then you clamp down on his lower lip, drawing blood.

He wrenches himself away, but still holds firm to you.

"You just...you just bit me!" He cries in shock.

"Try that again and I'll do it again," you seethe.

He sneers, squeezing your wrists impossibly tighter.

"Fine. Then I shall..." He pauses.

Is he truly about to do this?

He glances to the side—the direction of where the alcove's entrance lies—then back to you.

He releases you, kneeling.

"What're you—"

"Teach me," he says, blinking up at you.

And you stare down at him, taken aback, quickly cooling.

"Teach..."

He reaches beneath your skirts, sliding a warm hand up your calf.

"Teach me how to please you. Allow me to show you how truly sorry I am in this...other way," he says with a slight smirk.

"I have taught you much these last few days. It is time, mayhaps, you return the favor."

He slides his hand higher. "It will, after all, be for your own benefit, at least."

He presses a soft kiss to your stomach, over your dress. "Allow me to please you."

You swallow nervously. "Jace..."

His face slowly falls and he glances away, softly shaking his head. "Foolish," he whispers. "Forgive me—"

You shakes your head, not wishing to humiliate him. Not when it comes to this. Even if he mayhaps deserves to be hurt in return for how he did the same just this morn.

"No, it's just... How am I to trust that I...consent, and you do not, once again, throw it back in my face, just as you did with what occurred between us last night?"

He slides his hand up the back of your thigh. "You have me on my knees. Begging you to allow me to pleasure you. You need more reassurance that you have me at your mercy now?"

Your lip twitches. Oh, Gods, this is so very strange.

"What do you... I mean, there are many things..." You stumble over your words, searching for that which you mean to ask.

His eyes trail down your body before settling on that which is directly before him—hidden beneath skirts of his own selection.

"I would use my mouth, Y/N, if it please you."

"What of...Baela? Or... If this is your first experience, are you sure you—"

"I know what I want. And I know that it is you. Here. Now. Will you not allow me this most singular indulgence?"

Your heart pounds between your breasts and all sensations of cold have fled your body, instead replaced by a blooming warmth spreading across your electrified skin.

Finally, you nod.

And he smiles.

He reaches to the hem of your skirt, pushing it upwards, and you take it from him, holding it above your waist as he hooks his fingers under the waistband of your smallclothes, easing them down your thighs until they're pooled round your shoes.

You step out of them and he tucks them into his pocket before taking your bare hips in either of his hands, staring at your glistening cunt with wide eyes.

He licks his lips, swallowing thickly.

He gazes up at you once again. "How do I... What do I do, exactly?"

You nearly burst into a fit of nervous giggles, but use all your strength to fight the feeling down.

"Do you see...um...that small, fleshy hood—so to speak?"

He reaches forward, pulling it upwards, nodding, revealing a small pink pearl beneath.

"That—what you've just...revealed is what gives a woman her...pleasure."

He grins. "I believe I know all I need for the moment being."

And with that, he dives between your thighs, planting his full mouth openly against your sex, beginning to suck and run his tongue between your hot folds.

You throw your head back, sucking in a sharp gasp as your eyes flutter closed.

You quickly thread your fingers tightly in his dark curls, tugging his face impossibly closer to your sex.

You release a shuddering breath, sighing his name. "Jace..."

He reaches up, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder before he bends his neck to the side, diving ever-deeper with his tongue, desperate to fuck you with it.

He spreads your lips with his fingers, running his tongue along your dripping entrance, moaning against your heat.

"Gods, Jace, just like that."

His lip twitches, glad for your approval.

He kisses you sloppily, making loud, wet, smacking noises against your cunt—his cock straining painfully against his breeches all the while.

Palming himself over them only serves to makes the pain all the worse.

He breaks from you, staring up at you from under hooded lids—his face now slick from your arousal.

"May I untie my breeches, My Lady?"

Your brow twitches? He...he wants your permission to give himself relief?

"Y-yes, of course."

He nods, just once. "Thank you."

Your brows shoot up at his reply, watching as he tugs desperately against black leather strings. Finally, he reveals himself: long and hard, and the pink tip weeping with seed.

He does not stroke himself even once before he returns his full attentions, instead, to you.

And it is with fervor that he does.

He slurps and gasps and moans loudly in the back of his throat as he dines upon the most delectable part of you.

"Gods," he mutters against your mound. "You're so beautiful. Mm, and delicious."

He spreads your labia again, kneeling even lower as he flicks his tongue repeatedly against your pulsating entrance—dragging his speared tip back and forth, back and forth...

You gasp, clenching his curls tightly in both of your fists before pushing his face back against where you most want his mouth to be: against your clit.

"My clit—that...part I—"

He finds it instantly.

"Oh, Gods, good boy, Jace!"

He growls against you, his ministrations turning animalistic as he sucks and sucks against it, flicking his tongue, doing his utmost to please and tease.

You release his hair, tugging down the top of your gown, revealing your naked breasts before gathering your skirts again just as they've begun to slip over his head.

You want to see him.

Want to watch what he's doing to you.

Or, mayhaps, you are doing to him.

"Your fingers...slip two of them inside of me."

He does as instructed, easing them between your tight walls. The sensation he finds to be most unexpected: they are hot as fire, warm and wet and squishy, and utterly delightful.

Now he sees what all the fuss is about.

"Curl them upwards," you say between sighs.

He does.

"Now massage."

Slowly, he makes a beckoning motion with them and you gasp loudly, your eyes popping open.

"Yes, just like that. Good, you're doing so well!"

He pushes his face against your stomach—his nose pressed so hard into it that he can hardly breathe. So, he instead gasps for breath between your legs between long sucks and pleasant licks.

You bite your lower lip and Jace assumes he's most-certainly doing something right when those velvet walls begin to clench quickly around his soaked digits—your arousal so much that it's now running down his palm.

"Yes, yes, Jace, just like—oh, Gods, good boy—yes!"

He hums in contentment, glad to know he is doing right—is pleasing you so well in this way.

Your fingers tremble against his scalp, your breaths cause your body to shudder, and your thighs shake, but you do all you can to remain upright as you grow ever-closer.

He continually flicks his tongue against your too-sensitive bundle and you begin to whine in response.

"So close. You're doing so well... Gods, just a bit—just a bit more, My Prince"

He eases a third finger inside you, continuing to gently coax, and you gasp loudly.

"Yes! Yes! Nearly—"

He swirls his tongue round and round, on both his knees still, one of his hands tightly gripping your ankle for balance as he works fervently in your favor.

"Jace, oh Gods, I can't—I—Yes! Yes! Good boy! Yes!"

You finish against his face—against his tongue—giggling and gasping and whimpering all the while as your orgasm overtakes you.

You could swear you hear dragons roaring in the distance, but cannot know in your current state.

Eventually, you calm and when you look down, Jace is nearly on all fours, staring up at you with such a look as you have never before seen: lustful and wanton and overtaken with desire.

His face and hairline is slick, as well as his right hand.

Finally, he stands on wobbly legs, and it's then that you notice his cock is absolutely covered in his thick, white seed.

"Did...did you...?"

He crushes his lips to yours—his wet erection pressing against your bare stomach, leaving its own kiss in its wake as he pulls back after allowing you to taste yourself.

"I did not need even touch myself to finish at your hand," he mumbles with a pleased smirk, returning his lips to your own.

— tagging list: @emilynissangtr @tvangelism @aemondwhoresworld @cecestea @daisyhxsh

@burningwitchobject @zizouu23 @baybaybear1 @sugyomama @dracaryxzs

@hayloftxxo @gentlejoy @darlingcharling-blog @s0urw00lf @usaguisenpaisblog

@kqlopsia @marvel-at-stucky

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Kenshin's Sequel Preview

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Spoilers ahead.

Once, he became a demon for my sake.

The deep, dark obsession he had was gradually turning into something more gentle.

Kenshin: "As long as we are in a truce, the Uesugi clan will not attack the Oda clan."

Kenshin: "Moreover, if the world becomes more chaotic, I could lend a hand in bringing peace, depending on the conditions."

Masamune: "A god of war would see a chaotic world as an opportunity for battle."

Kenshin: "That would only sadden Mai."

Kenshin: "Easing her worries takes precedence over everything, even the joy of battle."

Ieyasu: "I can't believe this is the same man who once tried to destroy everything for the sake of one woman."

Amid our happy days, I was sure that one day we would attain the calm of a serene sea, but...

Wounded Soldier: "Sorry, but I have my reasons."

Mai: "Ah!"

(He's going to kill me.)

A sinister hand reached for me as I accompanied them to battle.

As pain surged through me, the image of my beloved came to mind.

(No! I can't leave Kenshin alone.)

(Not like that time again.)

In my final moments, a memory and regret pierced my heart.

I never wanted to see him become a demon again.

(I wish I could go back in time. I wish I could redo everything.)

Would my desperate wish bring a miracle or something else?

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

Kenshin: "You're pale. Are you in pain somewhere?"

Mai: "Huh? Me?"

(I'm not dead?)

From that moment, an unknown power to turn back time began to awaken within me.

When he learned of this, his heart began to crack secretly.

Kenshin: "I haven't given you permission to speak."

Kenshin: "Normally, I wouldn't even allow you to breathe, but I'm sparing you so you can spill all the information."

Man: "P-Please, spare me."

Kenshin: "Didn't you hear me? I told you to shut your mouth."

Mai: "U-Um, Kenshin."

Kenshin: ".........."

Mai: "!"

(It's been a long time since I've seen Kenshin with this expression.)

Kenshin: "You must have been worried, Mai."

Kenshin: "There's no need to stain your beautiful eyes with such an unsightly, tedious interrogation."

Who was it that first opened the box that held back his madness?

Kenshin: "Let me make this clear: I am furious, more than I've ever been."

Kenshin: "I'll protect you, no matter what. And I will kill every last one of them."

I wanted to give him as much love as he gave me.

Mai: "It wouldn't mean anything if I'm the only one who survives."

Mai: "Not using that power is the same as letting them die."

Kenshin: ".........."

Mai: "Please, I've made up my mind."

Kenshin: "That's the part of you I fell in love with."

Even if I burn my life away, my soul will shine only for you.

Kenshin: "I thought you were teaching me a gentle love, but I was gravely mistaken."

Kenshin: "The desire to possess you consumes me like a sweet poison, and it will never fade."

We are two halves seeking each other in a twisted way.

Our tightly clasped hands will never part, even in the depths of hell.

[katerinaaqu]

Why didn't Odysseus's crew stage a mutiny against him in the Odyssey? (An analysis based on Homer's Odyssey)

It has been a while since the last time I did some Odyssey Analysis and here is an interesting question that goes on in this. A very valid question actually.

During the arduous trip in the Odyssey, the Cephallinians suffered greater loss than anything they suffered at the 10 year war at Troy. They lost almost all ships and all men were dying. They were reduced to a ship of a crew with less than 40 people and they didn't seem to get much hope. So of course one could ask; what was holding them back and didn't fight back against Odysseus apart from the indirect mutiny they did when he turned his eyes away from him to pray? Why their only mutiny was to disobey his orders and slay the cattle of Helios Hyperion? Surely more than 30 men could do plenty of damage to one man right? Why didn't they? And why is it important for the story?

So while thinking about it I came down with some possible explanations as to why that happened;

Odysseus was beloved to the gods

Regardless of their terrible situations, Odysseus probably still had the fame of someone beloved to the gods. He used to be directly communicating with Athena and was under her protection. Despite the fact that he was cursed by a god, there could be some sort of a thought running to their minds; what if we harm him and the gods strike us for it? What if there will be consequences for directly wishing harm to one who was blessed to be appreciated by gods? It could possibly be a risk that they didn't want to take. And it makes sense given how much Odysseus interracted even with minor gods during the trip (for example Aeolus or Circe). Quite frankly they might as well have wished that at some point Odysseus would appeal to yet another god for help.

Odysseus was beloved to his subjects

If you look at my other analysis here You can remember how beloved leader Odysseus was even to subjects such as slaves who in theory would have no real reason to be loyal to him. Odysseus seemed always to be a just and beloved leader and his men on the ship were not an exception. Regardless of whether they had lost faith hin him in his capability to bring him home or if they doubted his judgement, they couldn't get past the emotional connection; Odysseus had protected them during the war to the point of suffering the least possible losses, during the trip he was going to extreme measures to protect them (even the cruel misadventure in which Odysseus cut the rope from his ship to save the last ship from the Laestrygonians might as well have spoken volumes to the men that were saved). It would be hard for them to completely ignore that even in the face of mistrust. Somehow it would also be them thinking that they "owe him" till that part.

Odysseus was hiding stuff from them that could be important

Ironically the very source of their mistrust was protecting Odysseus. Odysseus didn't share with them the nature of the sack of Aeolus even if he seemed pretty clear that they couldn't touch it (and that led to their first tragedies). Later he hid the information that they would have to go through the Sirens till the very last moment where he warned them about it. Later he hid completely the information that they would go through Skylla and Charybdis. His men could think "How many more things did this man know on their way home and hid it from them?" if they captured or killed him in a mutiny how were they sure there weren't more dangers ahead that Odysseus was hiding from them and could either be informed the last moment or not at all? What guarantee did they have that Odysseus didn't know even MORE about their course? They had none. So ironically the very reason they began to mistrust him in the first place became the reason Odysseus was safe from their rage.

No one wanted to take responsibility at time of crisis!

Last and definitely not least comes for me the most important reason of all at least story-wise that shows how excellent writer Homer is into writing human nature. His men didn't stage a mutiny because no matter how displeased they were with his decisions, literally NO ONE wants to have the same responsibility to take decisions in time of crisis! Honestly, how many times do common folk feel themselves find a scapegoat usually to the face of their leaders when things go south? (and for good reason that is given that they are the ones with the responsibility to take decisions). When something goes wrong we blame the leader, the government or someone that has come forth and not only takes the decisions but also is responsible for the blame as well.

During their arduous trip Odysseus took some of the most painful decisions they could imagine in order to save what he could; he advised them to leave the Cicones and they didn't which led to their first tragedy; he tried to correct his mistake by appeasing the god Aeolus, he took the decision to sacrifice his ships in order to save the one he could knowing full well that they would never be able to fight against the Laestrygonians. He knew the 11 ships were lost cause so he acted fast cutting the ropes of his own ship and sailing away, making sure to save what he could even if that meant to the terrible loss. He traveled to the underworld even though he was alive, he chose Skylla over Charybdis knowing that the sacrifice would be too great but still not as great as to lose them all.

Regardless of their emotions at that moment; they put themselves in his shoes and realize that none of them would take the burden of leadership and take those decisions for them. Odysseus with his nerves of steel managed to save them so far even if they had so many losses and undoubtedly they realized that in his shoes they would never be able to act so efficiently and so fast. And knowing their own reactions against him; blaming him for the losses, they realize that none of them would have the guts to take not only the painful decisions but also the blame and hate that follows them. Odysseus was lifting on his shoulder as much hate and anger as very few others; not only his previous experiences at war and his actions but now his decisions of the trip. I have no doubt that even in their anger the men admired how he could carry it all.

Conlcusions:

Homer is a master of words and plot. I have no doubt that if he thought it served the plot he would have mentioned his men staging a full on mutiny against Odysseus or in one way I am almost certain he thought of the possibility being quite doable given as I said above that Odysseys was one man and the others were over 30. However knowing how great he is in protraying human emotions to his writing I think his choice of plot was deliberate.

Not only was Odysseus someone that could erupt not only controversy but also superstition given his close relationship with gods before, his leadership was always admirable regardless of the results (knowing his prudent nature and how plenty of his orders that were disobeyed ended up in a tragedy and let's face it Odysseus was also a brilliant fighter. I doubt anyone would easily take the first step to fight him one on one either!) and above all he was one of the best when it came on taking some really difficult decisions, carrying on his back not only the personal guilt he felt while taking them but also the anger of others and their retalliation. And in an amazingly human writing Homer speaks on times of crisis. When people do not wish to take responsibility at times of Crisis because they know full well that their decisions rarely ever would be painless!

Therefore they couldn't retalliate against him; they didn't want the responsibility of leadership or the blame for the losses. They didn't want to stand against authority directly either. So they took the indirect mutiny decision; when authority is not present they disobey or they break their will when the force of authority.

Could we perhaps one more time appeal to the usual theory of "unreliable storyteller" and speak on how Odysseus doesn't want to mention a mutiny in his story to Phaeakes because he doesn't want to appear as weak leader in their eyes?

We could but in my opinion this doesn't seem likely. Odysseus is already humiliated; shipwrecked and a beggar in their house. He mentioned how it was ellegedly his fault that the whole domino of reactions began when he mentions how he was yelling to Polyphemus being blasphemus that not even Poseidon could put him back together if he had killed him (which let's face it is too much given that gods had no probelm resurrecting some dead before). He had already mentioned his men not listening to him and disobedience was already a heavy thing. He didn't hide most of the unpleasant experiences during the trip so why miss the opportunity of shifting the blame to his men, saying that they stage a mutiny against him thus himself being unable to react instead of stating that he fell asleep during the prayer? To show that his men fear him so they do not dare to face him? Perhaps but it seems unlikely given the whole story in which Odysseus doesn't hide his bad sides from them.

What do you guys think? Let me know to your comments and reblogs below! ^_^

[deviouz]

OKAY SO LIKE idk if you take requests anymore but I need this done so bad and I love your writing so like imagine Jason Todd being adopted and raised by Catwoman and the reader by Batman as robin like a girl robin and basically Jason needs info or wtv and he defeats the reader in a battle or something and handcuffs her and like seduces her for it and reader's usually had super high morals and stuff but she's like simping over him and melts for him practically but idk something like tht like cat women and Batman but roles reversed but yea

Totally get if this is like weird too much though lmao

here’s a lil drabble while i make my way through other requests <3 thank you lovie!! also, jason’s name didn’t really come up, so i guess you can imagine it as whoever? i did write with jason in mind though!! ;; soz

role reversal !

“Come on, I know you can spit it out. The old man can’t be that important to you.”

It was hard to fight off the embarrassed blush as you jerked your wrists from behind your back, the cold bite of steel a painful reminder of the predicament you had found yourself in. The fight was long and drawn out, having left both of you breathless for a while before your captor had gotten the upper hand. It was times like this you really wished you had paid more attention to your father’s teachings about how to get out of precarious circumstances as this one.

How the hell were you supposed to dislocate your thumb and slip out of the handcuffs again?

Being Robin had given you quite the ego. It hadn't really occurred to you that getting captured was a possibility. Batman had shown you every trick in the book on how not to get caught.

Your opponent was as sly as a fox, though. He was quick on his feet, definitely hard to defeat. It was when you had the upper hand, or believed so, that the rug was quickly pulled out from under you, sharp smile and all.

Silence would be your best friend. There was no way in hell you were going to divulge any information that could be used against either yourself or your family — you’d sooner die than allow that to happen.

It was when he had made way to pluck the black mask shielding your eyes did you move, head jerking to the side while a noise of disapproval escaped your throat.

“Don’t touch me.”

He kneeled before you, lips curled into a smirk as a hand trailed from your knee to the middle of your thigh. Your suit was thin, meant more for agility than anything. It was nothing compared to the protective kevlar of the Batsuit. Stealth was your strong suit, and it turns out lingering touches from a man clad in a catsuit was your kryptonite.

“Don’t be like that. We can have fun! I promise I’ll make it worth your time,” he practically purred, voice smooth and intoxicating. “Just tell me what you know.”

Had your heart always beat this fast? Did he drug you? Maybe it was the lack of sleep finally catching up, the deprivation rearing its ugly head at the worst possible time.

“I thought I told you not to touch me,” you quipped back with a clenched jaw. Hands balled into fists and eyes narrowed, you were a sight for sore eyes. “How about you take these cuffs off and we go for a round two, hm?”

He had the audacity to giggle like it was the funniest thing in the world. The hand on your thigh began to inch upwards once more.

“Darling,” God, did that sound pretty rolling off the tip of his tongue, “any round two that we have will be somewhere with some nice booze and a bed, and maybe with soundproof walls depending on how loud I can get you.”

You were stronger than this, surely. Anything to protect Gotham and the people inhabiting it. You wouldn’t lose your nerve to a man with pretty words knelt before you.

“I can give you what you want, you know. Think of it like a trade; you give me the information I need, and I’ll have you screaming my name for all of Gotham to hear. Fair?”

As his touch began to grow more bold, warm hands slowly parting your thighs as he moved in between them, you knew you had to act fast. Resolve could only last so long, especially when coupled with a nighttime job known as being Robin — you were long overdue for something devious and a long nap.

Mustering up what little restraint remained, your foot raised to kick him back, momentarily leaving him a breathless heap of muscle and suave on the ground before you.

“You really don’t listen well.”

[characteranalyst]

Phayu Character Analysis : The Man With a Borrowed Halo and One Foot in Hell

“My brother is far from simple, you’ll get burned if you don’t know how to play with fire” - Saifah

Gather round LITA obsessed children for an in depth analysis of our resident Daddy Dom Brat Tamer Phayu who Christian Grey wished he was and tried to be. You either hate him, love him, want to be him or all of the above.

I know PhayuRain’s arc seems like on the surface just a fluffy little romance with no need for lengthy think pieces.  But I’m obsessed with their dynamic and I could not let the hyper-fixation pass before doing a character analysis. Phayu haunts the periphery of dreams and I am hoping that this analysis will help me exorcise this beautiful spectre so I can finally know peace.

As much as I would genuinely love to crack open his skull and unspool all of his thoughts and motivations I cannot do that. So disclaimer obviously this will just be conjecture and my opinion and I am going to try and stick as closely as possible to canon and refrain from falling into head canon territory.

I have read Love Storm but I’m only going to be referencing how Phayu behaves in the series because I prefer that version of him. Also this is going to be a very LONGGGG post. I have many thoughts on this man. Feel free to skim through or save it to read for some other time.

I am mainly going to be speaking about the main character traits that I have observed from him and how he relates to the rest of the characters in the series. I think I am going to make a separate analysis of his dynamic with Rain because going in depth with that would be too much for me to mention here. 

Alright let’s get into it.

(1) EARLY CHILDHOOD AND YOUNG ADULTHOOD

We are given little to no information on his childhood and or young adulthood. What we do know is that his parents left him and Saifah an incredible house and the luxury garage so we can assume that they weren’t strapped for cash.  

Him and Saifah seem like two relatively well adjusted young men so I guess we can assume that there was little to no childhood trauma. In episode 6 during their pillow talk Phayu tells Rain that his parents are off living in Korat and enjoying their lives, I’m assuming. So I guess they’re not divorced. So he has no ‘separated parents’ trauma to deal with.

The only thing that gives us a little insight into how his childhood affected who he became as a person was when he told Rain the story of how his mother always used to argue with his father about how he could fix bikes beautifully but he could not build a house for them.

So Phayu decided that he was going to ensure that he was able to fulfil both by becoming a mechanic and an architect. I think from this we can conclude that Phayu is an overachiever and this displays his seemingly constant need to be perfect and the best.

I think this may also come from a child’s instinctual need to please their caretakers and make them proud. Phayu also seems like someone who has had a Type A personality from birth. In contrast to Saifah who seems like a little more laid back more go with the flow type.

From this little snippet of information we can also assume that his affinity for being a mechanic was either inherited from his father or taught to him and Saifah.

In conclusion it’s safe to say that Phayu does not really seem to have any trauma to speak of, he's just kinky.  I like the fact he doesn’t have any heavy trauma or unsavoury character traits (well I take this back he’s a little pushy and manipulative) he needs to get over. There is beauty in this simplicity where as a result, the majority of the narrative is focused on Phayu Rain falling in love with each other.

(2)   PHAYU AND HIS AIR OF MYSTERY (DR JEYKLL AND MR HYDE)

One thing that stood out to me when we as an audience were introduced to Phayu was his air of mystery. Everyone knows of him of course because he has been knighted as the God of the faculty of architecture.  But we see quickly that very few people actually know him personally. We can see how this fact plays out in the series through the following examples:

Pun says that she has no idea what kind of business Phayu runs but it's ok because she likes a man with a little mystery. (Episode 1)

Phayu refuses to tell Rain what he likes to eat on their first date because he says that Rain has to know him a lot longer before he can ‘snoop for information’ as he puts it. (Episode 3)

Phayu shares only a little information about his life with his senior Mhok before abruptly cutting the conversation short so as to not reveal too much information about his personal life. (Episode 4)

Phayu only reveals deep information about himself and his parents and childhood to Rain after their second time during pillow talk. (Episode 6)

He also doesn’t really seem to have close friends except for Prapai and Saifah. I don’t really think Saifah counts because he’s more of an unwilling captive because they have to share everything that their parents left them. I really don’t think they would even be friends if they weren’t brothers honestly because of their differing personalities. 

I think this ability to guard what he reveals to people helps maintain his mystique. There needs to be a certain level of distance and holding people at arm’s length that needs to take place in order for people to project their fantasies onto him and build him up as some sort of God among men.

I think the reason people idolise Phayu and like him so much is because they like the idea of him rather than the reality of him. I think if more people knew who he actually was in reality, they would be put off by how intense he is.

Rain seems like the only person who had become disillusioned with the idea of Phayu. After the debacle in Episode 1 he sees Phayu not as his ‘cool handsome big bike bro” but as a pushy piece of shit bastard that tried to assault him. I also think some of his anger towards Phayu had to do with him being confused by his feelings for him;  creating a cocktail of confusion for poor Rain to sort out. So he was able to view Phayu as a person and not place him on a pedestal like other people do.

I think this is what PhayuRain’s relationship needed to flourish as well because Phayu needs someone who is able to challenge him. We are well aware of how much he loves brats. The worshipful gaze of Som and Pun would not be satisfactory for him because they had him on a pedestal and were blinded by their idea of him so they would readily submit to him without much push back.

He needed someone with a backbone who could engage in a sort of push and pull relationship with him and our adorable little firecracker Rain was the perfect match. Phayu has people falling at his feet daily; he was in need of much more excitement than that.

Like the story of the titular character Dr.Jekyll a well-respected scientist who used his alter ego Mr.Hyde to delve into the darker side of science without repentance or taking responsibility; Phayu has that same sort of duality. I think Phayu keeps his kinky side under wraps and he’s very careful about whom he shows that part of himself to. Presumably only his lovers or potential lovers get to see his ‘bad side’.

So his DR JEKYLL would be, so to speak,the Phayu that is seen as a smart, capable, polite, helpful and well-adjusted young man, loved by all and sought after by many. This is the Phayu that would leave a random stranger his set square with an encouraging message about his future in architecture.

On the flip side his MR HYDE would be Dom Daddy Brat Tamer Phayu with a penchant for sadism and degradation.

At the end of the day both sides come together to make up who Phayu is as a person and there is nothing inherently wrong with his Mr. Hyde as long as he is able to channel it and engage with it safely with willing participants. Fortunately for him, he has Rain for that.

(3) WONKY MORAL COMPASS BUT STRINGENT PERSONAL RULES 

I really had a hard time dissecting this part. But I have come to the conclusion that Phayu deserves to be labelled as a morally grey or morally ambiguous person. I really have a soft spot for morally grey characters in media or literature. 

It makes the narrative far more interesting to follow. In real life however I would run in the opposite direction and call the police. But this isn’t supposed to be real, it's supposed to be a fantasy so I’m not going to go too much in depth about Phayu’s moral failings. This show doesn’t take itself too seriously so I’m not going to either.

Phayu is not a ‘nice’ person plain and simple and he knows it, contrary to Pun’s expository gushing in the first episode of the show when she refers to him as “super-duper nice”. After the spanking incident in Episode 2 (which was wild now that I think of it) where Rain declares that he is going to make him fall in love with him he says to himself;

 “You’re going to make me fall in love with you but do you know what kind of man I am.”

I think Phayu says this because he knows himself thoroughly the good, the bad and the ugly. Phayu has overcome himself. He has recognized all his shortcomings, all his base desires, all his lowliness, all the self-imposed restraints he places upon himself and overcome them. 

Phayu also strikes me as someone who has engaged with his shadow self and explored the parts of his psyche that most of us would repress and compartmentalise because we are too ashamed of our darkness to engage with it.

He has looked his darkness in the face and come to terms with it. That is why he says, "Do you know what kind of man I am?", because he understands people’s perception of him lies in stark contrast to his unsavoury character traits.

I also think his dabbling in BDSM has given him the room and space to conduct such exploration of himself in a safe, sane and consensual way. I think the nature of BDSM can afford people an outlet to engage with their own darkness and sort through it so that it doesn’t manifest in their life in other ways.

In Episode 1 we see where Prapai likens him to the devil (jokingly) but under every joke there is definitely some truth. If Prapai is calling him that it must be the truth because as we know Prapai looks like his only close friend.

We can assume that Prapai is incredibly familiar with Phayu’s Mr. Hyde as we can presume that they know each other very well so his assessment of dubbing Phayu as a devil must be accurate. 

Also head canon (I know I said I was going to refrain from going into head canon territory but please indulge me a bit) I’m sure they’ve fucked before in a bro-ish kind of way. I mean their both hot and bi and Prapai’s a sub in top’s clothing (I know Dom/sub and top/bottom are two separate things just enjoy the joke you know what I mean)  so it’s not far fetched to think they would have at some time fucked around a bit. 

Although I know Phayu is hardly the correct type of Dom for Prapai’s specific brand of subbiness. The point is I think that Prapai would be privy to Phayu’s true nature and how much of a little shit he can be when he isn’t using his powers for good.

In Episode 5 Saifah, the only other person we see having a close relationship with Phayu refers to him as a Devil as well.

I just know these two have witnessed some shit over the years of knowing Phayu that warranted him being referred to as a Devil.

Discussing Phayu’s moral code is very weird because it’s obvious that he doesn’t really adhere to a normal set of rules. We can assume he’s not particularly religious because it wasn’t mentioned.

I think Phayu is very domineering and kind of manipulative but at the same time he commands an air of respect. He is not necessarily what you would expect from someone who is so widely lauded as an exemplary person.

What also struck me about Phayu was the fact although his moral code seems a little flexible he has a few hard and fast non-negotiable rules that may seem arbitrary to someone like Rain but to him it may as well be gospel. 

One of these rules in the show is seen where we see he has a big thing for respect. We see an example of this when he calls Rain after he picks up his car from the garage and he tells Rain that only ill-mannered boys don’t greet the owner of the house when they stop by. He also ends the call by telling Rain to be respectful. We also see his thing for rules when he tells Rain that he doesn’t like ill-mannered boys and that he should address him as P’Phayu emphasising the use of honorifics.

Phayu is also a man of his word in Episode 7 when Rain tells Phayu that he will unleash his wrath on him if he ever cheats on him. Phayu just laughs and says he will never let Rain down. He holds true to this in the Special Episode when Rain accuses him of cheating on him with Natsu he utters the same sentiment that he promised to never let Rain down. This man looked absolutely horrified at the accusation like he wouldn’t even dream of it.

I think his strict adherence to rules other than him being a Dom could also be influenced by his exposure and affiliation with the likes of P’Pakin and P’Chai.  He knows that there will be dire consequences if the rules aren’t strictly adhered to. This is why he curses Stop for mentioning the race in public and he reprimands Rain for thoughtlessly wandering into the illegal street race without permission to be there.

BUT ON THE FLIP SIDE

He’s so stringent about ensuring that Rain is polite and respectful but he thinks it’s perfectly fine to tamper with Rain’s car so that he would have an excuse to be his knight in shining armour and save him so they could hook up. The math is not mathing at all. I know he’s an experienced mechanic and he wouldn’t have tampered with anything that would have led Rain getting in an accident and getting injured but still. WEIRD BEHAVIOUR KHUN PHAYU!!!!!! Also don’t even get me started on him using the debt of fixing Rain’s car as some weird way to stalk him??? RED FLAGGGGGG!! His methods of courtship definitely need some fine tuning. 

In conclusion his contradictory moral code gives me whiplash trying to figure out where on the scale from angel to devil I should place him. But I think he’s just human. No one is all good and all bad and I think that Mame writes very human raw characters that make you feel something. I’ll give credit where credit is due.

(4) AN EERIE LEVEL OF SELF CONTROL AND THE PATIENCE OF A SAINT 

This man probably never has New Year’s Resolutions because he’s already operating at optimal condition. Phayu is portrayed to be quite literally always in control. The only time he looks undone is after THAT SCENE in Episode 6.

We see this self-control manifest in the way he makes love to Rain in a very formulaic, worshipful and almost performative manner. Gently throwing Rain’s head back, holding his hands down and caging his body. Rain responds in kind to his dominance by always baring his throat in submission and allowing his body to go lax under Phayu’s ministrations.

It’s so gentle but he’s still being dominant and in control. While Rain always looks halfway between heaven and earth during these scenes Phayu always seems wholly present and tethered to earth (like a good Dom should be) creating a space in which his precious sub can feel safe enough to fly out of this stratosphere.

The subtlety with which he maintains control makes me absolutely feral. There is hardly any jostling or manhandling but it’s still forceful. I think a great example of the subtlety of how Phayu displays his dominance can be seen in the PhayuRain make-out scene in Episode 5.

The natural way he cages Rain’s neck to control the flow of the kiss.

The way he stop kissing Rain when Rain tries to lead and he put a finger to his lips in a way that almost screams “Relax I’m in charge here.”

Unlike our donut firecracker Rain (my sweet boy) that was ready to scrap at the first sign of disrespect, Phayu seems like he is not one to resort to violence if they could sort it out by just talking and coming to an amicable solution.

We can see an example of this where Phayu refused to be baited by Stop into fighting with him even though Stop was about to punch him at the night racing circuit in the beginning of Episode 6.

Also before the race between him and Stop where Stop was trying to rile him up. He was able to remain level headed while Stop immediately lost his cool and tried to fight him once again when Phayu insulted him.

I’m assuming this self-control is more nature than nurture. It seems like he is the type to have always been calm and self-contained. He doesn’t need to bark loudly because his competence and self-assuredness speaks volumes. 

He quite literally doesn’t yell often he just uses that husky dom voice. The only time he ever really raised his voice was when he was shouting at Rain in Episode 2 when he was worried that he could have gotten killed for sneaking into the illegal street circuit race.

The thing about dominance and control that I think people like Stop with fragile egos get wrong is that they think it comes from a place of aggression, peacocking and forcing people to bow to your will. This is however not the sort of dominance that will truly gain you respect and have people willingly obey you.

Phayu’s dominance and control comes from a place of nurturing and caring and people only defer to him and his authority because he has proven time and time again that he is capable of shouldering the responsibility of what this control entails and he has consequently gained their respect because of it.

(5) PRIDE GOES BEFORE A FALL 

No matter how level headed he is and self-control he possesses he’s still a man and he has been socialised to exist as a man. So he’s not above engaging in a motorcycle race with an asshole like Stop to prove a point and because of his pride.

I like how this moment humanised Phayu and showed how no matter how above petty human emotions he seems, he’s still liable to fall victim to making decisions based on ego.

However, I like that he was self-aware enough to realise that he was indeed only participating in this race because of his pride because he says to Rain when he tries to stop him some things just don’t have an explanation. 

We can contrast him racing Stop because of his pride and him kneeling before Stop and crawling to save Rain from being hurt. Although he has an ego he was more than willing to put pride aside to ensure Rain’s safety.

(SIDENOTE- I died watching the kidnapping ordeal in episode 7 that shit was so unserious. The picture of Rain that Stop sent Phayu lives in my head rent free and I cackle from time to time because of it.) 

(6) “P’PHAYU LHOR MAKKKKK!” – Pun  (PRETTY PRIVILEGE AND THE HALO EFFECT)

Physical appearance is often a major part of the halo effect. People who are considered attractive tend to be rated higher as possessing positive traits in contrast to people who aren’t considered conventionally attractive.

I think beauty can be blinding and make people more willing to overlook people’s misgivings. As the halo effect states people are more likely to project good qualities on to people they deem to be conventionally attractive.

As I said when I was addressing his air of mystery; because people are so predisposed to projecting all these good qualities on Phayu the distance and the space that he creates between him and other people can be filled with these projections and good qualities so that they build him up in their minds as this amazing person.

This man radiates and secretes ungodly amounts of sex appeal without trying. So I think his general attractiveness is one of the reasons as well why Rain had a hard time getting people to believe that Phayu was a pushy manipulative little asshole in the beginning.

Do I think Phayu would have commanded the same level of respect that he does without also being pretty? I don’t know to be honest. I do however think Phayu is an unintentional cautionary tale about the dangers of projecting good qualities on someone just because they’re attractive and being blind to their faults.

(7) SELF ASSURED, CONFIDENT AND CHARMING – CONCEITED?

I mean I’d be that confident too if I was rich, handsome, talented, smart ANDDDDD could fuck like a porn star but I digress. Very much a quiet confidence to him as was elaborated on when I spoke about the air of mystery. He is evidently very capable and consequently people rely on him and I think his self- assuredness comes from the fact that he can back up his claims because he has every right to be self-centred.

Without mincing words this man is very conceited. However although he is conceited he doesn’t lack empathy and he doesn’t seem too self-involved as evidenced by the way he ensures that he takes care of the people he cares about.

(8) PHAYU THE COMPULSIVE CARETAKER, CONCEITED BUT NOT SELF-INVOLVED

We see in Episode 4 how Phayu puts Rain’s needs before his by ensuring that Rain focuses on his school work and ensures that his development and advancement as a person comes before pursuing a romantic relationship with Phayu.

He ensures that Rain understands how slacking on his work in pursuance of other things will affect his work life and he lectures him while still comforting him after. I really liked this scene in Episode 3 because Phayu is able to help Rain because he’s older and more experienced and he’s gone through it before. I also like the fact that there isn’t a hint of condescension in his voice, just concern and wanting to ensure that Rain becomes the best version of himself.

Phayu shows how much he cares about Rain and is invested in making Rain a priority in his life in so many little ways. We can see in Episode 5 how Phayu leaves an important meeting to answer Rain’s text messages. Also in Episode 4 When Rain finishes his project early after an all-nighter and instead of sleeping he goes straight to Phayu. Phayu ensures that there is reciprocity in their relationship by saying that you missed out on sleep to come see me, so I'm going to hurry up and finish my work so we can hang out.

He makes an effort to help Rain finish his models like he promised to do in his speech in Episode 5. Also in Episode 4 he apologises to Rain for his phone dying and for making him wait for him in the rain. In Episode 6 after he almost gets in a fight with Stop the first thing he does is ask Rain if he’s alright even though he was the one that almost had a brawl with Stop.

I think we really see throughout the show how the way Phayu interacts with Rain takes on a sort of paternalistic tinge. The title of Daddy is incredibly fitting and I really just think this is him being a good Dom.

That’s why I think this is the reason Phayu looks so touched and taken aback when Rain and him first meet and he holds the umbrella for Phayu while he’s changing his tire. Phayu’s so used to being relied on and being assumed to be competent and well put together. He’s used to giving without expecting anything in return. So when Rain does this small act of kindness in an effort to repay this Good Samaritan, Phayu becomes fascinated with him. 

(9) ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIPS B.R. (Before Rain)

Was he possibly a whore? Not as much of a whore as Prapai but he has definitely spun the block. Whereas our beloved service top Prapai has built a gated community in which he resides on said block. Phayu had a condom stashed under that toy car so we know he was getting some action.

He was probably not a whore whore because as he said to Rain in the bathroom scene:

We all know why he’s particular. I don’t think he would have been able to find a lot of people willing to put up with his domineering attitude and controlling nature long term if they didn’t have that sort of kink no matter how insanely hot he is.

But there were definitely others before Rain if we can take cues from the offhanded comments of the other characters in the series. Saifah tells Rain in Episode 3 when he’s waiting for Phayu that there were others before him. Was it a lot of others though? The world may never know.

Saifah comments on the fact that Phayu has been single for a long time and Saifah tells him if he wants to be happy like him he should get in a serious relationship. So we can assume that long term romantic relationships for Phayu have more than likely been few and far between. He probably was not celibate though as we see how he was going to have a one night stand with Rain.

We see Saifah saying that he feels bad for whoever is making Phayu smile like that and how he warns him not to be too mean to Rain because he will run away. We can assume that others have been perturbed by how intense Phayu was in the past and they have run off.

I’m sure Saifah knows Phayu very well and even if he isn’t aware of the details of his kinkiness he knows Phayu has a thing about control and a mean streak. At least that’s what Saifah computes it as in his vanilla mind. I’m sure this poor man has heard and seen way too much. JUSTICE FOR SAIFAHH!!!!!!

Lastly before they get together Phayu constantly tests Rain to see if he can handle what a long term relationship with him would look like. I’m sure this comes from things not working out in the past and Phayu wanting to ensure that Rain can handle him.

We can see that Phayu may have abandonment issues from things not working out in the past with his romantic pursuits when in Episode 5 he’s scared and panicked and sad when Rain runs away after they have sex for the first time. I have three theories about this:

(1) He didn’t want to lose Rain because he’s a unicorn and he may never have hope of finding someone so perfect for him again.  

(2) He was abandoned before because he was too much and overbearing and it triggered him.

(3) He’s big on communication and he feels slighted that Rain ran away before they could discuss how their relationship would develop after they had sex for the first time.

It could have quite possibly been a combination of all of the above. Phayu seems like the type to be fully invested in a long term relationship and he seems like someone who loves deeply so I think him testing Rain was him just trying to ensure that Rain was worth the investment before he got too attached.

(10) PHAYU THE SCULPTOR ; HIS OBSESSION WITH POTENTIAL AND MOULDING THINGS TO HIS LIKING 

“Rain before you design a house you need to design your life first”- Phayu

I get the impression that Phayu’s view on life is that everything can be curated and tailored to his liking if he tries hard enough. He’s definitely not a go with the flow kind of person. Every single move he makes is intentional. Looking at his two professions being an architect and his side of job of being a mechanic; these are two things that require moulding, precision.

Architects are able to create and design and bring their vision to life and make it tangible. It’s a very creative profession with the added bonus of having something you designed realised in real life.

Also mechanics are constantly tinkering with engines and in control of powerful machinery. Whether they work on maintenance, diagnostics, or repairs, they have to perform those tasks with exacting detail. That is because this careful work on important vehicle components could save someone’s life.

This speaks to Phayu’s pedantic nature with the added element of not wanting to deal with the consequences of disappointing Pakin. These machines are kind of like a puzzle to be solved.

But the catch is those things aren’t really his and they don’t truly belong to him.

In Episode 3 we can infer that sometimes clients may criticize his designs and he has to mould it to their liking instead of relying on his own vision.

In Episode 1 Prapai tells him your babies are so beautiful (referring to the motorcycles) but Phayu corrects him and says that they don’t belong to him.

But I think that although he doesn’t own these things and that he may be required to tailor the design of a house to someone else’s liking still these tasks scratch his itch for moulding and creating.

Then *enter stage left* a wild Rain appears, a blank canvas unmarred by past sexual or romantic experience. He has no expectations and no idea how anything works so he’s able to become a sort of pliable clay that Phayu can use his deft fingers to mold to his liking consequently making Rain his.

We can are shown how their relationship is mutually beneficial and how it works for them. Different folks have different strokes.

The glint in his eyes and the way Phayu all but shivers in excitement every time Rain tells him he can’t do something. 

Episode 4 – "I’ll teach you"

Episode 6- "I'll train you to be the best rider"

In the infamous Daddy scene in the special episode he says "When I teach I teach to the core" 

It’s not explicitly stated but I’m sure this man got off constantly at the fact that he was Rain’s first everything when it came to sex and romance and he is constantly in charge of moulding him.

We can definitely see how much of a diligent student and quick learner Rain is and how Phayu is consequently able to enjoy the fruits of his labour. (SIDE NOTE: I’m sure Phayu wasn’t prepared for the monster he created in Rain.)

I love the reciprocity in their relationship as Phayu shows Rain just how desired he is and worships him constantly.

(11) WHY HE WAS DEFINITELY A KID WHO HATED SHARING HIS TOYS 

Phayu strikes me as a man who knows exactly what he wants and  how to obtain it and when he finds it he will hold on to it and never let it go. We are given countless examples of Phayu’s blatant possessiveness over Rain once they begin their unorthodox courtship.

When after their first time Phayu says to Rain that he must repeat the phrase “Rain belongs to P’Phayu.”back to him.

This man heard that Pun was in Rain’s general vicinity and immediately drove to him to stake his claim. Also when he admits to being “insanely jealous” of Pun ever since he heard that Rain used to have a romantic interest in her.

He removes Saifah’s hand from Rain’s shoulder in Episode 4 and tells him to get back to work after Saifah suggests that he could teach Rain how to ride a super bike.

I do think this possessiveness is also in part because Phayu realises how much of a rare find Rain is and he will do everything in his power to ensure that they stay together forever. I also think in contrast, Rain’s possessiveness has more to do with him constantly having to fight off potential suitors because everyone is in love with Phayu (well the idea of him). 

I appreciate however that his possessiveness isn’t portrayed as particularly toxic because in episode 5 when Phayu is having lunch with Sky and Rain and Rain tells Sky he loves him after he told him that Phayu and him were dating.

Instead of getting unreasonable jealous of Rain and Sky’s obviously platonic relationship, Phayu simply says that he has no reason to be jealous because he knows that Sky and Rain are just friends.

I think if they ever decided on venturing out and engaging in a threesome it would 100% be Rain’s idea in order to satiate his own curiosity. Phayu would go along with it (ever indulgent of his sweet boy) but he would probably have to be in control the entire time while simultaneously barking orders at the third party about how to pleasure Rain properly.

(12) THE SADISTIC  LITTLE SHIT (AFFECTIONATE) AND HIS “DEK NGO”  "DEK NARAK"

I know PhayuRain and their kink list is longer than the elevator ride to hell but I’m going to focus on what in my opinion is Phayu’s poison of choice. That is sadism and degradation.

More specifically emotional and psychological sadism mostly. I don’t think he’s particularly opposed to physical sadism though. In the special episode he said he punished Rain until he was sore but Rain liked it. Although this is vague and he could have been sore for different reasons we see in Episode 2 when Phayu is berating Rain for breaking into the illegal race that isn’t above spanking Rain.

I don’t really know for sure if Rain is a masochist though I think he is definitely willing to try things with Phayu but he didn’t really seem to enjoy the spanking but I guess that was mostly because they didn’t know each other that well.

So I think while Phayu is mainly an emotional sadist and he prefers it he partakes in physical sadism with Rain because I think Rain would prefer that more based on his personality. This is mainly because of his obvious praise kink.

(CC: Rain’s blissed out expression when Phayu whispered “keng mak” i.e. “Good job” in his ear in the bathroom stall scene after Rain had followed his instructions.)

So the degradation that comes along with emotional sadism may not be Rain’s cup of tea.

After the incident in Episode 3 where Phayu told Rain to change ‘ngo’ to ‘narak’ ; I think he realised how insecure Rain was about being called stupid and that this was a hard limit for Rain. We can see as the story progress after this incident where Phayu either calls him “naughty boy” or some version of good boy.

I do think that this is an example of how Phayu is willing to tailor and transform his kinks and compromise to ensure that Rain is comfortable. He realised that Rain responds far better to praise and made the necessary adjustments.

We also see Phayu’s penchant for degradation and humiliation in  Episode 3 where he buys Rain extra small underwear. Although they were the correct size for Rain, Phayu had to throw  in a little dick size shaming for his own amusement. The smug little smile after he riles Rain up about this speaks for itself. 

However I wanted to fight him when he made my baby Rain cry in episode 5 after he made Rain think that he didn’t want to be with him anymore. Although I kind of feel like this was sort of more punishment for the fact that Rain ran off after their first time in Episode 4 and made him worry. I guess it’s safe to add dacryphilia to their long ass kink list. Phayu you sadistic little shit. 

If we also listen to the words of Phayu in his little speech before they make out in episode 5, I swear the only thing missing from this was Phayu getting down on one knee and proposing to Rain. 

He says:

We can see that he enjoys this and gets off on being the one to tease and degrade Rain. He knows Rain’s limits and he ensures that he follows up any degradation with praise as a  salve to any open wounds he’s caused with his words. I think Rain eventually adapts to this part of Phayu however because in Episode 7 he tells Phayu that he is willing to let Phayu tease him forever. 

I love how they are both willing to adapt and compromise to better serve each other’s needs. Phayu constantly keeps Rain off kilter constantly guessing, constantly teasing him but at the same time he ensures that Rain understands that Phayu loves him and he is valued.

Phayu is constantly and reflexively adjusting himself to meet Rain's needs from moment to moment and I applaud him for it. Good job Daddy you get a gold star for all your hard work.

(13) PHAYU THE INVENTOR OF HEALTHY COMMUNICATION

This definitely has to be one of my favourite things about Phayu. I’m sure Rain isn’t the first person Phayu has attempted to have some sort of D/s relationship with and at the core of this is communication, consent and boundaries. 

D/s relationships especially 24/7 ones involve copious amounts of consent and negotiation and communication but I know that the show couldn’t necessarily explicitly address the fact that they are in a 24/7 D/s relationship so we don’t get any sit down moments where Phayu and Rain discuss it blatantly. However I would assume that at some point Phayu sat Rain down and explained to him what their dynamic is and what was expected of him.

We definitely see how much Phayu values communication in the Special Episode when Rain misreads a situation. Where he sees Phayu talking to Natsu on the couch in Phayu’s home. I mean to be fair sparks were flying between them. I don’t know  if that was just a Boss thing because good God this man can generate sexual tension with a  wall. (Went off on a tangent there moving on back to communication.)

I think that Phayu understands that Rain has a sort of inferiority complex that is made worse by people being constantly baffled as to how Rain ended up with a guy like Phayu. Rain also most likely due to immaturity and lack of life experience has a problem with communication and conflict resolution. 

Phayu has to drag the confession out of Rain about why he’s upset with him. We see where this man has quite literally done nothing wrong yet still he gets on his knees to apologise and tries to make it up to Rain. 

I love that Phayu possesses the maturity to  never allow misunderstandings to remain unaddressed and fester. Although Rain may lack the maturity to speak up and directly tell Phayu what is bothering him in any given situation, Phayu ensures that they talk it out so that their conflicts do not go unresolved and that resentment does not have the opportunity to set in. 

(14) PHAYU SEX & SEXUALITY 

Phayu is an unapologetically shameless and sexual person. This comfortability in his sexuality and his lack of preoccupation with other people's opinion of him allows him to exude a calm self assurance and striking sex appeal subconsciously. 

This comfortability with his own sexuality was displayed many times throughout the series. In Episode 3 when that are at the porridge shop and Phayu goads Rain into being unashamed of the fact that they were in public and on a date with each other.

In Episode 5 after Rain told Sky that he was dating Phayu he said he was happy that Rain told his best friend about them because he understands that he would be apprehensive in case Sky would start to see him differently. I like that he lets Rain come out on his own time and he doesn’t rush him. Lastly in Episode 6 Phayu proudly introduces Rain as his boyfriend to P’ Chai at the street race. 

Phayu is a readymade character who has presumably gone through the stage in his life where he would have explored his sexuality and unusual proclivities and has come to the point of acceptance. I think that is why he is portrayed as someone who knows exactly what he likes and enjoys and is unashamed of it.

This is why he seems to be such a safe place for Rain to explore the full spectrum of his own sexuality.  There is never any judgement in Phayu's eyes when they uncover another one of Rain’s off the walls kinks. We just see at most a sort of mild amusement and an instant willingness to acquiesce and indulge Rain.

Phayu being out and proud made Rain feel like it was ok to have these feelings so his apprehension about identifying as such quickly dissipated.He’s constantly willing to teach, indulge and hold Rain’s hand through this journey and I just think that’s so neat. 

Everyone deserves to have a safe place like Phayu when dipping their toes in and navigating the troubled unpredictable waters of sex and sexuality especially when coming to terms with their own queerness. 

WHAT IS PHAYU’S MAIN MOTIVATION THAT UNDERSCORES EVERYTHING SINGLE ACTION THAT HE TAKES?

The simple answer to this is control. This is important because I don’t see Phayu as someone who particularly chases after power but control? Yes most definitely.Power is the ability to make something happen. Control is the ability to make something happen the way you want. We are all created differently but Phayu needs control at all times in the same way we need oxygen to survive. It’s just the way his wires were crossed. 

Phayu could have easily just admitted to Rain on their first meeting that he remembered him and he could have left it to chance how their encounter would have gone. He could have also gone through the Prapaiesque route and  just pursued Rain himself. 

But he was different; he made sure that he was in control of  their dynamic from the very beginning. The aforementioned options left far too many variables that could have thrown a wrench in Phayu’s end game which was getting Rain. 

He even somehow managed to get Rain to pursue him and have him think that it was his idea. Even though he was the one who liked Rain from the very beginning.

This desperate all-consuming need to be in control at all times is tempered by Phayu’s ability to adequately shoulder the responsibility that comes with that control. Everything he does is calculated. There is always an end goal. Consequently he thrives and is most content when he has someone like Rain to be in charge of in a sense.

The contentment and ease that seems to overtake Phayu when he and Rain are in an established relationship is a sight to see. He’s no longer untethered; he's firm and grounded.

CHARACTER’S RELATIONSHIP TO THE PLOT

There isn’t too much angst and the denouement/final conflict just concerns external factors and has nothing to do with Phayu Rain’s romantic relationship

The plot is just romance; from the meet cute in the rain to the established relationship. I love how we just felt like we were along for the ride to watch two men fall irrevocably in love with each other and fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces.

CHARACTER’S GROWTH AND DEVELOPMENT THROUGHOUT THE SERIES

I’m going to be honest I don’t think there was much life altering character growth with Phayu. When we meet Phayu he seems like a fully fleshed out character who knows what he wants and isn’t ashamed of his proclivities and sexuality so there is no room to explore there or for any consequent development. Phayu is a static character with no change in behaviour, and his values and attitudes remain pretty consistent throughout the entirety of the text and the series. 

I don’t think I’m getting over PhayuRain anytime soon. If you got all the way to the end I hope you enjoyed my ramblings. Let me know if you guys have anything to add. The plot as well as the characters in this show were a far cry from perfect but I keep coming back to it so they must have done something right. 

[utilitycaster]

I listened to the WBN Fireside on my way to work and there were two things Brennan said, one of which stood out to me as something I really agree with and one of which I really disagree with so I figured I'd make this post (the disagreement one) first and then the agreement one.

The latest episode of WBN had a scene that the characters were not present for nor viewing in any way. It was recorded without their knowledge, though they did listen to it when the episode came out, and on the Fireside Brennan said that such scenes should be used quite sparingly, given the nature of actual play, but (and I apologize, I haven't relistened and the transcripts aren't out) because the antagonists aren't present where the PCs are, it's useful at times to have a scene to keep them in the narrative for the audience.

I firmly disagree. I think that while it's true that actual play has a limited POV (if the characters don't see it, you don't see it), I have, in a lot of actual play fandom, never once seen a situation when it added to the story. Granted, WBN is ongoing, so I may eat my words here, but I am doubtful for a number of reasons.

Speaking as one small fraction of the audience, I am in possession of narrative object permanence. I do not in fact assume that when the PCs are in one part of the world, the rest of it grinds to a halt. In fact, something that skilled GMs do (including, frankly, Brennan himself most of the time) is quietly advance the plans of people who are offscreen. This is also not abnormal for the genre. Lord of the Rings has multiple POVs at different times, but never that of an antagonist; we learn of this through rumors, espionage, and Gandalf's retellings. Sprawling epics like A Song of Ice and Fire or the Stormlight Archives or the Wheel of Time make use of a wide range of third person limited viewpoints as well, not all aligned, but we don't see every move by every faction (and frankly, as a fan of that kind of book...I still think most of them could leave a bit more on the cutting room floor). Limited third person POV is not a weakness of Actual Play; I'd argue it is both a strength and a requirement. The story is driven by the player characters, and they cannot act on something they do not see.*

I'd also add that in this very specific situation, the audience saw the subject of the cutscene, The Man in Black, literally three episodes ago, which was a day ago in-game. He was brought up extensively in the discussion two episodes ago. If someone forgot? That's on them. We have not gone months and months without him making an appearance. I do think it's possible for villains to be poorly developed because they do not cross the paths of the characters enough (this is, as many of the people reading this likely know, a blog that loves to dunk on the cardboard-like nature of Otohan Thull's virtually nonexistent personality and motivations) but The Man in Black is sufficiently a banger of an antagonist as to not be so easily forgotten.

Finally, and this might just be me, but because I know how Actual Play and D&D work, I must admit the second I realized this was a no-PC cut scene I found it pretty hard to pay attention. In fact, it did the opposite of what was intended. Instead of eagerly awaiting news of how The Man in Black was waging war, filtered through whatever information Suvi, Eursulon, and Ame could obtain, I was zoning out while he talked. I think part of why I like Actual Play is that it usually leaves me, even with 4 hour episodes, wanting more. Cut scenes leave me wishing the cut scene hadn't happened.

*brief tangent: this doesn't, in my opinion, apply to the scenes in Downfall that the viewer sees but which weren't captured in the Occultus Thalamus. The story of Downfall is ultimately a story about the gods - they are the PCs - and the dramatic irony enhances the story-within-a-story aspect. It's important to the audience understanding of the gods to see the whole thing, and it's a valid choice that Bells Hells only see what occurred while the avatars were physically in Aeor. It does, however, apply to contemporaneous happenings in Worlds Beyond Number.

**This also doesn't apply to long DM monologues in the presence of players. The C3 solstice scene has been compared to a cut scene, but actually it's important that Bells Hells sees it. If one of the Wizard, Witch, or Wild One had managed to find a way to, even at a low level, scry or similarly learn of the Man in Black's doings? I wouldn't have minded it. I adore the Hakea vision scene. It's specifically that I'm in fact here to see what the characters see.

[bakugotrashpanda]

Vampire!Bakugou x Fem!Reader Word count: 3.5k

All Souls Trilogy AU (if you squint)

!!: blood, angst

Your wish is his command… except for one thing.

Ornate metal lattice digs into Bakugou’s hands as he listens to your councilors inform you of the situation at hand. Inform. That’s a joke. More like condescend or manipulate. If he was actually allowed in the room as opposed to hiding behind the equivalent of a confessional, they wouldn’t treat you like that. 

Bronze creaks under his hand. Conversation that, to normal human ears, would be muffled by a red curtain pauses. You dismiss the sound. The conversation continues. 

“Patience,” your voice finds his ears. A futile command meant for him. But he waits. And when the simpering men leave your court, he finally emerges. Male stench hangs in the room. God, he hates these meetings. You can’t smell it, but Bakugou can’t help but pick up the underlying notes of ambition, hatred, lust. He could break their necks at the drop of a hat.

If you ordered it, he’d do anything.

“Well?” you sigh, “You heard them. The armada will be at our port in three days. Our fleet is battered. We wouldn’t be able to hold them off.”

Bakugou walks beside your chair and looks down at you. It was built for your grandfather. Big man, big ego, big dreams. Big shoes to fill. In comparison, you look like a child slumped at the dinner table waiting to be allowed to leave. 

“And they want you to lock the capital,” he sneers, “Leaving the masses — your people — the fend for themselves.” They want to stay safe in their cushy houses, and they currently do while the average person suffers.

A grim smile twists your lovely features. Bakugou longs to see your natural smile as opposed to this mockery of it. Oh how war hardens even the softest of hearts.

“So, my Shadow,” you look up at him now, “What are my other options?”

Bakugou clenches a fist at his side. There’s nothing more in the world he wants than to reach out and cup your cheek and memorize the glimmer of hope hiding in your eyes. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply, your intoxicating scent causing his heart to beat once. Exhaling, he rolls his shoulders before answering you. “The witches are eager to prove themselves. Become useful in your eyes.”

“They want protection from the masses.” 

Bakugou holds back a smirk. Of course you’d read between the lines. Nothing is given for free. “I advise you use them.”

“And then what? Offer them carte blanche?” you scoff. “If one more zealot cries foul again I’ll have an uprising worse than what my father faced.” You wince. You may try to forget the way he was dragged from the castle and beheaded and your shaky rise to power – eyes of the masses hungry for bloodshed, but he remembers it as vividly as yesterday. You were barely a woman, fear and a shattered innocence filled you to the core as you swore before all the powers that be to protect your realms. 

And Bakugou silently promised to guide you better than he had your father and his father before him.

“You’ll think of something.”

“What use are you then if you don’t aid your queen?” Your tongue and eyes are sharp and turned on him. “You will not make me a vampire such as yourself and grant me the powers I need to stabilize my kingdom. You tease solutions, but offer nothing more than that.” Bakugou watches you stand, your face hardening into an impassive mask. “The witches worry that I will turn my back on them, but perhaps it is the vampires who will lose favor.”

Pacing back and forth, you watch him, waiting for any reaction — something you can use to move the argument along. 

But all he gives you is a blank look. He can’t say anything – no matter how much he wants to. In truth, he has no more power than your advisors who bow their heads with a ‘yes, Your Majesty’ and say what you want to hear in an attempt to curry favor for themselves. 

Your shoulders slump when it’s clear he’s not going to take the bait.  “I have a kingdom to protect and ensure that we will see better days. I swore an oath before all the gods that I would do this,” your jaw juts out stubbornly. “I still have no consort and no heir. Everything will fall to chaos. Will you really deny your queen the ability to ensure there is a future for my people?”

Bakugou falls into a wide stance and clasps his hands behind his back. He’s heard this argument time and time again. No doubt your stubbornness will hold strong this time too. “I told your father and your father’s father the same thing: no. We do not lead in human politics.”

“Yet you’ll meddle.”

Bakugou sighs. He’ll respond that yes, creatures will meddle – who wouldn’t? You’ll spew more stories meant to guilt trip him. He’ll hold fast in his position that you will not be made a vampire. You’ll insinuate that if he won’t do it, you’ll find someone who will. His heart will beat again, and he’ll snarl that whatever vampire you find would sooner kill you than turn you. You’ll storm away. Nothing will be resolved. 

If he tries a different approach, maybe he can avoid what will surely be a weeklong headache. “My Queen,” he grits out. Fuck these insufferable games he must play in order to speak his mind. “Permission to speak freely?”

Back when he was reborn there was no need to ask to speak. He and his brethren did what they wanted without consequence. Lands were conquered on whims, the blood flowed freely. And now? He’s reduced to acting like one of the humans who advises you.

You nod. How generous.

“If I made you what I am,” he says silkily, “I would have your kingdom at my mercy. I could order you to do my bidding, and you would not be able to deny me. As a vampire you wouldn’t have the heir you so desperately want. I would ruin you.” He stalks towards you, only a hint of the predator within. To your credit, you stand your ground and appear unimpressed — your scent, however, betrays you. “In the time it would take for you to control your blood thirst, your people that you so valiantly want to protect would all be dead.”

He bends at the waist so your faces are even. Smiling, he adds on, “And that’s if you don’t kill them all yourself.” With a flourish, he bows and stalks towards the door. He doesn’t care that you’re fuming at his breach in etiquette. 

Bakugou isn’t summoned for more than a week. That whole time he does what he does best: stick to the shadows. To say you’re irritated is an understatement. The only time you do call upon him is to send him on an errand worthy of a human. Maybe it’s your form of punishment – to remind him of what you are.

But he’s addicted to you and can’t stay away. Many nights he finds himself spending time with the gargoyles lining the roof outside your window. 

He’s late tonight — not that sitting outside your chambers has a set time. A questioning took longer than he expected, and had extra clean up to deal with. Bakugou settles in at his usual spot and listens. Normal nightly ambience quickly filters away. All he wants to hear is you. 

Elevated heartbeat. Rapid breathing. Excitement. Bakugou turns his head away from your window. This isn’t the first time he’s heard you… enjoy yourself. But it’s a moment when you think you’re alone, so he does his best to give you privacy. He’s about to leave his hiding spot outside your window when he hears another faint heartbeat. Jealousy shoots through him. His hold on the nearest statue cracks the stone. Pebbles fall to the ground stories below. Who would you possibly have there with you?

About to break one of his own self-imposed rules and peek into your chambers, he’s blindsided by a scent.

Hatred.

It assaults his senses. A putrid scent wraps around his nose. It’s cloying, stinging his nose and pricking his eyes.

You’re not alone. But you’re not enjoying yourself either. No, if his senses are anything to go off of, there’s someone in your chambers with you who intends to do you harm.

Flashes of green cloud his vision. A past he swore he left behind eons ago. 

A mumbling. Yours? 

Bakugou can’t wait. He dives into the room and pinpoints the stench. It’s reflex at this point – sharpened claws embed into flesh. Warmth trickles down his fingers. He’s probably the only one who can hear the final exhale from the human hidden behind thick curtains in your room. Iron hitting the floor and bouncing around before coming to rest ricochets in his ears. 

You inhale sharply and sit up in your bed. Even in your anger and silence with him, you call for Bakugou – albeit at a whisper. Bakugou emerges from the curtain, blood drips down his hand in the moonlight. Your eyes fixate on the dark liquid. He sniffs it, but disdain taints it. There’s no point in savoring it, or even drinking it.

And then it hits him.

The blood curdling scream ripped from your lungs.

Soldiers rush into the room, swords drawn. Your blood spikes. There’s no way you’re in any shape to issue orders. Bakugou takes over, barking out demands to round up your advisors. Little do you know, but the human who had planned on destroying you was one of the people you trusted most – outside of him. 

You’re still in shock – in bed staring dumbfounded as the chaos in your bedchambers winds down. Bakugou aches to hold you close, make promises that nothing like this will happen again. But he can’t. 

Could he even handle a rejection from you? Or would he snap? It wouldn’t be the first time.

No, it’s better if he excuses himself first.

“Katuski, please, stay.”

Against his better judgment, his feet stumble to a stop and he stares at the door in front of him. Does he stay? Is it wise?

He turns. Faces you for the first time since you cast him out of your council chambers. For the first time since your father’s death, you look your age. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, but you’ve made a valiant effort to keep your head held high despite all the troubles and tribulations thrown your way. Now though, in a bed that dwarfs you, you look more like yourself and less like the young queen he serves.

Bakugou tentatively sits on the edge of your bed. You play with a stray thread from the enormous cover. He watches you wind and unwind it around your finger. It’s only when it snaps completely that you speak.

“He… I… I trusted him. And he wanted to kill me.” Bakugou remains silent. He watches you process the moment. Your brows push together and pull apart as sadness overtakes you. “I trusted him. He advised me. And he wanted me dead.”

Visions of the past swim in his eyes. He wanted me dead. A deep, garbled voice pleads with him. For what? Desperation. Blood. Death.

“He can’t hurt you.” Bakugou masks the hollowness of his voice with a bow of his head. “I am your faithful servant, now and always.”

“Would he be able to kill me if I were a creature like you?”

Not again. He’s not ready for another argument. You’re only just beginning to talk to him again. “Not in the way he wanted.” It’s not impossible, but vampires are much harder to kill than mere mortals.

“Katsuki, I’m begging.” Warm fingers grasp his forearm. “Change me. Make me one of you.”

It would be so easy. “I am bound by the laws created by and for creatures. I can’t. And if I was able to, I wouldn’t.” 

Your mouth opens, an objection on your tongue. He speaks quickly, cutting off a protest he’s heard countless times before. “I don’t have many regrets – I can count them on one hand.” A pair of eyes, pleading. A pair of emeralds that haunt him when he somehow sleeps. Shiny. Reflective. Crying? Blood everywhere. A life too soon extinguished. A love lost. All his fault. “I turned someone I thought I loved. I was ready to spend the rest of eternity with a mate.” It ended with a body, a broken heart, and a promise never to repeat that mistake.

“I’m not like her, I promise.” 

“No, you’re not like him,” Bakugou snaps. How many times does he have to say it? “But I won’t do it, no matter how much I love you.”

The silence hangs heavy in the room. You sit back. The cavernous distance between your bodies makes his fingers itch.

Maybe you didn’t hear him. Maybe you’ll think he said something else. Maybe-

“Love?”

He curses himself. No, of course you heard, and now one of his secrets is out there. There’s no point in denying it. You’ll never let it drop. And… if he messes up now, he’ll have plenty of chances in the future to make it right. “I’ve always loved you. I always find you, not matter how far I have to go or how far you rise or fall in life.”

“You’ve… found me. Before.” Confusion turns to awe as realization washes over you. There are hushed whispers in religions about reincarnation, but very few have actually believed it.

“And I’ll find you again in your next life.”

“You wouldn’t have to find me again; you could have me now.”

“Don’t say that!” Bakugou’s roar echoes throughout the chamber.

“I’m not scared of you.” Defiance. Just like him. His other love. Only back then, Bakugou believed his words. 

“You should be. I’m a monster.” He killed the one he loved. All because he was… afraid of being alone. What good is eternity if you can’t spend it with anyone? “I can hear your blood singing beneath your skin. On the best of days I hang on to my sanity by a thread.”

“What kind of life is that?”

“One I choose for myself.”

Your lips press together. Every incarnation of you never lets it drop. “What’s holding you back?” Maybe… just this once… “Katsuki… talk to me.”

“No. It doesn’t concern you.” He can’t. 

You straighten up and arch an eyebrow. “Are you disobeying an order from your queen?”

He smirks. “Are you my queen now instead of the woman I covet most?”

Hesitation overtakes the haughty demeanor on your face. “I can be both.”

“Not to me.”

You sigh. A wry grin replaces the fake demeanor you save for your court. “Then tell me, the woman who wants to spend her whole life with you. What happened?”

He failed. That’s what happened. It was much like this night; an assassination attempt, only the assassin succeeded. And as the love of his life lay in Bakugou’s arms dying, Bakugou offered him a choice. And who can refuse the chance to live forever?

Bakugou licks his lips. How much should he tell you? Would you be jealous after hearing it all? “He was the chieftain,” he starts slowly. “He shouldn’t have been though. It was a different time. Politics… it was all brutal strength. When I heard there was a chief that couldn’t protect his people, I went to him with the intention of wiping him and his people off the face of the earth.”

He can remember the scent of fresh dirt after the rain. The mud squelching beneath his war horse’s hooves. People watched him warily as he rode into town. A green haired man emerged from the largest structure. Innocence. 

“But you didn’t?” 

“I didn’t,” he nods. “I saw how he led without an iron fist. At first it intrigued me. And then the more I watched, the more I wanted to protect him. He knew what I was and he welcomed me. Everyone did. The peacefulness messed with me. First time in eons I’d felt that way. But it didn’t last, and I couldn’t protect him. He was wounded and I offered him a chance to stay with me. Forever.”

His blood tasted sweet. It was laced with love and hope, none of the desperation that usually follows death. 

“Did he take it?”

“He did. But it wasn’t successful.” Soft emerald eyes woke with a hardness Bakugou saw when he looked at his reflection. An unending hunger. A craving. A need for violence. “He woke with an uncontrollable bloodlust. He slaughtered everyone in his care. But he wasn’t done there. He ran. There was destruction wherever he went. My father…” Bakugou swallows thickly. He remembers his father riding over the hilltop. From across the field of carnage, Bakugou heard him sigh before turning away. “My step-father. He was disappointed in me. I would’ve preferred him being angry. But he calmly told me to clean up my mess. I…”

In the end, Bakugou caught him. It had to be done. I lo- There was peace on his face when Bakugou removed his heart from his chest. Acrid smoke filled Bakugou’s lungs as the body burned. And for a split second, he considered walking into the blazing pyre as well.

“I killed him in the end. I had to.” Bakugou studies his hands. How much blood did he have on them? “I spent centuries trying to find him again. He never resurfaced.”

“Maybe he-”

“No. You haven’t seen it. There are always similarities.” Bakugou studies you for a moment. Sometimes your hair changes. Sometimes you’re shorter than normal. Once it was your eyes, and that took him off guard once he realized it was you. “You, for example, are always in power whether you want it or not. You’re headstrong and stubborn as a mule. You don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. And your smile. I always recognize your smile. He’s gone. Forever. Turning him must’ve corrupted his soul.”

Your lips form a thin line as grim realization sets in. “That’s why you won’t turn me.”

“I won’t lose you too. At least this way I know that I can search to the ends of the earth and I’ll find you again.” Even if it’s a painful existence.

“Katsuki.” Your hand finds his cheek. Warmth floods his skin, just like it did before his rebirth. His eyes flutter closed, enjoying the sensation. “You may not make me one of you, but I give myself to you, and no other.” Bakugou’s eyes pinch tight. He’s heard those words before. They always spell your downfall. If he doesn’t push you away, there will be no heir to the throne. There will be no victory in the war. Your kingdom will collapse.

And yet…

He’s never had the willpower to say no before.

He cups your cheek. Your skin thrums beneath his touch. The siren’s call from your blood grows deafeningly loud. His lips graze over yours, barely skimming their surface, but his senses explode.

“Mine,” he whispers huskily, “Forever.” Sealing your fate in this life with a searing kiss, he moves his way down to the soft base of your neck. Teeth pierce skin. Your gasp is music to his ears. Your essence coats his tongue

It’s not enough to kill, nor is it enough to turn you, but it is enough to mark you as his territory for all other creatures. 

They’ll know that you’re in league with a vampire, and they’ll grow suspicious of you and your word – turn on you when you least expect it.  

Just like they have before.

Maybe next time – in your next life – he can stop himself or finally give in to your wishes and turn you.

But for this lifetime, you’re his.

—Modern day—

Bakugou stares out over the city. From the top floor, he can hardly see the people below. It’s hardly the tallest skyscraper, but he and his kind have had to adapt — be more… incognito. Gone are the days of raising hell and taking over. No, much to his chagrin, in this human dominated society, Bakugou has to pretend to be like them. 

He glances at the framed magazine cover behind a grandiose oak desk. It’s been enlarged – at least three feet tall. You stand front and center in a smart blazer, arms crossed. Your eyes sear the viewer as if daring them to challenge you. The headline is as bold as you: New Queen of Philanthropy? Meet the latest woman to join the Top 100 Most Powerful People.

The boardroom door silently opens and clicks shut behind him. An intoxicating scent wraps around him, teasing his senses. And for a moment, he allows himself to get lost in it. Maybe this time will be different.

He spins on his heel and extends a hand to you. “Katsuki Bakugou, your father’s chief financial officer.” His heart gives a single beat as his skin makes contact with yours. 

“I’ve heard all about you, Mr. Bakugou,” you reply and pointedly stare at the icy handshake. “They call you my father’s shadow; always working in the background, getting him the information he needed, never in the public eye.”

“Please, call me Katsuki,” he grins wolfishly. “I look forward to serving you.”

Images used in banner from unsplash.

[the-wisteria-house]

The Arrangement (Rengoku x reader) - Chapter 5

In his eagerness to get home and gather information about what his father is hiding Kyojuro forgoes sleep after his latest mission. This is proven to be a poor lapse of judgement, but thankfully your there to patch him up, and in the prosses a glimpse of your true self is unveiled to him, so maybe the blood and the scare he was sure to have was worth it?

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol abuse, canon Typically violence, minor injuries (Kyojuro), awkward (y/n), and Kyojuro.

As Kyojuro stumbled out of his sandals and made his way down the corridor to the washroom, he couldn't help but wince as he barely caught his balance on one of the walls, narrowly avoiding landing on the floor. Kyojuro realized in that moment he had lost a lot more blood than he had originally anticipated. As he stared down at his hand that was putting pressure on his rib. He couldn't help the feeling of shame rise in him at the sight of his blood which stained his palm and dripping onto the floor below, 'You're a Hashira it's pathetic that you let a lower rank demon put you in such a state.' In his eagerness to figure out what his father was hiding he had an uncharacteristically poor lapse in judgment and decided to forgo sleep after his latest mission and head straight home in the hopes of speaking to you at first light. The lack of sleep and the tole the mission left on his body left him vulnerable to an opportunistic demon that caught him off guard as he ran through a neighboring village, though the demon was dispatched within seconds that didn't change the fact it was able to claw a deep gash across the Hashiras chest down to his ribs. 

"Kyojuro? Is that - oh god. Uh, come on, we need to get you patched up." Your surprised voice pulled him from his self-depreciating thoughts before you firmly grabbed his arm and led him to the bathroom and went along wordlessly.

The young man watched from the toilet lid as your eyebrows were nit firmly in what could have been worry, while you searched through the first aid kit you'd dug out from under the sink. Your features softened a fraction once you found the bottle of antiseptic and some cotton swabs.

Not even glancing in his direction you gestured to the rag you had given him when you both first entered the bathroom, "Bite down on that, I'm sure this'll hurt like a bitch.", 

Kyojuro didn't even have time to react to your foul language you turned, and a pained grunt left him and he quickly bit down on the rag, as you gently cleaned out his wound and wiped away excess blood with a damp rag as you went. You only stopped when Kyojuro softly laid a scared hand over your own, much smaller hands, not allowing you to clean the area over his heart. This action made you pause to look up at the slayer and give him a questioning look, noticing he removed the rag from his mouth. You were having to dig debris out of his wound so to say you were confused at this action would be an understatement.

"Thank you (Y/n), I'm truly sorry for waking you, that wasn't my intention." Kyojuro said with an apologetic smile, which you wouldn't help but return despite how every fiber of your being screamed at you to keep yourself guarded. 

"It's alright. It's not a big deal." His grip loosened, allowing you to continue your work, "You're pretty banged up." You state, filling the silence, leaving an opening for him to continue if he wished.

"Yea..." he paused, seeming to debate if he should say more, "A demon got the jump on me." he said humiliation clear in his voice. 

"That's alright, even the strongest make mistakes. Life is full of lessons. This could be one of them." Kyojuro too in your wise words as he watched you pull out a needle and thread from the box and got to patching him up. Your steady and confident moments, along with the persistence of your stitches impressed him, "You've done this before." He states after you were halfway done with his stiches.

"No, I just thought it would be a fun experience to stitch up a Hashira, in the middle of the night, you know? Just for the hell of it." If Kyojuro hadn't seen the small smirk that dawned your soft lips, he would have thought you'd been serious by the steady and monotoned sound of your voice,"I worked at a doctor's office as a cleaner when I was a young teen. The doctor was a kind woman and was eager to nurse my curiosity about medicine despite my lack of a formal education... She taught me a few things while she was in my village." you glanced up at him, gauging his pain levels before continuing, "Sadly, she and her assistant decided to move their practice after a while, so I had to start working full time at the tea house." You finished off as you masterfully tied the last stitch.

"That was nice of her. What else did you learn from her?" He asked, curiosity peaked as you began to dress his now closed wound.

"Oh, basic things like first aid, simple remedies and medicines, as well as how to take blood and give vaccinations. So, nothing too extreme, it was nothing that a normal person couldn't learn from a book." You shrug nonchalantly, focusing more on dressing his wound.

"Still, not enough people know first aid! So, I think it's wonderful you took time to learn it!" He says earnestly, with a smile that you swore could outshine the morning sun. You couldn't find it in yourself to turn away from the man before you. You froze when his gaze met your own,causing your hand to rest flat on his toned chest as you briefly stopped wrapping his wound. The look in his eyes wasn't one you had anticipated. He wasn't looking at you with distain or even disgust, as you would have originally thought, but with a slight curiosity and... what appears to be tenderness?  No, you must have been mistaken! Why would he give you of all people such a look? Your eyes followed Kyojuro's' hand as he reached out and grasped a stray lock of your hair that was in your face before pushing it behind your ear, "That's better." One of his scared knuckles grazed your jawline for a fraction of a second. Despite how feather light the motion was, it left your skin heating with a pleasant warmth in its wake, "It's getting late. You should get to bed; I truly appreciate your assistance. You got me sewed up quicker than I could have done on my own, and you did a better job as well. " He added after a moment of silence, breaking away from your gaze, and retracting his hand slowly, as you nodded.

"You should as well, I'm sure you're tired from your travels, and duties." You agreed before helping the taller man stand and shadowing him down the long corridor. As you watched him walk ahead of you, you noted he thankfully seemed to be fairings better than he had been when you first found him. Despite this, you chose to stay nearby just in case he became faint again. Thankful he hadn't and the short walk to your rooms was uneventful, and as you both begin to go to enter your separate room, you both stopped and turned to speak at the same time, cutting each other off. "Kyo-"

"(Y/-" You stared at each other for a few moments before you gave him a small but beautifully striking smile.

 "I hope you sleep well, Kyojuro." Your soft voice broke the tension in the air, as your orbs held his own.  

"I- uh- you too (Y/n)! Th-thank you for everything." Kyojuro, in that moment as he stumbled over his words, as he bore into your kind eyes owlishly. In that moment Kyojuro felt more like a shy schoolboy than the revered and powerful Hashira he was meant to be. His flustered appeared only increased tenfold when you bowed your head slightly before entering your room, the pleats of your sleeping yukata flowing behind you as if the fabric was casketing water, and not linen, before you shut the sliding door. Leaving him standing in the hallway with only the shine of the moon to keep him company, feeling like a blushing fool. 

Kyojuro woke to the morning sun shining in his eyes as it spilled through the opened window of his room.

He blushed as his thoughts traveled to the events of last night, or hell was it really the early hours of that morning? He didn't know if it was the blood loss or your bewitching beauty, that allowed him to act so impulsively. Then as he thought about it more, he supposed it didn't matter, what was done was done... More importantly, you hadn't seemed at all bothered by his actions, or at least it didn't seem that way. You were quite a hard person to read if he was honest, or maybe he wasn't all that good with women? He had never really actually courted one before or been around one for extended periods of time other than his friend Mitsuri. Did that count though, they spent most of their time together training and eating?

Pushing off his thoughts not wanting to confuse himself further on the matter of the matter, he began to get ready for the day, choosing to dawn a vibrant red yukata with a dark carco grey Obi. He then put on a matching pair of grey tabi socks before exiting his room.

As he walked down the corridor leading to the main room, the aromic smell of tea filled his senses. You and Senjuro must have been awake, preparing breakfast. He wondered if that been the routine in the days he'd been absent?  

He tried to stifle his laughter as he entered the kitchen and saw Senjuro standing closely by your side almost as if he were your shadow, his eyebrows creased in firm consecration, as he watched you expertly grill salmon.

"Ah, Anuie! You're back from your mission! I'm assuming you arrived last night?" Senjuro's attention snapped to the doorway the moment he heard his older brother's distinctive laughter, with a surprised smile. 

"I am, I arrived late last night. The mission was thankfully successful!" He walked closer to the two of you and gave you both his signature smile before offering his assistance while he looked over the ingredients you had out.

You looked up in thought, thinking about what task to assign him, missing how his little brother looked at him as if he had multiple heads. What was Kyojuro thinking?

"Sure, would you mind cleaning and starting the rice? Thank you." You accepted before pointing to the bag of rice that was on the center island and going back to work on the salmon.

"What are you doing? You can't cook!" Senjuro whispers to his elder brother as they both made their way to the rice, kyojuro with a pot in hand. 

"I'm a Hashira. I can surlily cook rice, Senjuro!" Kyojuro confidently stated as he took a cup of rice out of the cloth bag, Senjuro let out a defeated sigh as he watched his brother turn on hot water to clean the rice instead of cold... this was going to be fun.

-

Kyojuro later realized he in fact- could not cook rice. He felt warmth creep up his neck as he stared down at the scorched, almost unrecognizably burnt rice grains. 

"I swear, I only looked away for a moment!" He practically yelled, trying to mask his embarrassment. Only for you to give him an unreadable look before you gently removed the pot of from his hold and disposed of the entire thing, as there was no chance of saving the also scorched pot. (Honestly parts of the pot looked on the verge of melting)

"I told you, Kyojuro!" Senjuro whispered as he propped open one of the windows in the kitchen in hopes of removing the burnt smell and smoke that filled the air and his older brother stood slightly behind him seemingly unsure of what to do.

"Hey, I didn't know it would burn, I figured it would just cook faster on high, and then we could eat sooner!" He rubbed his neck and looked down, trying to push down the humiliation he felt. You must have thought he was unless... A grown man who couldn't even cook rice. 

"You know I don't recall ever seeing someone scorch rice before... I'll show you how to properly make it tomorrow, okay?" Kyojuro's head sprung up at your offer. The look on his face was almost reminiscent of a dog being given a table scrape after going on a day's long hunting trip. To say he was elated at the offer would be a serious understatement.

"That actually worked?" Senjuro mumbled under his breath in shock as he stared at the two of you. His brother's confidence seemed restored at the offer, and you had a cool and calm air around you. As much as your personalities seemed to contrast, he couldn't help but think you complemented each other nicely, and made a charming pair.

Senjuro never pretended to understand his father, but he was starting to see why he chose you for Kyojuro. With someone like you, you'd make him slow down and enjoy the smaller things, and with someone like him, you'd open up more and hopefully grow more spontaneous. You two gave each other balance. He may not have agreed with how Shinjuro went about pairing the both of you, but he couldn't deny that this was one of his father's smarter choices. 

"Morn'in, did something burn?" A gruff voice sounded from the doorway. Speaking of the man, it seemed he'd decided to join you that morning.

"Yea, it seems we won't be having rice this morning." You began to put the salmon and vegetables on a serving dish, missing the confused look on the Rengoku Patriarchs face, as he realized what burned. 

"How'd you manage to burn rice? You were able to make it just fine yesterday, and all the other days before that." The man said gruffly as you handed him the serving tray silently ordering him to take it to the table, and much to his son's shock and amazement, he did without complaint.

" It wasn't (Y/n) who burnt the rice, Father." Senjuro said with humor as his father's eyes narrowed slightly in a silent question because it's been years since Senjuro burnt rice.

"I was the one who burnt the rice." Kyojuro spoke up after a moment of silence, the tips of his ears turning red, and embarrassment radiated off of him, despite his owlish features being pulled in a large smile.  

"I'm going to show him how to properly make rice tomorrow, but for today, Muso soup and some salmon with veggies will have to suffice." If Kyojuro hasn't been looking, he would have missed your humored expression as you put a bowl of soup in each person's spot. In that moment, his features relaxed into a calmer, pleasant smile. 

You all sat down and gave thanks before starting to feast on the meal. Kyojuro and Senjuro imminently began to dig in, but you noticed Shinjuro hadn't started eating yet, seemingly too occupied with his reading.

"Rengoku-Sama." You said expectantly after a few moments of him not making any moves to put the book down. The man in question looked up, giving you a questioning look when you hadn't continued speaking after saying his name.

"What is it?" You gestured to the book with a blank expression.

"It's not proper to read at the table, Sir." You said simply, no accusatory tone in your voice, but making it clear you wanted him to put the book down.

"Fine, I guess I can get to the damn thing later." The man grumbled before begrudgingly placing the book by his side.

It was at that moment that Kyojuro noticed his father was clean shaven that day, and if his temper (or lack thereof) meant he hadn't hit the sake yet, or at least not enough to inebriate him to the usual degree.

"You look well, Father." Kyojuro decided to voice his thoughts, he hoped that this wouldn't be a one-time thing. His father only responded with a grunt of acknowledgment. Still, this pleased Kyojuro, who was used to not getting a response at all from the older male most of the time.

"When did you come in from your mission?" Shinjuro asked, smoothly changing the subject as he started to eat his food.

"Late last night, the mission itself went smoothly, I decided to come home instead of staying at the local inn." Kyojuro looked up at the male not having had expected that question but responded as he continued to eat.

"How about the trip back? You must not have gotten much rest if you came back immediately." You watched as Senjuro's brows pulled together in worry the moment the question left his lips. You couldn't help but wonder how would Kyojuro respond?

"The journey back went smoothly until a third of the way back. As you said, I hadn't gotten much sleep, so a demon was able to catch me off guard, embarrassingly enough. Though, it was quickly dispatched after its first attack." Kyojuro made sure to stress the last bit as too, as to not worry Senjuro further.

"So you were injured?" The boy frowned seemingly not reassured. You decided to save poor Kyojuro in that moment and redirect Senjuro's attention.

"Yes, he was, but don't worry, we got him fixed up when he made it home." You softly squeezed the boy's shoulder, which seemed to finally ease his worries. 

"Next time, just go to a damn inn boy." The oldest Rengoku spoke up suddenly, in the same gruff tone his voice always seemed to carry, but the look in his eyes had shifted to something unfamiliar. He almost seemed... worried? It didn't seem the boys could see this as they turned their attention to him, not that you could really blame them with how he was glaring.

"I believe what your father is trying to say is we'd all prefer it if you wouldn't put yourself at risk, and that if you're tired, you'll go to an inn, instead of racing back home." You then let out a small sigh before looking at him voice softening, "Not that I minded patching you up, I understand such injuries come with your occupation, but I'd like you to avoid injuries if you can, it'd put mine and everyone's else's minds to ease." Senjuro nodded firmly in agreement with your words, and Shinjuro only looked at his eldest son with an unreadable expression before focusing his attention on his food.

"I'm sorry if I worried you, but I'll be sure to keep your words in mind in the future. Thank you!" Kyojuro gave you a genuine smile before he seemed to revert back to his boisterous and energetic self.

The rest of breakfast went without a hitch, most of the talking being done by the two brothers, with you contributing to the conversation when you saw fit, and their father remaining silent.

"So, you took (Y/n) to the market? Did you do anything else?" Kyojuro inquired curiously after Senjuro told him about you going to buy ingredients.

"Oh, we saw Toshi-San! She seemed well. " Senjuro mused as he set down his chopsticks once he finished his meal.

"That's good to hear! She's been running that stand of hers since before I was your age! I actually don't remember when she first moved here. It's been that long!" Kyojuro looked up as he scratched his chin in thought. He knew the old woman had moved here at some point when he was a young boy, but he had no clue when. Though he was aware she knew his mother to a certain extent as he remembered visiting the old womans stand and even her home as a young child.

"She was a matchmaker before she was a vender." Shinjuro said simply with a shrugged as he took a slow sip of his tea.

Senjuro's head cocked at his father's words, "She'd mentioned that before, I think she's from Tokyo? That's where she worked before moving here." Shinjuro only shook his head, and the boys looked at him with silent questioning gazes.

"No, before she left for the city, she was a matchmaker here originally..." Shinjuro's voice drifted off and he was seemingly lost in thought.

"When did she leave for the city?" You spoke after a few moments of silence. Truly curious to learn more about the energetic woman.

"Twenty years ago, maybe more? Her husband passed away, and she moved to the city with her boy. She came back when Kyojuro was, maybe seven- Why does it matter?" When the man gave the three of you an irritated scowl, you knew it was time to switch the subject, and it seemed Kyojuro did as well.

"No particular reason, Father." Kyojuro's eyes then met yours, and his face lit up as if he'd thought of the most brilliant idea, "Say (Y/n), why don't we go to the market today? Senjuro mentioned while we were cooking you wanted to make a cake. While we're there, you guys can get the ingredients you need! We also need a few odds and inns, since it's been a week since you last went to town!" His eager voice bounced off of the walls of the dining room and it almost seemed as if his hair was blowing in the wind despite no draft being present in the room. 

You felt a little skeptical about letting him go out so soon after being injured, but almost as if he read your thoughts, he quickly reasured, "I assure you (y/n). I wouldn't propose going out if I didn't think I'd be up to it!" This seemed to satisfy you and you nodded in reply.

"Alright then, we can go a bit after lunch."

"It's so beautiful out, especially with the leaves starting to change color." Senjuro comments with a content smile as the three of you took in the atmosphere the trees that dotted the area provided. 

You hum in agreement before turning to the boy, who was walking by your side, "It truly is, Autumn is one of my favorite seasons for that reason." 

"Yes, I can agree. The cool weather Autumn also brings makes it far more comfortable to work as a slayer compared to summer!" Kyojuro nodded as he joined in on the light-hearted conversation.

"I'm sure it does. Those uniforms don't look like they'd be all that comfortable to work in, especially in the heat." You look up in thought, thinking about the long sleeves and pants of the uniform and how sticky with sweat they must get after each mission.

"They're fine most of the time but can be uncomfortable in the heat, but the fabric is strong and helps combat some injuries so it's a small price to pay!" His voice boomed, scaring some birds out of a nearby tree, but not catching you or Senjuro off guard.

"That reminds me, how did your mission go, big brother?" Senjuro perked up as he awaited his elder brothers answer eagerly. 

"The mission went well! The demon was quite elusive, but I was able to defeat it with minimal casualties." Senjuro, in that moment, looked to his older brother as if he'd hung the Stars and spoke with a gleam in his wide eyes,

"I wish I was strong like you, Kyojuro!" His comment wouldn't have caught you off guard if it didn't seem to have a hidden meaning making you frown.

"Why, do you think you aren't strong, Senjuro?" You quickly wiped the small frown off of your face as he turned to look at you as to not give him the wrong impression.  

"I'm weak... No matter how hard I train, I can't perform flame breathing properly." Senjuro looked down in shame and humiliation. 

You and Kyojuro both felt your hearts constrict to an unpleasant degree, and right when Kyojuro was about to reach out to comfort his younger brother, he realized you'd beaten him to it. You'd already had grabbed the youngest Rengoku by both his shoulders, "Senjuro, look at me." You gently grabbed the young boys chin making him look into your firm unwavering gaze, "You must understand that without failure, success has no true meaning. Just because flame breathing doesn't come easy doesn't make you weak. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses; yours may lay somewhere else."

The boy looked up at you with watery eyes before letting out a ragged breath and asking, "What is my strength (y/n)?" Clearly this had been weighing on the poor child's mind for quite a while. 

"I don't know, that's for you to learn with time Senjuro, but never let anyone tell you, you can't do something. It's never over until you say it is." The boy quickly sprung forward after you finished your speech. His arms circled your waste in a deathly tight grip. You hesitated for a brief moment before settling on hand on his golden locks and another on his back in a comforting manner. It wasn't that you were uncomfortable with the boys' sudden affection, just unsure of how to respond.

"Okay... I promise." He mumbled into the soft fabric of your kimono.

Kyojuro stood stuck in place. He felt as if a freezing bucket of water had been poured over him as he watched the two of you . In that moment, despite the fact you looked nothing alike. The two of you reminded him so vividly of his departed mother and himself as a young lad; your calm but firm expression, the way your hand softly caressed Senjuros hair in a comforting manor, and most importantly the wisdom your words held. The way you treated Senjuro also reminded him of the kindness she held, a kindness he'd never thought he'd see in another human being... He almost felt as if he was looking back in time.

"Kyojuro, are you alright?" Your calm tone paired with your slightly furrowed brows pulled Kyojuro out of his reminiscent thoughts.

"Ah, y-yes (y/n)! Why wouldn't I be?" Kyojuro quickly smiles, erasing the surprised expression on his face in an instant. As he looks at the both of you. He noted that it appeared that Senjuros' tears had dried, and the boy seemed at ease.

" I just thought I would ask. You seemed lost in thought." You took a small step towards the male though you maintained a reasonable distance, as you did want to offend the Hashira. This proved to be an unnecessary worry as Kyojuro took a step forward narrowing the space between the two of you before gently taking your smaller hand in his own with a slight squeeze, "Don't worry about me, I was remembering a fond memory." He gave you a small smile, and at that moment, there was a sense of calm and understanding surrounding the both of you.

"That's relieving to hear. Perhaps you would be willing to share this memory with me sometime over tea?" You politely suggested before your eyes narrowed on a piece of lint, which you quickly flicked off his broad shoulders. 

"I would like that! Would you be willing to make that tea you made when you first arrived?" The flame locked man bent his head slightly to the side, catching you gaze once more.

"Yea... whatever you'd like." Despite your calm expression, a blush had spread across your face, and your heartbeat had begun to rapidly increase

The rest of the walk to the was uneventful, and once you arrived to the market, Senjuro decided to split off from you and Kyojuro. He reasoned that you'd be able to get the things you needed faster this way (not that you were in a rush in the first place),and walked off before you could question him further, leaving you and Kyojuro alone to set off in your search for the things on your part of the list. 

"Uh Kyojuro, did you hear that?" You looked around the busy marketplace wondering if you had finally gone mad or if you actualy had heard someone had call your name.

"I didn't hear anything (Y/n)!" Kyojuro says while sporting his usual mile, making you sweat drop slightly. There was no way someone hadn't called your name, right?

"Are you su-"? Your question was cut off by the sound of who you realized to be the woman you'd met the other day, "(L/n)-San, Rengoku-San! Over here!"

"Oh, I suppose you were right (Y/n)! Someone was indeed calling for us." The way Kyojuro laughed self-consciously caught you off guard. You'd taken him for a confident and boisterous man. Being embarrassed about burning rice was understandable but this?

"Yes, let's go greet her. She looks eager to speak with us." Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why was she looking at the both of you like that? As if you were an infamous pair out of an old epic.

"Rengoku-San, it's good to see you're back in town and showing (L/n)-San around, aye!" The older woman said with a slight teasing glint before continuing with, "You both look so well together! It reminds me of my days as a matchmaker. Seeing all the lovely young couples prepare for the rest of their lives, it was a truly wonderful thing!" The older woman gushed as she clapped her hands and looked between the two of you.

"Oh, uh - thank you, Toshi-San. How have you been?" Kyojuro answered slightly flustered, but still maintaining his polite demeanor.

"Oh, I've been well dear. Looking at you both remind me so much of Shinjuro and Ruka when they were your age!" The woman looked at you with a reminiscent gaze. 

Kyojuro's eyes widen a fraction at this, and his eyebrows raised ever so slightly in interest. He hadn't realized that the woman had known his mother and father that long ago.

"So, when's the wedding?!" The artist grabbed both yours and Kyojuro's hands, practically vibrating you both with her excitement, as you just stood there in shock and Kyojuro with his never wavering grin.

"Mother, please stop harassing those two." An attractive man with tanned skin and slight stubble sighed as he entered the stall, setting down a large wooden crate with a grunt.

"Oh dear, I suppose I did get a bit carried away." The grey-haired woman blushed slightly and laughed releasing the two of you from her hold.

"It's alright, we haven't settled on a date yet, actually." You answer the woman's previous question politely with a raised hand.

"I was surprised when Mother told me about meeting your fiancé." The man, Toshi-San's son directed to Kyojuro as he began to stock the shelves.  

"Only because we thought you were going to see the day you settled down Rengoku-san." Toshi-San added with a slight tease.

"You've always seemed married to your job, whatever that may be. What changed?" Toshi's son stood and flashed Kyojuro with a curious smile, which the man returned. 

"I have always been dedicated to my job. And to answer your question... I suppose some things change, despite how much one might feel uneasy at the idea at first." Kyojuro caught your gaze for a split second before turning back to the man and laughing light heartedly, making your breath catch in your throat. 

'What does he mean by that?'

And scene! Okay, we're getting somewhere now! If you've been paying attention, you might be able to peice together future plot points,or maybe I'm pulling your leg?🤔

This chapter took me a bit to write, as I've been quite busy lately, I'm not sure if I like how, it turned out, but it'll never be perfect. I actually originally wasn't going to have Toshi-Sans son make an appearance at all in the story, but I chose to include him because I was struggling with the conversation between you and Toshi-San, and his characters entrance redirected the conversation. Edited:8/7/23 (I like it much better now lol)

Taisho era secret

Kyojuro & Senjuro: Welcome everyone!

Senjuro: Today's Taisho era secret is about Toshi-San's son, Kentarō.

Kyojuro: I've known Kentarō since I was a young child, and in that time I've learned that while he is quite the artist, he refuses to pick up a paint brush!

Senjuro: But why?

Kyojuro: Well ladies would commission him and ask him to paint them like "French girls" Whatever that means!?

Author:*Whispers in Kyojuros ear

Kyojuro: Oh my! That is quite scandals! Well after time of one girl in particular kept asking he ended up snapping his brush in rage and vowed to never paint again.

Senjuro: Thats unfortunate but big brother, what did they mean by "French girls" is that some sort of western expression?

Kyojuro: Well, uuuuhhhh you see Senjuro-

Author: OKAY- WELL THAT WAS CHAPTER 5! SEE YOU NEXT TIME!

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[gabessquishytum]

I've got soooo many prompt in my Black Widow/Sugar Daddy AU!

Prompt 3 -- [Fishbowl Rescue] Burgess unhappily thwarted from getting Dream for himself, kidnaps him from Hob's protection.

Someone on Hob's staff, made a few terminal mistakes: (1) being on the take for Burgess, (2) thinking regardless of what their relationship might seem like to outsiders, that Hob wouldn't care if Dream was taken; and (3) that there was any situation where anyone, ANYONE, could take from HOB! Let alone take Hob's Dream.

Hob salts the EARTH with all that is, or was, Burgess - there are raging - actual - fires burning all over the world as Hob searches of Dream.

Dream was right, Hob is not a nice man, and Dream is his.

It's a given that Hob is going to kill everyone who touched his Dream, but if there is a mark on him that Hob didn't give him - the person who put it there is loosing whichever body part caused the injury, before Hob kills them.

Dream is pretty sure Hob will come for him (he hopes) if for no other reason than Dream knows Hob views him, at the very least, as his. He hold on to that hope, as Burgess leers at him, naked in this soundproof room surround by cameras; when Burgess puts his hands on him and threatens him with worse; as no one helps him. Dreams wishes(/hopes) for Hob.

Then Hob walks in the door, soot covered, bloody and so achingly beautiful, saying 'Hello, duck.'

Here's the first part of your lovely black widow/sugar daddy au. And now we have more!! So wonderful!!

I ABSOLUTELY adore this version of Hob. To Dream he's the sweetest, most angelic man. He would do anything for Dream, would walk over hot coals for him and spend any amount of money to make him happy. He makes Dream laughs, makes him cum, and is generally the most darling man in the world.

To everyone else? Hob is not so nice. Particularly not to people who hurt his Dream. Generally Hob is happy to outsource his dirty dealings to his employees, but when it comes to Dream it's personal: he personally tortures his ex-staff member for information. He personally hands over money to contacts he's got across the world. He personally sets up the lines of explosives outside of Burgess's hideout.

When he finds Dream in that basement, he has to fight hard to contain his rage. Dream doesn't need to see that, he just needs Hob to get him out. It doesn't matter that Burgess gets away - it will give Hob greater pleasure to hunt him, in fact. The main thing is to get Dream out.

He immediately has the cameras in the room scrubbed and destroyed. And he has multiple staff members scouring all levels of the web in case the footage ever leaks. The basement and the entire place where Dream was kept are totally razed from the earth. Its like they were never there.

Dream is something of a mess, of course. But all he keeps saying is "I knew you would come." Hob has to hide his face and cry while Dream is sleeping because he's just so relieved that his most beloved is alive and reasonably well. Hob is absolutely 100% feral during Dream’s recovery and Dream loves it. He loves the way Hob kneels at his feet and kisses his ankles, worshipping him like a god, promising him in the world. For the first time ever, Dream actually believes. He believes that Hob loves him.

Dream spends a lot of time in the recovery period trying to reassert himself and regain his confidence, and Hob is so supportive. He lets Dream dominate and fuck him, lets him scream and shout. And they also just spend time touching each other under piles of soft blankets, safe and shielded from the world.

Maybe it's (literally) overkill to have Burgess's half-dead body prostated at Dream’s feet when Hob proposes, but Dream seems to like the gesture. Hob presents him with a ruby studded handgun, which Dream happily uses to finish Burgess off.

And he says yes, of course. Not for the money (although that is a bonus), not because he's going to get in the will and immediately dispose of his husband. But because no one can love him as Hob does. And Dream can't quite imagine living without him.

He still keeps the gun.

[hang-me-like-jesus]

even statues crumble if they're made to wait

I am the noble augur. The seer of New Rome, blessed by the divine hands of Apollo, the god of prophecy and truth. 

I see it all. From horrific famines that leave one lone survivor, to beautiful eras of plentiful harvests and flourishing economies, there is nothing the gods keep away from my foresight. I have helped every civilian in Rome with their fortunes, I have foreseen the deceitful tactics of our enemies and saved the eternal city from doom by doing so. I am respected and idolized within the community. No man looks down on me. No event takes me by surprise, for the gods favour me so much they allow me to see every event that is to take place within the near future.

At least, that’s how it was when that son of Jupiter was still here.

Oh, Jason. Beautiful, blessed boy, possessing a body sculpted by the Olympians themselves. Such gentle hands, such a touching soul. He did not belong to the battlefield. He did not deserve to wield a sword, did not deserve to be in the battlefield. He should have lived in the beautiful abode of the gods, acting as one of the divine deities that rule and preserve the planet. Humans and mortals stained his celestial, ethereal being with their dirtiness.

One would mistake him for being a prince from bygone eras of the ancient past, not a boy forced to be a soldier.

He and I grew together side-by-side. I welcomed him to New Rome when we were both just toddlers, played with him when all other children ignored and scoffed at him. Seeing him succeed, go so far within the hierarchy of Rome, go from a centurion to leading the entire Roman populus.. Not much makes my heart swell, but his success truly does have an effect on me.

He had it all. We had it all. We were happy, content with the life the gods had given us. Why did he choose to vanish?

Initially, Reyna and I believed that Jason had just wandered off to run an errand; a secret mission bestowed upon him by Jove, or one of the other Olympians. It wasn’t unheard of that legionnaires would disappear for two or three days to complete a quest for a deity. So we waited for him. A day turned into two, two days turned into a month.. A month turned into two. Still no Jason. Hope turned to agitation as it began to dawn on the two of us that our beloved Jason wouldn’t be coming home any time soon.

I relived the moment Reyna ran into my room. She had run three kilometers from her office to my house. With tears flowing down her cheeks, she took me by my shoulders and begged me to communicate with the gods to find him. “Find him. Whatever it takes, please, Octavian. Just find him!”

Stoic, stone cold Reyna, driven to tears at the disappearance of her long time friend. No death fazed her. No cataclysm, however brutal, took effect on her. Her face was typically so still and unmoving, one could believe she was a statue. To see someone like her hysterically sob, breaking down on my bedroom floor.. It unnerved me.

The loss of a Praetor was a significant event within Rome. With one less protector present, the city would be slightly more vulnerable to sieges. The populus was becoming frantic with Jason’s disappearance. The Senate couldn’t afford to push the narrative that Jason was simply gone for a quest anymore; the civilians were asking questions, demanding to see any proof he was alive.

I went to the temple of Apollo the next day, bringing along a bag of stuffed bears. Cutting and examining the stuffing on the sacred altar, I hoped– no, I wished– that the deity would bring me information about Jason’s whereabouts.

One singular word. Apologies.

I didn’t go to sleep that night. He wanted me to apologize. But why? I stayed up noting down every possible cause for the singular word he said to me. Perhaps I accidentally messed the ritual up. Perhaps I mispronounced a word within the summoning of his presence, or perhaps I used the wrong type of stuffed toy.

I tried again the next day, this time bringing along a glass of wine and caviar to the temple. I made sure I used the plushies He liked the best. I made sure my clothes were clean and well-kept, ironed out to perfection, devoid of wrinkles and creases.

Nothing.

Perhaps Apollo could sense no gratitude within my offerings. Perhaps He could sense the irritation within my being.

I tried again on the following day, coming to the temple at the crack of dawn, bringing with me the most luxurious items I could attain. I brought cattle with me instead of stuffed bears.

Nothing. Not even a singular word, not even the slightest whisper going along with the breeze.

Bags grew under my eyes. I swore to Reyna I would find Jason. I swore to myself I would find him. I had to. He and I still had so many things to do. Nevermind his duties to the eternal city, I mattered more than them. They were just civilians. I was Jason’s friend. I welcomed him in when nobody did, held him close to my chest when he was utterly defeated, wiped his tears with my bare hands. Whatever did they do for him? They could praise him all they want, but in the end, I was his one true devotee. I was the only one in the world that truly understood him, the only one that truly saw him for him, the only one that didn’t care about his heritage. I couldn’t fail now. Not now, when my one true love was at stake.

And so I spent my days locked in the temple of Apollo, days blurring together as I cut up everything I could get my hands on in sheer desperation. People visited me multiple times. Reyna sent officers to check on my wellbeing. I knocked them all out and left their unconscious bodies right outside the temple doors.

When I ran out of teddy bear plushies to cut, I moved to animals. Their screams echoed within my mind during the night. My body grew frail, lost all its strength from inactivity. Wounds covered my arms, but I didn’t care. Jason came first. I could bear the physical wounds I inflicted on myself, but not the emotional scars that would come with permanently losing my prince.

I cut and splayed the entrails on the altar. I prayed and prayed and prayed for some comfort, some assurance that he was okay. I yelled to the sky and begged Jove to bring his son home. All of that work was for nothing. It was all futile.

Reyna visited me two evenings later, holding a tray full of food and water. It had been two weeks since the public last saw me, she said.

I did not utter a word. I did not eat the food. I would much rather join Jason in the realm of the departed than live another day in a world without him. If I was going to starve to death, so be it.

[vitanithepure]

Okay, it's Gale on my mind again, and this time after a chat I had with my partner, who finally finished his first run and now we can Talk®

Full-on Gale's story spoilers under the cut. Also a bit of Astarion in the very end, talking mainly about possible endings.

So, what are your thoughts about Gale claiming godhood?

Personally, I'm not that fond of the idea. Not in the way it's presented. I realize that if we choose to play as Gale his character and ambitions are up to us in a significant way, and that is the only way to currently see the ascention scene as it were. But let me focus more on what we are canonically given on him, as a companion.

My biggest gripe seems to be how it plays out. I am not a D&D guru, but what went down is hilarious. You expect me to believe that man would claim the ambition domain and straight up had a go at Mystra from the get-go? Like an absolute madman?

Yeah, I know, I hear you. "Power corrupts". But are we still talking about the same man at this point? The one that had absolutely zero grudge against Mystra even though nobody would hold it against him if he did?

Maybe I read his character wrong, because a romanced Gale, when encouraged to go after the Crown of Karsus, still - first and foremost - is about 'us', not 'me'. Verging on more maniacal, mind you, but still doesn't even mention going after Mystra. He just wants the power to live on his own rules, without gods deciding his fate for him.

Because, honestly, being dependant on a being so much more powerful and fickle sounds downright awful.

My partner said Gale deserved to become a god because he believes he would be the kinder one. Not in the way to "show Mystra how it's done" but rather "you are given power over my brand of Weave, use it to make the world better" kind fo deal.

But can the Karsite Weave be used that kind fo way? I think it's said that it 'hungers', that it feeds on Mystra's Weave. It's described as inherently 'bad', but I don't have the knowledge necessary to determine that.

Or, rather, I'm unsure if Mystra is an impartial source of information on it :D

Maybe I could buy into that, but in the end I don't see Gale either wanting or needing that. That was never his ambition. He wanted, and still wants, power, but for the sake of knowing how to do things. Not to hold said power and take advantage with it.

If I ever would imagine Gale as a god I would rather see another Azuth kind of being (he still around in 5e D&D?), a lesser god, sworn to Mystra but having his own thing going on. I think that *maybe* this is what he hoped to gain from Mystra?

And he doesn't need to be a god to be his adorable, 'show-offy' self. I kind of wish we got to see what happens to Gale the companion who went after the Crown of Karsus. He promises to come back, but would he really? Or would he just get killed by Mystra after his ascent like he does when we play as him?

All in all, I just don't like that ending for him, even if he would survive (which he doesn't so it makes the argument against it even sounder), it's kind of like the Vampire Ascendant for Astarion, you know? Astarion gets the power he wanted, gets the revenge but... doesn't become his best self.

And I believe becoming a god never feels like being your best self.

[rwbyvein]

Double Rainbow: The Purchase IV

Ilia stepped out of JNPR's dorm room. She was wearing a skintight halter, along with skintight yoga pants. She was told to pick something easy to move around it. She figured it was some kind of fetish play, but that was hardly the worst thing that could happen to her. She would rather suck his cock than the majority of the ones in the world, nevermind dying in the SDC mines, or being tortured by some sick freak. Even if she was a lesbian, there were far worse fates than being his plaything. It might just be the lack of love, affection, or a home for the past years, but his affection almost felt good. At least the hugs and headpats did.

* * *

Ilia: *stares at the sign of a sword crossed with a rifle*

* * *

Ilia: *walks into the shop, only to see Weiss there with Jaune*

Ilia: *silently walks up*

Weiss: *turns her head towards her*

Jaune: *turns around and gives her a warm smile*

Weiss: Jaune has told me that you were... militarily active in an unofficial capacity. I, at first, did not want to get involved, until he informed me that my arming you would be less morally dubious than my original purchase. Sometimes I despise having moral consistency.

Ilia: *complete unable to understand what was happening*

Jaune: We want to get your weapon back.

Well Dressed Man: It is no secret that Huntsmen have their weapons custom-built.

Ilia: . . .

Well Dress Man: So, who would buy a Huntsman's weapon at auction?

Ilia: I'm not a Huntsman.

Well Dress Man: Cute. But I'm not impressed. Given your status as a slave, your moral concerns are none of my business. As you have received your punishment, and it can only get worse. Next time you might not find a master who would seek to reclaim your lost possession. Now, if you could, describe it for me?

* * *

Jaune: Even if he finds it, is the guy going to sell it?

Weiss: The dark secret about auctions is that they never finish. The rich are rich because they want to be.

Jaune: Meaning?

Ilia: Everything has a price.

Weiss: Precisely.

Ilia: Even someone's life.

Weiss: ...unfortunately...

Ilia: I was apparently a bargain.

Jaune: Because I'm not looking at you as an investment.

Weiss and Ilia: *stop in their tracks*

Jaune: *turns around*

Jaune: Investment implies I intend to sell you. You're everything I want.

Weiss: In a girlfriend?

Ilia: In a slave.

Jaune: Uh... not touching that.

Weiss: Which is it?

Jaune: *nervously turns around*

* * *

Jaune: *sits on his bed and sighs*

Ilia: *kneels in front of him*

Nora: Does she have to?..

Jaune: Apparently.

Ren: Is arming her especially wise?

Jaune: It's like I can feel her Aura trying to jump out of her body.

Ren: So, you wish to train her?

Nora: Body guard concubine?!

Pyrrha (internally): If she becomes his concubine, then the position of wife will be open.

Pyrrha: I'll help.

* * *

Ilia: *strikes at Jaune with her Thunder Lash*

Jaune: *blocks with his shield*

Pyrrha: You hit his shield again.

Ilia: Isn't that the whole point of shields?

Pyrrha: You are striking with your muscles.

Ilia: . . .

Pyrrha: And between you and him, who's muscles are bigger?

Ilia: . . .

Ilia: *blushes*

Pyrrha: *blushes*

Pyrrha: *shakes her head*

Pyrrha: So, don't attack with muscles, attack with Aura.

Ilia: I don't know what that is.

Pyrrha: Strike with spirit. Strike out with your soul.

Jaune: Lash out with your soul?

Yang: *heard snickering in the background*

Pyrrha: Precisely.

* * *

Ilia's Workout Clothes: *floating in the air*

Nora: It's a ghost!

Pyrrha: I'm sorry.

Ilia: I'm not a ghost.

Nora: That's just what a ghost would say.

Ilia: I think that's more BOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Nora: See? She - admits - it!

Jaune: Nora, it's Ilia.

Nora: Oh - my - gods! Ilia died? She was so adorable. Jaune was so happy with her.

Ilia: I - am - not - dead!

Jaune: Well, this way I can get ghost blowjobs.

Ilia's Clothes: *kneels on the ground in front of him*

Jaune: I was joking.

Ilia: . . .

Jaune: *reaches down to cup her face*

Jaune: I love looking into your eyes.

Jaune (looking at Nora): Ilia's not dead, she's just invisible.

Nora: Then why can I see her clothes?

Ilia: Because I'm a chameleon. Clothes don't change colour just because a chameleon is wearing them.

Nora: Why not?

Jaune (looking down at Ilia): Maybe you should stand up.'

Ilia's Clothes: *stands up*

Pyrrha: The first semblance of her Semblance.

Yang: *heard snickering in the background*

[forasecondtherewedwon]

remember it once - chapter five

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Jack x Belle Rating: E Chapter: 5 / 7 Word Count: 3002

For today's @dodgerfoxweek prompt: post-series/au

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four

Jack straightens his waistcoat before they step into the parlour, draws Belle aside and wraps one of her curls around his finger, attempting to put the spring back into it. She watches him, smile patient and amused. He sweeps an arm out, gesturing for her to enter before him.

Fanny bustles over, wearing a smile that reveals far more than Jack and Belle probably do themselves. Before Jack can panic, Belle diverts her sister, linking their arms and leading her to the harp that was, for some reason, transported from Government House for the occasion. God forbid Head Surgeon Dawkins entertain without the presence of at least one stringed instrument. It’s so absurd that Jack almost wishes Fagin were here, though the likelihood of Fagin sitting amongst Belle’s family and Jack’s colleagues for more than five minutes without saying something so dreadfully peculiar that Jack never has another visitor in this house is low in the extreme. Also, he’d be bloody slipping the good teaspoons up his shirtsleeves the whole time. Rangy menace.

Since Belle has utterly abandoned him, Jack makes his quick, anxious peace with the inevitability of polite conversation. Sneed is looking at him, expression far too smugly knowing.

“Lab all in order, Dawkins?”

“Quite. Thank you for your concern.”

I must not punch his mustache in, Jack reminds himself, gritting his teeth as he takes a seat near Belle’s mother and father.

“Yes, yes, join us,” Governor Fox beckons. “Anything you know about these delays, Dawkins?” (The Governor’s gotten familiar with him over the past year. Another ally when the time comes—and it’s coming very soon—for Jack and Belle to openly broach the subject of marriage.)

“What delays are those, sir?”

“All sorts of shipments! Vexatious, I call it! What the devil’s to be done?”

“You might have written to inform me,” Lady Fox says with a smile, her hand laid on her husband’s arm.

“Quite so, my dear. Yes, you’d surely have known best. Except they were quite recent!” Governor Fox recalls, wrenched from his sleepy kowtowing. “Not long before you and Belle returned! Of course, we hardly noticed in the beginning, but now things are in a fair muddle. Men and goods both overdue.”

“We have observed low stock at the hospital. Of course, we are often—” Jack catches himself before he can say undersupplied. Bit awkward to berate the Governor for the conditions of the hospital when he’s hoping to shortly have the same man’s approval for wedding his daughter. Jack clears his throat. “We are often so busy we don’t catch these things straight away. But there have been shortages in some of our medicines lately. Nothing we haven’t been able to compensate for, but it’s hardly ideal.”

Sneed backs him up, nodding along to Jack’s words.

“Well, we simply can’t have this,” Lady Fox decides. Jack summons all the strength in his body to resist rolling his eyes.

“You’re absolutely correct, milady,” Sneed says. Jack shoots his colleague a look, but Sneed has his sycophantic expression directed determinedly at Lady Fox.

“Our hospital must be a beacon, an example of what can be achieved here.”

“And it would be nice to keep people alive,” Jack puts in. Unwisely, as Lady Fox’s darted glare reminds him.

“Should the colony experience a wave of illness,” she continues, “it is imperative that we are able to manage things, not like what Belle and I witnessed in England. From what she told me, the hospital was utterly unprepared to—”

“And the ship,” Belle suddenly chimes in. They turn to regard her. “The man on the ship.”

“What man?” Jack asks.

Most of what his fiancée’s told him of her return voyage was communicated through her letters. Since they’ve been in each other’s company once more, especially alone, there hasn’t been much room given to conversation.

“Yes, well, we needn’t discuss that just now,” Lady Fox says. She shifts, appearing as though more than the new furniture is making her uncomfortable. “It was most distressing.”

Jack ignores her, staring at Belle, who does likewise.

“He was ill,” she says. They’re all listening now, but Belle’s eyes are locked on Jack’s.

“Not scurvy?” he checks. “Seasickness, or—”

“Not that I recognized. His skin had a pallor, which could certainly have been the result of excessive vomiting—”

“As I said!” Lady Fox interrupts. “Perhaps not the most suitable topic of conversation, Belle.”

She doesn’t dare disobey her mother a second time, but Belle’s eyes scan the assembled group—moving from Jack to Sneed to Prof—and he believes he can tell what she’s thinking: We can’t discuss medicine when nearly half the people in this room are doctors?

“Very well,” Belle says brightly. “I believe Fanny has prepared something for us anyway. It is not a second recreation of Leda and the Swan.”

This piece of news provides visible relief to the elder Foxes, though Jack hasn’t a clue what Belle means.

“Why don’t you sit over here, Dr. Dawkins?” she invites, motioning to a seat next to her own. “It will hardly do for you to be so far from the entertainment at your own soirée.”

Jack rises eagerly, protected by Belle’s sound explanation.

“I missed you,” he says under his breath as Fanny takes her seat at the harp, drawing it towards her.

“You are ridiculous,” Belle replies, but she’s smiling. “This is from the opera Norma. My mother and I saw it in London. She was able to procure music from the aria, ‘Casta diva,’ so that Fanny might learn it.” Jack senses her watching him as Fanny feels out the first notes. “She did it at my request. I wanted to hear it again, but with you.”

Jack turns to her, fully, even though the room will see him staring if they care to look.

“Thank you.”

Belle shakes her head.

“You haven’t even heard it yet.”

He crosses one of his legs over the other to hide how he slides his fingers over to entangle them with hers.

—

It feels a little odd speaking to the young patient’s friend rather than one of his parents, but Jack knows he comes from a family of nine. He also knows what it is to be a boy in a gang of boys—the loyalty, the sense of responsibility they can feel for one another. So, while Hetty builds a rapport with Alexander by showing him a selection of the saws they use for amputations, Jack listens to Charlie explain what happened.

“We were playing at the docks,” Charlies says, eyes already wide. “Didn’t notice the fellow right away, ’cause we weren’t doing anything wrong, no reason to be lookin’ over our shoulders.”

“I know, Charlie, I believe you.”

“When he did come up, I thought he was probably drunk.”

“He was staggering?” Jack guesses.

“Yeah, and it was like he wasn’t really focused on us. Except… then he went for Al.”

“Went for him…”

“Went for him,” Charlie insists. “Next thing, Al screamed bloody murder and I walloped the man with my crutch.”

Even in recounting these perilous events, a shaky look of pride crosses Charlie’s face. It sounds to Jack as though the boy certainly earned it.

“You did very well,” Jack praises. “Did the man injure Al, do you know?”

“I think so, but Al wouldn’t let me see. Only brought him to you today ’cause he seemed confused or something. Is he ill, do you think?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Jack offers the boy a sympathetic smile. “We’ll take a look.”

Charlie tags along as Jack goes over to examine Alexander. They have the ward mostly to themselves today, and the other boy seems relatively at ease. Upon first inspection, Jack thinks Charlie may be right—Al does look ill. His skin appears waxy and pale, and even the biggest bone saw draws only a dull smile from him.

“Right, Al,” Jack says, standing at the boy’s bedside. “How are you feeling?”

Alexander shrugs, scratches absently at his arm.

“Have you been getting enough to eat?”

“We have our ways,” Charlie says smugly. Jack catches his eye and they exchange the sly, silent understanding of thieves. Still, he’ll see the pair of them get some oranges while they’re here.

“And sleeping? Have you been getting your sleep, Al?” Hetty inquires.

Al nods, then shakes his head, then appears indecisive.

“Think so,” he finally settles on.

“Charlie’s been telling me about this man at the docks,” Jack begins. “Did he seem unwell to you, Al? Do you think he got close enough that he might’ve made you ill?”

Al looks away and scratches at his arm again. Jack follows the action with his eyes, then crouches.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks quietly. “I won’t think you any less brave, I swear.”

Al lifts his gaze to look at Jack.

“Bit me clean through my shirt.”

“Bit you?” Jack repeats, but Al’s already rolling up his sleeve. When he winces, Hetty jumps forward to help, tenderly folding the cloth back and back until the ugly wound is exposed.

“Blimey,” Charlie observes. “You can patch that though, can’t you, Jack?”

Jack swallows and pretends he’s concentrating too hard to hear the question. It spares him from having to admit he’s never seen an injury like this in his life.

—

“Necrosis,” Belle says later—she, Hetty, and Jack gathered in the empty operating theatre. “The death of what should be healthy cells in a living body.”

“We saw the decay,” Hetty assures her. “The discolouration. The… odour.”

“And the child was bitten?”

“Yes.”

“Might his condition have resulted from the violence of the injury alone? Are you certain there was a transmission of disease?”

“Right now,” Hetty says with a sigh, “we only have the account Charlie’s given us. We alerted the infantry. They’re searching for the man. Jack requested that we be allowed to examine him when he’s found, question him about his symptoms.”

“Prod him with sharp objects,” Jack adds bitterly.

Hetty glares at him.

“He bit a child!” he defends.

“Do. No. Harm,” she reminds him in a measured voice, then looks back to Belle and shrugs. “Essentially, we’ll diagnose the disease, if we can.”

“You’re welcome to attend, if you’d like,” Jack tells Belle. She gives a short nod.

“I don’t know about the disease, but necrosis is currently being studied in Europe. I brought this latest Lancet back with me from England,” Belle says, thumping the volume onto the operating table. “How have you treated it?”

“Carbolic acid,” Hetty says, “and then…”

“And then I cut away the decayed flesh,” Jack says, hands on his hips. “Ghastly. I’ve kept him in the ward. The last thing Al needs is an infection—or more infection, if that’s what’s caused this. Charlie’s been up and down Port Victory bragging about how I saved his leg, so he’s already promised Al he won’t be getting his arm chopped.”

“Premature,” Belle notes.

“He was only trying to put him at ease,” Hetty argues.

“It should work,” Jack says. He rubs at his chin. “I’m more troubled by the thought of that man passing whatever he has on to more people.”

“Particularly by biting children.”

“Exactly, Hetty.”

He waits while Hetty pores over the Lancet. Glancing at Belle, he realizes she’s unusually quiet. Rather than discussing the medical literature with Hetty, Belle stands apart, seeming preoccupied. Jack approaches his fiancée as Hetty flips the page.

“What is it?” he wonders, studying her.

Belle stares back at him. She opens her mouth, then closes it in a pout. He doesn’t know what she just stopped herself from saying, but it can’t be any worse than what she does say, which is: “I told my parents you’d be joining us at dinner.”

—

They look at each other, Belle slumped back against the front door of Government House as she regards him. The stars twinkle distantly overhead, spilled sugar in the sky.

“I actually thought it went fairly well,” Jack comments after a long silence. “I remembered to remove my gloves. I used the correct forks. For a few minutes there, I believe your mother almost respected me. Which you would think would’ve been the biggest surprise of the evening.”

“I looked at her and I could tell she’d never really entertained it. Us,” Belle clarifies, though Jack knows perfectly well what she means. “After all this time.” She shakes her head, eyes unfocused. “You’re finally an acceptable acquaintance, but she was determined not to see you as a suitable husband.”

“Your quick thinking certainly gave her the push she needed.”

Belle’s gaze flits to his calmly sarcastic expression.

“I gambled on the unlikelihood of her sending me to India when we’ve only been home a month.”

Jack can’t help it; a laugh bursts from his mouth.

“Your father reached out to shake my hand in congratulations, did you see?”

Belle, doubled over with laughter, nods. He can spot the tears of delight, delirious relief, running from the corners of her eyes. Jack goes to her, folds her into his arms. He smiles against her hair.

“Imagine we really were having a baby.”

“We might be,” she counters.

“We might be,” he allows, eyes wide as he holds her close and looks out into the dark. Something inside him is expanding even larger than the view. “What we’re doing for certain is getting married.”

“You will have a wife. And a salary. And a house.”

“And you will be in it.” Jack turns her in his arms, presses his cheek to hers as she leans back against his chest. “And it will be ours.” He kisses the side of her head and whispers, “Thank you for not sodding off when I told you to.”

“You will have ample opportunity to learn that I do not always listen.”

“As if I haven’t already.”

She shrugs.

“There is always more to know,” she tells him.

This he cannot deny.

After a while, when they no longer need to pretend they can’t hear Belle’s parents bickering inside because the argument stops and no one comes out to tell Jack he can’t marry their daughter after all, Belle calls for the carriage, offering to accompany him home—only as far as the street in front of his house, of course. On the way, Jack decides he’d like to stop in at the hospital to check on Alexander.

“May I come?” Belle asks.

“Wherever I go,” he promises. “So long as you don’t think your parents will worry about me impregnating you in the morgue.”

She makes a face.

“Horrible.”

“On the operating table?”

Belle considers this and decides, “It’s seen far worse.”

As they enter the hospital hand in hand, Jack wishes it weren’t so late, that Fagin were here to tell of their engagement. Since Jack got the house, Fagin’s been a bit dodgy about where he’s living. Jack has a feeling he hasn’t fully vacated the old room, the one he doesn’t believe has been given away yet, since they’ve hired no new senior medical staff. He could be just upstairs. He could be telling stories at the Cat and Bagpipes. He could be making house calls as the German doctor character Jack can’t believe he’s still somehow getting away with.

It doesn’t matter. He’ll tell Fagin eventually, and tonight he has Belle, and they’re walking the halls together, and joking as they pass into his ward, and—

Hetty comes up to them, grave-faced.

“He’s worse,” she reports. “He’s much worse.”

Jack looks past her, towards the corner where two other nurses are moving around a bed. The bed Jack himself settled Alexander into. Unconsciously, he drops Belle’s hand and begins rolling up his sleeves. He can hear Belle asking Hetty questions as he approaches Al’s bed, but notice of anything else in the room is cut violently away from him as Al jerks suddenly sideways in the bed, grabbing a nurse’s arm.

She’s screaming when Jack reaches them: the nurse and the boy, fused where his mouth holds firm to her skin. Jack feels rather than hears himself call for Hetty, the pressure of the yell rising from his chest most noticeable as he grips Al’s jaw, pressing hard, pressing harder, pressing surely much too hard before Al releases her. His eyes are a haze as he swings his head towards Jack instead. Jack shoves the nurse behind him, orders, “Hetty, straps,” forces the boy down with firm hands on his chest and forehead. Even as Al thrashes, Jack is careful not to grab his injured arm. Belle is there, holding Al’s ankles to the bed. Although Jack’s body acts with trained focus, his thoughts scatter. He cleaned that arm himself, precisely delineated and removed the necrosis himself, so why is it that he sees discolouration sprawling from the clean, white lines of Al’s bandage? With how the boy’s been watched, even infection and inflammation were unlikely. This shouldn’t be possible. Alexander is far more ill than Jack imagined, and it’s not only affecting his body.

Hetty secures the straps typically reserved for amputation around the boy and the three of them—Hetty, Jack, and Belle—back away from the bed. After a few moments, Al quiets.

“Hetty…?” Jack starts.

“It just happened,” Hetty pants. “He took a turn. Wouldn’t eat or drink. What fluid he had in him he seemed to be sweating through the sheets. They were just going to move him and change the linens when… well, you saw.”

At the mentioned “they,” Jack glances around for the other night nurses. They’re across the room; he watches as one woman helps the other wash and clean the wound on her arm as she sobs—certainly in shock, and likely in pain. As he’s trying to decide what to do, Jack feels Belle’s hand grip his wrist. He looks at her.

“I think it’s time I told you about the man on our ship.”