#he has at least two horses he told me himself

[rottysphere]

Karl showers every once in a blue moon and all he ever uses to wash his hair is a spare horse shampoo

[dalliancekay]

"I think Aziraphale needs to learn a lot more than that..."

Why do people keep (telling me again and again about this quote) assuming that Neil means Aziraphale needs some moral lessons, get off his high horse, learn some hard truths about Heaven, escape their grasp, finally understand that they are bad etc etc etc.

When the ask is about how Crowley is always forgiven from Aziraphale's point of view and how what (I see) Neil means is that Azi should also be told he's good enough. That he can be loved.

That what he needs to learn is how to believe in himself. To trust his mind, his feelings, to believe he is enough, he always was, that he doesn't have to be perfect or 100% right, that it is not possible and that it's okay. That he's okay. That he was lied to.

I wish we would frame Aziraphale's journey/learning as something else, not morality/awakening of some sort. Not as something he has to overcome. When Crowley changes his mind on something, no one says, oh have a gold star, you went against what Hell wants from you. Well done! Why do we do that to Aziraphale. Crowley is seen in Hell, giving presentations on some half hearted ideas that no one there really gets and getting accolades for things he didn't do at all and everyone is like, oh yay, look at him, so clever. Hahahah. Aziraphale also has to follow rules and do his tasks whether he agrees with them or not or he will be punished. He's not doing it for fun. He breaks rules when he feels he simply must and then everyone is like oh look, he is finally abandoning the rigid thinking that Heaven showed/taught him. But really, the naïve slow angel, he should try even harder.

Why such double standards?

Aziraphale is good and wants to do good. He is not sure of himself, true, but that's hardly his fault. Crowley is also good and tries to do good or at least limit the bad things he needs to do to survive.

They are two sides of the same coin. They both learn and grow. Sometimes the treatment the Ineffables get reminds me of how differently boys and girls are treated when they are learning behaviour. Boys praised for anything and everything even remotely good they do (cos they are expected to be naughty) and girls get the oh you should have already known better treatment. Aziraphale saved Job's kids cos he thought it was a horrible thing to want to do and expected to be punished for it. That's not - he didn't, it didn't change who he is. He did it expecting Falling. That's extremely brave. Yes Crowley has Fallen and people tend to see this as some extra superior move on his behalf, like he had everything figured out, understood how bad Heaven was and tried to bravely fix it. And Aziraphale needs to catch up with him. (If not by Falling himself than by doing some extraordinary learning journey to catch up with Crowley's knowledge). No. That's all HC. We don't even know why Crowley Fell. We don't. We know what he says happened (and we also know that he's not a reliable narrator...) and that's all we know. And even the things he says are not exactly showing him as some truth waving hero only wanting to make Heaven better for everyone and failing. Aziraphale is not breaking rules cos suddenly he used his brain and saw how Heaven is bad. He already knows that. He's risking punishment to help others. Again and again. And that's very kind and admirable and everything but it's not his evolving morality. He's already moral. He's already good. He always was.

He's also fucking cute. Let's not forget.

[motherjoel]

arms tonite (joel miller/reader)

summary: basically its YOU who gets stabbed by the baseball bat. joel isnt good with feelings. david does not exist david cant hurt anybody. a bit of angst and a bit of fluff. also LOOSELY based on arms tonite by mother mother

a/n: yawlllllll it has been a MINUTE but i am back for some tlou cause i just really wanted to write for these characters i love so very much. i apologize if the timing of their travel is fucked, i truly have no concept of geography so we can ignore that.

wc: 3.5k

warnings: just general tlou gore, nothin too bad

-

-

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with Joel Miller. But as you lay here, Joel's hands soaked in your blood as he attempted to stop it from pulsating out of your abdomen, you knew it was love that you were feeling. It was supposed to be simple. After your brief stay in Jackson, the two of you were supposed to take Ellie to the fireflies. Yet, nothing seemed to be simple these days, especially not around this girl.

In the amount of time the three of you had spent together, you developed an unbreakable bond. Ellie became a sort of surrogate sister to you- you’d lost your family when you were just a kid during the outbreak and you never had the chance to become a big sister. At least not for long. And then there was Joel. You weren’t quite sure what he meant to you yet, but you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t die for him. For both of them, really- a life without them wasn’t worth living. Of course, you never planned on telling them that.

The day started fairly nice- with Joel allowing Ellie to make her own decision about who would be taking her to the fireflies. Sure, you and Ellie would be fine with Tommy, but Joel had failed to consider the bond the three of you shared when making this decision. He was thinking of only himself and his fear- this is what you had told him last night after his fight with Ellie.

“What the hell was that?” you asked him after he stormed out of Ellie’s temporary room. 

“It was nothin’. Doesn’t concern you,” he replied, brushing past you as he made his way to the couch where he decided to set up camp for the night. 

“Um, it sure as hell does concern me, Joel. Are you seriously going to abandon us? After everything we’ve been through, after how much that girl trusts you, Joel!” you raised your voice a bit, trying to keep yourself from alerting Ellie upstairs. Those words stung him a bit. He didn’t see it as abandonment- he saw it as protection. After everything you went through together, he never once put himself first.

“She doesn’t know a thing about what this means,” Joel turned to you. “She- she’s just a kid, she-” he stopped himself, trying to gather himself. “I can’t bring her. I’m not capable, I’m slowin’ down and I just can’t. Do. It,” he exhaled, dropping himself onto the couch. 

“Wow,” you replied, softly sitting next to him. “You’re really underestimating yourself,” you sighed, Joel, lifting his face to look at you. “I mean, not only yourself but me, Joel. In case you’d forgotten, I’ve gotten myself through some tough shit. And Ellie? Man, she's the toughest kid I’ve ever met. Hell, she's one of the toughest people I’ve ever met,” you said, observing Joel’s worn face. “I mean… don't you think she at least deserves a choice?” you asked, hoping to convince Joel to come to his senses and realize who he was.

“I’ll take the couch. Bedrooms down the hall,” he grumbled before turning his back to you and lying down. There was nothing left you could say at this point, so you decided to spare yourself and make your way to the bedroom. The bed was pretty big. It could’ve fit two people.

The moment you saw Joel in the stables the next morning, you could feel your heart soar. Before he said a word, you knew he had made the right decision. The three of you squeezed onto the horse, Ellie sandwiched in the middle, and you were off. You and Joel sat in peaceful silence for a while, occasionally responding to Ellie’s rambling to show you were listening. Before you knew it, you were arriving at the so-called firefly base. 

“What the fu-” you started.

“Holy shit! Are those monkeys?” Ellie exclaimed, pointing at the crowd of animals before you.

“Must be from the old labs,” Joel muttered, a hint of interest in his voice

“Look at them go!” you giggled.

“First time seein’ a monkey?” Joel asked the two of you. 

“First time seein' a monkey,” you replied in unison, both awestruck. A smile crept onto Joel's face at this- the togetherness he felt in rare moments like this is what kept him going. 

You soon came across the fireflies symbol painted on a couple of signs, but no guards appeared nearby. You all dismounted the horse before making your way inside, guns drawn. You in the back, Joel in the front, and Ellie sandwiched between yet again. The building you came across was abandoned from the looks of it, with papers scattered about. 

“They just left,” Joel said, coming across a packing list among the scattered supplies. You suddenly heard a clang from another room, drawing your attention.

“Maybe not all of them,” you replied as the three of you carefully moved towards the sound. Your heart picked up its pace- whatever was in that room couldn’t be a firefly. Maybe a raider, you thought, which didn’t help your anxieties. Joel put a finger to his lips before opening the door, signaling for your silence. Relief rushed through you as you saw the source of the noise was just a few stray monkeys. It was only moments later that you heard voices- voices that certainly didn’t come from an animal. Peering out the window, the three of you saw a group of men, presumably raiders.

“Shit,” you murmured, instinctively grabbing Ellie’s arm.

“Out the back,” said Joel, leading the way for the three of you to make your escape. You ducked behind some sandbags for a moment before making your break to the horse. As Joel untied the horse, you heard footsteps quickly making their way over to you.

“Joel!” Ellie screamed as the man swung his bat at his head, hitting it on a tree and breaking it in two. While Joel dodged his attack you jumped on the man and banged him into the tree behind him before he knocked you back on your ass, banging your head on the ground. You’ve had your fair share of concussions, and you knew that's exactly what just happened to you. Joel quickly recovered from the first attack before grabbing the man, a wave of anger in his eyes as you’ve never seen before. His arm tightened around the man's throat, unrelenting in its strength. Struggle as he may, it wasn’t long before his neck was snapped. You remain on the ground, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you look at Ellie, shakily holding her gun. Her eyes darken as they shift down to your stomach. Your eyes follow hers and you finally see what she’s looking at. When the man hit the bat into the tree, it must've snapped in half. One half was on the ground a few feet away from you, while, unfortunately, the other half was buried in your stomach.

“Shit,” Ellie said, lowering her gun and walking over to you. Your hand reached down, adrenaline still pumping through your body, and you instinctively pulled the wooden piece out of your abdomen. You barely even felt it. Joel was silent the entire time, and you couldn’t quite tell what he was thinking. You threw it aside before noticing three more men coming your way. As fast as possible, Joel hiked himself up onto the horse and grabbed you while Ellie pushed from the ground before pulling herself up, you now sitting between the two. Joel didn’t let himself focus on the anxiety in his chest that blurred his vision- he needed to get you both to safety.

“Fuck,” you sighed, adrenaline wearing off a bit and pain seeping in. 

“Go!” Ellie yelled to Joel as you began to move. She grabbed her gun and shot backward at the men- she didn’t have the best aim, but it certainly deterred them from advancing anymore. Ellie kept peering over her shoulder, on high alert. If you weren’t putting all of your focus on staying conscious, you’d have noticed her slight tremble. You would have noticed Joel's body tense when your breathing slowed, his occasional glance over his shoulder. His erratic heartbeat as he tried to keep you talking.

“We’re gonna get back to Jackson and we’re gonna get some help,” Joel said over his shoulder. There wasn’t a hint of emotion in his voice- he was excellent at hiding how he truly feels. 

“No,” you uttered, using all of your strength.

“Sorry, no?” Joel questioned.

“Get her to the fireflies,” you whispered before your vision began to blur. Your lifeless body crumpled off the horse, Ellie attempted to hold on but it all happened too fast. The cold snow was stained red, the warm blood leaving your body melting the snow directly beneath you. Joel and Ellie quickly hopped down, one on each side of you. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Ellie panicked, hands shakily reaching towards your abdomen. 

“Ellie,” Joel said, voice laced with panic. He motioned for her to grab his pack while he placed his hands onto the wound, blood seeping through the gaps in his fingers. He had never felt so helpless in his life- at least, not since Sarah. That same shuddered breathing coming from a person he loves- he couldn’t bear it.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do,” she asked. Joel continued to silently work on packing your wound with an extra flannel he had in his bag.

“It’s ok,” you croaked. They immediately turned to you on the ground, almost stopping in their tracks. “Just help me to that house,” you said, motioning towards a house about 50 yards away. You were struggling to breathe under the pressure of Joel’s hands on your wound- it almost seemed useless, you were still losing blood like crazy. Joel tied the flannel around your waist to try to keep the blood from seeping out. Once he decided you were situated, he picked you up bridal style and led you to the house. When you arrived, they gently placed you at the entrance, Ellie staying with you while Joel made sure the house was clear. He returned to help you inside, lying you on an old mattress. You let out a small laugh as you got situated.

“What?” Joel asked, a hint of irritation in his voice. How could you be laughing right now?

“Don’tcha think it's kinda cute?” you asked as he fussed with your bandages.

“What’s that?” he asked gruffly, not exactly in the mood for your attitude.

“Oh, just that I might be dying in your arms tonight. I dunno, feels like a movie,” you said, your pale lips curling into a smile. He gave you a look, pausing briefly to peer into your eyes. You wordlessly pleaded with him to lighten the mood a bit, for Ellie’s sake. He didn't say a word.

“Joel, what the fuck do we do?” Ellie repeated herself in her panic.

“It’s ok. You guys go. Now,” you said. Joel's eyebrows furrowed at this. “You leave, go north. Go to Tommy.”

“Um, the fuck?” Ellie asked. “I don’t know what you think this is but we're not leaving,” Ellie said, frustration creeping into her voice. She looked hurt by this, and it broke your heart. Were you doing the same thing Joel had done just last night?

“The kids right,” Joel said as you turned to look at him. “You’re either comin' with us or we're all campin’ here for the night. No in-between” Joel finished. You pleaded to him with your eyes again, begging him to just give up on you. The two of them would be fine, you knew it. But you didn’t know the emotional toll it would have taken on the stubborn man in front of you. He was stubborn, but so were you. Only you didn’t get a chance to prove just how stubborn you could be before you couldn’t fight the darkness that crept into your vision. 

-

You woke with a start the next morning. You often woke in a panic these days, but the feeling was only further cemented when you realized you didn’t quite recognize your surroundings. The only thing you could recognize was Joel’s eyes on you, which brought you some semblance of comfort. When he noticed you awake, he rushed to your side. As much as you could imagine Joel to “rush.”

“Hey, you uh, awake. You’re awake,” he said softly, trying not to wake Ellie asleep in the corner of the same dilapidated room you’d been in for a while now. 

“It would appear so,” you replied, attempting to sit up a bit.

“Hey, hey, relax,” he put his hand on your shoulder, urging you to lay back down. “Your infections bad. We managed to trade for some penicillin but it's not gonna be enough. We gotta figure out how to get you back to Jackson,” Joel said, lightly lifting your shirt to look at the wound.

 You cursed the heat rising to your face as Joel's fingers brushed your bare skin. You’d never been intimate like this before, though this was barely intimacy. He hadn’t ever touched your skin like this- with such delicacy. You were fragile to him at this moment, and you needed to be handled with care. You hated being a burden, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice to be taken care of for once.

You were too busy focusing on your own reaction to this gesture to notice Joels. His hands shook as he cared for your wound, wincing as he saw that it really wasn’t getting any better. He didn’t know what this meant- he wasn’t a doctor by any means, but he knew this wasn’t good. 

You were in and out of sleep throughout the next day or two, letting the dull, throbbing pain lull you into sleep. It hurt to watch Joel and Ellie worry about you, especially because there was nothing you could do to help. Your days felt numbered- the amount of penicillin was scarce and you weren’t feeling any better. You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open, much less speak. 

“Joel,” you managed to croak- you couldn’t even spare the energy to seethe at the pain pulsating throughout your body.

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he replied, kneeling next to you. He only called you sweetheart when he needed something- what did he need from you now? To live? “Whatcha need?”

“You’re special, you know that?” you whispered, a tear rolling down your cheek.

“And why is that?” he asked, wiping the tear.

“You really know how to make a girl fall in love,” you smiled- this isn’t something you ever planned on telling him, but as you lie there, vision blurring around the edges as the darkness caved in on you, there was nothing else you wanted to say.

Joel felt panic consume him when your eyes closed.

“Hey, hey darlin’, wake up for me, okay?” he pleaded. Ellie stalked over, panic heating her chest. “Ellie, grab her legs,” Joel said. It was like he was kicked into a new gear- he was going to do whatever it took to keep you with him.

-

You didn’t know where you were. The walls were unfamiliar and white- stark and sterile. The first thing you noticed was the couch in the corner of the room, occupied by your two favorite people. Joel sat upright, arms crossed and eyes closed. His brows were furrowed like he was having some sort of nightmare. Ellie’s expression mirrored his, as she lay on her side with her head resting on his leg, arms curled into her chest. Your heart warmed at the sight- he was becoming a father figure to her, as much as he didn’t want to admit it. You tried to sit up, failing immediately as pain shot through your body. You winced, perhaps a little too loud, as Joel’s eyes shot open. Ellie remained in a deep sleep on his lap.

“You’re up,” he acknowledged, almost like it was too good to be true. He carefully shifted his body so he could move Ellie from his lap and onto the couch before he stood to walk towards you. “She hasn’t gotten much sleep, be best not to wake her,” he said, leaning down to brush a hair from her face. Seeing him be this gentle with her melted your heart. 

“How, um, how long was I out?” you asked, lifting the sheets to see your wound. It was covered and clean, but you knew it was there from the way it throbbed.

“About a week. Scared the shit out of… the kid,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed. He bit back what he truly wanted to say- you scared the shit out of him. But he wasn’t going to admit that you had that much of an impact on him. The second he lets others affect his life is the second he gets weak. There wasn’t a place for vulnerability in this world. “It was, a, uh, miracle that you lived.”

“Oh yeah?” your eyebrows raised. “Shit. I’m sorry for worrying… her,” you glanced at Ellie again as she snuggled into the couch. “How did I, um how did you guys get me here?” you asked. Your voice was hoarse from lack of use, but you tried to remain strong.

“We, uh, we gotcha back on the horse. Ellie led the way, I made sure you were safe, I mean, I just made sure you didn’t fall,” he replied, looking at his feet. “Took us awhile to get back, I… I didn't think you were gonna make it,” he replied, coughing to cover up the break in his voice. He was still in disbelief that you even woke up.

“Well, it looks like you’re stuck with me,” you laughed weakly. Then it was silent for a few moments, the two of you stewing in your thoughts. “You know, I think if it had been anybody else with me, I would’ve just died,” you remarked. Joel shook his head.

“Well, that’s not true. You’re strong” he said quietly.

“Well, yeah, sure I’m strong. But I can choose not to be. I honestly would’ve been fine to die if it was in your arms. But I couldn’t do that to you. Not… not again,” you paused, gathering your thoughts. “It’s just… you’re it for me, Joel. You and Ellie- you guys are it. And if I can’t have you guys, well, let's just say I wouldn’t mind staying asleep,” you confessed, avoiding eye contact.

“Ahem…” you heard Ellie clear her throat from her position on the couch. “Sorry, I have a habit of snooping, but holy shit you’re awake!” she squealed, bouncing over to you and plopping herself onto you in a hug. She knocked the wind out of you, and you may have cared if you weren’t so happy to see her.

“Hey, hey, easy on her now,” Joel said, pulling Ellie back from you a bit. He was still quiet, processing what you had just said to him.

“Ahhh, my sweet Ellie girl, how I missed you so,” you smiled, pinching her cheeks.

“Bullshit, you were definitely just dreaming about Joel the whole time. Must’ve been nice, sleeping that long,” she laughed. You ignore the first part of her sentence.

“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty well rested,” you smiled, ruffling her hair and pulling her into another hug.

“I’m gonna go get someone, a nurse,” Ellie excused herself from the room, leaving you with Joel yet again.

“I’m sorry if that was too mu-” you started before Joel cut you off.

“No, no, don’t apologize, sweetheart,” he said softly. It wasn’t a whisper- it was just soft. He’d been so soft with you. “I… I can’t say I don’t feel the same,” he looked down at his shoes.

“Oh, uh, you do?” you blushed. You felt so childish, like you were admitting you had a crush on him, but it was more than that. It was a partnership, a dependency- a loyalty to one another that didn’t need a label. Only, you couldn’t hide the way you felt anymore.

“Gosh, I can’t even tell you how it felt to see you like that. It should’ve been me, you know,” he said, disappointment evident on his features.

“Um, no, it shouldn’t have. Besides, how would we have gotten your big ass back to Jackson?” you giggled, grabbing his hand. His expression changed then as he looked down at your intertwined hands. “Joel, what does this mean?” you asked.

He chose not to respond with words- they were never his strong suit. Without a word, he leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. It was soft and it was sweet and it was like nothing you had ever experienced before- not from someone you loved. You reciprocated, weaving a hand into his hair to pull him closer.

“Yeah, they’re just in here-woahhhhhhh!” Ellie yelled, giggling and running out of the room. Joel quickly pulled back and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

“That little shit,” he sighed.

“Well, she was gonna have to find out somehow,” you giggled, pressing a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

[anna1306]

The Gone Prince

Daemon Targaryen x brother!Targaryen Reader

I know it has been a long, long, looooong time. I am so sorry for keeping you waiting on that. I am going to return to writing, more or less. can't promise to return to posting every single day, as I did before, but I am going to return to writing and posting. It has been a long time of depressed time, disorganised time and simple no strength time. This part I wrote and rewrote two or three times and I hope you will like what I come up with in the end. Love you all)

Part 1 here

Princess' chambers were big and full of light. It reminded you of quarters of your grandmother, always warm and welcoming to her family. You were sitting there on the sofa, speaking with your niece for the last ten minutes or so. You didn't want anyone to eavesdrop on your conversation, so you approached her later, not during the feast. After that same feast Viserys insisted that Rhaenyra and her family stay in the Red Keep for at least a week or maybe even longer, not wishing for his pregnant daughter to endure two big travels in a row. Also... You had to wait for Daemon to leave her alone. He wouldn't let you talk calmly to each other, not after all these years, you just knew it.

"If the King asked for you, I am glad to have you here." Rhaenyra said, as you noticed hint of coldness in her eyes, probably brought by Daemon's opinion, which he, no doubt, generously shared with his wife. You only smiled in response. You could understand why she didn't trust you fully. And it definitely didn't hurt that much. At least not like it did with your brother.

"You sound just like her, it is crazy." You said quietly. She looked at you confusedly, not understanding your words fully. "Like Aemma." Her expression softened at your words, as her hand came to rest on her rounded belly. "I am sure she is proud of you, watching you from the other side."

"I can only hope so... She never mentioned you, now that I think of it." Princess said. You shrugged, trying to stay calm and nonchalant about it.

"Not many people here did." You tried to hide your feelings behind a smile, something you learned to do long time ago. "I remember her mostly from our childhood. How Viserys was madly in love with her. He often made a fool out of himself and was so scared she would reject him. And Aemma only laughed and smiled at him with so much kindness in her eyes... One time he tried to graciously ride in front of her on the horse to show her that he is a good rider. Poor animal got scared of something and sent him flying face flat on the ground. He was so red in the face, but didn't say a word, I thought he would burst with embarrassment." Rhaenyra laughed, imagining her father at the scene, as you watched her attentively with a little smile on your face.

"I can imagine how amusing that was." She agreed. You nodded, looking away from her, knowing that she was still watching you closely. "Did the King say why he called you back after all those years?"

"To help him. Viserys is... Full of many feelings and guilt is one of them. Guilt for a lot of things, which I am finding out only now. That is one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you." You looked back at her, meeting her gaze. "He wants me to mend the rift in his family." Her smile faded a bit, as she lowered her eyes on her belly. Rhaenyra understood perfectly well what were you talking about without you having to pronounce it. "I was told you were friends with the Queen Consort once, weren't you?"

"It was years ago. I feel like it was the other life." She answered with a sad smile. Rhaenyra looked at you again, her expression once again calm and stoic, almost rid of all emotions. "I once knew a girl, my friend, who was kind, honest, supportive and who looked at bright side of things, who was romantic and hopeful. Now Alicent is different, full of..."

"Spite?" You suggested. The woman nodded slowly, almost unsurely. You sighed, having a strong feeling your emotions about losing someone that close to oneself could be similar in some way. "Tell me, do you think there can be a slight possibility of you getting back to being friends? Or at least... Not at each other's throats?"

"I don't think so. There were many things between us, to lead me to Dragonstone and out of any possibility of mending this. You probably heard about what had happened in Driftmark. She... The Queen showed everyone her true colours. Her true thoughts and intentions behind this righteous facade."

"Lucerys severely wounded her son, I can understand her rage and wish for justice to some extent. Not 'eye for the eye', but still." You argued with her.

"Her son is spewing lies. Both of them. She placed traitorous lies in their minds, spreading rumours about me, about my sons! All of them are just..." She hissed suddenly, grasping her belly and closing her eyes, almost wincing in pain. You shot up from your place immediately, ready to go for help, but Rhaenyra stopped you with a motion of a hand. "I'm fine... Just... Daemon's child is really active." She smiled tiredly, as you clutched your goblet with wine in your hand, distracting yourself from your thoughts with a drink. "Nonetheless... I am not sure there is a way to get through to her." Princess said calmer now.

"If there was a way... A possibility of bringing back this peace, if not friendship. Would you be willing to put the bitter past to rest?" You asked, sitting back on the sofa. Rhaenyra didn't say anything for some time, your words hanging in the air. She diverted her attention from you, watching her maids serving breakfast on the table, long silence surrounding both of you.

"In ideal world... I guess I would want that." She admitted quietly. You smiled to her a bit, nursing wine in the goblet. "She was my friend once, the closest person in this Keep. But what she and her father did..."

"Yes, men like Otto, can influence even the dust to hate the wind." You scoffed, agreeing with her. After seeing what was going on in the Keep, you understood that one of the main roots of problems was the King's Hand. Yes, he helped the King to rule the realms, almost ruling them himself from time to time instead of sick Viserys, but he pursued his own goals first and foremost. You could understand ambitions, it was explainable, but your priorities in this matter were different.

"Alicent isn't innocent. She willingly ate those lies and now she is a spitting image of Otto..." Rhaenyra made a pause, sighing, as she looked at you. "Alicent has that thought that my children aren't... Trueborn. She spreads this rumours everywhere, you know it." You nodded, hearing these rumours already. You had your doubts about it too, but didn't care much, they were children of your niece, that was all you needed to know about their parentage. "Every time I gave birth, she demanded I present my child to her immediately after. She isn't such an innocent girl she claims to be." Your gaze hardened at the realisation. You put away your goblet and looked at Rhaenyra seriously.

"If she orders that you should present your child like this again, don't even move from the bed. I will be near and I will deal with it myself." You promised her. "She can come to you herself if she wishes to see the child so much. And if she doesn't understand why her request is wrong, I will explain it to her personally." You answered her with determination. Princess smiled at you slightly and moved to stand. You helped her up and stepped away from her. "I better give you some space. If I can do anything for you, tell me. And just... Think about possibility of it. Just try..."

"I probably will... Thank you. I appreciate the talk." She nodded, looking at her. While you could see that she still didn't trust you completely, at least you two talked calmly and discussed matters at hand. Just as you were about to leave, the door opened. Daemon walked in, and the air left your lungs at the sight of his figure lightened in the sunlight coming from the windows. His eyes met yours and what little softness he had, instantly turned to coldness and distaste in a second.

"You?" He only said in disgust.

"Me.” You nodded with a sigh. “I am leaving already. Have a good day." You smiled softly at your niece before heading out, not wishing for your brother to get angry at your presence near his wife. He could hate you from the distance, you thought. You could handle it… Even though you were too sober for his hate not to hurt.

***

"It was great!" Jacaerys was almost jumping in his steps excitedly, as he walked a little bit ahead of you. You smiled, taking off your gloves still hearing three loud growls of your dragonbehind you both.

"I am glad you like the ride. They liked you too, little prince." How could you say no to those eyes, when he asked if he could fly with you on your dragon. You understood him, as they were rarity, the first three-headed dragon known to Targaryen House, at least according to the known records.

"Is controlling him different? Different from ours, I mean." He turned to you with a curious look. You shrugged, contemplating your answer.

"You tell me, I only flew on them." His excitement about the new dragon was big. So of course he was curious as to whether or not it was similar to the flight on the one-headed dragon. Vermax wasn't big enough yet, but he flew with his mother already. And you flew on Vhagar with your father or on Caraxes with Daemon too long ago to remember it correctly, so you couldn't really draw the comparison.

"You sure they wouldn't drop me?" Daemon was hesitant, standing several steps behind you, as you petted one of the long necks of your dragon. You turned to him, raising your brow.

"Don't tell me you are afraid." You smirked at your brother teasingly, watching his expression hardening.

"I am never afraid. Not of the dragons, I am a dragon myself!" He exclaimed, earning growl from one of the heads in response. "I just don't know how it would be." Daemon said quieter, glancing between them and you. You smiled, offering him your hand.

"Nuhys zaldrīzes(my dragon), do not fret. You said it yourself, you are a dragon, as they are." He smirked more relaxed, giving you his hand. You pulled him closer, placing his palm near yours. "See?"

"I know what dragons are to the touch, dummy." He scoffed, petting your dragon. You glanced around, making sure noone was there to witness it and kissed him on the cheek. "Hey!"

"Let's go, I want to kiss you in the sky." You smiled at him, grabbing his hand and tugging him to the side of your dragon, to the saddle, hearing his chuckle, as he didn't struggle against your grip one bit.

"I will be next!" Baela’s voice distracted you from your memories. You looked at the excited girl with a little smile. She was eager to fly with you too, but let Jace go first. You nodded to her, knowing that your dragon didn't mind flying several times in a row.

"You sure?" She eagerly nodded at your question. You glanced at her sister, standing beside her, her expression more serious though. "And you, Rhaena?"

"No." She snapped back, almost aggressively. You were a bit taken aback, and even if you didn't want to press her into saying anything else, you still looked at her, contemplating your next words. She glanced at you, noticing your stare and seemingly understanding that she was rude. Under your attentive, but soft eyes she shifted on her spot unsurely and pursed her lips in a thin line. "You cursed us." Rhaena finally said quietly.

"Sorry, what? I cursed you?" You chuckled, not expecting this answer at all. You crouched on the ground to be even with her height and look in her eyes. "What makes you say that, ñuhys bykus embōñys dārilaros(my little sea princess)?" You asked her. She wasn't confident anymore, glancing at her sister, who remained silent, as you talked. You patiently waited.

"Father said you cursed us. Your dragon has three heads which you stole from other dragons. That's why I don't have a dragon." She answered finally, as your heart tingled with pain once again. Strange... And you thought this pain was constant and couldn’t be that prominent anymore. You scoffed in disbelief. Daemon said you cursed their family? His silver tongue and sarcastic side definitely grew over the years. He was more like your father than you thought. You sighed, lowering your head, gathering thoughts of what to say to her.

"Maybe I did. But only because I want to strengthen you. They hatched in my cradle. I never tried to tame anyone and work for success." You carefully said, looking at wary Rhaena again. "I never tried hard to find a dragon and bond with him, make him respect me and listen to me. But you are going to be stronger than me. Like your mother and father one day you are going to tame the strong, mighty dragon. You are going to be more powerful than me, the one who cursed you."

"You are only telling me this, so I won't be mad." She mumbled, but you could tell that she was more at ease with you now.

"Maybe yes. Maybe no. Who knows." You shrugged with a smile, standing up. You gave her your hand. "Come on. They can fit us three. Maybe one of them is the one I stole from you, and he would like you more than me." Rhaena hesitated, looking at you with her eyes, so familiar to you. You could almost see shy Daemon in his childhood… She took your hand nonetheless, still wary, but more trusting you now, as Baela took your other hand with a smile, herself, brave like Daemon. For some reason you felt in peace with yourself at this moment.

***

"You got your mother worried, you know?" You sighed, noticing the boy with an eyepatch sitting under the tree in the Godswood with barely any light around, night dark sky looming over the city already. Aemond looked up at you and turned away from you instantly. You sighed, walking closer to him. While you didn't trust his grandsire and mother fully, the children weren't at fault. They were your nephews and niece, no matter the other blood. "What are you doing here? It is dark already."

"And? I am not a little kid, I can defend myself." He snapped at you, glaring angrily with his one eye at something in the dark. You sat near him, not really caring for his discomfort in the matter. From what you had seen, he was just not used to physical affection, but you didn't reach out for him, you just... Were there.

"I know that. But running away from the castle just because your nephews are there, isn't very brave." You answered almost in a thoughtful voice. He grumbled something in return that you couldn't quite understand. You glanced at him with soft smile. "You can't hide forever."

"They weren't punished! That dick... Sorry." He mumbled, losing his fight after one swear word, apparently being scolded for it beforehand. You only shrugged at this.

"Lucerys did a bad thing. I guess you can say he was kind of a dick that day." Aemond scoffed at this, his shoulders relaxing a bit. "But he's just a child. Like you are. And he tried to protect his family."

"I was maimed!" Aemond exclaimed, tones of Alicent's intonation and voice coming through his childish one. "He cut out my eye, and they were entitled enough to not carry any punishment!"

"Let me tell you something, and I want you to listen to me and hear me out, alright?" You asked him, as Aemond nodded gloomily and almost hesitantly, still being very angry. "If you held a stone over my brother's head, threatening to hit him in the head with it, threatening to kill him, calling him names and telling him that he was going to die screaming, I wouldn't cut your eye out. I would cut your throat."

"That..."

"Would you not protect... Helaena? Or your mother?” You continued with your point. “If someone would have tried to hit them with a stone, insulting and threatening them. If you had a weapon, what would you have done?" You looked at him, as the boy lowered his head, seemingly contemplating your words. He wasn't presented with the other point of view, it seemed.

"I... I would kill those who dared to hurt my family." He sighed defeatedly. You smiled sympathetically

"Aemond, I am not glad that Lucerys went unpunished. He should have gotten at least some kind of retaliation for what he did. Like serving some other House for some time as a ward, or I don't know, limitation of his dragon’s lessons, this is a bad punishment enough for his age. But not carving his eye or killing him. That wouldn't return yours." You pretended you didn't notice Aemond moving closer to you. You just let him be comfortable and at peace with himself.

"But that would bring me satisfaction. That would be fair." He still mumbled. You sighed and smiled slightly, looking at your nephew.

"You would become a great warrior one day, Aemond. Yes, even with one eye, believe me. You have one of the greatest dragons, you have dragon blood and very fiery heart. But one thing that a warrior should know – is when and where to stop. Not becoming unhinged monster to scare little children. But to be a good fighter, a hero they will write songs about."

"Like your father? Prince Baelon The Brave?" You shivered and stopped at this question. Looking at a child beside you, you didn't see him. You almost fell into your memory, where violet eyes were enraged. Brave was the prince who exiled his own son, not accepting anything about him. Brave was the prince who threatened to kill innocent people who just helped his son in his attempts to reach out to his own family. Brave was the prince who called his own son a leech and a taint on their reputation.

"Yes. Like him." You forced a smile and a calm tone. Looking away, you tried to calm yourself. Your father was long gone, but your heart and fear of him showing up behind any corner, was very much present. Irrational and illogical, almost childish. But it still lived inside your soul. "What do you say, should we go inside?" You offered.

"They are still there." He scowled at the thought of going back to his nephews.

"Why don't you try and... Befriend them again? I know you were close with Lucerys before." You noticed, as Aemond scoffed and looked to the side, seemingly angry again in mere second.

"He maimed me. I don't want to be his friend!" He said sternly, but you heard more behind child’s anger.

"Do you miss him?" He looked at you angrily, but sighed, his eye more pained than enraged.

"No!" Boy exclaimed, looking away and almost pouting. He sighed heavily, lowering his head and mumbling under his nose. "He was closer to being my friend though. Even if he teased me for being dragonless, he wasn’t like Aegon or Jace. But he cut out my eye! I hate him!" He added louder. You sighed, taking his hand into yours, choosing your words carefully.

"I miss one person too, you know... A lot. I would give anything to return to that person. And I know they are missing me as well to some extent. But they hate me. It is a strange balance." You started. "I hated them too once. I did horrible things because of them. I lied in their name. I even killed some people in their name. I framed people, I broke laws and all just because of their wish. I made everything they wanted of me." You told the boy quietly, holding his hand, but looking into the darkness of the garden thoughtfully. "My life was destroyed because of them. I was gone because of them. I lost everything because of them." You chose your words carefully, remembering everything that was happening so long ago, it felt as another life altogether.

The commotion from the Throne Room was heard well even in the hallways. You carefully stepped to the door, watching at the events inside quietly and silently. The Lord before the Iron Throne pleaded his innocence, but your father, Prince Baelon appointed to lead this trial, wasn’t going to listen. You stepped aside, when guards were dragging the lord out of the Throne Room through the door you were standing at. When they walked out of the Throne Room, you looked at them.

“What is going on here?” You asked them, feigning innocence. Guards bowed their head slightly to you.

“This Lord was accused of stealing a dragon egg. Prince Baelon sentenced the thief to thelife on the Wall.” One of the guards said. You nodded looking at the panicking and horrified lord, who looked down, seemingly not noticing you.

“That is a fair sentence. That would teach him to keep his mouth shut and not jump over his head, trying to take what is not his.” You said coldly. Lord suddenly shivered and looked up at you, as if suddenly realizing something.

“You… It was you… Let me go!” Lord screamed, trying to get out of guards hands and get to you. You just stepped to the side, letting knights drag the screaming lord away. Familiar footsteps coming from behind, you met with a slight smile.

“Was it the Lord, who saw us and tried to…” Daemon started.

“To threaten you, yes.” You nodded and glanced at your brother. “He is going to the Wall. And don’t ask what I did. Because the answer is nothing.” You walked beside him, slightly touching his shoulder. It was hard to convince servants to place a dragon egg in his rooms, but in the end it was all worth it.

"Do you hate them, uncle?" Aemond asked curiously, looking at you. You glanced at him, almost flinching, as if remembering he was still there. You smiled slightly and put a hand on his hair, caressing his white hair.

"I do to some extent. But I would die for them in an instant. I would kill and do everything I had done for them all over again." You answered him with a sad smile. "I hate them, as they hate me. But I love them at the same time. And I would get destroyed and crushed again for that person. It is... A weird balance."

"Can you... Teach me how to find this... Hate and love?" Prince asked quietly. You nodded.

"Yes, but not here. And definitely not in one day. It's getting cold and you can get sick. You wouldn't want to fall sick and miss our flight tomorrow?" You winked at him, as Aemond nodded with a smile.

"Let's go! I want to hear about that person!" He stood up, waited for you to stand as well and only after that he went to the castle with fast pace. Even being close and quiet child, he was still a kid. You looked at his back, missing the fact that a dark shadow from behind the bushes watched and heard your talk.

***

The flames of candles danced around the dark room. Skull of Balerion brought back memories to you, both of pleasant times and not much. Your life had changed, everything changed. And the family you were supposed to change with, wasn't the one you remembered anymore. Yet you still sought out comfort in this place.

You sighed, turning away from the skull as you heard steps behind you. As you assumed, that was Daemon. Over the years his footsteps became quieter, but still he was too familiar for you not to recognize him. His look was wary, he was tensed up as his hand rested on the hilt of the dagger on his belt.

"You chose a good place for a murder, almost poetic." You noted. Daemon scoffed.

"Don't tempt me." You could argue with him that temptation was more of his job in many ways, but you chose to stay silent on the matter.

"If you don't wish to kill me, I am at a loss of why are you here." You said to him, being pretty honest.

"I wanted to talk to you." He said, stepping to you. You smiled, shaking your head and refusing to admit even to yourself how much this single step made your heart shiver.

"Talk to me? It isn't your usual way. I think you better prefer not to speak with me at all or kill me. Or at least avoid me." You admitted, turning to the skull and igniting the candles, just to get yourself busy with something. "What do you want?"

"Where does the lie end and the truth starts?" He asked in response. You hummed in surprise, definitely not expecting such a question first.

"Such deep thoughts. Why so suddenly?" You heard another step, but you only raised your eyes to look at the skull of mighty beast. You wouldn't dare to fight your own death after all this time if it came to this. You wouldn't dare to fight him ever.

"We are surrounded by half-truths, lies and intrigues. You can fully trust noone and nothing. Tell me, nuha lēkia(my elder brother), how much did you lie?" You glanced across the shoulder at your brother. He was serious, his eyes were fixated on you, but there was something deeper inside him. You shrugged, looking at the fire on the end of a splinter with which you lighted the candles.

"Like many people, nuhor valonqar(my younger brother). A lot." You answered, not understanding why he was talking with you like that. He couldn't possibly know the truth, could he? You didn't tell anyone and made sure to be careful about it. And your father was too… Careful to not leave any trace of what had happened that day.

"I know that. You lied that you love me." He accused you, making you glance at him. "You lied that you will never leave me. You lied that you will protect me." His jaw tensed, and you were sure that this would be the end. Him accusing you of everything and you just accepting it. He probably just wanted to accuse you and be done with it. Suddenly, Daemon raised his head, narrowing his eyes, but not taking them away from your figure. "But I'm not here to tell you about those lies. I want to hear another one."

"You want me... To lie to you?" You laughed quietly, looking at Daemon in surprise. He was silent for a moment, before nodding, strangely serious about it.

"Let's play a game. Lie to me.” He repeated firmer, his hard eyes not changing, as he glared at you. “What did you say to my daughters?" Daemon asked. You raised your brows, not understanding what he was doing.

"What?"

"Lie to me about the things you said to Rhaena." He repeated, stepping closer. You sighed, mirroring this step to the side, keeping the same distance between you two, pretending you were just igniting the candles. Daemon was playing some game of which you knew nothing and wanted you to participate in it as well. And yet you let him have this moment.

"Let's see... I told her about how I cursed our family and how I'm going to make sure that she would stay dragonless." You spoke slowly, unsure smile creeping on your face. At the very least you could have some kind of fun.

"What did you say to Rhaenyra, when I interrupted you that morning?" He insisted, his step echoing through the high arches of the ceiling again.

"That she needs to end Alicent and her children once and for all, no matter the consequences." You simply breathed out, not even turning to him.

"What did you do when Rhaenys was promised to Corlys?" You giggled, remembering what happened such a long time ago. Honestly you were surprised that he remembered that.

"Nothing, I stayed at the Red Keep, not going anywhere." You answered, once again lying, remembering how you sneaked upon their ship, to say goodbye to your favourite cousin of all. Baelon scolded you, when you were returned back to the Red Keep, and Daemon didn't let you go for a week, afraid you would disappear from him again.

"What were you talking about with Aemond?" Another step along with the words. You scoffed, igniting another candle, looking at the flames.

"How he should hate Lucerys and wish him nothing but death." The game was weirdly funny, it almost made you forgot about everything that was brewing between you. Lies flew from your tongue before you could even process it.

"Why did you leave for Braavos?"

"Because I wanted to." You blurted out a lie before realising it. For a moment you froze, slowly turning around. There you saw Daemon barely a step away from you. His eyes became tense, dark violet, as he watched your face after you repeated a lie known to everyone in this game, where you should have lied. "I hate you."

"I didn't ask you to lie about your feelings." He retorted coldly, stepping to you, as you stepped away, your throat dry all of a sudden. "Enough lies. What happened?"

"Nothing." You shook your head and sighed. You wanted him know the truth, yet you also knew that it didn't matter anymore. Not with his family, not after all those years. It would only complicate things. "Daemon, you better go. Just continue hating me, this would be… Right."

"I said, enough lies." He crossed what little distance you had between you, backing you to the candles. Daemon grabbed you by the clothes, watching closely your face. Your heart beat like mad at the mere presence of your brother near you. "What happened?"

"Daemon..."

"What had happened that morning you left? Tell me the truth!" He demanded, his eyes boring into your soul. "I won't let you go before you say. I deserve the truth after your betrayal, after your lies and all the harm and pain you caused me..."

"He saw us!" You exclaimed, having had enough. Your feelings were overwhelming you to the point of just not caring about the consequences. "Our father saw us. He saw you on your knees, saw me in your bed, he saw everything."

"What?" His grip on you lessened, his face frozen with shock and still that angry expression. Yet you made no move to free yourself from his grip.

"He saw us. He learned the truth. And he was so mad at me for... How did he say? Right... "Corrupting you". So enraged hat he just threw me out of the Keep." You blurted out in one breath.

"You lie. If he... He would have punished me as well. Why didn't he punish me, why didn't you write anything to explain anything?" His voice was raising as well, mirroring yours.

"You still don't understand? You were his favourite. Not Viserys even if he was the eldest. Not me even if I listened to him always. You. Mother loved you the most, father adored you. He couldn't comprehend that you could lay with a man willingly. If I was some common whore or even a sister of yours, he wouldn't have batted an eye, but I am a man. And I can't want you, as it's a sin. As I am corrupting and tainting you with mere thought of it, let alone a touch. Putting a disgrace on your name. It was easier for him to believe I made you do this. Easier to hate one son and threaten to kill every person that brought my letters to the Keep. Easier to send dead ravens and tell his own son that he would be burned alive if he even dared to show his face again at his home." You couldn't stop words pouring from your mouth, you were silent for far too long and that pain had never left.

"No..." Daemon shook his head, seemingly not wanting to listen to you anymore, but at this point you had little to no care about his wish.

"And I knew he would be furious if I admit that you were the one to come to me. It would have killed him. And if not... He would have destroyed your life as well. And I lied, yes, I lied, I took it upon myself. I destroyed my life for you. I destroyed my life because of you, Daemon!" You raised your voice at him. He looked enraged and shocked, almost feral in the light of candles.

"Shut up!" He pushed you harshly back. You stumbled to the skull, the impact making you fall onto some candles and hitting your head against an old bone in your fall. You cursed quietly, feeling something sticky on your face. For several moments you layed on the floor, not moving, fighting with the headache and shock. Slowly you sat, grunting, warm wax sliding from under your hands. Your lip was split, as you could feel, and according to some stickiness on your temple, there was at least a gash on your forehead.

You looked up at him, his face not cold anymore, but full of many different emotions. Anger, sadness, fear. You groaned, trying to move. Leaning onto the skull, you carefully stood up, giving yourself a second of rest.

"Y/N, listen, I..."

"You are the Rogue Prince, future King or Prince Consort, King of the Narrow Sea, previous commander of the Gold Cloaks, husband to the heir of the throne and father of her future children." You stated in resignated tone, glancing at his frozen form. "I am the Gone Prince, who spent most of his life in Braavos. I am noone and nothing, with no lands or wealth. I am a leech, who taints the house reputation just by thinking of you. I am father's disgrace." You tried to straighten your back, but sudden nausea hit you, and you bent over, leaning onto the skull once again. "And I am here to help Viserys. Don't dwell on the past, as it can't be returned." You forced yourself to smile and look at him. "Go back to hating me. It would be easier... For both of us." You breathed out, slowly walking away from the basement, Daemon not making a move to follow you.

***

The evening was busy. It seemed that every person in the Red Keep decided to visit you. Firstly, there were Rhaenyra, who was alerted that you asked for maesters. Next was Alicent, who decided to visit you, the atmosphere becoming tense between two women for a hot minute, but they kept their temporary peace. Next was the King. Viserys got really nervous about hearing the news of your wound. He demanded to know what happened and who did this. The answer was simple.

"I fell." You lied again, as the maester cleaned your wound and gave you advices on treatment. After all those people visited you, you were exhausted and confined to your chambers. Following maesters' orders, Viserys forbade you to go out at least for two days. You tried to tell him that it was just a scratch, and you just need a good sleep, but he was too worried. Too afraid to lose another family member, as it seemed. So you relented and just read through some of King's journals he gave you to better understand the situation in the court, occasionally writing something in your notes.

You heard the door opening and closing and some quiet steps. Sighing, you turned the page, not wanting to face the person who entered your room.

"I don't need anything, Jenny, you may go for the night." You said, not wishing to see anyone right now after all of the commotion and noise. Not after the conversation down at the skull...

"I must consider adding that name to the list of my titles." That wasn't your servant. You turned to look at the man, who entered your room. Daemon. Of course. Without his weapon, without his dark attire, in white simple shirt, almost looking like he was fresh out of bath. Boy, did it bring back memories.

"What are you doing here?" You asked, obviously confused. Daemon shrugged.

"Can't I visit my brother, who clumsily fell and hit his head?" He said, making you shake your head with a quiet sigh. "Y/N, we need to talk."

"We already talked. I don't have anything else to say to you, so you are wasting your time here." You turned back to the journal again. There was silence and for a second you thought Daemon would leave you alone. You should have known better. Suddenly there were haste steps, after which the journal was ripped from your hands. You looked up at him, his determined look pointed right back at you. "Dae..." He put a hand on your mouth, shutting you up and making you freeze at the sudden physical contact.

"No! You said you don't have anything to say, so I will be the one who does the talking." He stated sternly, looking in your eyes. You slapped away his hand, but said nothing in response. Daemon sighed, still standing in front of you. "If what you have told me is truth, I didn't know it. Let me finish!" He interrupted you, as you tried to say something. "All these years I blamed you for leaving me without a word. Without a letter or explanation. I... I thought you did something for me again, that was noticed and made you guilty. I thought father found out of what you did to protect me. Then I thought you found someone else, some young pretty boy who adored you more than I did. It was easier for me to hate you." He admitted, and your heart broke a bit at his words ad his expression. You wanted to forget about what had happened and just take him into your embrace and not let go of him. But you both were too far gone for that. And revelation of the truth did provoke this conversation, but it couldn't change everything else.

"It is still easier for both of us to stay away from each other." Daemon scoffed in response to those words, leaning on the table, looking down at you.

"You can't be serious, Y/N. I know the truth now, that it wasn't your wish to leave me. And you expect the hate from me?"

"What do you expect? Us going back to where we left things? You aren't ten and six anymore, Daemon. I am not ten and nine. You are a different person, that I know nothing about. Hell, you have a family and duties." You breathed out, trying to stay calm.

"But I don't have you. And I haven't had you all those years. I have changed, yes. You have changed as well, hell, maybe even more than I have. But the fact that I need my elder brother never changed, no matter how much I hated and despised this thought." Prince looked at you stubbornly. You shook your head, looking at the notes on your table, just not to look at him.

"We can't go back to what we had, Daemon. It is impossible. I can't be your lover. And I doubt I can be your friend after all these years. You are a different person, completely unknown to me."

"Then I don't see a problem with anything. We just start anew." He reached out to you, grabbing your chin, making you look at him, his eyes burning with fire and passion. You pursed your lips, trying to calm your heart that was beating out of your chest just from a single touch of his. You had to learn to control yourself near him all over again.

"What we had was a sin. We are brothers. Even if our blood doesn't stop us as our House has queer customs, we are men. It is viewed as a sin. I won't put your reputation under a hit. The ending will be the same, Daemon. Us parting ways. It was hurtful the first time, there is no need to return to that." You tried to sound convincing enough for both him and you, but his grip on your chin only tightened, as your words sparked him with anger.

"There is no sin in this. This is us. We are both dragons, our blood belong together. There is nothing more true in this world than us. And if it is a part of us, if it is the most real part of us, it can't be sin." Daemon said stubbornly, as you put your hand on his, gripping his wrist in attempt either to bring him back to his feelings or pull it away from you.

"It is. We are brothers and we can't do that. If I was a princess or you were one, everything could be different. But we are what we are and this is wrong.” You lowered your head, leaning back into the armchair. “Father might have been right. If the gods punished me and not helped me all this time, then I am a sinner and a leech."

"Where the fuck did you take all of this, you have never been religious!" Daemon spitted out, looking at you, as his brows furrowed. You just tried to push him away, with your words, with your actions, but he never budged, on the contrary becoming more and more persistent. "Or someone is telling you this? Who is this cunt that spread this nonsense to your head?" He demanded of you.

"Noone, Daemon. This is my thoughts." You breathed out, as the prince sat on your lap suddenly. He had become heavier with years for certain, trainings and battles made him stronger, and you couldn't help but feel the stomach-curling feeling of familiarity of his body against yours.

"You were never like this. You loved me. You loved my body. You didn't think of me as of something wrong." He stubbornly said, as you pressed yourself into the chair, trying to distance yourself from him, even if it wasn't physically possible. "And I know you still feel the same, I can see this in your eyes."

"You are not wrong. I am. I made you like this." You breathed out, putting hands on his shoulders, looking at his hard face. Your repeated your father's words just to get him to see the reason and step back. "Daemon, this is wrong. Please, I beg you, go back to your wife, to your family."

"You are my family. You are my blood. I want to be here with you now, not with them." Daemon stood his ground stubbornly. He didn't want to leave you apparently, but you couldn't have him risk it all again because of you, no matter how much you longed to hold him again in your embrace.

"I can't be the reason to hold you back. You loved them this morning more than anything. You hated me this morning. One conversation can't change that. You love Rhaenyra, you bled for her, you suffered for her, you long for her, you love her, not me and I can't..."

"All this time I was suffering for you. I wanted to forget you, believe me. I tried it all… Whores, wine, blood, killing, everything!" He cupped your face with his hands, looking intensely in your eyes. "I tried. Rhaenyra... She is good, she deserves love. And I love her. But she isn't you. It is different with you, and you know it. And if I had to choose, I would choose you every time."

Your heart clenched at the thought that he tried to forget you. His eyes were honest, and even after all those years away from him, you could always tell when he was telling the truth. He was sincere in his words at this moment. But you couldn't let him do that again. You didn't want pain for you, nor for him.

"Daemon, you are talking on emotions. You miss what we had once, but... Fuck, don't make this harder than it is." You pleaded with him, every reason to leave everything as it was fading in the face of his confidence and determination. You were losing this fight and couldn’t come up with any more reasons or words to convince him. To convince yourself.

"You are the one making it harder. Lēkia, you told me yourself once, we were born from one flame and blood. We were supposed to be together. I cried only for you, not one person saw my tears, because you are the only reason for them. I didn't mourn father, grandsire, Aemma, Laena, noone. I cried for noone but you. I need you in a way no word in Westerosi or Valyrian can describe. Now more than ever." He whispered, inching closer to your face, as something inside you was slowly breaking.

"Daemon..."

"Start with me anew. There is no reason for worry, I promise. All the time you stayed away, you protected me. You lied, you..." He scoffed, remembering your words he heard in the garden. "You destroyed your life for me. Let me now rebuild it."

"Daemon..." You touched his cheek, shuddering at the long forgotten feeling of his skin under your touch.

"Let me think for the both of us this time, Y/N." He squeezed your cheeks in his palms, looking in your eyes. "Let us sing dragon's song together again. Like we never stopped."

You breathed out, looking in his eyes. You saw anger, flames of indomitable passion dancing in his eyes, violet irises determined and fiery. He wouldn't step back. Even if he still felt some hate for you, even if he loved his family he had, you were something different for him. You were his centre, around which his world was turning. As he was your centre in return.

And you gravitated to your dragon, like always, leaning into him.

The Gone Prince Taglist: @wai-who @midnightprincess18 @fan-goddess @weird-addiction @rawinia @cannibalcoyote @cherry1a @darlinqvi @caelumwingstar @louventcavaliersx @parca0charos @azrealbanerstark @britany1997

[wandixx]

one-shot snippet

Duke was running out of fumes to run on. The last few days would be exhausting if it was just vigilante or just civilian stuff but no, he had to have it both. Because of Arkham break out, he had been called in three nights in a row, not for a whole patrol but he couldn't exactly sleep it off during the day like others did, especially not in a week when every teacher decided they needed to have test or quiz or what not. Naps meant he wasn't as sleep-deprived as he could be but he needed far more. But he couldn't because crime in Gotham never sleeps so he had normal patrol to finish and there were about two hours left.

Would something bad happen if he just stopped for a moment and laid on a roof? Ten up to fifteen minutes. It was a slow day too…

Yeah, no, he deserved a moment to rest and if something disastrous was to happen in the meantime he would shame other Bats for not giving him enough time to sleep.

It certainly said something that he found gravel covering this roof to be quite comfortable. He set a timer for ten minutes and let himself close his eyes.

When the loud screech of the timer jolted him awake, he was suddenly fully aware that he wasn't alone anymore. He sat up a little too quickly.

"Oh, you're awake" white white-haired girl around Damian's age chimed, sitting cross-legged just a few feet away from him. She wore something that could only be described as a lab safety hazmat suit, white and black with popping green accents. When had Gotham gotten a new vigilante/villain/whoever the girl was? "Good, I just returned from a snack hunt," she added, gesturing at a big textile bag lying next to her. Duke didn't have enough brainpower to do anything more than ask.

"What?"

The girl shrugged, take-out from BatBurger in her hand.

"You look like you have a bad day if not a few days, so I've got you my cousin's bad day combo or at least the closest thing I could. BatBurger burger isn't as good as NastyBurger but you certainly have better fries" As she spoke, a second take-out bag, 1 liter bottle of energy drink, juice bottle of the same size, and pack of convenience store brownies joined greasy paper bag sealed with a sticker.

"Is your cousin a speedster?" Excuse Duke, it was a totally valid question, he saw with his bare eyes both Wally West and Bart Allen when they visited Manor. No one else would be able to stomach the amount of food they inhaled during their stays.

"Nah, we're not that fast or that hungry. Though I think I may get closer to the speed of sound." So, clearly, a meta if white hair and weir aura that let his eyes rest weren't enough indication "My cousin when he has a bad few days often forgets to eat so this combo has to help with there too. But I'll steal your fries of course."

Duke was not going to look a gift horse in the teeth, so he grabbed one bag and tore it open. There was a classic combo with bigger fries and NightWings inside.

"Thank you…" he trailed off, hoping that the girl would take a clue and introduce herself but she didn't. She just drowned her fries in ketchup and started munching. She had her own juice.

"My cousin always said that each part of this combo has a different purpose." she explained instead, slightly muffled because of the fries in her mouth "This" she gestured towards the fast food meal "is to soothe your stomach. This "she tapped energy drink "is to soothe your brain and kick it back online. This "she raised a bottle of juice "is to soothe your taste buds because energy drinks are war crime against them and this "she nudged brownies "is to soothe your heart because Ancients damn it, this day is awful and you deserve it. At least that's what he told me when I had day bad enough to deserve that" she shrugged, licking ketchup of her finger. Suddenly she froze "You aren't allergic, are you?

"No, I'm not" he confessed bewildered.

"Good"

For a long moment, they sat in silence, devouring food the little girl brought. Duke distantly wondered if this was how the night shift spent their snack breaks. It felt nice.

He was finishing his part of the brownies when the girl spoke up again.

"Do you feel better now?"

"Yeah," he was a little surprised to realize that t it was true. He'll have to note down what she put in this 'bad day combo'. "Thank you"

"Don't mention it." she shrugged with a general gesture of dismissal "You're one of my cousin's favorite heroes because you're vaguely his age and handle Gotham alone during the day and I quote "She did honest or God air quotes at that" 'As only hero in Amity-' which is a lie by the way, Val is doing great and even if he suddenly got problem with how she feels about his alter ego, he still has Sam and Tuck even if they're usually more of moral support. And I helped when I visited, so no, he isn't the only one. Anyway as he said 'As the only hero in Amity, my heart goes out for anyone who deals with this type of bullshit so Dani if you absolutely have to prank heroes, leave them out of it, especially Signal, he can't be older than Jazz, he doesn't need any more mess to handle.' All aliens and lanterns are also off-limits because he is a space nerd. But you aren't space-related so I'm like 80% percent sure he has a celebrity crush on you" She slurped more juice, unbothered.

Duke was thankful he wasn't swallowing anything because for sure she would choke. He took a split second to consider addressing… this whole situation and choose against it. He was not ready to be anyone's celebrity crush.

"Your name is Danny?" he asked instead.

"Dani" she corrected" with an I"

"Ok. It's nice to meet you Dani-with-an-I" She giggled, nodding her head slightly.

"It's nice to meet you too Signal"

Duke stood up, stretching a little. Dani joined him after hastily putting all the trash in her bag. She was a little higher than expected.

"I have to get back to my patrol"

"Cool," she drifted back a bit, making him realize that she was floating a few inches above the ground. She fixed her bag on her arm.

"Hey, can I hang out a little bit more? My cousin will go green out of jealousy when I tell him" she added with a mischievous smirk but Duke could tell there was more to it. He took a moment to consider it, which apparently made the girl nervous "I can be invisible the whole time, like before." she offered, disappearing in the meantime. He could still tell where she was, because of her heat signature, and aura but for regular people, she would be no different than the surrounding air.

"Yeah, you can hang around and you don't have to be invisible. Just don't get in my way when I have to actually do some fighting."

She popped back to the visible spectrum and pouted like Damian whenever he got benched.

" I can fight, y'know? I stopped mugging on a snack run."

It was ten goddamn minutes, how could she get so much food and stop a mugging in such a short time?!

Oh, right, superspeed. Still, impressive.

"I haven't seen it" he started, channeling all Dick-trying-to-wrangle-Damian-into-socially-acceptable-activity' energy he could muster "So I don't know how you fight or even what powers you have. If we tried to fight together we would trip over each other" It was a bare-faced lie, Bat Training made sure of that but he knew for a fact that if he said anything else, the girl would be mad and probably did her own thing.

Was that what Bruce thought about all of them?

Oh no.

Dani still looked displeased but after a moment of consideration, she nodded with a defeated sigh.

Suddenly she straightened like she got struck by lightning and whipped around.

"Wha-"

She just shushed raising her finger to her mouth. Duke did indeed quieten.

"I have enhanced hearing" she whispered "There is a mugging somewhere this way."

"Let's go then" he shot his grapple, waving his other hand at Dani to come with him before he jumped off the roof. He heard the girl giggle as she flew right after him.

" After this, you'll show me the coolest gargoyles, okay? Sam asked for photos"

"Okay"

It seemed that the end of this patrol wouldn't be as bad as the start was. Hopefully.

And afterward, he was going to lock himself in his room until the sky fell or he was well rested.

Yeah, that was a good plan.

*******

how do you like it?

[nthspecialll]

Bill Williamson shaped by an army knife

(This post is a casual explanation(ish), not meant to defend but rather explore and discuss Bill Williamson's character and how it is shaped by the army, it has also been sensitivity and proof read by a native to ensure that I did not accidently word anything in a way that would hurt the native community)

As many knows, Bill Williamson was in the army, and if you look closer you can see the many different ways in which it formed him, the ways in which a constantly stressful envioment filled with death shaped the person he is.

I am going to mention the one thing that stood out to me first, racism. Now hang on when I say this, he isn't, he is not racist, but you know what he is? A parot who got fed words and repeats them. And why would I say that? Do I have evidence? Yes.

The two characters we see Bill go after is Javier and Lenny, he calls Lenny "boy" and says "come over here!" or "I don't like your attitude", meanwhile with Javier he straight up calls him a slur. But something to notice is that Bill praises both of those characters at other times. Bill calls Lenny "son" and yells to everyone about how amazing he is and the proud almost fatherly instrict is oozing. With Javier there is a similar interaction where he is drunk and he is yapping Sean's ear off about how amazing Javier is.

We do not see that with Micah (That I can find), the only possitive thing Micah says to either of them is "you aren't so bad, for a greaser". Another thing to point out is that Micah is constantly belittling both Lenny and Javier, saying things like "you can write and everything, unusual for one of you. Oh you know, hoodlums," Bill does not, he does not belittle them.

So why would he say such things? Because he was angry, and why would he say that because he is upset?

Bill was in the army, common knowledge, uncommon (or at least commonly forgotten) is the fact that he fought the American Indian War. He did not fight other white people, he fought the native americans, and they were scary. He tells that story himself in a camp interaction, talking about how scary it was, and I do think he was frightened and not just empty words as he at the end jumps at the sound of a neighing horse.

Bill saw people get murdered, he saw his friends get slaughtered and he was told by the army to turn that anger towards the natives. The army implimented racist ideologies to excuse the genocide they were making and to rile their armies.

I often think of the line between Bill and Dutch where Bill says "I saw things!" and Dutch says "I am sure you do! But I don't think you could understand it" and I think that is spot on. Bill saw his friends dying, he saw his comrades dying, people he was likely as close to as he was the VDL gang (I will return to that later) dying. All he saw were these people murdering his friends, not that those people were fighting for their right to exist, and for every body the army framed it all on the natives, that it was all their fault, without mentioning anything that the army was doing to the natives.

The only times Bill acts out in a racist manner is when he is angry and he is often angry at himself, but he has always been told that when he is angry he should direct it towards people of color by the army, so he does. He does not believe it, but he does it anyways. There are a few times, like in the camp interactions mentioned, where he is not angry, but that is simply the brainwash that the army put him under to justify killing. He is saying those things because he has been told to.

He says the words but they seem empty as his actions are more supportive of his friends than anything.

Another thing I noticed is how protective he is of the gang, not just of Dutch, but the gang, even though he is painted as lazy, many times he is not, especially when it comes to protection. I often see him standing at the edge of camp even when he is off guard, and in that one camp interaction where strangers find camp, he is there, he is watching over them, in the Valentine robbery he was also smart enough to know to bring backup, he knew that if things were to go wrong, he needed to have someone there, Arthur.

Now some people are going to come and say "Oh but he didn't realise the security job was a trick," no, he did not, do you know who also did not? Dutch, Lenny, Karen, characters whom it was mentioned in front of. The only ones who did realise were Arthur and Sean, and despite Bill trying to throw the blame off himself at first, he does blame himself, there are interactions of him saying he blames himself for Sean's death. Similarly when Angelo Bronte offers up money, he is not planning to take it, he is making sure no one else is, I got a whole post on that.

One of the other things about Bill, is that people say he did not care when Lenny died. I do think he did, he has so many camp interactions where he is calling Lenny son, being proud of him and so on, but I do think that the army got to him there too. When in battle people die, people die often and you cannot stop because they do, no matter how much you loved that person, if you are on an open battle field charging towards the enemy, you do not have time to stop.

When in the army you are expected to be a tough manly dude, in chapter six Arthur can ask if Bill is okay and he never gives a real answer, instead he shifts the convosation away. Bill believes he is not allowed to show weakness because doing so in the army was not allowed, anything unmanly was not allowed. I do also believe that is where he gets his fucked up realtionship with his sexuality (I am not even going to explain why I think of him as queer, I do believe others are able to see if, but also if anyone says "No he aint!" that is a fair opinion but the va does hc him to be queer), wanting to flirt (or at least befriend) Kieran but not knowing how to without coming off as unmanly.

Returning to how he would care for the army friends he made, is how he ended after he got thrown out. Bill says his biggest fear as a kid was to be an alcoholic and look at where he ended up. He even says he completely lost himself after the army, that Dutch "saved Bill Williamson."

Well even if it was not everyone whom he liked, there was at least one person. If we look at his letter from the army, he is thrown out for attempted murder and deviancy ("the fact or state of diverging from usual or accepted standards, especially in social or sexual behaviour." aka can be used for homosexuality). An interesting thing to note is that both of those alone is enough to throw someone out of the army, so why is both there unless they happened at the same time? I see it likely that Bill was discovered with a lover and either the person found them attacked Bill and lover or Bill attacked the person who found them to silence them. Either way, Bill did not succeed and instead he got thrown.

Tags: @cupidsbeartrap

[bhaalble]

Indulgent as the concept of Gortash mourning Durge is I tend to resist it a little in my own canon. Largely on the back of "Orin told me how she humiliated you". Two things can be true at once: Gortash has a lot of history with and affection for Durge. And Gortash plans to WIN. His plans for the moment need the alliance of Bhaal's Chosen. For the time being: that Chosen is Orin. Its why he works with her without much complaint after Durge vanishes, why he has the line "we agreed not to meddle in each other's affairs" ready to go when Durge asks him why he never looked for them. This is also why I believe he makes beating her a requirement for properly reviving the old alliance (the vows are renewed, but you're not getting any active help from him until you work out succession issues with your sister). He would prefer it be Durge! But he can't afford to publicly move against Orin. In the event that Durge loses he'll be in breach of contract enough that she'll have the go ahead to kill him. He'll hedge his bets rather than risk backing the wrong horse, because he knows too well the consequences of getting on the bad side of Bhaal's champion.

What compels me, though, are the little potential moments of self-betrayal. The flickers of wounded ego when he sees them with their companions, and the smugness when he reveals who they are. Did they really think they knew a thing about you? The poor fools have been wandering around with a lion thinking its a house cat. They don't know what it really means to stick their hand in your jaws and emerge unscathed. No one but him ever truly has.

Nostalgia and some kind of unnnameable complexity when he hears from his sources that you've been busy in the hells. A reminder of where this all started....and his old host dead at your hands. Did you remember, he wonders, the little things he'd let slip about his time in the House of Hope? Was it on your mind when you did your bloody work on Raphael? He wonders what it would have been like to see it. If you would have let him come with if he had known to ask. Hardly your first journey to the hells.

Not his only parental figure you encounter. Its when he realizes you're at his parents (seen through the eyes of his Steel Watch, he can't resist checking in from time to time. He assures himself its to make sure the wheels are still in motion) he feels real dread. He never told you the Flymms were alive, much less tadpoled. But is the prickling he feels fear that you'll uncover something? A childish irritation that you might break his least favorite toys? Or shame that he's not there to soften this revelation for you, that his humiliating origin is known while he can't say a thing to paint over it as inconsequential?

The unexpected pride he feels when you return with Orin's blade. Even addled and physically deteriorated by everything that was done to you these last months, you triumphed. No more looking over his shoulder for Orin's blade.....and, he realizes privately. All those pretty words he's said about a future ruled by the two of you may suddenly not just be words anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, there is something like destiny at work here.

[ignisgalaxia]

With the release of Prodigy season 2, the Trek fandom finally has an answer to what Chakotay's native ancestry is. He's Nicarao, a tribe from the western region of Nicaragua who actually share a common ancestry with the Nahua Aztecs of Mexico. The show even mentions the island of Ometepe specifically, which is the largest island in Lake Nicaragua made up of two volcanoes.

The reason this is so important to me is because my dad and his family are from Nicaragua. I’ve been getting more in touch with those roots over the last year or so, and I’ve found it very frustrating how there seems to be no Nica representation in media, at least not in the mainstream. But when I found out that Chakotay was a fellow Nica, I was literally bouncing off the walls. To think, one of my favorite characters has the same ancestry as me (well, almost, but I’ll get to that later)! When I told my dad, he laughed so hard because he never would’ve imagined.

But I haven’t seen a lot of people talking about this aspect. I get it, it’s a minuscule part of the wild ride that was season 2. But I’d really like us as a fandom to discuss this more. I mean, we literally don’t have to guess what tribe he’s from anymore!

So since nobody else has come forward, I am going to claim myself as the only member of the Voyager-Prodigy fandom with actual Nicaraguan ancestry, and am making this post to give firsthand information about the Nicarao and the nation as a whole.

Firstly, some context. My dad was born in Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, and lived there with his family until he was 7. Then they fled the country due to the Contra War that was going on. My grandfather was born and raised in Bluefields, a city on the country's Carribean coast, then went to college in Mexico where he met my grandmother. Neither of them are Nicarao, and are in fact very European (the DNA tests proved it). However, when they were all living in Managua, my grandparents had a handful of maids that worked for them (they had six kids they needed some help), and a couple of them were Nicarao. Specifically, they were natives from a village in the nearby mountains. So while I don't have info on natives from Ometepe, I do have some on the people in general.

The maids lived with my dad's family during the week and would go home to their village on the weekends. They primarily spoke Spanish, but he would occasionally catch them speaking in their native tongue which I assume is Nahua.

My dad recounted a time when the maids invited the family to their village for a day trip. He said they were living in Adobe houses and had lots of livestock (cattle, chickens, goats, etc) as well as horses, which he apparently rode for the first time there. He also said most of the natives had two primary weapons: a machete to cut crops and other vegetation, and a 22 single shot rifle. They used the rifles to shoot iguanas off trees. Iguanas and iguana eggs are a delicacy in Nicaragua that the natives are experts at making.

This is a direct quote from my grandmother when I asked her about what she remembered of them:

The people I knew, they were good and hard working people. Smart, happy, funny… they really are sociable, like to talk and say jokes invented with their mind and history. The women were skillful, knew how to survive. They cooked, cleaned, planted crops and vegetables. Good merchants, they really knew how to sell and buy.

I wish I had more info to share, but unfortunately season 2 could not have been released at a worse time because my grandfather has recently begun developing Alzheimer's or some other form of dementia and has been losing his memory over the last few months. Even when my dad and I were with him in May and I asked him to recount his earlier life, he repeated himself a few times since he evidently had forgotten he'd already told us those parts. If I had known how fast he’d be deteriorating, I would’ve started my work sooner.

If I do end up learning anything more from my relatives, I’ll update the post. For now, I hope this is of some use to people. And if anyone has questions about Nicaraguan culture in general, I’ll be happy to pass them along to my dad.

[robin374]

I saw that your requests were open and I jumped into action lol

Any ideas for the Mercs and reader with an “only one bed” trope? (Love the stuff youve written btw <3)

One Bed Trope with the mercs (part 1)

I'm gonna start with Demoman because he is my husband and gets the privilege of being the first.

Demoman ❤️

He just wanted to sleep man 😭

When you two finished the assigned mission that Miss Pauling gave you two, you went to the hotel/motel (how do you call it in English?). When you entered the room the first thing you two saw was a single big bed, for two people.

You looked at Demo and he was awkwardly standing there. He couldn't believe his eye

👁️👄

"I'll sleep on the floor, don't worry Demo." "No, Y/N. I've slept in all kinds of places, I think I can handle sleeping on the floor" "And that's exactly why you are sleeping in the bed"

At the end, you two decide to sleep in the same bed. He couldn't help but feel nervous, like yeah, he has slept at the top of Edinburgh's castle. Or with some random seals at a random beach. But he's never slept with the person he's in love with.

With that said, he remembers those words his Mom told him once.

"You better get a job, Tavish!"

I could give him a good job-

I don't know why he remembered that, don't ask me.

HE'S SO WARM KSDKAODJAKL I feel like his body would be so warm, because of the amount of alcohol he consumes.

He snores a little bit. Just tiny tiny tiny tiny little bit. 🤏

Not as much as Heavy at least.

He's a heavy sleeper so good luck trying to wake him up

I feel like he would see it as an opportunity to confess his feelings. Like you two are talking while laying down in bed, and casually spits it out. By the time you realize what he said, he is already sound asleep, his back facing you.

"I'm in love with you, Y/N" "Hmm? What did you say? I didn't hear you *Scottish snoring*

Scout 🤡

HE DOES NOT HESITATE 🗣️🗣️

He knows what these situations are about and he will not let it slide so easily.

He doesn't even ask you if you are okay with sleeping with him, he just says "I'm so tired, let's sleep!" And he launches himself towards the bed.

He will pat the space next to him silently telling you to sleep too.

But then reality hits him like a rock, he is sleeping with you. He is really happy, any girl would've slapped him at tha exact moment, but you just accepted your fate.

He doesn't snore, but he does this thing that dogs do that is moving his legs as if he was running.

You better be a heavy sleeper because he talks while sleeping.

"Spy stole my chicken and now I can't eat my bullets. " "Scout are you awake?" "Fuck you Spy, I miss my chicken :("

He got so red when he woke up in the morning. You were still asleep, that's the first thing he saw after opening his eyes. He wanted to kiss you so bad.

"Good morning, toots. You've slept well?"

He's so in love with istg.

But he won't confess, he wants to keep this as a (really) good memory and confess after he's sure that you feel the same.

Scared of rejection I guess.

Engie 🤠

He's so casual about it.

He has to sleep in the same bed as his crush? Well, darn.

"It is what it is" energy.

You don't want him to sleep on the floor and he doesn't want you to sleep on the floor. Oh no, sadly we will have to sleep in the same bed :( (that's sarcasm for those confused)

"Come here, sugar, I don't bite." Unless you want me to.

He snores more than Demo sorry, it's bearable though. It's like having a horse next to you huffing and puffiing. A horse you don't mind to ride (ok I'll stop now sorry lmao)

He's like a teddy bear, he doesn't mind if you hug him. On the contrary, he will "unintentionally" pull you closer.

He would wake up in the middle of the night, because he's not used to sleeping like a normal person would do. So he will take advantage of it and admire your beautiful face. How the moonlight delicatedly lights your face, your closed eyes giving that feel of calmness... He will eventually kiss your forehead and go back to sleep.

He won't say a word about it in the morning. He will just greet you like always do in the base and get back to work.

In the inside he's screaming, dancing, running, whooping of joy. For him, it's one little step more to you being his pardner.

[sofmoth]

I Found My Place in This World (It’s in Your Wake)

here’s my entry for @beefrobeefcal’s september prompt!!! this is fairly out of my comfort zone so i do hope you all enjoy it! title is from 'she's the prettiest girl at the party and she can prove it with a solid right hook' by frank iero, work is not inspired by the song.

the photoshop is MYOB (mind your own business) mkay

also posted to AO3 by me (@sofmoth), link here.

divider created by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

husband!joel miller x wife!reader, WC: 1.03k

TAGS: husband!joel, anniversary dinner, all the fluff, chubby!joel, marriage has caused joel to gain weight, soft!joel, no physical description is given of reader, reader uses an inhaler, joel is goofin, POV u become one with the couch, joel calls reader “sweetie,” joel jokingly asks if he’s fat, reader jokingly calls themself “delicate," fuck i love this man

It’s officially been one year since you tied the knot, one whole year of living with your husband full-time. Joel had been fairly insistent that you lived separately until you got married, despite the fact that you spent more nights with him than without during your engagement. You never really minded, he had a mortgage to pay on his house but was still more than willing to help you with your rent until the day came.

One year later, and marriage had been good to Joel. His mental health and financial stability had improved, and he seemed overall a happier person. The only drawback seemed to be the effect it had on his waistline. It was only a drawback according to your brother-in-law Tommy; you love the way Joel’s belly had softened over the last twelve months.

No longer was he forgetting to eat breakfast, packing himself a half-assed lunch to take to his job sites, nor was he attempting to pass off three-day-old pizza as a full dinner. If you could go back in time ten years, tell your younger self you have a husband you love cooking for, you would vomit on your own shoes. Being who you are now though, it’s a joy to make him a meal, fulfilling to see how happy it makes him that you’ve ensured he eats well in the early mornings and has proper lunches to keep him strong until dinner. The way he relaxes on the couch with you after, pulling you on top of him to cuddle, the wonderful healthy squish of his tummy between you a reminder to you both that love is not all in the way one looks.

He had been self-conscious at first, when he stepped on the scale and saw the number had increased. You very quickly put that worry to bed, assuring Joel every day that he was still the sexiest man alive. You told him how sexy he was irritatingly regularly, and then he started to believe it. He started walking around the house in his PJ pants with his shirt off again, you begging him to flex, him obliging. Joel’s belly and the weight he gained were the most physical and personal reminders of how much you loved him.

To celebrate this first full year of your marriage, you made a fabulous meal so you could stay in for the night and enjoy it together. Pot roast and potatoes, enough rolls to choke a horse, two or three glasses of wine. Joel is doing the dishes, you lay on the couch watching him across the room. He glances back at you, smiling, and you wave with your fingers. The wine has certainly hit you; you’re not drunk by any stretch, but you’re definitely more comfortable horizontal. You close your eyes, listening to the sink run for a few minutes before the last dish clinks in the drying rack and the water stops.

“Wow. My wife made such an amazing dinner, and I’m so tired from doing those dishes. I think I’d like to sit and rest.” You can hear the dry playfulness in his voice, eyes still closed.

“Boy oh boy, that couch looks comfy. I think I’ll have a seat riiiiight here.” Your eyes fly open, hand covering your mouth as you cackle at the feeling of him sitting on your shins.

“Joel! No, c’mon! If you’re gonna sit on me, at least sit on my thighs. I’m so delicate.” Joel rolls his eyes, smiles as he scoots up.

“You’re right, this cushion is way more comfortable. I think I could fall asleep here, matterfact I just might.”

You reach for him, pinching his side playfully. He does sit on your thighs for a few minutes, arms stretched across the back of the couch, head tilted back and eyes closed. The muscles in your legs finally begin to feel like TV static, and despite the fact that you’ve sobered up considerably it’s still not a particularly pleasant sensation.

“Oh shit, baby my legs are falling asleep. Bit’s over, I gotta move ‘em.” Joel looks down at you, mouth open in mock-offense.

“Is my wife calling me fat? On our one-year wedding anniversary, of all days? How dare you, I cannot believe this.”

Still, he does get up; long enough to lay his entire body on top of yours. He nuzzles into your neck, his beard scratching your skin softly. He sighs deeply, squeezes you in a hug as you rest your hand on his back. And then he raspberries you.

You squeal, laughing wildly as he begins laying a barrage of kisses to your neck and face. You laugh so hard you start struggling to pull in a full breath, and Joel jumps up quickly to get your inhaler out of your purse. You’re still laughing, now coughing and wheezing at the absurdity of the situation. He shakes the little plastic container thoroughly before uncapping it and handing it to you, tugging you upright before you press the canister and inhale.

He rubs your back as you hold your breath, exhaling slowly with you. He presses a kiss to your temple, taking the inhaler back and replacing it in your purse. As he sits back down he pulls you into his lap, cradling you against himself.

“I’m sorry sweetie, I got a little carried away. You feel okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. It wasn’t full-blown, I was just getting too wound up. Thank you for getting it, though.”

“Of course. Don’t want my wife taking a trip to the emergency room, especially not on our special day. Here, lemme—”

He shifts so he’s laying on his back, holding you on his chest as always. He continues rubbing your back, occasionally kissing the top of your head.

“Hey, husband?”

“Yes, wife?”

“That joke you made about me calling you fat, it wouldn’t matter to me at all if you actually were.”

“I know, sweetie.”

You rub Joel’s shoulder gently with your thumb, feeling yourself growing tired from the steady rhythm and pressure of his hand on your back.

“You can go to sleep, we’ll be okay out here tonight.” You hum.

“Joel?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[janovavalen]

✧IN ANOTHER LIFE. || loki laufeyson x fem!reader

summary: when loki needed to be comforted he found a timeline where his longtime wife y/n was alive so he could be grounded in this time of need, craving for her touch.

word count: 1511

warnings: pregnant reader! i repeat, pregnant reader, different timeline, a country life, reader obvi not knowing loki is impersonating….himself?, hurt/comfort<3

as the TVA slowly came to its downfall, loki, mobius and their friends all found there was possibly no other way to do things.

loki has manipulated his powers of skipping through time over, and over and over and every single time they went just how they did the first. loki was failing to believe there was hope in anything that existed.

while he sat with his hands on his head and his elbows sitting up on the desk in front of him he stressed and turned and pulled his mind to try his hardest to think of things while he still had plenty of time to save everyone.

mobius happened to walk in as he saw loki with nothing but the look of stress and couldn’t help but try and interfere.

‘so…what’s going on? why the long face’ he mumbled while pulling out the chair to sit next to loki who looked over at him with a small smile.

‘nothing…just trying to somehow understand…make sense of this all? understand what to do and how to change it’ he admitted. placing his hands down onto the desk as mobuis watched him.

‘well…sometimes things can’t be changed? sometimes things don’t have a answer and are better left without one…’ mobius told him while he always seemed like he tried to convince himself of his words.

‘no but…there’s always a way. there always is, i know it—‘

‘why do you believe that so strongly?’

‘because she told me so—‘ loki stressed, his forehead forming their lines of stress.

‘who?’

‘y/—‘ just as he said her name and thought of her face he cousins help but think of other things. was is possible that she was somehow still alive? on another timeline?

‘mobuis!’ loki hurried to turn to him, who gave a wide-eyed expression.

‘yes?’

‘i have to see her…she can help me—she will understand!’ loki hurried to stand up, taking out his tempad and switching though different timelines.

‘whoa—loki, you can’t just—‘

‘i’ll be back! i promise i just—i really need to see her, okay? i really need to’ loki silently begged mobuis who was slowly trying to believe and accept his decision. once he came with a conclusion he nodded with a sigh.

‘go ahead…and be right back!’

‘i will!’ loki yelled before looking up to see the yellow door.

once he walked through, Mobius stood by and waited.

‘i will!’ loki yelled before looking up to see the yellow door.

once he walked through, Mobius stood by and waited.

ㆍ୨୧ㆍ

just behind that yellow door in a wooden home with the beautiful view of trees, tall grass and even some horses. loki looked around a bit shocked to say the least, the y/n he knew from universes ago said she’d quote—

‘never live on a countryside cabin because it reminds me of the scary movie of cabin in the woods where everyone dies’

loki thought it was a bit funny but he didn’t beg her to move out of the city.

hesitantly loki shifted his clothes into something more simple and cleared his throat before combing his fingers through his hair.

walking up onto the wooden porch that was very spacious, it held two wooden rocking chairs and a small table in the middle of it with a cup of tea that looked to be recently drunk out of.

looking at the screen door that was followed with another door on the other said he opened the screen door and knocked on it.

heavily breathing with nothing but nervousness he cleared his throat again and waiting. he even heard a dog bark as he waited for the door to open. and oh boy—once it did.

another you came from behind the screen door with pajama pants on and a cropped shirt that looked a bit tight, as he looked down your figure he noticed a very prominent swollen belly.

you were pregnant?

‘loki? what are you doing here? I thought you just left?’ you wondered as you opened the door for him with a warm smile on your face.

he didn’t know what to say, he hasn’t talked to you since you left the avengers due to personal reasons. loki had knew where you were but didn’t want to bother you.

‘yes, i…well, i just thought i wanted to talk to you more’ he smiled down at you as you smiled and softly laughed with a shake of your head.

‘your so sweet, but we’ve talked all day—‘

‘i want to talk more’ he shrugged while you just laughed it off.

‘okay well; i was about to make dinner and your favorite dessert with some ice cream and (f/s) for the baby because she is every spoiled even before being born can your believe it?’ you laughed as you walked to the kitchen.

your little walk made him smile a bit at the fact the other you said you’d never get pregnant in a million years because life are little demons.

‘well, we need to give her any and everything she wants to stay happy, including you of course—‘

‘including me! that’s so sweet’ you teased once more with a tilt of your head and a smile.

he let the room fall silent for a bit before he remembered what was going on in the other world. sighing as he sat down in a chair you had noticed his face fall from his smile. frowning your eyebrows you walked over to him with bread in your hand as you ate it.

‘what’s wrong?’ you asked him while placing your hand down onto his face, soothingly moving your thumb under his eye.

he felt himself crumble, immediately. moving his head forward to press onto the side of your body he held his face there and let his arms hug your waist. you had felt his shoulder shake a bit which you immediately stuffed the rest of your bread into your mouth and sat onto his lap to completely wrap your arms around his shoulder.

‘oh, oh no—what’s wrong?’ you concerningly asked while hugging him as tight at you could without your stomach becoming smashed into him.

‘i don’t know? it’s just…i can’t think straight anymore like i used to and i don’t know what to do. the life i want seems to not want me and i can’t understand what i need to do’ he sighed while laying into you completely.

frowning your eyebrows and letting your eyes show sadness you shook your head a bit, forcing his head up gently.

‘you do know what to do loki. you know exactly what to do. how do i know? because i know you. i know that you always figure a way out and through, you always know what needs to be done and you know what is in store for you. your life is yours to shape, fate isn’t real, not with you around’ you smiled sadly as he let a tear drop.

leaning forward with nothing to say he let his lips smash against yours with nothing but love and passion. you were quick to reciprocate as you held the back of his head. letting your hand play through his hair.

he let himself fall into your neck as he inhaled your scent and hugged you tighter once more. giving him a kiss on the head as he closed his eyes, loki felt himself in complete comfort and control of his mind once more.

he didn’t want to leave. he never wanted to leave. maybe he could just send the loki you know and married into the portal and keep him there. letting the idea cross his mind he sighed and knew it was probably time to go since mobius was waiting with a open portal door in your yard.

sighing before he stood up he held your hand in his—‘i have to go back to where i said i was going…i’ve got to get that stuff we need—‘

‘ugh yes! before you do please please please! get the pickles with the cheese and hot sauce? i’ve been craving it since last night!’ you whined while holding your chin against his chest and looking up at him. he laughed and nodded while leaving down to hold your face between his hands and kissing your lips passionately once more.

you gave a smile before he walked out the door.

‘bye! come back as soon as you can okay? i need that food and a back massage’ you teased but with seriousness before winking as he nodded and let you shut the door.

when you did he sighed and closed his eyes to process what happened and how you’ve had a baby on the way. realistically speaking, the baby was his as well, so he thought of ways to come back and see the baby.

before he left of course he made the pickles, cheese and hot sauce appear on the pouch near the door for the other loki who may not have gotten the food you wanted.

walking to the portal, loki saw mobius who grinned.

‘get what you needed?’

‘of course, and i knew what we need to do, let’s go’

.

[its-all-papaya]

oh. OH. the hollow hereafter completely DESTROYED me 😭😭 beautifully written; reading that one hurt!! i'm amazed by the way you capture the energies they both give off so perfectly, i was so hooked on the story i couldn't stop reading. thank you for the amazing work!! 🫶🏻 for the kiss prompt game: can we maybe get landoscar + 29 or 33? 🌟

AAAAAHHHH the hollow hereafter was pain indeed. glad you enjoyed, though ! thank you for the compliment !

shameless plug plug plug: read my fic 👉👈

as an apology, I present to you: even more post-hungary landoscar ! but much fluffier this time. hope you enjoy 🫶

send me a ship and a number and i will write a kiss

33. as an apology | landoscar | 1.5k (absolute lmao)

In the dark of his Monaco apartment, Oscar can finally admit it to himself: he’s scared. The creep of fear had been there from the jump as he’d finished the final lap in Hungary, but he’d figured he owed it to himself to put it off in favor of other things. Elation, for example. He’d won a grand prix. It was a moment he’d been dreaming of since he was a child and he’d only ever get the one maiden win, so he’d shoved everything prickly to the background and focused on the glow of victory in his chest instead.

See, Oscar is good at compartmentalizing. His friends in primary school had joked that he’d been born with emotions missing. For a while, he’d figured he’d grow into it – that his feelings would stretch as he did, and he was just a bit behind – but it had taken him until after his first single-seater to realize there was nothing lacking in the first place. He feels things. Probably just as strongly as everyone else. It’s just that the world isn’t entitled to experience every emotion along with him. If he can share the good things when he sees fit and save the less-than-good to deal with on his own time, Oscar figures he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth about it.

And honestly, there’s probably nothing to worry about. Lando was moody, but he’d been moody after every race for weeks. Just because this week’s letdown had starred Oscar specifically, just because Lando had spent the whole flight with his hood up, forehead tilted against Carlos’ shoulder as they laughed together at whoever’s phone was funniest, that doesn’t mean there’s anything seriously wrong. They’re good at giving each other space, he and Lando. Oscar likes to think he can read his partner pretty well. And Lando had congratulated him – on the track and more than once after. Besides, Alex has known Lando forever, and he’d taken one look at the lay of things in the airport – Lando with Carlos, Oscar half a dozen seats away – and cracked a smirk about it: “At least if somebody’s sleeping on the couch tonight, it’s gotta be him, right?” Alex wouldn’t have been joking about it to Oscar if he thought Lando was really upset about anything other than the way the chips had fallen.

But the thing is… neither of them is on the couch. Because Lando is home, and Oscar is here, in his nearly empty apartment in his nearly empty bed. Past 5 a.m., awake, restless. Oscar’s lived in Monaco over two months, but he’s only spent a handful of nights in his own place. It had felt silly, at the time, piling boxes in the living room knowing full-well that half his closet and all of his heart already had a home in the city. This lease might have Oscar’s name on it, but his home in Monaco is about five blocks north, probably sleeping with his mouth open and his phone dying next to him, nobody to remind him to put it on the charger.

They’ve been fine. They’ll be fine. But (and this is the part he’s been avoiding) fine as teammates is different than fine as partners. Patting Oscar on the helmet and smiling for a group photo is not the same as curling up next to him in bed and saying I love you as one of them switches off the lamp. Being fine and being good are different, and the minute Lando had pulled up to Oscar’s building and told him to have a good night, that he’d see him soon, Oscar had stopped being either. Lando is sulky after bad losses and he gets upset with Oscar about things dumber than team orders, but they don’t sleep apart outside of race weekends. Oscar doesn’t sleep here. And he’s the littlest bit scared that he’s going to have to learn how.

Time passes. Oscar worries. He can see the sun rising through the cracks in his blackout curtains by the time he hears the front door open and close. He’s managed something close to sleep by then, though, drifting and fuzzy and outside rational thought, so he doesn’t immediately clock the noise as anything to react to. It’s not until his bedroom door clicks open as well that his brain comes back online for real. He lifts his head from the pillow with a sharp breath in, but there’s really only one person it’s going to be. There are two keys to his place and one of them is on the nightstand with his wallet and his phone and the other went home in the pocket of a man he’s never turned away.

Lando’s soft around the edges in the early morning light. His hand is a little chilly when it lands on Oscar’s cheek, gentling him back into the pillow. Oscar goes down without a fight, always easy for anything Lando’s asking of him. He does lift the covers a little, though, hoping his eyes are pathetic enough in the dawn to get him what he’s after. Lando smiles, soft, and thumbs over Oscar’s cheekbone, chases it with his lips. Now that his partner’s back in his proximity, Oscar’s exhaustion sinks in for real, like it had been waiting for permission. His eyelids are so heavy, thoughts slow and only on the edge of sensical by the time Lando gets out of his sweatshirt and his shoes and finally – finally – slides into bed beside him.

Under the circumstances, Oscar has to remind his sleep-stupid brain that he’d literally won a grand prix just over 12 hours back, because he wants to label the relief of having Lando back in his arms better than anything he’s ever felt. Better than any trophy he’s ever held against his chest. He wraps both arms around Lando and draws him closer, closer still until Lando’s head is tucked safely under his chin and Lando’s thigh is nestled comfortably between both of Oscar’s own.

They give it a minute, just breathing together, before Lando smooths his palm up Oscar’s chest and over his shoulder. He draws back just enough to look Oscar in the eyes, then leans back in to kiss him gently. He’s indulgent with it, lips and tongue sleepy-soft against Oscar’s, palm cupping Oscar’s jaw and thumb swiping back and forth, back and forth, towards the place where their mouths meet.

“I’m sorry,” Lando says when they finally part for a second. He presses another long kiss to Oscar’s lips. “For, like… lots of things. But mainly this, right now. Can’t sleep without you.”

Oscar chases his lips once, twice, then breathes in for a four-count, out for a four-count. Lando wrinkles his nose against the puff of Oscar’s breath against his face.

“Can’t either,” Oscar settles on, scritching his nails through the back of Lando’s hair just to watch his eyes go half-lidded with the feel of it. He knows Lando. He’s known Lando. “Thank you for coming. I’m happy you’re here.”

They’re both bleary-eyed, on the cusp of 24 straight hours of holding their eyes open and deciding how they’re allowed to look at one another, but Lando’s gaze starts edging towards the sharp, mischievous place that makes Oscar’s heart beat slightly out of rhythm.

“You know what else you are?” Lando asks, and he’s back to placing wet kisses down Oscar’s neck, hints of tongue every other, like he can sense when Oscar’s thoughts are starting to get coherent again.

Oscar tips his chin up, helpless, “What’s that?”

Lando takes his time dragging his lips back up, up to meet Oscar’s own.

“A race winner,” he whispers low against Oscar’s mouth, and his next kiss is deeper, dirty. His fingers dip low on Oscar’s hip and Oscar wants to, he does, but he can’t help the yawn that hits him as Lando’s lips trace back down his jaw.

Lando laughs into his throat about that. He presses a trio of closed-mouth kisses across Oscar’s shoulder, down to his clavicle, then noses back up and kisses him on the chin.

“Sleepy one?” Lando’s eyes are sparkling in the almost-darkness.

“Mm,” Oscar agrees, only a little mournful. “In the morning?”

“It is the morning,” Lando says, smirk on his face.

Oscar shoves at Lando’s chest, rolls his eyes, because who’s fault is that?

“In the afternoon, then, unless you’re going to be annoying about that too.”

Lando’s gaze goes soft again and he shakes his head a little. He kisses Oscar once more before settling back against his chest, like he can’t help it. Oscar knows the feeling.

They’re both quiet long enough that Oscar’s convinced Lando’s fallen asleep, but just as he’s about to follow, Lando’s knuckles drag up his belly and knock against his chest: “Oscar?”

His accent’s thicker when he’s drowsy. Oscar loves the way it sounds around his name. He brushes his lips across Lando’s forehead and squeezes his hip, “Hm?”

“Love you,” Lando says.

“You too,” Oscar says back.

The Monaco sun keeps rising, but they both sleep deeply, content.

[justrainandcoffee]

Sinners (James Delaney x fem!oc) II

Masterlist - Part I

Summary: Agnes and James finally see each other after all those years apart. || Agnes can't leave her thoughts about Zilpha behind her and plan something to see her. || James starts to think that the truth behind Inés' new identity is bigger than he believed at the beginning.

Warnings: Manipulation. || Catholic themes.||

Words: 2.2k.

1813

“In nómine Patris et Fílī et Spíritus Sancti…”

Two days of fasting was what Agnes did after she saw James Delaney. Just water and praying. God listened to her in the past and she was sure he was willing to do it again. Her soul, after all, belonged to him.

It was well known that some nuns and priests whipped themselves because it was a way to clean the soul through the pain, but she didn't do that. Not this time.

She looked through the window and watched the city. It was raining, it was humid and it was also cold.

How she could forget that face? His face was the one to blame for all the things that happened. Him but also her own stupidity.

.

"What do you know about Inés Serra?"

Brace saw the younger man scrutinizing the rooms. Whatever happened to him in Africa, the man in front of him wasn't the boy he knew. Physically he was there, his eyes were there looking at everything but James' mind wasn't.

"I don't know, never heard of her again. Last time I knew something was when her father died at least a year and a half after you left. Yours, wanted to give her a place in this house but the girl rejected the offer. She was so young to be alone. Maybe she died."

"No, no, she didn't. She's a nun."

Brace nodded "probably that was the best choice. Young women almost always end in the streets as whores, she did a right choice."

James just hummed. "Did she stay here after I left?"

"No. Both of you left almost at the same time, maybe "just months of difference. That man, Serra, became an alcoholic after the girl left. A good man but his last years alive, he was violent. Your father didn't have the heart to kick him out of his company, not after the years of service, but he should have. One day, a boy found him dead in his bed."

"You didn't see her?"

"No. Your father told me she was in the funeral and then left after refusing his offer to stay here."

"Mmh."

"I always thought that girl was in love with you. You were almost the same age and she was always looking for you."

"Yes, she was and it was good that she left in time. I need to go, Brace, see you later."

.

Ten years passed since he left the country and in many aspects everything was the same, but in many others, not. When he left England he was a boy, barely a man. He didn't understand the world the same way he did it now and that caused him to make mistakes. And Inés Serra was one of those mistakes. He asked himself if he could do that again knowing the damage he caused. Probably not, but that didn't mean he couldn't be willing to try.

She, for sure, was pretty. He liked the colour of her skin eternally kissed by the sun and her brown eyes that in summer days seemed to be the same colour as the honey. Inés was pretty, that was a fact that he as a young boy couldn't deny. The problem was that his feelings towards her weren't strong enough to be considered love. Love was another thing. It was a feeling that only one person received from him in his life. Forbidden as it was.

His white horse was waiting for him and he mounted on him to return to St. Bartholomew's hospital. If the circumstances had been different, then he couldn't waste his time on her, and could have left the young woman alone. But he did need to talk to her.

"I'm looking for Inés Serra," he said to one of the nuns outside the hospital. "She's a sister like you. I want to thank her for taking care if my old mother," James lied.

"There's no sister named Inés Serra here, sir. But if she's new maybe I don't know her, ask the Sister over there. Her name is Agnes, she has been working here for almost a decade. She knew almost everyone here."

The nun pointed at Agnes herself who was looking at him. That moment she was helping a little kid but left him with another one and turned around to go to the small church there.

She saw him.

James thanked the old woman and walked after Inés. Or Agnes. Why did she changed her name?

The church was silent except for the sound of the raindrops knocking on the stained glass windows. The smell of candles was mixed with the humidity outside and Agnes felt the vitiated air in her lungs.

In her mind.

She began to pray again. God needed to listen to her.

“In nómine Patris et Fílī et Spíritus Sancti…”

But he wasn't to listen to her prayers. Maybe because he was busy, maybe because she didn't deserve to be listened to.

Heavy footsteps broke the silence inside the sacred place and she knew who the person was.

Agnes saw a shadow behind her and the sound of coins falling in the moneybox the church had.

"I thought you were dead," she spoke looking at the dark tiles. The first words in ten years she said to him.

"I am, Inés."

"Inés is also dead."

"That's what I imagined."

"It seems this is a meeting for the dead, then."

"What better place to reunite two souls than a church?" James took off his hat and put it besides him. "Long time, sister Agnes."

"What do you want, James?"

"I'm looking for forgiveness."

"Father John will be here at five. He can pray for your soul."

"No, I don't want that kind of forgiveness and you know what I'm talking about."

"Then forgiveness is what you have, James. Long time ago, right? Everything is forgotten."

"Is that so?" James could sense some anger in her voice. Resentful, maybe.

"I'm a woman of God. I learnt to forgive."

James nodded. "Okay, then. Everything is forgotten."

The smell of candles in the church, was now the smell of fish and rum behind that cantina. The sound of the raindrops was now the mumbling of the people passing by while they were fucking there. Agnes shook her head.

"I heard your father died. I'm sorry. I have nothing but gratitude words for him because he helped my father, my brother and me when we had nothing. I hope his soul can find peace in Heaven."

"My father isn't in Heaven. He wasn't the man you think he was, Agnes."

Neither of us is destined to be in Heaven, thought Agnes but remained quiet.

"He was the cause my mother died. But I'm trying to fix the things."

"You can't bring back dead people."

"You're wrong. Not bring them back in a way that you and I are alive, but you can. They talk to you if you know how."

"That's against God's rules."

"So is lying, Agnes. And you're fucking lying to me," James put his hat on again. She lifted her head to look at him. "You can find me in my old house. I have an use for you." He stood up and walked towards the door but before he can leave he heard her once more.

"Are you still seeing your damn sister?"

"Are you sure everything is forgotten, Agnes?" he asked crossing the door.

He was still seeing her and Agnes had no doubt about it. It wasn't Delaney Sr. who should have died but his daughter. Agnes could stop her own thoughts but didn't regret it either. Sinners should die.

.

The good thing about being a nun was that usually people was willing to help them. They were one of the closest things they had to be next to God and most of nuns had a gentle soul. Why, then, anyone could distrust one of God's most loved servants? Agnes knew that and took advantage of it. And when she asked for information that was what she got.

Zilpha Delaney lived in a beautiful house and wore the surname Geary now.

Slim and mysterious as ever that was what Agnes thought when she finally saw her crossing the enter of her house. She was still wearing black, probably mourning the death of her father. Next to her was a tall gentleman, no doubts that was Mr. Geary.

Zilpha Delaney was even lucky to get a husband, a nice house and now she also had her brother back and still in love with her. All those feelings that Agnes believed were behind her reappeared, but now the one carrying them was an adult woman and not a naïve young girl.

She walked towards the Geary manor when he was sure enough that the couple was already settled inside and then knocked on the door.

A young maid, opened the door and greeted her with a smile that Agnes correspond.

"I'm looking for donations for poor children," she said. "Is the man of the house here?"

"Mr. Geary just arrived, Sister. But I don't know if he's interested in this. But please, come in, and I'll call him."

"You're really nice, darling. God bless you."

The inside of the house as pretty as Agnes believed. Only one of those paintings or sculptures could feed a whole school for years, she thought.

Mr. Geary didn't make her wait for that long and before she could realise, the man was standing before her. He didn't seem to be a smart one, probably inherited his money from his own father and his marriage helped him to built the rest.

Yet, he was exactly who she wanted to see.

"Thanks for wasting your time in our cause, sir."

"We don't make donations to charity. You understand that if we help one, we need to help all."

"They're just kids. Orphans. I want to believe that good people still exist."

"My father-in-law just passed away," he said "we're not in conditions to waste our money in bastards, with all respect."

Fucking asshole.

"It's okay. I'm sorry for wasting your time, sir. Are you married? I'd like to add your name and your wife's name to my prayers, maybe god can illuminate your hearts."

Just say it, she thought. And Geary replied exactly how she wanted to.

"Zilpha." Agnes repeated "That's an uncommon name. Zilpha Delaney? I heard of her when I was little. Same as her brother, James. I know he died long ago, I'm sorry, she lost everything she loved in her life."

"James Delaney is alive," Geary said and couldn't hide his hatred.

"Really? Are you sure? In that case, I'll pray for him too. Thanks for your time, Mr. Geary."

But the man stopped her. "What do you know about James Delaney?"

"Very few things. I had a friend who lived in a house that not longer exist next to the Delaney's one. All I know is because of her. And she's dead now, so…"

"What did she tell you?"

"Mr. Geary. In this world exist something worse that greed. Things that are better to keep it in the dark."

"Like what? Murder?"

"Murder is not a secret for humanity, Mr. Geary. It's also unforgivable but very frequent. Others…" Agnes looked down. "Better don't ask. May God help the soul of your wife, Mr. Geary, because I can't. Goodbye."

Agnes' heart was racing when she left the house. If she managed to implant a doubt in Geary's head, then for now it was enough.

Those thoughts that caused the death of Inés and her ulterior reborn as Agnes, invaded her soul and this time there wasn't any salvation.

Agnes didn't care. Envy wasn't a strong word to describe her feelings towards Zilpha. She hated her and was determined to destroy her perfect world forever.

.

James wasn't sleeping, he never really slept. But he was thinking in bed. 10 years. Math was a perfect science.

But inside him, he knew it. That kid, Robert… he wasn't product of his father and a whore. His father couldn't care less if a whore got pregnant of his bastard. But Horace Delaney could care if his reputation was in trouble.

Robert was James' son. And the only two girls he fucked were his sister and Inés.

Why, why did Inés change her identity? Girls all the time ended with a broken heart but not because of that they hide from the world and pretend to be a new person. They didn't kill themselves figuratively speaking.

And why his father offered her a place in the Delaney's house after her father died? He had no obligation. She was no one but the daughter of his friend.

Unless she was also the mother of his grandson.

[ftm-megamind]

a little late in my timezone but. happy javid thursday . i haven't written anything newsies in so long

david can't sleep tonight.

not exactly because he can't fall asleep, or has trouble doing so, but more because of the fact that he's waiting on something. and he hates when someone's late. his eyelids are getting heavier and heavier by the minute, and he's had a very stressful day, both at school and after it, and really, why is jack always late even though he's the one who picks the meeting time?

before david can dwell on it too long, he hears two knocks on his window, a pause between them. he sits up, slowly, so as not to make the bed boards creak and wake his siblings. he slips out of bed, checks just in case if les hasn't decided to follow him again, and then slowly approaches the window.

he's greeted by jack, though they don't exchange a single word, only nodding to one another. not the time for pleasantries. jack steps aside, offering david a hand, and helps him up. david closes the window, shoving a little wooden block inbetween it and the windowsill, so as not to lock himself out.

the two boys quickly make their way up to the rooftop, and david looks around the entire time, admiring how lively new york is, livelier than other cities at night, certainly.

when they settle on the rooftop, on one of david's old, rugged blankets, jack takes out a little glass bottle out of his pant pocket. he unscrews it and offers a swig to david, who contemplates taking the offer. after some thought, though, he decides that it's better not to. after all, what if his parents decide to check in on him later and smell alcohol on him? that would not be good. jack decides against it, too--drinking alone isn't any fun. he does light a cigarette, though.

after a while of sitting in silence, both looking at the stars, jack finally speaks.

"say, dave," he begins, taking a long drag of his cigarette, "if you could go to any place on earth, where would you go?"

david ponders for a moment. "home, i think," he mutters, smiling to himself. "old home, i mean. poland. warsaw."

jack hums, his gaze fixed on david.

"well, what was it like? i'm tryna start a conversation here."

david is quiet for another second. "i don't remember much. i was still little when we left. warsaw was big, and i thought that no city could really get any bigger, so when i came to new york, i was a little overwhelmed," he shrugs. "other than that... it felt nice to use polish outside of home. i really miss visiting my grandparents. they had a little cottage at a small town nearby. we would go at least once a month and go foraging. grandma taught me and sarah a lot."

jack listens, not daring to interrupt. he is in awe of how there's so much wonder and sadness simultaneously in david's eyes and voice.

"that's about it, i guess. it's not like it was perfect," david admits, omitting details so as not to ruin the mood. "that's why we left, after all. papa figured it was safer here."

jack doesn't pry. judging from david's facial expression, it's better not to. maybe he'll tell him one day.

"anyway," david carries on, looking to his side, at jack, relaxing once again. "what about you?"

jack snorts. "c'mon, you know what i'm gonna say. it's far too obvious."

david snickers too, and shoves jack gently with his shoulder. "yeah, obviously it's santa fe, but say some more. like, what exactly you would wanna do there."

"y'know, typical cowboy stuff... i guess i'd find myself a gang and we'd find a nice hideout for ourselves, we'd shoot and rob the bad guys, run from the law... oh, i'd have a trusty horsey as well, 'course," jack lists off the top of his head, as if he's gone over the scenario a thousand times. which he most likely has.

david smiles at jack's boyish descriptions, and then takes a wager. "kinda sounds like you have all that. except for shooting and a horse, but that's still not that far off."

jack huffs loudly, nodding, a solemn smile on his face. "yeah." truth be told, he's been aware of this for a while now. he's kind of grown out of santa fe since the strike has ended, and he doesn't really mind it. not that he doesn't love fantasizing about it still, it's just more like a go-to daydream whenever he has trouble falling asleep. it's funny how long it took him to understand he doesn't need to run away to feel like he has a home. "yeah, i know. partly thanks to you, dave," he admits, shoving david back, far too embarrassed to actually look at him. seldom does he say such cheesy things.

"d'aww," david mocks, in reality his heart skipping a beat and sudden warmth spreading over his chest. "c'mere, you sappy cowboy," he ushers, wrapping his arms around jack and bringing him closer, holding him too tight to consider the embrace a friendly hug. thankfully, jack hugs back, enjoying the warmth and security of the embrace. yeah, this probably beats having a horse of your own and shooting people.

[k1ngdom-of-thieves]

Can I get a headcanon of the Pomefiore trio as vampires and Riddle as a Ghost Groom falling in love with y/n please? Gender neutral please and thank you!

I’m just gonna assume that the reader is human for this

Vampire!Pomefiore Trio and Ghost Groom!Riddle + falling in love with reader!

Vil Schoenhiet

Vil rarely goes out into the towns, there’s too many people and he would most definitely be noticed by someone. It’s fairly difficult being a famous vampire, either people flock to try to see you or people come for him with pitchforks and torches like it’s still the 18th century.

That doesn’t stop him from coming in from time to time. Which led to him bumping into you while you were taking care of a last minute errand.

At first, he was intrigued as to why you didn’t run away in fear when you saw who was in front of you. And when you looked directly into his eyes, he only grew more interested in learning more about you.

He started to come to the town more, and strangely enough he started to see you around more as well. Although his mind told him that you just happened to have a couple of errands to run, his heart hoped that you truly did want to see him.

“Oh hello there, I was hoping to run into you again. Would you allow me to walk with you to your next errand? I would love to talk with you a little more.”

Rook Hunt

Rook has always been one to watch and observe than immediately get involved right away. So when you catch his eye on a stormy night, he intended to do just that.

What he didn’t intend was for you to realize he was “observing” being a creep and started to ask him questions. Rook is a lot of things, but he isn’t a liar, he outright tells you that he’s a vampire when you ask.

He’ll be more surprised if you don’t run away screaming profanities and curses at him. Delighted, but still very surprised.

He’d love it if you’d walk with him during the nights, he rarely gets to speak with people other than vampires. He loves hearing what you think of life in the daylight.

“Oh mon ami, I adore it when you speak your mind! Please allow me to be in your presence once again soon.”

Epel Felmier

Epel never saw that many humans from where he lived. They often told stories of a “haunted farm” where the animals were fed and crops were grown without a person watching them.

These stories of course, were just ways to keep people from going to the Felmier farm. There was, as always, people who tried to get in for one reason or another.

One of those people was you. Usually Epel would just “take care” of any intruders but he was told to “have some more dignity and self-respect” by one of the older vampires so he’s been forced to trying to do that.

When he came up to try and scare you off, he noticed that you didn’t run or scream in terror. Instead you asked why he was alone on a farm. You were also petting one of his horses but he chose to ignore that.

“Oh y’know…just running the farm by myself. I could let you look around some more if you’d like.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle never thought he’d be able to love again. You know, because of the whole “Being left at the altar and then forced to watch others get the happy ending that you’ve always wanted” thing.

That was until he saw you. He watched as you roamed the chapel that he is frequently spotted at.

He knew that he’d just be a creep to continue watching you without at least formally introducing himself. Unsurprisingly, you were terrified when he appeared a few feet beside you.

After that initial shock, you two became very well acquainted and the two of you started to see each other more often. Although he once detested the idea of falling in love again, he figures it won’t be so bad if it was with you.

“I haven’t felt this alive since- I can’t even remember when. I suppose it may have something to do with you.”

[valscigarette]

Summary: Val goes to the drugstore after a long night (drugstore!au)

Tags: Vox/Val, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced SA, Drugs

See AO3 or DM me for more detailed tags/warnings!

WC: 3.3k | AO3

-

Despite how the sun blinds Valentino at this cruel, early hour, he knows the walk to the drugstore by muscle memory. Two dozen steps down one block, cross the street, a right turn, eight more steps, and turn to the left so he can grasp the cool metal of the door handle, a hiss escaping him when it cracks the thin rug-burn scabs of his palm. This place needs automatic doors. Still, Val powers through the sting of pain to wrench the old, squeaky door open and enter the dim shelter his favorite drugstore provides. He’s pretty sure he’s more attached to the morning cashier than the store itself by now. Something about that box-headed prude makes Val feel like a million bucks,  no matter how many insults they trade back and forth. 

“Oh, fuck, Val!”

He hears the sinner in question before his eyes adjust, and chitters as he stumbles toward the counter. “I don’t think they pay you enough for that,” he drawls. With a few rapid blinks, Vox’s blue screen comes into fuzzy focus, his concern twisting a slashed frown across his face. “You get a raise, Papi?”

“Cut it out,” Vox retorts, none of the usual bite in his static voice. His eyes dance around his screen, taking in every detail of Val’s disheveled state, from the crook in his antenna, to the bruised necklace around his throat, to the cum trail ending at the broken strap of his pleasers. If Vox wanted to be mean, he has no shortage of material. “I told you,” he adds with a spark in the wires atop his head, “I’m not one of your fucking customers.” Vox suddenly turns on his heel and opens the pill cabinet, defaulting toward the slot of oxycontin. “The usual? Or something stronger?”

“You know me so well.” One of Val’s heels creaks ominously under him, prompting him to lean further into the counter before it snaps. “A double, Voxxy.” He squints at the shelves and asks, “You guys carry the good shit, right?”

Vox hesitates with two bottles balanced between his fingers. “What’re you thinking?”

“Special K.” Though Vox can’t see him, Val still bats his eyelashes. “Enough to knock out a horse. I don’t wanna move for a week.”

Another arc of electricity haloes Vox’s head, making Val’s fur stand on end and his wings twitch reflexively. The air always has a taste in Hell, and Vox’s static brings a dry, sharp flavor to the tip of his tongue, triggering more drool to fill his mouth and coat his lips– something he can’t discern as distinctly attraction or fear that Vox might hurt him. Val dismisses the latter. If Vox lays an unpaying hand on him, Val will regenerate and his boss will squeeze every last penny and pixel from the bastard for his trouble; on the other hand, if Vox ever coughs up a couple hundred bucks, he can have carte blanche.

“Yeah, you uh-” Vox clears his throat, “you look kinda rough.”

Somehow his words sting worse than a slap would. “Fuck you. You’re one to talk, you wear the same goddamn shirt everyday.” Val sucks in an inhale and gestures at Vox’s garish, ugly sweater vest to illustrate his point. “Are you a fucking cartoon character? At least I have taste-”

His scathing review of Vox’s fashion is cut short by his shoe breaking, prompting Valentino to lose his balance and crumple to the linoleum in a tangle of limbs that would hurt if he wasn’t already most of the way to stoned. No way Val would’ve made it to the store sober. As he catches his bearings, he hears Vox curse and jog around the counter, the fuzzy hum of his screen deafening when he kneels next to Val.

“You okay?”

“I’m great,” Val huffs, struggling to push himself up when his wings cover the ground around his body. “Just a broken heel.” 

He’ll have to work off the cost of it, probably through another night like last, but it's a problem for later Valentino, once his current injuries heal enough to take a fresh beating and his ego recovers enough to admit a fifth costume piece needs replacing in as many weeks. The cost is gonna come out of his drug money sooner rather than later. Val curses under his breath at the thought as he struggles with the fine buckles of his shoes. At least his only witness is Vox, too anxious and antisocial to fuel the rumor mill, and too enamored by Val’s attention to take advantage of an easy target. 

Vox is safe like that. 

“You need to clean up,” Vox says, holding out a claw-tipped hand to Val. In the months they’ve come to know each other, he’s recoiled from every touch, even incidental ones- never offered it. “There’s an emergency shower in the back, I use it sometimes when my water’s off.” He wiggles his fingers, impatient, until Val takes the support. 

“It doesn’t damage your,” Val waves one of his upper hands around Vox’s head, “whole thing?”

“You’ve seen me drink coffee. It’s not all mechanical,” Vox answers dryly. As he leads Val around the counter, he has to hold both of them up through Val’s stumbling and wincing in a display of more strength than his wiry frame suggests. Vox pulls him through the Staff Only door, down the hall, and into the bathroom lit by a single corded light bulb and inadequately perfumed by a urinal cake in the cracked toilet bowl. “Leave your clothes on the paper-towel dispenser so they don’t get wet,” Vox says, pointing toward the metal box jutting out above the sink. “You get ten seconds of water every time you pull the lever next to the shower, and it’s cold, but you can’t drip-” he stops, his face glitching with stripes of technicolor, before his voice returns in a whine of feedback, “fluids in my fucking store. It’s disgusting.”

Val rolls his eyes and tugs off his cropped hoodie. It sticks to the lashes in his back that have just started to scab over, but he tamps down a reaction as it pulls away from the welts. “Please. You’re into it, I can tell; wouldn’t be staring otherwise.” He tilts his head and hooks his thumb into the waistband of his skirt. “Hmm?”

One of Vox’s eyes flashes red for an instant before he schools his shock into a guarded expression and pointedly casts his gaze to the floor. 

“Don’t be shy. I’m not. Everyone’s seen it.”

“Val,” Vox snaps, falling short of intimidating and landing in the neighborhood of defensive. “I’ll be right outside, so I’ll hear if you fall.”

“Aww, such a gentleman,” Val coos, because he can never resist pressing Vox a step past the line. 

Rather than reacting, Vox lets himself out. For the first time in over twenty-four hours, Val is entirely alone, too close to sober for his comfort, and torn between amused by Vox’s care and annoyed at the delay in getting his fix. The former wins out. There’s something cute about Vox, clinging to a proper image like he doesn’t sell ecstasy for a living and get behind on his water bill, practically short-circuiting every time he’s tempted by the myriad sins at his doorstep. If Vox ever gets past his hangups, Val would happily introduce him to the messier pleasures of the afterlife. 

Reveling in the thought, Val peels off his skirt, fishnets, and gloves, then piles his clothes on the dispenser with his wallet atop the heap. Now to actually clean up. There’s not much he can do with only hand soap at his disposal, but he fills his bottom two hands with the pink stuff from the dispenser before positioning himself under the rusted shower head. He spares a moment to hope the water is clean. 

Thankfully it is, albeit ice cold, as it cascades over Val and cuts through the grime caked into his fur. Other than the obvious mess from a few creampies more than his body can reasonably accommodate, flakes of dried cum stick to other parts of him with errant smears of blood, sweat, and cigarette ash. All in all, Val’s had more disgusting nights. The thin soap doesn’t make him feel clean, but it washes the visible stains down the drain and rinses easily with each timed stream of water, leaving him to begrudgingly admit he feels better without a head-to-toe coat of dried jizz. The water doesn’t sting when he washes his injuries either, a miniscule comfort after all he endured to get them.

After his final rinse, he shakes off as much water as he can with a full body shiver, but finds the paper towel dispenser empty when he cranks its handle. He sighs.. Vox means well. It’s not his fault Val hates redressing without fully drying off. With effort, he negotiates his thigh-highs and miniskirt back into place. He pauses over the hoodie; it’ll stick to the cuts in his back again, and he doesn’t want to wash them a second time today, but Vox is liable to throw a fit about his indecency. Any other day it’d be a guarantee. This morning, though, his misplaced pity seems to erase their carefully defined boundaries.

Val tucks his hoodie under his arm and reemerges from the bathroom with his armor intact once more, despite his relative state of undress. True to his word, Vox leans against the opposite wall, his eyes darting from the front counter to Val when he appears, then away again with a minor glitch when he spots his bare chest. 

“Really?”

“My back’s fucked,” Val says simply, brushing past Vox. Feedback cries through his speakers, echoing in the enclosed space loud enough to make Val cringe upon seeing the state he’s been left in. Without a mirror to check the damage, Val can’t be sure how bad it is, but he could feel at least a dozen individual gashes when he washed. “I came here to get pills for it, remember? Earth to Vox?” He stops, turning to face Vox again when he doesn’t hear his footsteps following. Eight months have made Val an expert on the intricacies of digital expressions, but he can’t make heads or tails of the twitchy one on Vox’s screen now. “Are you short circuiting? Surely you’ve seen a man’s tits before today.”

The unreadable look falls off Vox’s face as he straightens up. “I have a first aid kit under the register; I’m not selling to you until I bandage those. Because they’re a biohazard.” He nods, as if to convince himself of the excuse. “No fluids in my store.” Recovered from his lapse in control, he ushers them out of the staff hallway. “And don’t show up like this again.”

He gently shoves Val onto the stool in front of the register, which Val only complies with because his muscles are too sore for it to be worth the fight. When Vox ducks to retrieve his first aid kit, the sharp corners of his screen press indents against Valentino’s calves, static from his screen and antennae teasing the lavender fur on end. One day Val’s going to see how that feels between his thighs.

“But you take such good care of me, Papi,” Val simpers.

“Here it is!”

Popping back up with the dusty kit in hand, Vox carries on like he didn’t hear the aside. He has a knack for spinning conversations, reality, to his whims with the skilled precision of a charlatan. One day, he’ll be important. Val knows it. And if he plays all his cards right, Val can climb the ladder with him as the pretty little mistress who cracked Vox’s repressed shell.

“You get off on this?” Vox asks, lifting an ancient roll of gauze. 

They’re clearly the first to make use of the kit, given how non-angelic wounds heal on their own, but with as many to attend to as Val has currently, it’ll take long enough for bandages to be sensible. Neither his flat nor the club are particularly clean, after all.

“I get paid.” That’s all that matters. Val reminds himself so every time he knocks on an ugly john’s motel room door. “Don’t get me wrong, Voxxy, I love a good pounding, a little fight-” he stutters when Vox begins pressing the first layer of gauze into the tender welts on his back, “but I’d rather bend those slimy fucks over and remind them they’re paying for the privilege to get their pathetic dicks anywhere near me.” Vox’s hands still and Val wishes he could see his face. “I like dancing, I like sex, and it keeps the drugs flowing. So if you're asking, yes, I get off on it.”

Vox considers this in silence. He winds the gauze around Val’s chest to secure it, masterfully avoiding contact with anything other than the inches of bandaging he pushes into place over the lashes, as he works his way down Val’s back. It aches, fiery and deep, every time the dull backs of his claws smooth the gauze, but the pain is far closer to the enjoyable sting of lactic acid after a vigorous fuck. By the third row down, he reaches the deep centers of the gashes, where his unwavering focus spikes from tolerable to white-hot, like a spark directly through Val's spine. 

He twitches away with a gasp. “Fuck.” It takes a conscious effort to keep his wings from draping in a protective curtain around his back. He expects Vox, his safe, predictable, loser, fucking drug clerk to freeze at the reaction, but Vox smooths the gauze again with a considering hum Val can only read as interest. “Ah, I see. Should I have come in all bloody sooner?” he teases. 

“This may come as a shock to you, but not everything is about sex,” Vox deadpans. 

When he presses the next layer down, Val groans in the back of his throat to antagonize him. He expects a snarky reprimand, perhaps a warning hum, but instead Vox suddenly digs the points of his claws into Val’s hip, far enough from the lashes to cause a distinct, fresh pain to flare at the contact.

“Yes it is,” Val counters, tilting his head back to look up at Vox’s flickering screen. “This holier-than-thou attitude’s holding you back, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Inches from the smooth, static glass, Val can’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss Vox: if his screen would be cold with death or warm with electricity, if his tongue would be wet like real flesh or ephemeral like the jolts between his antennae. With any other sinner, Val wouldn’t hesitate to find out, but he can’t risk it this time. Not with Vox. He’s spent too many months being a good boy and following Vox’s lead to screw it up with poor impulse control now.

“You’ve got something special, amor.” Val grins into the teal glow. “Sucking and fucking, it’s not for you- I get it.” Another deliberate drag of Vox’s claws makes him trill. “But you’ve got star written all over you.”

“Okay, I know you think it’s funny to call me a prude, but here’s the truth, Val.” While Vox’s voice isn’t any louder, its timbre drops deep enough to vibrate Valentino’s bones. “My unwillingness to risk Hell’s version of gonorrhea-”

“Regular gonorrhea,” Val interrupts.

“-doesn’t mean I’m celibate. You do know you’re a whore?” Vox laughs, a distorted, mean sound as he winds a second layer of gauze around Val’s torso. “I’ve got better options.”

Though Vox doesn’t tempt the injuries he’s presumably caring for again, his sharp claws repeatedly skim the spared skin of Val’s ribs and waist. “Not to insult drunk back-alley bowjobs,” Val chirps, ”but you’d be much less uptight if you got a decent fucking orgasm every once in a while.”

Finally, Vox finishes his wrapping, the brush of his hands dulled through layers of gauze as he knots the end in place. He lingers a moment too long; palm splayed between Val’s upper set of shoulder blades, standing close enough for Val to enjoy his body heat, calculating eyes darting over Val’s figure like he’s memorizing the scene. The attention is familiar, if not from him.

“As fun as this has been,” Vox says slowly, turning to pack the first aid kit away, “You’re lucky no one else has come in. So, two bottles of oxy, and how much ket?”

Val pulls his shirt on as he stands up. Frustration at the dismissal squeezes his heart, but he knows better than to expect anything else from Vox. “Five grams, powdered.” If the quantity surprises Vox, Val can't tell. “What do I owe you for it?”

“Two hundred,” Vox replies automatically, crossing behind Val to reach the tranquilizer section. He places the scale on the counter and begins to measure out Val’s ketamine with more dedication than a shithole drugstore deserves. “If your cut’s less than that after they tore you up, you’re more of an idiot than I thought.”

Val hums. “Don’t worry about me, Daddy makes plenty.”

More accurately, he makes enough to get so high, he can put up with his least favorite customers and his handsy sleazeball boss. He eats and lives free at the club, and the cash he sees from his work keeps him stocked, making it a decent gig– definitely beats retail work. He feels the edges of the bills in his wallet, guessing from the number that they’re in twenties rather than hundreds this time.

“How many twenties is that?” he inquires. 

“Ten.”

Val counts the bills, restarting a couple times to be sure, but a nagging feeling insists he tallied them up wrong. He frowns as he counts them again. “Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure I can do simple math,” Vox enunciates, like multiplication is simple to most sinners. “Oxy’s sixty a bottle, like always. Two bottles is one-twenty, and then eighty for the ket.”

“That’s it!” Val crumples the bills as he snaps his fingers on another hand. “Eighty for five grams sounds wrong. Mixing up prices isn’t like you, Papi, are you distracted?” It wouldn’t be shocking, after the morning they’ve had. “I don't want you to get in trouble. You’re lucky I’m an honest sinner.”

“Honest, ha!” With a couple more adjustments, Vox seals the five gram bag and returns the stock of ketamine to its shelf. “You’ve never been honest a day of your existence.” He comes back to the register to slide Val’s goodies into a logo’d paper bag and punch the details into the register. “No, it’s correct. Staff discount, for the…” Vox jerks his head toward Val’s discarded heels in the store lobby. “Inconvenience. Put the money toward a replacement pair.”

Discounts are part of life for Val, a given in the red-light district of the city where he’d be hard pressed to run into a shopkeep he hasn’t fucked yet, but this doesn’t feel like the typical quid-pro-quo. Since Val arrived, Vox has done him favor after favor. If it had just been the shower, or the bandages, or the discount, Val could write this off as a relic of Vox’s antiquated brand of masculinity, but for him to do all three without asking anything in return is a bear trap waiting to close.

“How sweet.” As Val hands his cash over, he dismisses the thought; Vox is too tame to demand anything Val wouldn’t give him cheap regardless. “You’re too good to me.”

Vox's customer service smile glitches. “It's my job, Val.”

“I know, but you always make me feel special.” Scooping up his shoes on the way out, Val allows his skirt to ride up, grinning smugly at the choked sound Vox makes. “Same time next week, mwah!”