#her eyes are meant to look more reptilian

[devil-doll13]

Dr. Wu ⚕️

Legal Name: Amanda Wu

Pronouns: She/They

Ethnicity: Chinese

Age: {CLASSIFIED}

D.O.B: {CLASSIFIED}

P.O.B: USA

Location: Sector 5

- Director of Project CHIMERA.

Link to Char Maker

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

[iceunhie]

— KISSES OR KISSES? : honkai star rail

premise. testing out your new lipstick is no fun (normally), so what better way to make use of it by kissing your lover senseless? not to mention, leaving a little something behind.... (aka, lipstick kisses with them.)

ft. blade, dan heng, boothill, dr. ratio, aventurine !

warnings: feminine reader! reader is ultimately genderless but you may interpret this as fem!reader if you want, reader wears lipstick. nicknames hehe, boothill is his own warning, mid writing tbh, unedited

a/n. the lipstick trend does not escape me at all 😞😞 but this consumed me so now i write about it ijbol

MAIN MASTERLIST || PART 2 (sunday, jing yuan, gallagher, sampo, gepard.)

“what are you doing?”

BLADE ceases all functions. like, immediately.

you'd think he'd even stopped breathing once he'd felt the soft sensation of your lips on his, and the pretty sight of the normally aloof stellaron hunter covered in multiple lipstick kisses all over his face to his neck nearly makes the rest of his other comrades keel over from laughter. his silence is indicative of his rather unusual state of shock, the only indication a menacing furrow of his brows (to an outsider, they'd think he's plotting a murder spree, but you know him too well for that) that twitch and simultaneously react the more you kiss him everywhere on the face.

silverwolf will then relay to you that blade walked around for nearly 5 system hours covered in your... marks of ownership, kafka helpfully supplies, and was only made aware when firefly accidentally bumped into him, face exploding in red when she saw the audacious sight of blade covered in your lipstick. “er, blade.... your face is...”

—

blade has never known mortification quite like today, but the intense feeling of something akin to shame is vivid as he stares at himself in the mirror, glaring.

his face is a mess, to put it simply. trailing a hand on the red stains your lips left on to him leaves him with a smudged countenance, furthering the utter chaos that is his kiss-ridden face.

“...ridiculous girl.” avoiding the uncharacteristic way his fingertips feel hot, blade reckons this is probably why firefly stopped dead in her tracks and gaped, stared, and flustered.

clever as you were, and with your equal penchant for mischief, blade, the ever unsuspecting lover he is (he doesn't normally allow anyone to touch him, but you're not just anyone) had easily become the target of your new tricks.

“pfft, nice get-up, old man. got yourself a good day?”

....so that's what silverwolf meant.

DANHENG immediately scolds you, but not in the serious way he normally does whenever stelle wants to eat an origami bird or dives into trashcans or when march accidentally destroys one of the archive books, but in a way that only dan heng ever shows you. he's red, painfully red, and is struggling to face you because he knows that the smug grin you're holding has to do with the sight he'd glimpsed himself to be in moments prior.

unfortunately for him, for all his ways of trying fervently to remove the lipstick stains plastered all over his face, it only took march one look and a melodramatic gasp before the entire express knew, the conductor included.

—

“dan heng and [name], sitting on a tree-”

“k-i-s-s-i-n-g~”

my friends are all senile, dan heng thinks, rolling his eyes while avoiding himeko's friendly (read: eerie) smile. and he's already given up on trying to meet welt's eyes. (read: concerned but not surprised)

the reason? the rouge tinted matte lipstick generously spread all over dan heng's face, slightly smudged and spanning from his cheeks to his lips, nearing his neck.

he'd never tell, but a part of him—one that was reptilian in nature, a primal need of possessiveness—adored the show of affection you showered upon him. it was only right—he was yours, and you were his.

welt is sheepish, coughing lightly that all five heads of the express members turn to him (pom-pom included) “dan heng, is that your tail wagging?”

“....”

“....”

“....”

(a resounding click! can be heard afrerwards. oh, dan heng is so going to steal march's camera.)

the loud whir of BOOTHILL’s cooling system can't even keep up with how fast he's overheating, because one thing led to another and one look you gave made him weak in the knees and now his body is covered in your kisses, scarlet against the metal gray of his limbs. he no longer has a heart, but the rapid feeling of heat emitted by his body speaks more about his current mental state in more ways than one—he can't even form words because his brain chip is practically glitching itself up into overdrive, because your lips were so warm, soft and gentle and—

“...oothill? boothill? your circuits are—”

a startling sound that sounds just like a mini explosion reverberates somewhere in the tangle of wires near boothill's power source.

oh dear.

( p.s: no warp trotters were harmed, rest assured )

“[name]...” AVENTURINE’s voice falters when you press a soft kiss near his forehead, your lover closing his eyes as he lets out a soft sigh of joy — a bit like a peacock preening... but in any case! he certainly sees no argument being swayed by you, his dignity in shambles, yes, but when you were showering him with affection like this (which, in all honesty, aventurine did not think he deserved) leaves in in a flushed and tattered mess of a man, whose strings are wholly puppeteered by you and you alone.

you are everything; and aventurine certainly can't get enough. (he doubts if enough will even be enough someday) he's the lover who'd proudly want to flaunt such salacious marks everywhere, though his craftily built reputation as a stoneheart—blood sweat and commodity code and all—leaves him to hide your marks on him, as much as he'd like them to stay. (you are a weakness that aventurine keeps like an oath, and an existence that he'd do anything to keep.)

that doesn't, however, stop him from getting you to leave a kiss near his collar, discreet enough to signal his status as irrevocably, undeniably yours.

DR. VERITAS RATIO is actually the most calm and most normal (read: boring) of all the men above when barraged by your kiss attack. letting out a tsk that's more chiding and speeachless than actually annoyed, he casually pulls you away from his face, nevermind his rapidly heating cheeks, which is only made more humorous given his lipstick stained face.

“stop that. you're making too much of a mess of me, fool.” <- is visibly leaning to your face to allow said actions. you're not fooling anyone here, doctor. smh.

however, he does get pretty flustered when a certain blond gambler notes the new addition of a ‘tattoo’ right near his lower lip. “wow, doctor. seems you woke up on the good side of the bed today.”

he spends a whole day scolding you hoarse afterwards, whatever that may entail ;).

(as a way of petty revenge, he will make sure to kiss you senseless right after, until he's sure his own lips are swollen and covered in the warm red of your chosen shade.)

a/n: blog is running on queue as of today, so this post will probably come wayyy overdue lol but hope u enjoy nonetheless!

@ ICEUNHIE: do not repost translate or plagiarize my works.

[laurasimonsdaughter]

@lostmidnightwriter tagged me in this prompt...

The young man stood gazing upward and waited, increasingly nervous as time went on. The giant, reptilian face seemed somewhat bemused, which was a worrying expression on a dragon.

"You have not come to slay me and save the princess?" the voice boomed.

"No, Your Dragoness, honest!" he called back. "I would like to stay here if I may!"

The dragon did not spread her wings again but crawled partway down the castle wall towards him, curved claws digging painfully into the hewn stone. A large, ruby eye peered down at him. "I am no dragoness, we are all Dragon."

He swallowed. "I meant as in, You Highness."

"Ah!" To his amazement the scaly maw curved into a smile. "That is most appropriate, I am the noblest of beasts." The dragon tilted her head to examine him closer. "Who are you? And why have you no sword or steed?"

"Well," he said uneasily. "The king's already sent six noble knights to free his daughter and I'm the youngest of three over at the nearby mill, so it's only a matter of time before they'll expect me to go and succeed and be married to her."

The dragon nodded approvingly. "Very traditional, one must admit, only I do not intend to be defeated with either bravery or trickery, so you see you have come in vain."

"No!" he pleaded. "I don't want to defeat you, or get married, but I'll never hear the end of it if I don't go, so maybe I could stay here instead?"

"Stay with me?"

"Well, you do have a beautiful isolated castle far away from everyone and a princess for company... That sounds pretty nice." He looked up at her hopefully. "Surely you could use some help around here? I'm no nobleman, I know how to work. I won't be anyone's servant, even to someone as pretty as the princess, but I can help out."

The dragon considered this for a long, thoughtful moment. "She is a very good princess," she said after a while. "Loves flying, sings very beautifully, knows exactly how to scratch behind one's horns."

"She certainly sounds more talented than the average princess, ma'am."

"Why of course, she is my princess, after all," the dragon said proudly. "But I must confess, she is a deplorable cook."

Ah, that explained the recent raids on some of the local farms.

The dragon came down from the castle wall with an elegant leap and sat down before him, her head slanted curiously. Strangely, she looked much less intimidating close up. "Can you cook?"

The miller's son smiled. "Do you and your princess like pasties?"

[ammoniteblue]

Not a Hero, Just an Author (p.1)

kenji sato x reader

Her latest novel a flop, Y/N is starting to worry she wasn’t meant to be an author. She’s 24, lives alone and most of her college friends are either married or in more traditional jobs. she feels like she’s being left behind. That is until a charming baseball player finds his way into her life and shows Y/N that it takes more than talent to be a star.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“-And we’re expecting light showers this afternoon with heights of 17 degrees celsius. So make sure to pack an umbrella. In other news, the Giants are about to welcome legendary Japanese baseb-“

The morning radio rambled quietly in your car, some light background music on your morning commute to work. Today you’d left too late, a delay caused by your alarm clock not going off on time, and now you were paying for it. The traffic jam was long. At this rate you were going to be late for work.

You sighed, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel impatiently. If you were even five minutes late your editor was going to kill you. this was a super important meeting, one Sana had been fighting for for months. It could make or break your career, taking you from a small time author to the real thing. An international bestseller. A book adapted into a screenplay. A movie. A show. World wide recognition. A dream come true.

You could feel that dream slipping away as the traffic in front of you crawled forwards.

There was a ding. Your phone. No doubt Sana asking about where the fuck you were. A cursory glance at your watch informed you had twenty minutes to get down town.

fuck.

Was your heart racing from the three cups of coffee you chugged this morning or the stress ?

Another ding. And then another. Oh my god.

It was wrong, perhaps even evil. something you’d never admit aloud. but a tiny part of your brain wished, just for a second, that a Kaiju would drop down from the sky and rid the streets of traffic.

A great scream tore through the air. It was unlike anything you’d ever heard before. Beyond animalistic. a noise only a monster could make. Horns began to blare ahead of you and as you strained your neck to look up you realised why.

“Be careful what you wish for…” You hissed to yourself, as a towering reptilian figure appeared ahead of you.

It was easily taller than the surrounding skyscrapers. The Kaiju resembled a lizard, a knock off version of Godzilla. It’s beady yellow eyes didn’t seem to blink and as the creature took a step the ground trembled. earthquake like ripples shook the earth, sending your cup of coffee teetering over in your car.

People had begun to panic. Pedestrians turned and ran in the opposite direction, not afraid of pushing each other out of the way. In your rear view mirror you watched as an office worker knocked an old lady over in his hurry. He didn’t bother to stop.

Now you’d never call yourself a hero. You weren’t particularly brave or even outgoing. Maybe that’s why you became an author. It was a great gig and one you got to do alone. So it came to a shock to you when you found yourself getting out of your car and rushing into the crowd.

People barrelled past you, mothers clinging to their children, workers evacuating buildings. even cats and dogs had taken to running for the hills. You did your best to push through them until you were there, standing over the old lady.

She was struggling to pick herself back up, her cane discarded to the side. Quickly, you grabbed it and with your free hand helped her up to her feet.

“Thank you my dear, you shouldn’t be putting yourself in danger.” She said her voice wobbling a little.

A quick glance down informed you that she’d been hurt. blood was trickling down her left leg. she needed medical attention.

“It’s okay, we need to find you hel-“ You began to say only to be interrupted by a thundering roar.

A ray of purple light shot only metres past you both. It hit a row of cars near you, each one vaporising into nothing but debris and ash. From where you were huddled you could feel the heat radiating off of it.

The old lady let out a scared scream and as you glanced up you realised why. The Kaiju’s snakelike eyes were trained exactly on you. You blinked as your body suddenly went numb. It was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. To be under the glare of a creature so big, so terrifying. A primal instinct in you told you to run. to leave the old lady and turn and save yourself. But you didn’t. You stayed. Whether that was out of nobility or fear you didn’t know.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not when in mere moments you would be dead. reduced to nothing but ash on the sidewalk. No big meeting, no movie deal. You’d die a small time author no one has ever heard of. Your parents. What would they think ? their only child dead. They wouldn’t even get to say goodbye.

goodbye mum. goodbye dad. I’m sorry.

There was nothing you could do but try to shield the old woman as the Kaiju opened its mouth and roared. There was a great flash of purple and heat. heat unlike anything you’d ever felt. and then nothing.

Moments passed and you realised you weren’t dead. Neither of you were. The attack hadn’t come. But how ?

A feeble glance informed you how.

Stood only mere feet away from you, shining in silver and red was Ultraman himself. The city’s hero returned after months of absence. He was here. He was back. He saved you.

“Ultraman.” You breathed, staring in wonder up at him as he used a shield to divert the attack.

It was almost beautiful. the way the purple ray clashed with the blueish shield creating a symphony of light and colour.

The attack stopped and his shield dropped. Before the Kaiju could move, he raced forwards and tackled the beast into the ground. the impact sent tremors through the earth, one’s that almost sent you and the old lady toppling over.

“Quickly, let’s find shelter.” You slung her arm over you and used this diversion to try and drag you both to safety.

Soon after the KDF arrived, and emergency services. A paramedic saw to the old lady, Mrs Tanaka, who repeated endless apologies to you. She held your hand in hers and said:

“my dear you saved my life. i can never repay you. i am forever in your debt.”

Then as you started to cry, overwhelmed by stress and sheer relief at still being alive, she brought you into a hug. it was warm and homey. it felt like you were a kid again. like everything would be alright.

When you did finally turn up at your editors, six hours late and covered in scratches and blood, some yours and some Mrs. Tanaka’s, Sana flung herself into your arms. Your boss bitch editor, the self proclaimed Ice Queen of publishing, bawled in your arms like a homesick baby. The meeting was pushed back till you felt better and she demanded you take a few days to rest and de stress.

By the time you got home you were a shaking mess of nerves, trauma and exhaustion. if not for the blood and dirt you would’ve flung yourself on your bed and promptly passed out. But a shower was sorely needed and after the shower you realised how hungry you were. Saving an old lady’s life hadn’t left a lot of time for lunch.

There was a ramen shop below your apartment. a nice cosy spot run by a sweet old man who’d gone out of his way to actually read your book, after you’d finally told him you were an author. you’d been a regular there since you moved into your apartment a year ago. A nice warm bowl of ramen might just be the thing you needed.

In sweats and glasses you padded out of your apartment and down the stairs.

It was only nine thirty and the streets of tokyo were very much alive. People shuffled up and down the streets. groups of giggling university students, no doubt on their way to a bar or club. Oh to be young. Office workers were only just now leaving work, slumping down the streets like zombies. Their briefcases hanging limply in hand.

You shuffled into Mr Ozami’s ramen shop to be greeted with the savoury smell of veggies and meat. It was fairly quiet, a lull between the dinner crowd and night walkers. The booth in the back, your favourite spot, was free. Mr. Ozami didn’t even give you a menu, he nodded from behind the counter and went to whip up your usual.

It was nice. the pair of you exchanged barely any words but had somehow forged an unlikely friendship. right now it was just what you needed. quiet company and a warm meal.

Prompt as always, Mr. Ozami slid a bowl in front of you, popping a pair of chopsticks down. He nodded again and like that returned to his spot behind the counter. He knew you’d leave the exact amount of change for the meal after. Never a tip. you’d tried the first time you came and he’d immediately handed it back.

It was perfect. down to the last minute detail. Warm broth flowed into your stomach and slowly your nerves began to fade. an ease settled over you. tonight you’d sleep well. despite the absolutely harrowing day, you’d sleep well.

Or so you thought, until a stranger walked into the shop.

at first you didn’t notice. your whole face was almost in your bowl of ramen, too fixated on slurping noodles to realise someone else was in the shop. Maybe that’s why you were so startled to notice a guy standing by the counter, examining a menu in hand. Or maybe it was because the longer you stared the more you realised he looked familiar.

Too familiar.

And that’s when it hit you.

Tall, lean and dark haired. the man in front of you was Kenji Sato. New addition to the Giants and legendary baseball player.

Holy shit.

He looked up not giving you any time to wipe the broth off of for your face. a noodle hung limply from your mouth. for the second time today you were shocked still. The moments of eye contact were unbearable. His eyes flickered over you and you could see in his mind he was weighing you up.

Of all the days to be wearing sweats and slippers.

Thankfully he must’ve registered you as disgusting because he glanced away and back at the menu. With his eyes off you, you were free to slurp the noodle up and wipe the broth from your mouth, while trying to ignore the gentle stab in your gut.

Of course a superstar like Kenji Sato wouldn’t find you attractive. He wasn’t just a stupidly talented athlete, he was also good looking enough to be a model. in fact he did model. you’d seen the giant billboards with his face on, the flying blimps with him eating food or drinking something. not to mention in one fashion magazine there’d been this pic of him half naked with fake tattoos a-

No that was enough. stop it. today had been hard enough and you came here to relax. this person, because at the end of the day Kenji Sato was a person just like you, would not ruin that for you. You needed to sleep tonight. You needed to stay calm.

“Hey I saw you staring so i thought you might want this.” And there goes staying calm.

Kenji Sato was stood in front of your booth, looking like sin itself in his varsity jacket and sunglasses, holding out a signed baseball card to you.

For the third fucking time you froze. seriously it was becoming a problem. clearly you could only take action when it came to saving little old ladies. but anything else ?? nope not happening.

“Here then, i’ll just leave it on your table.” He half chuckled, sliding the card next to your bowl.

It wasn’t till he turned away that your brain finally started to work and your stupid mouth opened.

“O-oh uh thanks. that’s very nice of you but maybe you should save it for someone else ?” oh my god. what the hell were you saying.

Kenji paused and half turned to face you. one of his eyebrows was raised.

“It’s just,” you quickly tried to save yourself, “i’m not the biggest baseball fan and there’s probably a fan out there who’s really like it.”

nope yep you made it worse. why were you telling like the best player in japan, maybe the whole world, that you didn’t like his sport ?? Did you hit your head today and just forget ? It had to be the exhaustion talking, it had to be.

Amazingly, Kenji didn’t balk at your words. Rather the corners of his mouth twisted into an amused smile. He considered you for a moment and maybe he would’ve said something in response, if Mr. Ozami hadn’t come over with a take out box.

“Here.” He said plainly, handing the box to Kenji.

Kenji took it with a thank you, maybe a little perplexed at Mr. Ozami’s blunt way of speaking. he had been in the states almost his whole life. They probably did things differently over there.

“So um yeah…here you go ?” you held the card out to him, trying not to blush in embarrassment at your awkwardness.

everything that had come out of your mouth since he walked in felt stupid. it was like you were a completely different person. Why were you acting like this ?

Kenji glanced between you and the card. His amused smile never faded.

“You know what,” he grinned, “keep it. might just make a baseball fan out of you yet.”

He gave you one last look and it took everything in you to not turn bright red under his gaze, before turning and walking out of the shop.

It wasn’t till many minutes later that you glanced away from the doorway where he’d disappeared through. The card in your hands was shiny, a small laminated rectangle.

There he was, bat in hand, dark eyes shining, a self assured smile on his face. at the bottom was his signature scribbled in dark ink.

you flipped it over, expecting to find nothing but a blank white space. what you saw sent your heart into a cacophony of thumps. the blush you’d been holding back spilled over. every part of you felt red and hot and horribly unnerved.

scrawled across it in lazy handwriting were the digits:

+81 3 1234-5678

Kenji Sato’s phone number…..

[scoobyrooster1]

She's Mine [Part 3]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: As Qimir’s newly sworn acolyte, you were supposed to be learning the ways of your master, far from prying eyes. But in a desperate attempt to escape the Jedi and Republic Space, you find yourself entangled in the dangerous mission of a mercenary crew. A hyperdrive malfunction forces the crew to land on a remote planet for repairs, leaving you stuck in the middle of a perilous scramble. With time running out and the mission to Canto Bight hanging in the balance, your loyalties—and your survival—are about to be tested like never before. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence, trigger warning!sexual harassment, very protective Qimir Notes: This is a slow burn story between you and Qimir. I've been researching high republic history and I'm really excited for the next chapters!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine Masterlist

She's Mine [Intro] 

She's Mine [Part 1] 

She's Mine [Part 2] 

She's Mine [Part 2.2]

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

To your surprise, the ship actually made it to the small green planet in one piece. The journey had taken far longer than usual without the hyperdrive, but you were just grateful that the systems needed to fly the damn thing were still online. Otherwise, you'd have been left drifting in space, dead stick and helpless.

All of this meant more time in republic space with an item that people would kill for.

Great.

Looking to distract yourself from the unsettling dream that had left an insatiable itch in the back of your brain, you'd jumped into the engine compartment. The walls were lined with a maze of conduits and cables, all neatly bundled but seemingly endless, carrying power and data to every part of the ship. Scanning the machinery around you, all the correct lights were on and flashing. You flipped a few switches, listening to the ship’s steady hum in response. Your eyes fell to the compensator gauge... right there. You loosened a few bolts and opened the compartment, removing a singed piece. Shit. It was fried.

"Its the inertial dampener." You yelled up. "We're lucky we weren't blown half way to hell."

It was true. You all were very lucky.

Ians eyebrows plucked up.

You continued. "If we don't replace this servo." You waved the piece in the air. "Then it'll be our last hyperspace jump ever."

"Whatsssss a ssservo?" Kiro inquired.

"A servomotor?...its a part of the stabilizer... the stabilizer controls temporal displacement."

Kiro only stared at you. Nothing occurring in those reptilian eyes.

"The stabilizer is built into the dampener and turns the time it would normally take us to travel from point A to point B into what seems like an instant to us."

Still more silence. Shaun and Kiro just looked at eachother.

"So, what exactly do you two do again?" You questioned.

Ian practically burst out laughing. Kiro and Shaun exchanged amused glances.

"Kiro here," Ian began, "is my muscle. He goes where I go. And well, Shaun keeps an eye from above."

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to process the words. "Right... So you two were what—knitting while I was getting my ass beat by a Twi'lek?"

Ian’s face turned a violent shade of purple, laughing even harder. He wiped tears from his eyes, finally catching his breath and returning to grabbing his small satchel. "Thanks to them, the other thugs were intercepted."

"Other thugs?" you mumbled, confused.

Ian nodded, still chuckling. "Rod noted the guy that walked up to you, and there were others. We took care of it. Well, minus the Twi'lek... she actually knew what she was doing."

"And you forgot to mention all this?" you asked, sarcasm thick in your voice.

"Hey, it didn’t seem pertinent at the time..., we’d all had one hell of a day."

"Right," you said dryly, giving him a hard look.

Ian just blinked and continued gathering his things. "So you know your way around a starship... luckily I know a guy who might have what we need just a few clicks from here. Kiro lets go."

"An inertial dampener isn't an easy fix."

"I know sweetheart... thats why were here."

"Where are you gonna find another servomotor."

You were met with silence and the opening of blast doors. Not paying you anymore mind, Ian treaded down, Kiro and Shaun trailing behind him.

You only sighed leaning against the circuits. Contemplating your next move. You had left your master errily sleeping on his cot. He was most likely still down and you would do anything to avoid any conversation... especially after that dream.

You hoisted yourself up and out of the engine compartment.

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

Ian eyes tracked you wandering behind them.

"You tagging along or something?"

You looked in the general direction of the ship. You almost expected Qimir to be there standing on the ramp. You could swear you sensed his presence or at least his shadow.

"I need some fresh air. And I don't trust you enough to not screw this up."

He shrugged. "The more the merrier I guess."

As you walked through the grassy horticultural fields of maker knows where, you swatted at the gnats buzzing near your face. The sky was darkening, and you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of being too far from the ship. You eventually reached the edge of town, being far more urbanized than you expected.

"This way."

Ian led you to a small hut along the bustling main street, its exterior cluttered with old droids and rusted ship parts haphazardly strewn about. You could only hope that somewhere inside was the part you needed to fix the dampener.

A Quarren male stood behind the desk cluttered with tools and machine parts.

"Ian." He drawled through his beak like mouth.

"Heelim... my good friend."

"What trouble have you brought to my doorstep this time."

Ian only smiled in response.

----------

"An inertial dampener? Thats not an easy fix."

You gave Ian a look. He was obviously ignoring whatever I told you so face you were serving him.

"But if theres anyone who would have the part I know it'd be you."

"So. You just thought I'd have a servo lying around here?

"To be honest you were the closest option."

He chuckled in response.

"I am sorry my friend but I have no servos matching the one to your specific freighter."

Ian only bit his tongue and slapped Heelims arm in response.

"Thats quite alright. We'll figure it out my friend."

"Well if you need anything else feel free to look around."

Shaun had wandered outside already. Kiro tapped the machinery next to him with his claw, creating a sharp clang that rang through the store.

You toggled with some of merhandise around you, none of which could replace a servo.

"You work for Ian?" The Quarren questioned you.

"I owe him."

"Ahhhhhh... unfortunate."

You chuckled in response, looking around you realized you were the only one left in the store as Ian turned his heal.

"Thank you for your help."

The Quarren nodded his head.

-------

You found the three of them standing in a circle, deep in debate over your dwindling options.

Stepping up, you interjected, “So, he doesn’t have one. Maybe someone else does.” You tried to keep your tone hopeful, though you knew the answer.

“There aren’t any other sssellers who’ll have what he doesssn't," Kiro replied, his voice a cold hiss. "Heelim is the bessst.”

Ian shrugged, eyes on the ground but clearly working something out in his head. “Who said anything about buying one?”

You cut in quickly, already guessing where Ian was headed. “I saw a blue A-23 freighter in the yard. If I remember right, it should have similar parts to your ship.”

Without waiting for a response, you rushed back inside the shop.

“Do you know the owner of that light blue A-23 freighter outside?” you asked the shopkeeper.

He gave you a suspicious look, eyes narrowing, knowing exactly why you seeked the information.

You sighed, frustration creeping in. “Please.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you. Ten long seconds. You seized on whatever flicker of empathy might have passed across his face.

Finally, he relented. “That ship belongs to Laro Kiggs. He frequents the bar down the street. You never heard this from me”

“Thank you,” you said quickly, turning to leave.

Before you could make it out the door, his voice stopped you. “Traveling with Ian makes unsuspecting people accustomed to looking over their shoulders... but I see that’s already second nature to you.”

His words caught you off guard, hitting closer to home than you expected.

“I’ve had to be," you admitted quietly.

He hummed thoughtfully. "Finding real safety, real solace, in this system or the next... it's a rare gift. But it exists. I was lucky enough to find it. Understand—it’s out there."

You smiled faintly, understanding what he was implying and stepped out into the street.

-------

You rushed back outside, catching them mid-conversation.

Kiro hissed, “Getting onto a freighter here is easssssy enough.”

“I found the owner,” you interrupted, catching their attention. “He should be at the bar tonight.”

Ian finally looked up. “Alright. Shaun, you and y/n will keep an eye on him. Make sure he doesn’t leave the bar. Kiro and I will handle the ship. I’ll signal Rod to expect another half-hour delay.”

Shaun frowned. “Are you sure about this?”

“What other choice do we have?” Ian shot back. “The nearest planet’s days away without a working dampener, and our buyer’s going to be on Corinth wondering where his precious book is.”

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

Ian and Kiro took a speeder to the parked ships on the outskirts of the town. Ian would board the ship while Kiro stood guard and hopefully return with the servomotor you needed. You and Shaun stationed yourself at the local tavern.

The bar had a certain allure to it, bathed in warm, low lighting and filled with the sound of glasses clinking and conversations blending into a constant buzz. Then again it wasn't any different than any other bar in the galaxy.

You leaned over the bar, trying to catch the bartender's attention.

“Heyyy, I scratched a really nice blue freighter yesterday—parked by the market. Any chance you know the owner? I feel awful about it.”

The bartender didn’t even glance up. “Laro Kiggs. He’s right over there with his buddies. Black jacket.”

You followed his gaze and spotted him.

The bartender leaned in, giving you a knowing look. “If he hasn’t noticed yet, I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Thanks a ton,” you replied, voice sugary sweet, but entirely fake.

Walking back to Shaun, you whispered discreetly, “Black jacket, at your 12 o’clock.”

Shaun nodded.

It had only been three minutes since Ian entered the ship when his voice crackled through your coms.

It’s locked.

“What?” You struggled to keep a straight face.

It’s fucking locked. The compartment’s locked.

“Shit.”

Yeah. Shit, Ian echoed, static in the background. Who the hell locks their hyperdrive compartment?

“Maybe someone who doesn’t want their shit stolen by criminals?” you shot back, trying to think fast.

The window was closing, and you had to act quickly.

“Okay… Plan B. Ian, stand by.”

You noticed Shaun standing up, heading directly toward Laro. Instinct kicked in, and you blocked his path with a hand.

“What are you doing?” you asked, eyes narrowing.

“We need that key,” he said.

“And what? You’re just going to knock him out in the middle of the bar? Start a fight and get a mob chasing Ian and Kiro?”

He stared at you, unamused. “Got a better idea?”

“Actually, yes. Grab a speeder and stand by for the key.”

He shot you an incredulous look but headed for the door without another word.

What? Ian’s voice stammered in confusion through the coms.

You closed the channel.

You chugged your drink, steeling yourself as you walked up to the man. Adjusting your blouse, you reminded yourself that you could do this.

With a confident tap on his shoulder, you leaned in. "I—oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were someone I was looking for."

He turned, eyes sweeping over you with a lingering gaze. "I can be."

You laughed, taking a few steps closer, playing into his interest. "Well, are you gonna buy me a drink?"

A sinister smile tugged at his lips. "Why, of course."

It didn’t take long to get him another drink deep, his inhibitions loosening with each gulp. You used the opportunity to subtly feel for any sign of the key you were after, disguising your search with drunken leans and falls against him. Your hand brushed something square in his left jacket pocket.

"You know," he whispered, leaning closer, "we could always move this to my ship for more privacy." His hand slid across your thigh, the gesture bold and invasive.

You forced a playful smile, letting your right hand toy with his hair while your left hand moved towards his torso. He was too focused on your touch to notice your fingers slipping into his jacket pocket. You felt the cold metal of the key and smoothly withdrew it.

Too easy.

But before you could pull away, his hand moved higher up your thigh, edging dangerously close to your belt.

He went on. "Its only a few clicks away... if we are indeed two ships just passing in the night."

Before you could react, someone snatched your glass from the table.

It was Qimir.

Without a word, he downed the rest of your drink in one gulp, his eyes fixed on you.

"Looks like your drink's run out," he said coolly. "Let's get you another."

The guy beside you grumbled, glaring at Qimir. "Hey buddy, we were talking."

Qimir's eyes flicked to him, full of indifference. "And now you're done talking." He slammed the glass on the table. His voice was low, but it was enough to silence the man.

Qimir pulled you away, leading you toward another section of the bar.

You yanked your arm free and made a beeline for the exit.

Shaun waited on a speeder outside. You shoved the key into his hand beckoning him to get to Ian as quickly as possible.

"Here. Get this to Ian. We'll meet you back at the ship."

Shaun only nodded and revved the speeder, disappearing into the night.

Qimir had caught up to you outside.

Turning to face him your mouth ran away from you.

"What the hell was that?" you snapped.

"You were obviously uncomfortable," Qimir replied, not bothering to look at you.

You crossed your arms, huffing. "I can handle myself."

"He's a creep."

"So are most of the men in there," you shot back, shrugging off the situation.

Here’s a refined version of your scene, enhancing the emotional intensity and flow:

“This is exactly what I said would happen,” Qimir stated, his tone clipped.

“And how’s that exactly?” you shot back.

“You getting yourself into something I have to pull you out of.���

Fury surged through you, and you slammed your fists down, your face flushing with rage. “Don’t make excuses. I never asked to be pulled out of anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Well, next time a guy grabs my ass and I need your help, I’ll be sure to let you know first, Master.”

Qimir’s jaw tightened, clearly taken aback by your words.

You yelled, “If you had pulled me away just seconds earlier, you would have messed everything up!” Your body surged forward, hands outstretched.

In a burst of anger, you shoved him.

You actually shoved him.

He took it, standing firm, still caught up in whatever wave of misplaced duty he felt. His patronizing gaze made you want to slap him.

Screw this, you thought.

Maybe it was the liquor, or maybe you just needed more of it.

You stomped back inside waving your hand at the bartender. "One flameout please."

Your eyes scanned the bar for Laro making sure he was staying put. There he was already looking you up and down from a distance. You rolled your eyes and turned back to the bar.

The bartender caught your signal for another drink sliding a small shot of red liquid down the bar towards you. You gulped it down, throwing a few credits on the table. You could only hope that Ian had grabbed the servo by now and had gotten the hell out of there. But before you could enjoy the moment of solitude, Kiggs approached again, his drunken friends laughing and egging him on from a distance.

"Let’s pick up where we left off," he slurred.

"Let’s not," you replied flatly.

"C’mon, not interested anymore, I’m a great dancing partner," he said, stepping closer, his breath a noxious mix of alcohol and something far worse.

He grabbed your waist, pulling you into him. His hands wandered, groping you in a way that made your skin crawl.

You shoved him hard... far harder than you had shoved Qimir earlier. The force of it sent him stumbling backward a few feet. But it only seemed to make him angrier. He straightened up, his eyes narrowing as he started to march toward you again.

Good.

You could use a fight to blow off some steam. You readied your hands to connect with his jaw, eager to pop a crack at this entitled prick.

Before you could react, Qimir appeared in front of you, faster than you’d ever seen him move. His arm shot out, his hand wrapping around the man’s throat with terrifying ease. The man gasped, his hands clawing at Qimir’s grip, but he was choking on more than just the pressure of Qimir’s hand—there was something more. The air seemed to be ripped from his lungs, as though Qimir was suffocating him without effort. Laro’s friends were all drunk, but not quite enough to miss the warning signs. They kept a safe distance, clearly sensing that Qimir wasn’t the type to be messed with.

Qimir leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper, but you were close enough to hear. "You touch her again and I'll kill you."

He released the man, who dropped to the floor in a heap, gasping for breath. Qimir didn’t spare him another glance, turning to face you, his eyes unreadable.

You stared at him, still catching your breath from the sudden surge of adrenaline.

"Unbelievable." You stormed past him exiting the bar speaking into your coms. "Ian you might wanna put a rush on that servo."

The bar around you seemed distant now, the noise fading into the background as you focused on the path ahead. The liquor warmed your skin making the cold air unnoticeable.

For a moment, you wanted to argue—wanted to tell him you didn’t need his protection. But the way he had reacted, the intensity in his eyes, told you something different. Something deeper.

You had made it back to the ship.

You walked into your room. He followed.

You paced around until you stopped to look at him.

He was... withholding himself.

"I need you to give me a reason" He said softly.

"What?"

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go back there and put a hole through his skull."

You closed the distance between you, your face inches from his. "Because if anyone has the right to, it’s me... yet here I am." you almost spat the words at him.

His eyebrows, once furrowed in anger, relaxed slightly, seemingly satisfied with your reason. But tension still radiated from him, his eyes blinking rapidly, betraying whatever calm facade he wished to portray.

The intensity of his gaze almost made you falter, but you gathered your resolve, summoning the courage to ask the question that had been lingering in your mind.

“Why did you do that?” you demanded, frustration bubbling to the surface.

“What?” he replied, feigning ignorance.

“Back at the bar. Why did you do that?”

“What are you talking about, y/n?”

You scoffed, disbelief washing over you. You were damned if you’d ever get a straight answer from him.

“Forget it... you should have just stayed at the ship.”

“That guy was harassing you,” he insisted.

“That doesn’t give you the right to threaten people.”

“I have a responsibility to you. You are my acolyte.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make me yours,” you emphasized, each syllable sharp.

He went still, as if the weight of your words hit him. But the understanding in his eyes vanished as quickly as it had come.

“You’re drunk,” he said, turning away to focus on the clutter around his cot.

“You would know,” you shot back, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “I guess we both do stupid shit when we’re drunk.”

He spun around, eyes narrowed.

“What is that supposed to mean?” His tone turned venomous, defensive.

“You know exactly what it means,” you bit back, refusing to back down.

Suddenly you heard the blast doors open and close.

"Time to go." Ian barely managed the words as he ran through the hallway passing your room.

You broke away from Qimirs space. Rushing after Ian.

"So I'm guessing Laro made it back to his ship."

"Yep." Was all that Ian revealed.

You caught up to him snatching the servo out of his hand.

"Get to the cockpit. Get us in the air. Rod and I will handle the drive."

Ian didn't have time to argue.

You got to the engine compartment to find Rod already prepping.

Jumping down, you almost landed on your arse.

Damn those drinks.

The ship started humming and rattling as you guessed you were now in the upper atmosphere.

You took the piece and fitted it to the stabilizer grabbing the wrench to bolt everything back in place.

"That damned thing better work." Ian yelled.

You secured the servo and closed the dampener.

"Punch it." You spoke through the coms.

You felt your hair rise as the hyperdrive kicked then lit up. A small energy surge knocked you back. A loud vroom sounded in your ears as you slouched against the wall.

You took another deep breath, steadying yourself and closing your eyes.

You were in hyperspace... safe. At least for now.

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

Thats all folks! Let me know in the comments what you guys think! The next few chapters are going to get intense :)

[novosg]

Who’s Your Friend?

In which Miles’ sister meets a certain punk. And keeps meeting him….Much to her little brother’s dismay.

Ft: The Arachnakids, femMorales!reader,

Fluff, use of Y/N, sfw, written with a black reader in mind(reader is 18, Hobie is 19), 1.8k words, most likely gonna make a part 2

Your brother was Spider-Man.

That was an indisputable fact that had been bared to you over a year ago, not long after you had gotten the call that your uncle had died. Miles had been gone for hours, but when he finally came home he had hugged you so tight you thought your ribs were going to crack. He had practically broken down in your arms, chest heaving as he told you everything.

You knew how much Aaron had meant to him—he was Miles’ biggest confidant. And after losing that confidant, he decided to place his trust in you, another person who took up most of his heart. So, you decided to honor that trust by not breathing a word to your parents about what he had told you.

In the year following everything that happened, you and your brother had grown quite closer, what with him not having to hide such a huge part of himself around you. Though you were away at college for the most part, that never stopped Miles from updating you about the latest things he got up to as Spider-Man. Almost everyday he was calling or texting you about whatever villain he had come across.

All in all, you were quite used to Brooklyn’s more…interesting sights. Whether it be a gang of thugs trying to rob a jewelry store, a reptilian beast crawling up the side of a building being posted all over the news, or a guy whose wingspan was mechanically stretched way too far, you had felt like you’d seen it all.

Even now, you were hardly fazed to see your little brother crawling in through the living room window. You watched him casually, the pencil in your hand coming to a stop as he dropped to the floor, unaware of your presence as he slipped off his mask. He let out a small sigh, glancing around as if to check if the coast was clear.

You were back home for the week, spring break seeing to it that you got some much needed time with your family. Miles was well aware of this, along with the chance of your parents being at the house in the middle of the day was slim to none. Still, he could at least try to be subtle.

“Miles,” you finally said, biting back a grin as your brother shrieked and nearly jumped out of his skin. He whipped around, mask gripped in one of the fists he raised instinctively in front of him before realizing it was just you. He heaved out a sigh of relief as he lowered his hands.

“Y/n,” he groaned. “What are you doing here?”

You raised an unamused brow at him and gestured at the papers sprawled around you on the kitchen island. Though you were technically on break, your professor had seen to it that a project was to be completed before you returned.

Miles took one look at the mess before nodding in understanding. “Right,” he mumbled. “You’re not too busy, though, right? ‘Cause I gotta—”

“Miles!” A voice called from outside the window. Miles winced while you perked up. Someone dropped down from the roof, clad in a suit like your brother’s except hers was black and white with its own twist to it. The colors upon it were so delicate it was if you were looking at a pastel painting. Her face was covered but you could still see the shock in the eyes of her mask (how that was possible you didn’t know) when she caught sight of you. “Oh, I um, is this-”

“Yeah, this is—" Miles started nervously, only to be cut off by another, more accented voice:

“Miles you okay?” Another person, presumably another spider-person appeared, ducking his head down enough so that he could see into the apartment. “We heard a very girlish scream.”

That pulled a laugh out of you, one that earned you a glare from your brother. You could’ve swore you even heard a snicker from the girl. The new face practically bounded into the room, his bright, intricate suit causing you to let out a small hum of appreciation at the amount of detail. You locked eyes and he tilted his head curiously, but still waved politely. You smiled and returned the gesture to which he seemed pleased at.

“I’m fine, guys. It’s just my—” No voice came this time, rather a thud as someone dropped unceremoniously against the windowsill. Your brows furrowed as he climbed in as well, practically towering over the two standing beside him. His appearance was certainly…something. It was flashy, as if he had stepped right off of a newspaper clipping. Or at least that’s how it was until he…shifted colors? He turned pinkish as his hands moved to rest within his pockets, letting you take notice of the guitar slung around him. Not to mention his clothes, with their various patches, rips, and tears screamed ‘punk.’

Like the shorter boy next to him he tipped his head to the side once he spotted you. “Who’s—”

“I could tell you guys if you’d stop interrupting me,” Miles huffed. The guy grew quiet, removing his hands from his pocket to raise them in a placating manner. Miles gestured towards you before saying, “This is Y/n. She’s my sister. And she knows all about the whole…secret identity thing so don’t worry about—"

“Y/n! I’ve heard so much about you!” The girl cried, suddenly invigorated by Miles’ admission, she slipped her hood off and yanked off her mask. “I had a feeling but I wanted to be sure.” You blinked in surprise, recognizing the girl underneath.

“Gwen. I’ve…heard a lot about you too.” You’d certainly seen enough drawings. You cast your brother a knowing glance, which he quickly averted his eyes from.

A loud gasp escaped the shorter male and he too was taking off his mask. He seemed young, around the same age as Miles as he beamed at you.

“You have a sister? How is this just coming up now? It’s so nice to meet you!” He spoke very rapidly, obviously eager to breach the subject. He placed a hand on his chest, dipping his head at you in proper greeting. “My name is Pavitr Prabhakar. But, call me Pav, all my friends do.”

You smiled appreciatively and nodded. “It’s nice to meet you too, Pav.” That only garnered an even brighter smile from him; one that you were afraid would blind you if he got any happier.

The tallest one of them all, and the one who had yet to say anything at the newfound information, scratched at the back of his neck. He looked between you and Miles before letting his hand drop down to his side.

“Well that’s a bloody shock,” he muttered, his British accent causing your head to tilt curiously before he was taking his mask off as well.

You felt yourself physically pause as his face came into view and you hoped you didn’t look as starstruck as you felt.

As his color shifted to something more natural, his dark locs that seemed to come from some inexplicable space were enough to throw you for a loop. He seemed slightly older than the others, closer to your age if anything. On top of that he was…strikingly handsome. With dark skin and lidded, dim grey eyes that were accentuated by the silver piercings present on his face, he had left you stunned.

His nose scrunched briefly as he gave a quick shake of his hair. Once his eyes landed back on you he raised a brow and you reminded yourself to blink. He didn’t point out your blatant staring, but the slight curve to his full lips as he introduced himself was enough for you to internally chastise yourself.

“Name’s Hobie,” he said simply. You nodded but couldn’t help but frown thoughtfully.

“Hobie?” You parroted.

Gwen cut in for him, looking quite amused. “Hobart actually. He just prefers—”

“Hobie,” he concluded. Then, more sarcastically he said, “Thanks though, Gwendy.” She smirked, seeming pleased with herself.

“Got it,” you said softly. You sat up a bit straighter and offered up a smile. “Still, it’s nice to meet you. All of you.”

His gaze rested on you in a way that made you feel almost shy. His lips curled back up into a causal smirk as he nodded.

“Feeling’s mutual,” he replied and you could practically feel your dignity slipping away.

Miles, who had grown quiet as he let the others properly meet you, looked between you and Hobie, his brows furrowed in a way similar to yours as he watched the two of you interact. Whatever he saw was enough to cause him to clear his throat loudly.

“Well, uh, hate to rush, sis, but I just needed to grab some more cartridges.” You turned to look at him but he was already gone, scrounging around quickly for some extra webs. Not even a minute later, he was back in the living room, smiling almost sheepishly. “Got ‘em. Guess we’d better get going.”

Pavitr and Gwen were quick to voice their objections, but Miles paid them no mind. His eyes focused on Hobie, who had yet to look away from you. His gaze showed genuine interest, and the way you were matching said gaze with one of your own told Miles he needed to wrap this up quickly. Gwen followed his line of sight and, after the two of them locked eyes, she gave an understanding nod before heading towards the window.

“Yeah, better get back to it,” she said dismissively, a small grin on her face. ��Pav, come on,” she hissed to the shorter boy who let out a disappointed groan.

“Fine. Bye, Y/n! Let’s talk more next time!” With that, he pulled his mask down and leapt out the window before swinging out of sight.

“Agreed. I’ve got so much I want to ask you. Next time though.” Gwen smiled warmly at you as she leaned out the window.

Hobie backed up slowly, head tilted almost playfully. “I’ll see you next time, yeah?”

You felt your heart flutter unfairly and breathed out a soft, “Yeah.” He perked up at that, but was suddenly yanked back by a web Gwen had latched on to his shoulder.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” he grumbled and then they both were gone. Miles followed after them, but stopped once he got to the window. He paused and looked back at you, a disapproving frown on his face.

You rolled your eyes even though your lips quirked up into a grin. “What?” You asked.

He was quiet for a second before saying, “Wipe that look off your face.”

You laughed and called after him, “What look?” just as he jumped through the window. You smiled softly to yourself as you looked back down at your work, mind and heart whirling.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

When The World Is Crashing Down [Chapter 11: I Know This Hurts, It Was Meant To]

Series summary: Your family is House Celtigar, one of Rhaenyra’s wealthiest allies. In the aftermath of Rook’s Rest, Aemond unknowingly conscripts you to save his brother’s life. Now you are in the liar of the enemy, but your loyalties are quickly shifting…

Chapter warnings: Language, warfare, violence, serious injury, alcoholism/addiction, sexual content (18+), lots and lots of death and destruction, literally nothing good happens in this chapter don't even read it, a Wolfman sighting, a wild Alys-Whent theory appears, more witchcraft! 🔮

Series title is a lyrics from: “7 Minutes In Heaven” by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying” by Fall Out Boy.

Word count: 6.2k.

Link to chapter list: HERE.

Taglist (more in comments): @tinykryptonitewerewolf @lauraneedstochill @not-a-glad-gladiator @daenysx @babyblue711 @arcielee @at-a-rax-ia @bhanclegane @jvpit3rs @padfooteyes @marvelescvpe @travelingmypassion @darkenchantress @yeahright0h @poohxlove @trifoliumviridi @bloodyflowerrr @fan-goddess @devynsficrecs @flowerpotmage @thelittleswanao3 @seabasscevans @hiraethrhapsody @libroparaiso @echos-muses @st-eve-barnes @chattylurker @lm-txles @vagharnaur @moonlightfoxx @storiumemporium @insabecs @heliosscribbles @beautifulsweetschaos @namelesslosers @partnerincrime0 @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @yawneneytiri @marbles-posts @imsolence @maidmerrymint @backyardfolklore @nimaharchive @anxiousdaemon @under-the-aspen-tree @amiraisgoingthruit @dd122004dd @randomdragonfires @jetblack4real @joliettes

Only 2 chapters left! 🥰💜

“Why isn’t Aemond back yet?”

You’re standing in the Dragonstone rookery with your arms crossed, brow furrowed, ravens pacing through straw and flapping their dark captive wings inside the cages. Through the window, you are watching the waves break against rocks where the Narrow Sea meets the shoreline. Outside it is overcast, misty, grey, cold. When you stepped into the gardens this morning—while Aegon was still sleeping, something he does with ever-increasing frequency, though you aren’t sure if it is more of a physical necessity or mental escape—frost crunched beneath your boots. Lord Larys Strong has shuffled into the room, his cane tapping on the stone floor; that is why you have spoken.

“Perhaps my sister was wrong about Daemon being at the Gods Eye,” he offers demurely. He is trying to be helpful; he is trying to comfort you. But you remember how vividly Alys showed you Everett being murdered by a mob in King’s Landing. You remember his screams, his flailing arms, men ripping the rings off his fingers and women stabbing the blades of their rusty kitchen knives into his eyes. Alys has never met Everett; she could not possibly have known what he looked like, what his voice sounded like, without gifts beyond what you once believed to be possible. Her sight is true and terrible.

“No,” you reply softly, still gazing at the iron-grey ocean. Any minute I’ll hear Vhagar flying over again. I’ll see her vast, reptilian shadow and know that Aemond has won and the war is all but over.

“Perhaps Aemond felt compelled to go south immediately after defeating Daemon and Caraxes. Perhaps he’s with Prince Daeron now, and they’re burning Northmen in the Reach. Perhaps he wants to return with Cregan Stark’s severed head.”

There’s no logical reason why this can’t be the case; but in place of relief, what you feel instead is a heaviness like stones being piled up, like ships filling with seawater. You turn to Larys. “If the king asks about Aemond, I want you to reassure him the same way you’re speaking to me right now.”

He bows his head. “Of course.”

“But I want you to do it more convincingly.”

Larys startles a bit, then regains his composure. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“Is Aegon awake yet?”

“He was just getting out of bed when I checked on him.”

And that’s what you’re always doing now, you and Larys and the maesters and the guards: always looking in on Aegon, always making sure he’s not in too much pain, reminding him to eat, distracting him, soothing him, lifting his spirits. “Good. Have the cooks make something that will give him strength.”

“Not crab?”

“No. Something heavier. Beef, venison.” You recall the feast in King’s Landing to celebrate Rhaenyra’s taking of the city, slabs of rare meat glistening with blooddrops like rubies. Red like war, red like the banner of the house you were born to. “Boar, if the kitchens have any.”

In his bedchamber, the king is gazing out of his own window, but slumped in a velvet-cushioned chair instead of standing. He’s sipping a cup of red wine languidly, glazed eyes and slow blinks. There’s a dagger on the table beside him, the one he uses to cut his hair when it starts to grow too long. There are locks of white-blond hair scattered around him on the floor like a thin dusting of snow. Outside, grey clouds churn and waves shatter when they meet jagged boulders and cliffsides, the earth’s own bones.

Aegon glances over at you and says thoughtfully: “Where’s Aemond?”

“He’ll be back soon. I know he will.” He has to be. We can’t win without him. You go to Aegon and kneel down on the floor beside his chair. You lay a palm on his thigh, light as a feather, like you’re just a ghost or a memory. He places a hand over yours. Seconds tick by, late-autumn wind rattles the glass of the window.

“Aemond used to talk about us not being real Targaryens,” Aegon tells you. His voice is faint and dreamy. His eyes are still cast outside—miles away, years away—where he is willing Vhagar’s monstrous shadow to appear. “When we were very young. The Hightowers don’t have any Valyrian blood, they’ve been here in Westeros forever, since men lived in caves and worshiped…” He gestures flippantly with his wine cup, rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t care, sticks or rocks or whatever. That bothered Aemond. He felt that made us less than Rhaenyra and Daemon. Our father rejected us, he ignored us, he broke every precedent to keep us from the throne. Being a Targaryen…it didn’t matter to me.” He smirks wryly and looks down at the flurry of silver hair around his chair. “I didn’t want it anyway. Sunfyre was the only part of my inheritance I didn’t think was a curse. But Aemond needed that legacy. He always wanted to be a hero. He was willing to put in the work, he had the discipline, he had the skill. It meant so much to him, and I…” Aegon shakes his head, his voice breaking. “I shouldn’t have said those things before he left.”

“He didn’t think you meant it. He knew you were speaking out of pain and frustration.”

“I have to be able to apologize to him.”

“You’ll get the chance. He’ll be back soon.”

And Aegon’s eyes—huge and shimmering and a tumultuous blue like the ocean—drift to yours. The words are there, though you don’t hear them aloud: Will he really?

You have to divert him. You have to make him smile. “And don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll bring your favorite swamp witch with him.”

Aegon laughs; crinkles spring up around his eyes, pink rushes into his pale cheeks. “Oh, seven hells. He better not expect us to host her here while he flies south to roast the Stark men.”

“You don’t enjoy her company?” you tease.

“I’d throw crab shells at her. I’d make her sleep in a tree.” He sighs. “Borros Baratheon is going to be furious.”

“I suppose we don’t always get much of a choice in who we fall in love with.”

“No,” Aegon agrees. “We certainly don’t.” He sets his wine cup on the table, leans down to cradle your face with both hands, draws you in close to him and kisses you, deep and tender and slow. He tastes like wine, and weakness, and heat that he is fighting desperately to keep kindling. Everything he does now is full of effort, even just speaking, even just love. He moves like his arms weigh a thousand pounds, like his jaw is iron and his spine is lead. But he lifts it all for you, for you.

Your palm skates to the apex of his thighs. He is hard, he is hungry for you; but he breaks the kiss and covers his face with both hands, moaning. “Aegon?” You thread your fingers through his choppy hair, tuck his braid behind his ear, bring your lips to his forehead. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He chokes out: “I’m so fucking pathetic.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I’m just this scarred, crippled, useless man. And everyone I touch is ruined by me. I can’t let anything bad happen to you. I don’t understand how you could still want me.”

“I do want you,” you swear, taking his hands from his face: the tears glistening there, the rough red burn on his right cheek. “You and no one else.”

Aegon stares at you with his wet, wounded eyes. “You can’t just give in because you think it’s something you owe me. We can’t allow this to become something that’s poisoned.”

Poison. You think of the tea you brewed Baela, of the milk of the poppy in the glass bottle on Aegon’s bedside table across the room. You think of the night you surrendered to Aemond for nothing, no gain, no strategy, no heir, just treason that grows heavy and unmistakable within you like a child would. “It’s not poison with you, Aegon. It’s the only time I feel pure.”

Aegon staggers to his feet and kisses you again as the wind howls outside. His tongue darts between your lips; his arms circle around your waist to help him keep his balance. He follows you to the bed, a moon chasing its planet, and helps you shed your gown of emerald green velvet, just one of your many skins. He’s lying beside you, he’s touching you everywhere, he’s nipping ravenously at your throat, your breasts, down to your belly, your hips. He’s parting your thighs like pages in a book. He’s dragging his tongue through your drenched folds. And then it flashes in your skull like lightning: memories of Aemond, of betrayal, shame and nausea and scalding blood rushing into your face.

“Come back,” you murmur, and Aegon obeys. But then he does something strange. He heaves himself up with great effort, repositions himself behind you, kisses the bumps of vertebrae down the back of your neck as the scars that riddle his chest scratch against your shoulder blades. When you try to roll towards him again, Aegon stops you.

“No,” he pleads in a whisper, hushed and desperate through your hair. “Don’t turn around. Don’t look at me.”

And before you can protest, his fingertips have skimmed over your hip to stroke you where you are warm and slick and aching, and you are gasping helplessly, begging for more, and his cock slips into you with slow, powerful thrusts that he battles not to break the rhythm of until you’ve come. But in the midst of the pleasure, you are aware that just like the moon in its withering phases, Aegon is somehow less, and so are you, and so is everyone, and so is the world itself.

When it’s over, Aegon doesn’t hold you like he usually does. He doesn’t sink into sleep like deep water. He rolls over, fumbles for his bedside table, pours himself a cup of milk of the poppy with shaking hands.

~~~~~~~~~~

You sit on the bottom steps of the stone staircase, your bare feet in cool wet sand. Your gown is scarlet velvet, a bear fur cloak clutched around your shoulders. You are reading a book from the castle library about the medicinal uses of berries. Across the beach, Aegon is trying to coax Sunfyre into eating a goat that the guards have brought for him. The dragon is sluggish and flightless, and his own blood stains his muzzle; but he peers at Aegon with pained golden eyes like he wants so desperately to please him. And for the first time, you are at last able to see dragons as something more than animate destruction. You see intelligence in them; you see what might even be love.

There are distinct footsteps approaching as Larys descends the staircase, his cane tapping ever-closer. News of Aemond? News of his victory? You twist around to greet the Master of Whisperers. “Do you bring something to lift our spirts, Lord Larys…?”

But no; his face is grim, and he’s holding a bundle of fabric under one arm. He lowers himself down onto the step where you are perched, sets his cane aside, and grasps the bundle with both hands. He stalls for a moment before he speaks. He is in shock, he is terrified. “I’m afraid, Your Grace, that I must inflict great heartache upon the king.” His eyes flick to you. “Perhaps you could help me. I don’t even know how to begin.”

Your veins feel icy; your pulse is thundering in your ears. Aemond? Vhagar? “What’s happened? Is it…about the Gods Eye…?”

“No.” Larys gives you the fabric, folded into a neat square. You pull it apart to examine it.

“What is this…?” But then you know. It is a cape. It is not a regal emerald color, nor a deep envious viridescence; it is a vibrant seafoam green, bright and bold and showy. The clasp is still attached, a gold that glints like the dragon ring on Aegon’s left hand. And the cape is riddled with dark maroon smudges and places where the fabric was singed away, leaving only a gash like the puncture mark of a fang. It smells like smoke and the coppery sickness of blood. Soot rubs off on your palms. “Daeron,” you breathe.

Larys nods gravely. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“How? How did you get this?”

“I have informants in the Reach. After the battle, one ensured that this made its way to me. It should be preserved. It should be given to his mother when we are reunited with her, I believe. Perhaps it will bring her some small consolation. It is the only relic of him she will have to bury.”

“Daeron,” you say again, and you can see him like he’s standing in front of you: daring, arrogant, brave, capable far beyond his years, cunning blue eyes, a shock of silver hair that he was so proud of. Alicent has lost two children. Can she survive this? Will she want to? “I don’t understand, what battle…?”

“Cregan Stark and his men met the Hightower army at Tumbleton,” Larys explains. “Addam Velaryon returned on Seasmoke to join the Blacks and prove his enduring loyalty to Rhaenyra. Perhaps the bastard was genuine, perhaps he only wanted to convince Rhaenyra to free poor Corlys from the Red Keep’s dungeons. It doesn’t matter which now. The boy is dead.”

“Dead,” you repeat. Addam Velaryon may have been a boy, but he fought for Rhaenyra. He fought for Cregan Stark. And you say before you can stop yourself: “Good.”

“Daeron on Tessarion, Hugh Hammer on Vermithor, and the Velaryon bastard on Seasmoke tangled in the sky above the battle. Vermithor was killed by a scorpion bolt fired by the Northmen. Seasmoke was killed by Tessarion. Daeron fell from his dragon in the midst of the clash. Once the Blacks emerged victorious, Tessarion was found alive but mortally injured, and she was shot to death by Stark’s archers.”

“And Cregan Stark, he’s…he survived?”

“Yes. He is unharmed. But the Hightower army was devastated.”

“What about the other Betrayer? Ulf the White? Could he and Silverwing—?”

“Ulf slept through the battle. Drunk to the point of unconsciousness, I’ve heard. He was slain afterwards. The riderless Silverwing has vanished.”

No Tessarion. No Vermithor or Silverwing. Sunfyre is dying. The only Green dragon left is Vhagar. You can’t believe it. You won’t believe it. “But…but Aemond was supposed to fly south after the Gods Eye, he and Daeron were supposed to fight together, and if Vhagar was there this never would have happened—”

“No, it wouldn’t have,” Larys concurs somberly. “But evidently, Aemond has not yet left the Riverlands.”

You study the cape, this ash-and-blood tapestry of the youngest Targaryen brother’s demise, the fifteen-year-old boy who was so much like Aegon. Where is Aemond? Still waiting for Daemon and Caraxes? Holed up inside the crumbling towers of Harrenhal with Alys? Where the hell is he? We need him. We need him. We can’t win without him.

“Your Grace,” Larys says gingerly, like trying not to creak floorboards. “I think it’s time for you to consider what your options are if a Green victory no longer appears to be viable.”

If the Greens lose, Aegon will be executed. You shake your head. “No.”

“I don’t say this to cause you distress. I do it to save your life if that time ever comes. The king would want you to survive, and so would Alicent.”

You hug the mangled cape to your chest, your throat full of embers and your eyes blurring with tears. “There’s nowhere else for me to go.”

“To Claw Isle?” Larys suggests. “The Blacks believe you to be innocent. Your family would take you back.”

“Clement is the head of my house now. He idolizes Cregan Stark, I think he loves him more than he ever loved me. If Cregan is still alive when the war is over, Clement will give me to him. How can I marry a man who fought against Aegon’s cause? Who murdered Greens?” Who is, at least in part, responsible for his death?

Larys scrambles for another solution. “I could try to send you somewhere far away. Dorne, Essos.”

“And then what?” you demand; and Larys cannot answer. You do it for him. “I’d be a woman alone in the world. I would be vulnerable and friendless. I have no idea how to fend for myself. Autumn knew it.” And you remember what she told you before she accompanied you to Dragonstone, a journey that feels like a lifetime ago: I mean no offense, my lady, but you know nothing of the world beyond your castles and gardens and books full of naked men drawings. You would not last a day on your own.

“You read, you write, you study medicine,” Larys says, rather frantic now. “Perhaps I could arrange to have you taken to the Citadel and you could train under the maesters there…I could try to contact some who are sympathetic to the Greens, and if they agree you should depart immediately—”

“I won’t leave Aegon.”

“Your Grace, if the Greens lose this war…I fear the king will not survive. He is already weak. He is already ailing. There is very little you can do for him now.”

“I won’t leave him,” you hiss fiercely. “As long as he breathes, I belong where he is.” He’s risked his life to save mine. He’s taught me the joy that can be found in marriage. I will never stop repaying that debt.

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys concedes. Then you refold the cape and walk barefoot across the beach to meet Aegon.

Sunfyre has at last appeased the king by setting the goat ablaze with a sickly gasp of flames. Now he is gnawing listlessly at the corpse. His golden eyes catch on you and track your steps as you approach, dully curiosity but with no malice. Aegon takes his leave of the dragon with a gentle pat of his angular face, struggles to his feet, and joins you under the bleak grey sky. Once he could not step into the sunlight without it burning him; now the sun rarely shines at all. He knows there’s something wrong. He can read it on you like clandestine letters.

“Angel?” Then he sees the cape that you’re holding. “What is that, a banner? A blanket? My bitch half-sister’s funeral shroud, I hope.”

You give it to him. Aegon shakes the cape open, surveys it, then gasps, a sharp inhale like the whistle of a blade through the air. His knees buckle; the fabric flutters to the wet sand. You drop down beside Aegon and embrace him, shelter him, shield him. He grabs at you desperately, like a drowning man clawing for scraps of buoyant wreckage in the waves.

“It was quick,” you murmur as you hold him. “He fell from Tessarion. He didn’t suffer.” You don’t know that, you have no idea what Daeron’s final moments were like. “The battle happened at Tumbleton. The Northmen are in the Reach.”

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” Aegon rasps. “I don’t want to be the king. I never wanted it. I want to go back to before everything happened. I want to give Rhaenyra the throne. She can have it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it. Can we go back to when my father died? I’ll let Rhaenyra have the Seven Kingdoms. I don’t care what Otto and Mother and Criston say. They wouldn’t fight for it either if they knew what would happen. All of us are dead or broken. It’s not worth it. Nothing could be worth it. I don’t want to be the king. I don’t need the Iron Throne. I need everyone I’ve lost back. And I need you.”

“I’m so sorry, Aegon.” Your fingers are snared in his windswept silver hair; your heartbeat is thudding against his. There’s salt on your cheeks: his tears, your tears, the spray of the ocean. “It’s not your fault. Rhaenyra had the chance to end the war. She was offered terms and she refused them over and over again. Daeron’s blood is on her hands. She will pay the debt.”

And a tiny voice inside you says: Hasn’t she already lost four children? Hasn’t she paid enough?

The answer is dark and resounding. No. Nothing will ever be enough. But her life is a start.

“Where was Aemond?” Aegon sobs. “Where the fuck was he? Daeron wasn’t supposed to face the Northmen without him. He was a kid…just a goddamn kid…”

“I don’t know.”

“Are Daemon and Caraxes still alive? Is Aemond at Harrenhal?”

“I don’t know, Aegon. We haven’t heard anything.”

“I should have been there.”

“You would have been if it was possible. But you’re not able to fight. Sunfyre isn’t either.”

“I’m useless,” he weeps bitterly. “I can’t win the war. I can’t save anyone.”

And you brush his hair back from his face and feel his forehead for fever as you say: “You saved me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What’s she like?” Lord Bolton asks as he and Cregan Stark warm their large, weathered hands by the fire, their breath foggy in the wind and the stars glimmering in a cold cloudless sky.

The Northmen are still clearing dead and wounded from the battlefield at Tumbleton. Split bones must be forced back into place, infected limbs amputated, gouges scrubbed and stitched, burns treated, corpses buried, soldiers who cannot continue evacuated back to Winterfell via the Kingsroad. All of this must be attended to; Cregan Stark is a man of honor, and honor demands that he care for those who have pledged their lives to him. When the task is done, the Northmen will begin their assault on King’s Landing. The riots must be put down, the rightful queen must be protected, the succession must be secured. And Cregan must find and claim the woman he has been promised and yet denied by the wickedness of the grotesque, amoral, soulless Usurper.

“She’s beautiful, of course,” Cregan says. He speaks in subterranean rumbles, dark and rolling like thunder, booms and quakes, always a little louder than he means to be. He takes up space; he bends the light and gulps down the air. He smiles wistfully, remembering. “But that’s not the important thing. She’s clever, she’s tough. She’s not afraid of gore. I’ve seen her help set a compound fracture that pierced straight through the skin. She had blood all over her hands.” He grins and holds up his own, stained with earth and ash and half-dried maroon that looks as black as ink in the firelight. “We are made for each other.”

Lord Bolton whistles admiringly, his breath like mist. “She is a rarity.”

“Like treasure, like gemstones.” Cregan lays his blade across his knees, a longsword taller than some men and with a hilt carved in the shape of a wolf’s head. He cleans it, he tends to it, it is a part of him as immutable as his spine or his heart. “But she is not prideful. She behaves like a true noblewoman. She is quiet and modest. She defers to her father, to her brother, to me. She obeys.”

“That is essential,” Lord Bolton notes. “Nothing breeds discontentment like a willful wife.”

“She will give me sons with Valyrian blood. She is fertile, surely. Her mother bore six children.” Cregan polishes his blade, his unruly dark hair blowing in the night wind. Now he is pensive. “Her maidenhood was entrusted to me. It was a great honor, a great responsibility. It was something only I ever should have had. It is not her error, but she is less now.”

“You are a good man to still take her, the way she is now. The very best of men.”

“I cannot seem to forget her,” Cregan muses, quiet in a way that is rare for him. “I dream of when I first met her at Winterfell, snow in her hair and pages of books rustling beneath her fingers.”

“What will you do when you capture the Usurper?” Lord Bolton asks; this is the part that most interests him. “Burn him? Gut him? My men have brought their flaying knifes with them from the Dreadfort. They are eager to use them.”

“No,” Cregan says firmly. “No flaying. It is against the laws of war.”

“What use are laws to animals like Alicent Hightower’s children?”

“They preserve us. They safeguard our own humanity, our own honor.” Cregan holds his longsword aloft and scrutinizes it, gazing at his own reflection in the glinting blade. “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“So you will do it yourself,” Lord Bolton says with grudging awe. His own flaying knives are suddenly very heavy in his pockets; his fingers itch to use them.

Cregan Stark—the Warden of the North, the new Kingmaker—nods under the starlight. “Yes. I will end the Usurper. It can’t be anyone but me.” He sheaths his longsword, gliding it into its leather scabbard, thinking of his long-awaited wedding night with the woman whose purity was stolen from him like pieces of gold thieved from a vault. “And I will enjoy it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In bed, surrounded by candles that flicker when cold drafts blow in through the crevices of the castle, you read to Aegon from a book cataloging all the bones of the human body. He doesn’t care about the content, you know that; he just likes to hear your voice. As you read, Aegon—his arms linked around your waist, his chin resting in the dip of your clavicle—interjects with drowsy commentary. “I’ve broken that bone,” he says. “Oh yeah. That one too.” “Grandsire almost cracked my radius in half when I was ten and I replaced his beard cream with cake frosting. He put it on just before going to sleep and woke up assailed by stray cats.”

You chuckle, a lightness that lasts mere seconds. Now Lord Larys Strong has appeared in the doorway, the orange-gold glow like dusk on his face. He rests both hands on the handle of his cane like he often does, but his expression is one you have never seen before. He is not just mournful. He is paralyzed, he is shattered. His eyes are wide, bloodshot, blank. He swallows noisily. He opens his mouth, but no words escape. He closes it again.

“Don’t tell me that,” Aegon says, deathly quiet, winter still. He pulls away from you. You shut the book and place it on the bedside table beside his glass bottle of pearlescent milk of the poppy. Then you watch Larys.

The Master of Whisperers takes a deep, tremulous breath. “I have received word that both dragons disappeared into the skies above the Gods Eye, and then—”

“No,” Aegon whispers. “No, he’s coming back.”

“Your Grace…”

“No, he’s coming back!” the king roars. “He has to, he has to, you know we can’t win without him!”

Aemond? you think, terror-stricken.

“I have three separate reports. They all agree. Caraxes and Vhagar destroyed each other. They plummeted into the lake and sank, along with their riders.”

“No—”

“Both of their riders,” Larys says.

Aemond??

“The reports are wrong,” Aegon counters. “They have to be.”

You can picture Aemond: smirking, teasing, bitter, brilliant, thoughtful, visionary, blind. How can he be at the bottom of the Gods Eye, eternally chained to Vhagar’s saddle, fish nibbling at his fingers and lips and the gristle between his ribs? “Aegon,” you begin, reaching for his hands; but he flinches away from you.

“No, no, he’s coming back!”

Larys says gently: “Your Grace, I am so profoundly sorry for your loss.” But of course, it is every Green’s loss. Who is left to stand between them and Cregan Stark’s army of archers, cavalry, Boltons with their flaying knives? The Baratheon men? And does anyone truly believe they can defeat the Northmen, assuming they arrive to wage war at all?

“He’s coming back.” Aegon is hysterical. His murky blue eyes stream like riptides. “He has to. We need him, Larys, you know how much we need him. It’s a mistake. Aemond is okay, he’s coming back, he’s coming back, we can’t win without him!”

You try to take his hands again. “Aegon, it’s not over yet, we’ll—”

“Don’t touch me!” he cries, breaking down in breathless sobs. Then he covers his face, ashamed, broken. “Everyone I touch dies. I’m a curse, I’m a monster. I ruin people.”

Larys rushes to comfort the king. You retreat from the bed, watching Aegon as he howls and moans, feeling that although there is one of Alicent’s children left alive, all of them have already been taken from you.

The witch, you think, poisonous, venomous, bloodthirsty. She led Aemond to the Gods Eye, and now he’s gone. He’s dead, he’s nowhere, he’s doomed us all.

What had Alys said before she returned with Aemond to Harrenhal? I can appear and speak to you briefly, perhaps for five or ten minutes. I will be like a mirage, a ghost. Find a closed door and write my name upon it in blood. Then knock three times and open the door. I will be there.

You dart to the table beside Aegon’s favorite chair, cushioned with deep red velvet, and snatch the dagger he uses to cut his hair. Clutching the hilt of the weapon, tears searing in your eyes, you bolt from the room and out into hallway. Dragons of stone and steel, fire crackling in their gaping jaws, watch as you flee past them towards the bedchamber Aemond always used when he visited the castle. You can’t fathom that you will never see him again. He was a weed that grew into you and put down roots, he became a part of your landscape. He was dandelions, he was clovers, he was ivy, and now he is earth scorched to ash.

I’ll never speak to him again. I’ll never see him again. How is that possible?

Blood. You need blood. Would there be any in the kitchens? Should you have a goat or a boar butchered?

No, no. Your mind is a maelstrom of storms and rage, fire and blood. I can’t wait.

You go to the closed door of the room that was once claimed by Aemond. He never owned anything; he only took things and penned his name to them in void-black ink. You take the blade of the dagger and rip it down the length of your left palm. Then you write on the wood of the door two words in a rust-colored scrawl, one on top of the other: Alys Rivers.

You ball up your bloodied fist and knock on the door three times. Then you throw it open. And in a black mist, there she stands: onyx gown, obsidian hair, black moonstone eyes, tears of blood that fall in a torrent down her alabaster cheeks. She is grief-stricken. But you have no compassion left for her; your mercy was once an ocean and has now receded to a creek, a puddle, sparse raindrops that people pray for during droughts.

“You told Aemond that Daemon and Caraxes would be waiting for him at the Gods Eye. You encouraged him to go.”

Alys shakes her head, an inhumanly slow motion. Her voice is deep and echoing, like a shout through a long tunnel. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

“You see things, don’t you?!”

“Not everything,” Alys sobs. “I saw him take flight. I didn’t see the rest of it. I didn’t know. I never would have let him go if I’d known.”

“And you killed him. You murdered him, you ruined him, you might as well have driven a blade into his heart.”

“Aemond went of his own volition,” Alys says. “I told him the truth of what I saw. He was certain that Caraxes could not meet Vhagar in battle and emerge unbroken. And he was right. Caraxes did not survive. But neither did Vhagar.” Her blood-streaked face crumbles again. “He was stabbed through the eye. His beautiful sapphire eye…”

“You’ve doomed us. Vhagar was our last adult dragon, Aemond was our best warrior after Criston died. You’re a murderer. You’ve killed us.”

Her glare turns hateful. “You are not such a stranger to killing.”

“Careful, witch,” you warn. “Or when Aegon sits the Iron Throne, we will send men to the rubble of Harrenhal to burn you alive.”

“No. My son and I will live. And I’ve seen your children, too,” Alys says, and for all the times she did not intend to be cruel, now she is grinning with savage madness.

Panic rises in you; you try to conceal it. “I don’t believe I’ll ever have children.”

“Oh, you will,” Alys insists gleefully. “You will. I’ve seen it. Snow in your hair, furs around your shoulders, children who are dark and rugged, wolf pups with dirt and ash on their faces.”

The North. The Starks. “No,” you say, horrified. I can’t marry Cregan Stark. If I’m given to him, that means Aegon is dead. “No, no, you’re lying. You’re lying!”

“You are not a woman who motherhood will come easily to. It will take time to conceive, but you will give the Warden of the North heirs. He will enjoy putting them in you. He will have to try often.”

Your voice is hoarse and helpless. “You’re just trying to hurt me, it’s not real—”

“Wolf pups,” she says again, insistent. “After Aemond died, I saw them all in a row. And my son,” Alys continues dreamily, tracing her belly with one palm, not showing yet but full of potential like blue-white lightning flashing from inside a storm cloud. “My son will be a knight of House Whent.”

“There is no House Whent, you lunatic.”

“No.” Alys smiles, leers, gloats. “But there will be. I will be driven from Harrenhal, but they will reclaim it. And a Whent will marry into Tully, and a Tully will marry into Stark, and your blood will mix with Aemond’s after all. Isn’t there a certain poetry in that?”

Your hands have flown up to cover your ears. Aegon can’t die. I won’t survive it. “No, no, no!”

“The blood of wolves will always sing to dragons. And that is because of you, I think. The mind forgets, if it ever knew at all…but the bones remember. Pieces of you threaded into the marrow. Murmurs of your voice in their dreams. Do not attempt to resist it. This is your fate, and it could be far worse. The wheel goes around and around, and we all take our turn being crushed. Be grateful you’ll still be alive. Be thankful you had the time you did with your broken king.”

“No!” You slam the door shut. The blood on your palm is drying; the slit you cut there burns.

She’s lying. She’s mistaken. She’s a witch and a madwoman and I don’t believe a word she says.

And before you can dwell on how little comfort this brings you, you hurry to return to Aegon’s bedchamber.

“Borros Baratheon will expect you to take his daughter as your wife,” Larys is telling Aegon. “He was promised a royal marriage. With Aemond and Daeron both gone, you are the only suitable Targaryen left.”

“I won’t do it,” Aegon says quietly. He looks bloodless and haunted; he looks half-dead.

“Your Grace…please…failure to appease him might inspire Borros to withhold his military support from us. His army is the only substantial force the Greens still possess. It is not a personal decision. It is a strategic one. And without having an heir with the queen, her political utility is minimal…”

“No,” Aegon snaps. “I will not be parted from her. Do not ask me again.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Larys yields, bowing deeply. You know he does not act out of ill-will towards you. He is an advisor, and he is trying to advise. You are not the logical choice. And if Aegon loses, you will reap no rewards because he chose to call you his queen. The world will end for you as well.

“What is that?” you ask, and they both jolt to see you in the doorway; but you aren’t looking at Aegon or Larys. You are peering out the nearest window at pinpricks of firelight that dance over the waves. Larys shuffles to the window, his cane rapping against the floor. With agonizing effort—though he refuses your help—Aegon crawls out of bed and stumbles across the bedchamber to join you and Larys.

“It’s her,” Aegon says; and you can hear the vicious satisfaction in his voice like glistening strands of saliva dripping from the jaws of a ravenous animal, a wolf or a bear or a dragon. The fire is from the glass lanterns they carry. There are no signs of Syrax or Sheepstealer, not even little Tyraxes, no squeals or shrieks or shadows that pass over the moonlight.

Stepping off a tiny boat moored at the end of the pier—attended by only a handful of servants and tugging her white-haired son along behind her—is Rhaenyra Targaryen.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

hello could you write a one shot on Grusha where he falls in love with a shy challenger who is chilly and owns fire pokemons please

When you first challenged Grusha at the Glaseado Gym, he thought he could easily brush you off like snow on his shoulder.

You just didn't give him the best first impression.

For instance, he witnessed you shivering nonstop as you headed over to the gym test. Despite being all bundled-up and having a fire-type at your hip, you couldn’t stop chattering your teeth and stuttering while the the gym representative explained the test’s rules.

It wouldn’t surprise him if you caught a cold before you even completed the test. But by some miracle you passed with flying colors, although it didn’t seem like the smoothest trip down for you and your strange reptilian motorcycle Pokémon. 

Even though it looked pretty powerful, he figured you only brought it to show off. He didn’t know if it was a dragon-type or not, but if so...the battle certainly won’t work in your favor.

When you finally met the ice-type trainer, he discovered you were rather shy, looking flustered when he told you not to let the test completion “go to your head”. And you didn’t seem to have much confidence in yourself, speaking so quietly that he barely heard you over the howling wind and feeling nervous about battling him.

Regardless, you were determined to win...and so the match commenced.

Only then did he see the spark in your eyes as your strong fire-types melted the competition; they defeated most of his own Pokémon without a hitch. Even his Cetitan went down fairly easily, which opponents before you have struggled with.

And at the finale of it...he felt like the wind got knocked out of him when your Skeledirge’s Torch Song defeated his Altaria in a single hit. That attack surely would’ve incinerated the battlefield if not for the high winds and snowstorm that brewed during the final fight.

But the turbulent weather was no obstacle for you.

Grusha was absolutely floored by your performance, finding himself shaking your hand in congratulations and getting excited about how much fiery passion you’ve put into this battle-

Only to stop and regain his composure, tugging the scarf up his face more to hide his growing blush as he remembers you still needed the ice badge as proof of your victory. You were very much overjoyed to receive it and take a picture with him to commemorate this event.

Even after you departed for the next gym, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

For some reason his chest felt..warm. And it lingered long after you left, too. He wasn’t sure what it was, but Ryme certainly knew and lightly teased him on the matter.

Though she backed off when his reaction got heated, saying you only impressed him with your battling skills and nothing more.

Yet...he still couldn’t get you out of his head.

........

Grusha thought that would be the first and last time he saw you.

Surely the freezing mountains would deter you from ever coming back up here. The small towns didn’t have much to offer, so he couldn’t think of a single reason that you’d willingly return.

But much to his surprise, you came back as one of Paldea’s newest champions, stunning the usually coolheaded gym leader as you walked through the doors.

It turns out you’re revisiting each gym on behalf of Geeta to survey the performances of its leaders: which basically meant you’re gonna rematch all of them.

That made him feel uneasy.

Of course, he knew the chairwoman of the Pokémon League wasn’t mean or cruel, but she had quite the high standards for gym leaders. And he couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he failed to meet her expectations.

It honestly felt insulting that she’d send you, a challenger he could never hope to beat, instead of showing up here herself, but he couldn’t blame you for following orders.

His only fear was being dismissed over his failure. 

If he couldn’t be a professional snowboarder or gym leader..what else could he do with his life?

“It’s not like a pass or fail test, Grusha.” You try to reassure him, although in-battle you could see the distress in his eyes as he tried to change things up by including a Weavile on his team. 

Clearly he’s been training them a lot since you left, as they were able to take more hits from you. But your team remained full of even stronger fire-types, with the addition of a Ceruledge/Armarogue that was once a brave little Charcadet--now a mighty knight of flames that defeated Altaria.

You grinned excitedly as its ice tera jewel shattered, although it disappeared as Grusha recalled his ace. He stood there shocked..like a frozen status condition was inflicted on him.

Part of you suddenly worried that you made his gym fight look like a cakewalk, considering it was supposed to be one of the toughest in Paldea. You knew he had some kind of falling-out with his snowboarding career...but surely your victory won’t put him out of this job, too. Geeta wouldn’t do that to him.

After calling out Arcanine to keep you warm, you approached the shellshocked trainer, hands in your pockets. “H-Hey um..if you’re worried about what Geeta will say, I wouldn’t panic.” You smiled shyly, trying to remain upbeat. “I think you did great. I’ll tell her nothing but good things about our match.”

“You don’t have to sugarcoat anything.” He insisted. “I’d rather she knows the cold hard truth about my performance...but as frustrated as I was during the fight, I felt..inspired.”

“..r-really?” You blinked several times in surprise, feeling warmth spreading across your face.

“Yeah, I mean...I didn’t think I was cut out for this kind of job. But seeing you and your Pokémon working together has rekindled my passion. So..thank you, [y/n].” He smiled underneath his scarf. “I mean that.”

“Awh, don’t mention it.” Chuckling, you stepped forward to shake hands with him once more. “I’m glad I stopped here first.”

“Wait, you..didn’t revisit the other gyms yet?”

“Nope.”

Grusha’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Huh...but I thought you hated coming up here. You looked miserable before. I figured my gym would be the last place you wanted to go.”

“I don’t hate it here. It’s cold, yeah, but..with my fire Pokémon I can handle it.” Smiling, you briefly looked to Arcanine, who nodded as it nuzzled your arm affectionately. “The journey is worth it..i-if it means I get to seeyouagain.”

Even you were surprised at the bold words coming from your mouth; but you then realized the crowd from before was still hanging around the battle grounds. And he was just staring at you now, not saying a word. 

So you coughed nervously let go of his hand, turning away. “F-Forget that. I uhh...gotta go. I’m on a very tight schedule so I’ll leave you be-”

“You know you don’t have to visit me only for battles, [y/n].”

Stopping short, you looked back at Grusha, feeling guilty when he frowned at you for attempting to ditch him. You felt even more embarrassed than ever before, but he did make a good point.

He’s more than a gym leader, and he clearly wanted to get to know you beyond Pokémon training.

“O-Oh I know..I just---hey!” You jumped as Arcanine nudged its head against your back, pushing you closer to him. It only stopped when you were just a few feet away from each other. You could see the amused smile on his face, your own turning bashful. “S-Sorry. I must’ve sounded like Larry back there, huh?”

“Yeah, a little. I understand, though..I wouldn’t want Geeta to nag at me either.” Grusha grimaced. “But whenever you’re finished assessing the other gyms, maybe we can meet up and grab a coffee..or hot coco...or whatever you want.” He suggested, a light blush growing on his face. “Or if you’re sick of the cold, we can go somewhere else.”

“Sure!” You agreed readily, rubbing your gloved hands together. “I’ll message you on my Rotom phone when I’m done. Until then...um..I should probably get going before she does nag at me.”

“Go on, Champion. I’ll be waiting.” He winked before he turned and left the battle grounds with his Cetoddle in-tow, heading back inside the gym building.

The whole way there, his heart was hammering nonstop. It was beating faster than ever before.

‘Shit, maybe Ryme was right.’

He was really in love now.

[baka-monarch]

Heeeyyyy I'm doing voretober this year!!! (Or at least I'm gonna try to) and here's the first one!

Ao3 link

Space

Gem had a meeting. She had a deal with this guy who wanted to hire her for some bounty work. It was supposed to pay well, but he was sketchy and she wasn't sure if she trusted him- especially with where he asked to meet.

Chrysos was a gambling moon, once a wasteland turned into miles of casinos, bars, and other things made for either getting rich, wasted, or both. Everywhere felt sketchy as she walked through the streets of one of the cheaper towns- Taboonan. She was heading to a bar in a small alley, her trusty trident on her back and at the ready. Anything could happen, and for all she knew this deal was actually an ambush.

Gem took a breath through her gills before she entered the building, going straight for the bar as she kept her head low. She ordered a drink, just some water with some small fish to snack on as she waited. There weren't many people here, only a few at a table laughing and a couple in a corner whispering to each other, otherwise it was just her and the bartender. She noted that she was one of the larger species here, the only other of her stature being the bartender and his scales were reptilian, differing from her blue and orange ones meant for the water. Otherwise majority of the other patrons were furry, not much of a surprise since most fishfolk like her didn't get off planet much- it wasn't like everyone with gills could breath air.

Gem was taking a sip as she thought, chewing and swallowing a minnow as someone sat by her. A Gordon, another reptile but this one she knew from when he'd contacted her and her crew. She nodded to him and he smiled.

“Well it's good to see you showed up.” The naga spoke and Gem rolled her eyes.

“Of course I did, I don't go back on things.” Gem let out a huff and crossed her arms. She was a reputable bounty hunter after all.

He raised his hands in surrender, “Of course of course.” He nodded then motioned for the bartender, “I see you already got started on a drink, but lemme get you something from the area before we talk business.” He turned to the other reptile, “Two terran shots please.” Gem raised a brow as the bartender hurried through a door.

“So, while we wait, mind giving me those classified details?” She sipped on her water, there was only one fish left, swimming at the bottom.

The naga nodded, “Of course.” He smiled to her as if he was relaxed- he was still a foot shorter than her and definitely more skinny, it was obvious he'd be at the disadvantage if anything went wrong. “There's this guy calls himself X or whatever- he's in charge of this company that builds ships, lots of planning- well my employer would be very happy if they were to hear he just y'know… befell a deadly accident.” Gem knew who the naga was talking about, Xisuma. She'd done a few jobs from him before and he was always more than happy to fix her ship and help her crew out- she already knew she wouldn't take the deal, but was careful to control her face. She needed to know of this employer.

Gem opened her mouth to ask more, but as she did the bartender returned, setting two shot glasses in front of the two. “Thanks.” The naga nodded and slid a credit over- Gem wasn't paying attention though as she looked at the small glasses. They looked different than normal shots, lidded and void of any alcohol- but that wasn't the part she was focused on. Inside each was one tiny person, cramped and struggling to push the lid off. They didn't look like any alien she knew, but she could hear them talking, panicking about how to get out. The one in front of her hit on the side of their glass, their hair brown with green streaks and stubble- and she could tell he was shorter than the other.

Gem felt pale, this definition wasn't legal, for a multitude of reasons. “Sooooo….” She licked her dry lips, forcing herself to keep up the facade, needing the name of that employer. “What are these little guys?” She smiled playfully as she picked up the shot, the tiny person yelping as he got shaken around. She felt guilty, but if she could get through this she could get him out of here.

The naga smiled and picked up his own shot, “Humans,” He answered as he gave the glass a shake, the one in his hitting the sides a painful amount of times. “They're from that Earth planet, y'know the one with low oxygen mak'n everything tiny.” She held back a frown as the naga teased his human by licking the glass. “Taste pretty good apparently, and feel even better going down~”

“I see…” Was all Gem could mutter out as she looked down at her tiny human. He was glaring at her and held up a middle finger as soon as he noticed her staring- she snorted, yeah that was fair.

“You got a feisty one I see, those are always the best.” She looked back at the naga as he pulled the lid off his glass. She wanted to snatch it away from him as the human tried to climb out- but they weren't fast enough as he threw them back and swallowed almost immediately. “Aaahh…” He sighed and rubbed as the wiggling lump that soon disappeared into him. “Trust me, you'll love it~”

“I’m sure I will.” Gem forced a smile as she continued just holding her glass, avoiding eating the human if she could. “So about that employer-” She started, trying to get on topic.

“Lady, I don't like talking business until my associates join me, so c’mon try the little fella then I'll give the other details.” He smiled and something in Gem boiled. It was like he knew she was avoiding it.

“And I don't like taking jobs unless I know who I'm working for.” She growled, trying to intimidate the other- it didn't work as he smiled and shrugged.

“Guess we'll hire someone else then.” And that's exactly what she was afraid of- if she didn't know the name of this guy then they'd just hire someone else to kill X. The naga started to stand and she panicked.

“Well if a shot's all it takes to get the job.” Gem forced a sly smile, glad when the naga sat back down. She looked down at the human who'd pushed himself against the back of the glass, looking up at her nervously. She took a breath through her gills to stay calm as she started pulling the lid off.

●●●

Joel looked up at the alien fearfully but was trying desperately to hide it as her giant claws and webbed hand pulled the top off of the massive glass he was in. He didn't waste any time though, he'd spent too long watching these giant aliens and knowing they planned to eat him, as soon as the lid was off he pulled himself out and jumped off the alien's scales hand. He didn't get far though as he heard her make a shocked sound from above and soon another scales hand was in front of him and snatching him up.

“NO-” Joel squirmed and pushed at the hand around him, but it didn't budge at all as he felt it move. Soon light returned as the hand opened and he found himself closer to her mouth, staring into her green eyes. She looked different than most aliens that came, she had blue scales for starters, and no nose, orange fins that looked similar to hair and ears- and the thing he noticed most though, was her mouth full of very very sharp teeth. “Just put me down-” He shouted out, kicking errands fingers desperately.

In response though what he got was the alien opening her mouth, her tongue poking out as her hand moved closer. He tried to kick her mouth to get away but it didn't do much as he got thrown in, landing on the back of her tongue in a heap. Joel pushed himself up quickly and hurried back towards the front of her mouth, slipping and stumbling, but it made no difference as the opening soon closed and he was left in darkness. He took some deep breaths, trying to stay calm… until the tongue under him moved and he was suddenly squished into the top of the mouth. He groaned and squirmed, pushing down on the tongue but it only started moving him around and covering him in saliva. He felt gross as he tried to scoot forward- but soon the tongue started pushing him back and he felt the sucking before he heard it.

Gulk.

The alien swallowed and Joel yelled out as he got sucked down into her throat. It was tight and slimey, squishing and pulling him down at a constant rate until soon enough he was forced through a tight spot before falling into a larger area. Joel gasped and pushed himself up as soon as he landed and ran over to the wall, pushing and hitting at it. “Let me out blummin asshole!” He yelled, trying to hide his fear but his high pitch gave things away. He kept kicking and hitting at the fleshy, groaning wall, hoping to give the alien a stomach ache- instead the wall pressed in as she belched above him.

“Oh excuse me.” He heard the alien say and felt the stomach vibrate with her voice. “So about that employer-” There was more talking after that but he didn't pay any attention. He was trapped, going to be digested by some giant alien monster and there was nothing he could do.

Joel sat down and curled up. Maybe it'd be fast at least…

●●●

Gem felt sick as she walked out of the bar, having learned what she needed but having traumatized a human in the process. At least she had a storage stomach so he was safe, but he didn't know that… She sighed through her gills. She knew the employer, evil X, and now she could get the human home. That's what mattered.

She rubbed her belly and looked down as she walked through the streets back to where her ship and crew were waiting. “You doing okay in there?” She said quietly.

Things were silent for a while before the little guy answered, “What do you think.” He practically snarled back and Gem frowned.

“Sorry, I wasn't sure what else to do.” Her main stomach gurgled and she felt the human jump. She bit her lip, feeling guilty, “Don't worry you're safe in there-”

“Blummin Hell am I safe! I'm in you're fuckin’ stomach!” The human growled.

“No no no-” Gem hurried to say, “Not my main one. That one doesn't digest anything, perfectly safe!”

The human scoffed, “And why should I believe you?”

“Well- are you burning at all? In agony? Dead?” The human was quiet for a moment.

“No….” He answered quietly.

“Exactly.” She smiled, “You can trust me little guy and as soon as we're on my ship I'll spit ya up and Impulse can figure out how to get you home.”

“Impulse?”

“Yeah he's part of my crew- or team, we work together on bounties and stuff. Trust me you'll love em!” Gem's smile grew and she started walking a bit quicker to get back.

The human sighed, “Fine, as long as nobody else eats me.”

“I promise they won't!”

[unicorncornflakes]

Little One - Story AU! | Chapter 3

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Paring: Reader x Aemond Targaryen.

Summary: You are the only daughter of Jacaerys Velaryon, future lord of the tides. After the victory of Aegon and his side in the war, your family suffers the rejection in Driftmark. There you must always give an account to the king's new hand, Aemond Targaryen. However, when the time comes, Aegon and his court claim you as Queen Helaena's lady-in-waiting. As a new piece of the Greens' strategy to coerce your father, you are taken to King's Landing to begin your life in high society. Aemond will be, much to his pleasure, in charge of guiding you in this new stage.

Tags: Alternate Universe/ Enemies to Lovers/ Emotional Hurt/Comfort Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence, death, forced marriage, and inc3st, at some points.

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @bluevxnus @tempt-ress

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 5K

The jaws of that dragon were approaching you. There was no escape. There wasn't. It didn't exist. Had it ever existed? It was a golden dragon. His scales glistened in the sunlight and he was chasing you. You glanced back at that Driftmark cliff for a moment. His wing membranes were pale pink. While you tried to run barefoot, that monster was chasing you with its mouth open, ready to spit fire at you if you didn't stop. But you weren't going to stop. To stop meant to die. Something inside you told you. You kept running. Run. Run. Run. That was all you could do. Your feet ached and began to bleed from the sharp rocks of that cliff. The threads of blood clung to the rocks. Sticky and garnet. Dense but recent blood. The dragon growled, frustrated that you wouldn't give in, that you wouldn't hold back. He was going to spit all his fire on you.

Just as he was about to expel a hot, destructive mass, Vhagar appeared. The old dragon caught him by the neck, and she squeezed. She squeezed until the other dragon ceased its attempt to destroy you. He made a plaintive sound. A roar that was heard all along the coast of Driftmark. However, the older dragon did not relent in her grip, and she kept squeezing him. You finally stopped. Bloody feet on that cliff as the two dragons fought to see who possessed you… you could feel it, you could see the tension in both mounts. The golden dragon kept screeching. Vhagar squeezing until a sound, a nauseating crack was heard... the golden dragon's neck gave way to that deadly grip and then Vhagar roared at the sky, only to end up looking at you. His reptilian eyes fixed on you. So you did feel it, you shouldn't have stopped. You were sold. She roared, lunging at you.

Helaena screamed at the sight of her vision and Aemond held her close in the dead of night. The prince didn't know what was up with her, but he knew that the days after a dream that woke her up screaming were always difficult for her.

And then your eyes snapped open. You wanted to scream, but you just covered your mouth to suppress it. You let out a plaintive sound. A muffled moan in the middle of that empty room in the Red Keep. You breathed hard and cried. You wanted to come home. However, at that moment you felt a pinch in your lower stomach very similar to... No. No. No. No. Your body couldn't do this to you. It Could not. It was being a full-blown betrayal. You felt betrayed when you just pulled back the sheet and saw the big bloodstain emanating from between your legs. Not only did it hurt more than other times, but it was twice as abundant. What was happening to you? Your body betrayed you. The blood came out sticky and thick maroon. You cried even more bitterly. And you quickly got out of bed. Sore. Your stomach was pricking. Your breasts looked like they were going to burst from the tension... your whole body reacted badly to the evidence that you were bleeding more than any other month. It seemed as if your body wanted Aemond to know that you were already bleeding… What would become of you? You got up as fast as you could. You felt how the blood slipped down your legs and you tried to convince yourself that you could eliminate the evidence. Yeah. That was. You would remove the sheets. You would be able to burn them if by doing so you avoided being discovered. You didn't want anyone there to know you were already bleeding. Even less after the terrible dinner the night before. The king did not take his eyes off him while he drank and ate as if he had no measure. Aemond thought he was more discreet, but you had also seen how he looked at you. The mere prospect of ending up in one of his beds or even both of them made you sick, and made your stomach hurt even more. You removed them with difficulty, drenching them even more in your blood. It was being a disaster. Then you heard the door creak right behind you. You froze, afraid to look at who was behind you.

"But what the hell are you doing?" Mistra scolded you, slamming the door behind her. The maid scrambled up next to you, and she gripped the sheets even harder than you did. "The one-eyed man said you didn't bleed," she hissed, pulling back the sheets.

"And I don't" you told her forcefully while you also pulled the sheets in pain. "I have a wound..."

"Yeah, sure. Do you intend to keep lying until you're fifty?" said the woman pulling the sheet just like you. She looked at you for a moment and saw the fear in your eyes. You were still nervous removing them from the bed, but you realized that you had stained even the mattress. You wanted to die “I have to tell someone. This is a mess. It takes more than two hands to clean this up here.” With difficulty and breathing hard, the old woman went to the door of your chambers, ready to ask any other of her companions for help. You squealed, plaintive with tears in your eyes.

"No, please, no" You pleaded, kneeling down. “Please don't tell anyone. No one can know" was what you told her, not daring to look at her. Defeated in that situation. The old woman looked at you. She looked at you pityingly and turned to you. Lifting you up with a sweetness that you didn't think possible in that woman.

"They're going to find out sooner or later, girl. What's the point of hiding it?" she whispered to you. And you looked into her eyes, looking for complicity that you knew you shouldn't look for.

“Please…” you whispered to her, remembering your father's words. You shouldn't trust anyone. In absolutely no one. Yet there you were pleading with a woman you barely knew. She had simply helped you get dressed one day and she had helped you with your bath. It was already more than anyone else had done. Aemond had put her at your service for something. You knew that, but you expected female complicity from her, sisterhood. After all, she knew what the fate of any woman was in those days. She herself must have suffered.

"Do you want the one-eyed man to hang up on me because I haven't informed him?" she hissed, in case you weren't understanding her situation. Your fate when they found out you were bleeding, would be rape at best. That woman's if they found out that she had betrayed her lords would be her death. For a poor palace maid, who had lived through what she had lived through, she knew which of the two fates was worse.

"I beg you. Don't tell him" you insisted again. And she just sighed, turning back to bed in defeat. You saw that she was taking her sheets by herself and you helped her in silence. You knew that she was going to help you at that moment. She groaned as she picked up all the sheets and loaded them into a sack.

“I am going to prepare a bath and I will bring you some rags so that you can put them on today. If anyone finds out about this, I don't know anything” she told you with little love and pain as she left the room. She was tired of the green ones, and she felt that the one-eyed man was going to kill her, even if she spoke or not.

Already dressed and arranged by Mistra, the old woman silently guided you through the corridors of the Red Keep. No one had bothered to show it to you. After all, no one really knew what you were there for. But, that same morning, the one-eyed man had told Mistra to take you to the queen's chambers, and so she was doing. She always faithful and well commanded. Dressed in green and yellow, she trudged for her age, but she was still one of Aemond's most trusted women there, even if she always called him one-eyed.

She kept walking while you followed close behind, aching from your lunar blood. She looked at you out of the corner of her eye just to check that you were following her. She stopped dead in front of the door to Queen Helaena's chambers and turned to get a better look at you.

"I suppose they did teach you protocol in Driftmark, right?" she asked you trying to catch her breath. She had tried to get as fast as she could to meet her masters, but you and your lunar blood had not made it easy for her that day. Now she was afraid that any of them would suspect her treachery.

"Yes, I have to revere the queen when I see her" you said, tilting your head in a subtle and sweet movement, and Mistra thought that you also had the same problem that Helaena had had all her life: Lack of lights . The woman frowned.

“You won't last here, little one. They're all going to devour you” was the only thing she said when she opened the door, and you froze at her words. However, you didn't even have time to respond. She opened the door and pushed you into the Queen's chambers. You swallowed hard as you saw Queen Mother Alicent scowl at you as she noticed your presence. She sighed and you bowed to her as she looked back at her daughter who was sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall. Alicent caressed her daughter's face gently.

"You're late" was all Alicent said. Her voice cold and her eyes even harder. You didn't even know what to answer. You did not expect that no one was waiting for you. "My son informed you of your duties, right?" she said, getting up and placing herself with difficulty in front of you. Age had wrinkled a face that should have been beautiful, and she had turned it into a grimace and pain. Alicent hadn't lost any children in the war, but she certainly hadn't been victorious in that contest either. What was left to her was only offal. The remains of three children. The remains of a daughter who barely made any sound.

"Yes, my lady" you said sweetly. "He told me…"

"'Yes my Queen'. This is how you have to address me” she said diligently, soberly, haughtily. Alicent was not going to allow a daughter of traitors to speak to her in a disrespectful manner. She was your queen whether you liked it or not.

"Yes, my queen" you answered with a scared and intimidated voice. You wanted to come home. You needed to come home. There you were not going to get a single ally.

"Good. You will come here every day at dawn. You will accompany the queen so that she does not feel alone. You will watch that nothing happens to her. You will feed her. You will accompany her. You will have lunch with her every day. You will go for a walk with her…” Queen Alicent began to list all your responsibilities. You almost looked like a caretaker, more than a lady-in-waiting. The poor queen continued with her eyes lost against the wall while the old queen continued with all the great list. You kept looking at her while she continued talking. She went on and on instructing you until Queen Helaena seemed to make a plaintive sound. She almost seemed like she couldn't breathe. Alicent stopped talking to you and she ran to see what was wrong with her daughter, her face full of concern. You stayed put while that poor woman nearly convulsed in bed. Her eyes rolled back and she nearly foamed at her mouth. You've never seen anyone like this before. You understood that your father had shielded you too much from the real world. The Queen Mother looked at you in disbelief.

"What's the matter?" she asked you in a scream. “Are you going to come help me or are you going to just stand there?” she told you and you ran to meet her even though you didn't really know why. The queen kept ordering you before what you had to do. She asked you to bring a piece of wood closer and place it inside Helaena's mouth while Alicent opened that same cavity for her. Everything had the function that she did not bite her tongue while she had that attack. You watched the queen writhe on her bed, screaming and wailing as she rolled her eyes. “This is all your family's fault…if they hadn't killed her children…my sweet girl…” And you went pale as the queen continued to convulse. You knew who the greens in your family had killed, but you didn't expect that anyone in your family could have killed two small children. You needed to come home. Another seizure. Another muffled scream. You really needed it.

"Don't dare to tell me that you brought her here to help Helaena." Aemond heard his mother's voice behind him. His hands resting on the balustrade of that balcony that overlooked the palace gardens. At the same time, he was watching you strolling in the distance with the queen. You led her in silence, followed by a bunch of maids. You had noticed that, for being a queen, Helanea had no lady-in-waiting but you. It seemed as if the rest of the great houses of Westeros, whether big or small, weren't the least bit interested in joining the new royal family.

Aemond continued to watch you. At the time putting his hands behind his back while he ignored his mother. Alicent sighed heavily and moved to her son's side, undermining Helanea with concern.

"What have you brought her for, Aemond?" she heard him sigh with pity and sorrow. "That girl... that girl is only going to bring us trouble" she said, looking at him while her son kept staring at you. Alicent had always dreamed of knowing what was going through Aemond's heads, as if he were the most difficult to decipher of all her children. Just when her mother was going to give up and leave, Aemond spoke, looking at her sideways.

"I have plans with her" was all he said and Alicent looked at him confused. The queen mother raised her chin, as if she at that moment had understood why her son had really taken you to the king's landing.

“Are they like the same plans you had with the witch you found in Harrenhal?” her mother attacked him, and Aemond looked at him without love. As if reminding him of his own weakness and stupidity with Alys, he made him feel like a mortal and not the deity that he was for being a Targaryen.

"No," he hissed through his teeth, hurt that Alicent, his own mother, had reminded him of that. "I'll never fail the realm like that again" he spat without any love, wanting to mark his authority, but, he had discovered that the only one he couldn't do it with was her. And, perhaps it was better that way.

"That time was enough for us to be like this now" Alicent snapped just before leaving. He stopped looking at you. You didn't need supervision. You were very sweet. You would end up getting along with what was left of Helaena. He only returned to his chambers to run his kingdom. If they were in that situation, it was his fault. And Aemond knew it very well.

Sitting back in Queen Helanea's chambers after a short walk, you looked up at the ceiling. You needed to get away from there. However, at that moment when both you and the queen were alone, Helaena made a plaintive sound again. You were afraid, what if she had another attack? You were alone, if it had been difficult for you to control it while the queen mother was there, what would become of you if she gave it to you while you were alone? But, only at that moment that you got up to see what was happening to her, she suddenly looked at you, fixing her violet eyes on you. You stood still while those violet eyes, with tiny pupils, scrutinized you in silence. "Watch out for the dragons, little one" she whispered.

"What?" you asked scared. But, she did not speak again. She made no sound. She just cried and you dried her tears. You could only think, sore from your lunar blood, that this was the best thing that could happen to you. After all, at least you weren't warming anyone's bed.

"The girl can't wear a dress like that today." Mistra broke up the conversation the tailor and Aemond were having in his study. This first one was showing him the dress that he had ordered for you. In the next tournament, you would wear a dress with green and gold transparencies that covered your buttocks, your breasts and your pubis at most. The rest of the skin would be exposed. The Hand was dying to see you in that dress that he had ordered almost from the first day he had seen you swim naked on the beach of Marcaderiva, two years ago. He had patiently waited for you to have bled. A pity they hadn't told him. He would have given you that dress for your birthday himself. Aemond sneered at Mistra, raising a single eyebrow. Not only had she interrupted him, but she was denying a direct order of his and she hadn't even addressed him by his title.

"Why not?" he asked to the old maid. The tailor was silent, displaying the dress on his arms. At Mistra's silence and her penetrating gaze, Aemond sent the tailor out of his study. The little man complied, clutching the dress, and only when he was gone did Mistra speak. Aemond sat in his study just to continue writing edicts. He was the only thing he dedicated himself to those days. He was the law.

“She has bled this morning. Just when I entered her room she was trying to eliminate the evidence” Mistra told Aemond and he stopped typing abruptly. He just looked at her silently. Silence always invited the other to continue speaking. The silence made people uncomfortable. He leaned back in his chair, while Mistra continued talking "she made Me promise that I wouldn't tell you anything" commented the old maid "she was scared".

“They have been telling me for two years that she does not bleed. I would be too if I were her” Aemond smirked as he lifted the glass to his lips. He took a small sip. It was the right moment that he had been waiting for too long "But... let's continue her game..." Mistra looked at him confused and he continued speaking. “You are going to earn her trust. I'm going to pretend you didn't tell me anything. I want… I want to know what it tells you about her life in King's Landing, about my family… about me…”

The old maid made no gesture, but she also knew what Aemond wanted from you. She must have known better than the one-eyed man himself, who was beating the air trying to avoid her true intentions. But, the old woman was as old as the devil and she knew even more than he did. She knew that the one-eyed prince's plans passed through your bed and between your legs. Although he did not want to admit it.

"As you wish" the maid answered sincerely. She was a servant of Aemond, who should truly reign, though she was now content to be merely her brother's hand. A true loss to the kingdom. Mistra could have been faithful to you, but that put her head in danger. With that you would learn, she told herself. You would learn to play the way they played in the capital.

“Tonight, I will have dinner with her. Prepare everything so that she is ready. You may retire,” was all Aemond said to her, and Mistra wondered if tonight would finally be the time when you would know the true feeling of being a woman in King's Landing.

You helped Alicent take one last bite of her dinner for Queen Helaena. After their outburst that morning, Aemond had decided that they would all dine separately. Aegon would dine quietly and alone with his whores. Jaehaera and Daeron would dine in the former's chambers. You had noticed that they spent a lot of time together. Alicent would dine with Helaena… And Aemond would do it by himself. You thought he was always alone. But you didn't care. If you were there, it was his fault. He was the one who had taken you to King's Landing. You thought it would have been nice to have dinner with Alicent and her daughter, but you really knew better. So you decided that she would have dinner alone. With no one to bother you, you once helped Helaena to bed.

Once all your labors were finished, you went to your chambers. However, Mistra intercepted you on the way and told you that the one-eyed man wanted to see you. You looked at her confused, what if she had blabbed and told Aemond? No, it couldn't be. You trusted her. It must have been a coincidence. You walked after her again, for the second time that day. Following her like a slaughtered lamb. Was it that you were something else?

Aemond lifted his wineglass to his lips with a smirk as he watched you enter the doors of his chambers. You were beautiful, but you always were to him. Mistra nodded goodbye to him and you timidly entered his chambers. You were dressed in green and black on that occasion, with a discreet neckline, but one that would delight many. He got up as soon as he saw you and fixed his only eye on you. His face completely stoic.

“My prince" you greeted him with a bow of the head and the sweet voice that Aemond imagined you would have when you were tangled between the sheets of his bed. 'My prince'. He imagined that you whispered it with a smile in his ear while he was kissing the skin of your neck. He could see that you were afraid of him. You were still standing in front of him, even when Mistra had closed the door behind her. But that didn't bother him. Rather the complete opposite. That turned him on.

"(Y / N), you look very beautiful tonight" he told you as Aemond with his hand invited you to sit next to him at a small table in his private chambers. On the table were two plates, a few meats, and fruit. He didn't throw the big feasts that Aegon did to impress a woman.

"What do you need from me, my lord?" you spoke in a sweet voice, but without moving from the same place next to the door where the maid had left you. Aemond looked at you confused. The old woman should not have informed you. She only should have told you that he wanted to see you. Nothing else. You grabbed the skirt of your dress. You obviously didn't want to be there, but Aemond…he wanted you to be.

“We could have dinner together. Both you and I would have dinner alone tonight if not” he told you as he offered you a seat again. And you doubted so much kindness. That arrogant smile that he outlined as soon as he saw you. That cold purple eye that you didn't think could be happy with anything.

You slowly approached and sat next to him. You weren't going to deny him what he wanted, no matter how much you wanted to run away from there. Aemond always terrified you. He always did. Once in the chair, the prince sat back down as well. You pursed your lips when you felt him so close to you. He smelled of steel and leather. The scent of a man who, despite his skill at arms, still continued to train every day.

"Why don't you serve me wine?" he asked you, looking at you with an arrogant smile and you nervously picked up the jug of wine, almost trembling. You had never been alone with him. That must have been one of your father's worst nightmares and… one of Aemond's best dreams. You served him in silence while he pinched a few grapes and put them in his mouth with amusement while he watched you in silence. Seeing how you didn't pour wine for yourself, he took the jug himself. Willing to serve you. He would show you that he could also have nice gestures with you. Yet you put your hand on your cup. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “It's a fine Dornish wine. I'm sure you would enjoy it."

“No, I… I don't feel like it” you whispered. You took the jug of water and served yourself. He sighed, setting the wine jug back on the table. You didn't intend to drink that night. You couldn't afford to dull your senses with the enemy so close. You took a sip of water and helped yourself to some of the little meat that was on the table, Aemond did the same.

You began to dine in silence. You could only hear the night sound of the city at the foot of the Red Keep and the cutlery you were using. You saw that Aemond barely ate or drank, it seemed as if his presence manifested itself only from the air he breathed. He was methodical even in his way of eating. He was even disciplined in that. You both dined on the balcony that was in their rooms. You thought that he must have seemed like the best place of all those that existed in the sobriety of his rooms.

"Do you like the dinner?" he asked again, trying to talk about something with you. You didn't even know what to answer. Everything tasted like ashes. Things had stopped smelling and tasting since you'd left Driftmark, and really, you were glad. King's Landing just seemed to smell and taste like a rat's nest. It was better to have neither smell nor taste in this city. You just nodded your head and took a couple more bites. Aemond spoke again “I have asked for figs. I know what you like” you looked at him incredulous. How did he know that? He had only seen you eat at your father's last birthday celebration. You knew he hadn't taken his eye off you, but that…

At that moment, a dragon much smaller than Vhagar but still imposing, passed through the red keep on its way to the Dragonpit. You stayed silent. Admiring him. They really were beasts that scared you. You had only seen Vhagar. She was the only one you'd seen, but that's why you weren't going to be shocked to see another. Aemond chuckled sweetly. It was the first time you heard him, a different laugh than the arrogant one he always had.

"They're impressive, aren't they?" he asked, bringing his hand to yours, but you quickly pushed it away, hiding it under the table, much to Aemond's disquiet, who drank his wine again in a vain attempt to hide the shame he felt for such a bold move with you.

"I don't like dragons" you said as you turned your attention back to the food, ignoring the young dragon that kept flying to his home. "One murdered my uncle Luke, another two my grandmother Rhaenys, another my grandmother Rhaenyra" you blurted out without thinking, looking at him full of contempt, in a gesture you never thought you could do... and that turned Aemond on again. If before he had found you fascinating, now he found you irresistible, although he would never accept it. He was too proud for it. He just smiled at you as he amusedly leaned back against his chair. He went back to take another sip of his drink without even stopping to look at you with his only eye. You also had him for a Kinslayer. He would never have thought of you, but certainly, what did he know about you? Beyond seeing you naked on the beach a couple of times, or seeing you read in your rooms in Driftmark, or seeing you dance at your father's last birthday party…gods, He was crazy about you. He realized at that moment that you were trying to reveal yourself against a dragon.

"I see... that your father has told you about the Dance, even briefly" he smiled amused. "I'll tell you a secret..." he approached you and whispered in your ear. “History is written by the winners, and in this case, the losers were also jerks. It could be said that those who died won…” all your skin stood on end as you felt his hot breath against your skin. You lifted your chin arrogant and haughty. How could a man like Aemond cast a spell on you like that? It was impossible. He smiled when he saw your reaction, and at that moment, he gently caressed your bottom lip. In a gesture that he would never have thought himself capable of doing, he joined his lips to yours.

As you experienced your first kiss with your father's enemy, Helaena stared at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. Aegon was choking on a sip of wine that he tried to drink with his misshapen mouth. Your father silently mourned the death of your little brother. Jaehaera and Daeron held each other silently in her chambers. Alicent lit two candles in the sept. One for each dead grandson…everything had been torn apart by the Dance with Dragons. But right now, while the rest of the world suffered, Aemond Targaryen, a Kinslayer, was kissing the woman he liked... who happened to be the daughter of his worst enemy.

[dr-ground-zero]

Love Sick

(there isn't alot of snz in this but its still snz. anyways here's a villainous fic. Flug is a bit OOC in this but i had fun writing this their relationship is....mildly toxic though nothing vile i promise) It was an early morning in the lab, Flug had just finished his breakfast and looked over his plans for the day. Lord Black Hat was on a vacation which meant Flug was free to tinker about as he pleased without interruption. 505 aka Fluffy was cleaning around the place while Flug went through his To-do list. First was to feed and water the man-eating plants he had been growing, he just grabbed some spare body parts from the fridge and tossed them at the plants for them to eat. Next was to test some new serums he had been working on.

“Oh, Fluuuuug!” Of course, he couldn’t work without Dementia interrupting him. He grumbled and held onto the test tubes tightly as the reptilian metahuman slithered her way in with a grin on her face.

“Whatcha doin’?” He rolled his eyes as he poured in the solution.

“I’m working, Dementia.” “Ah right doing your stupid nerd stuff” She giggled as she wrapped her arms loosely around Flug’s shoulders hovering over him. His face scrunched up behind the bag he wore over his face.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” he sighs, mixing the solutions and thoroughly watching them change colors. Dementia lets out an exasperated sigh and pokes at the man’s face.

“Because leaving you alone is boring, and you’re fun to mess with,” Flug huffed, kicked Dementia off, and glared at her with his stirring instrument.

“Get out! I have things to do, and I don’t need you messing them up for me!” He seethed, Dementia went down with a sharp skid but managed to get back on her feet. She ‘hmphed’, he was more irritated with her than usual.

“Don’t come in here! I need you out!” With a flip of her hair, she flipped him off and walked out of the laboratory. Flug let out a deep breath and continued to go down his list until he came to the last thing. The thing he had been putting off for a while now, going and checking on his latest capture. Miss Heed.

Usually, Black Hat hated having any heroes in the lair though he allowed this or well requested it. Heed practically bribed the vigilante prison system to hand her over. The reason? Black Hat loved drama and tormented the scientist. Besides Flug was allowed to use her for experiments whenever he so desired. As long as it didn’t kill her, Black Hat didn’t care what Flug did to her.

When he realized he could not stall any longer, he had been avoiding her quite a bit, he got himself together and headed towards the containment area.

Walking into the containment area he noticed her scent which was usually seeping out of the box due to its heavy concentration. Was dull and weak, he didn’t even need to wear a mask. When he walked up to the glass he noticed Heed was curled up in a ball but she didn’t seem to be sleeping or doing her usual scribbles on paper and muttering. He unlocked the door alerting the girl inside. Miss Heed sluggishly sat up from her bed and looked up at Flug. She didn’t even try to fix her messy hair like she usually did when Flug came inside.

“Oh Fluggy, its you!” She said with a weak smile. The usual bags under her eyes were more pronounced and her skin was quite pale and her natural permanent blush looked more feverish than normal. She muffled a throat-stinging cough into her wrist as she crawled towards Flug like a puppy.

“You’re sick” Flug stated, with a look of pity, she kneeled by his feet and looked up at him. She learned not long ago that if she wanted any of Flug’s attention then she needed to be quiet. Flug pulled a glove off his hands, pressed the back to her forehead, and frowned.

“You’ve got a fever, doesn’t feel high but a fever nonetheless. How long have you been feeling sick?” He inquired, Heed shrugged while leaning into his touch taking in whatever she could.

“I’ve had the sdiffles for a while dnow, buhh but I-i Ih’chiew! Ig’chiew! Ig’chiew!”

“Bless you, certainly sounds like it” Flug sighed and turned to leave without a word, Cecilia started to say something but the scientist told her he would return. Why did he feel the need to take care of her? Why, after everything she did to him? Stealing his work twice, brainwashing him just to get to Goldheart. Yet he still could feel his heartache for her, he could feel himself wanting her still. However he couldn’t want her, he couldn’t give her what she wanted, he could he know if she was genuine. But damn she’s been so good, she sits so quietly and he can say no to those big doughy eyes whether they’re light brown with hints of gold or bright pink with hearts in them. Okay okay, he’d just drop off a box of tissues and a blanket and he would leave it at that nothing more!

Flug gathered and exchanged somethings quickly so he could grab the supplies he needed and headed back to the containment room. Upon seeing Flug return, Heed perked up slightly, she rubbed at her overly pink nose and looked up at him happily.

“Here I’ve got some tissues and a blanket for ya” He dropped them down onto her lap, letting the ex-superhero wrap herself up and grab a tissue to blow her nose.

“Th-thagks Fluggy” Then he heard the door click and buzz, uh oh. Flug went to the door and tried to open it, jimmying the handle but it stopped every time. No worries he could just use his key-….card. Patting and searching his pockets frantically to no avail, he must’ve set it down in his laboratory! That meant he was stuck in here! And his walkie-talkie wasn’t on him either, so he couldn’t call for help. He’d have to wait for 505 or Dementia to notice his absence and go looking. That also meant he was stuck in a room, with Miss Heed. “Damn it, I can’t get out” He grumbled sinking to his knees. Heed didn’t know how to respond, on one hand, her heart was pounding at the idea of being locked in a room with the man who she desperately craved. On the other she could sense his disdain for the situation, maybe if she was good then she could get some attention. She restrained herself from clinging onto Flug despite the strong urges. She snuffled wetly and crawled back to her bed, keeping the blanket over her fever-chilled frame. God she hated being sick, it always made her feel so weak and powerless.

Everything so far had made her feel powerless.

Losing her friends, her inspiration for being a hero, her followers, her fame, her love. She barely had her powers, the prison she had been sent to took most of her strength from her. Sapping her ability out of her body as a punishment for misusing them. Now all she had was Flug who she knew hated her however that didn’t stop her from wanting no needing his love! It was selfish and she knew it but even just a little bit of his attention would be enough! She learned to take the little she could get from him, and now he was stuck with her. She wanted him she wanted him badly! Her nose seemed to want to embarrass her badly too.

It tickled and twitched, the tickle would start from the tip of her nose and slowly spread until she couldn’t help it any longer. It was getting so big, her breath hitching softly, one hand coming up to fan at her face as her lips parted. Another hand lazily grabbing a tissue as she tried to coax the tickle along.

“Oh combe od pleehh please heeh i-ih i dneed to hehh heh!” She sniveled between hitches, this got Flug’s attention turning around he watched the woman desperately gear up to sneeze. Something about seeing her so vulnerable made him feel something. Seeing her in such a broken state, so needy but not in the usual way, it intrigued him. Maybe he’s been around Black Hat for too long but the sadism in him was rising. Maybe he could indulge her just a little~

He scooted over to her with a fake frustrated sigh, sitting beside her on the mattress she called a bed. With a sharp gasp, her body rocked with the force of her small yet plentiful sneezes.

“Ih’shiew! Ig’shhiew! It’chiew! Ht’chiew! It’chiew!” Each one of them almost kittenish in nature still rocked her frail body. It shivered and shook every time, Heed whimpered softly at the ache in her bones and muscles.

“Aw poor little hero, taken down by a little cold” Heed blushed at the other’s taunting, she wanted to be upset with him, she wanted to yell at him but. She wouldn’t, she didn’t want him to leave. She blushed further when a gloved have cupped her face and tilted it to look up at the doctor. Even if she couldn’t see most of his face the glint of mischief behind those goggles sent chills down her spine.

“Pathetic, that's how you look you know, utterly pathetic. I bet just me being this close is overwhelming for you, holding you might make your heart explode I’m sure.” Where was this coming from, the Kenning Flugsly she knew could hardly correct a waitress about his order!

“Look at you, is that a fever or are you happy that I’m giving you the attention you’ve been dying for~?” He then tapped her on the nose which seemed to jump-start another tickle. Her nostrils flared widely and she leaned away, whining quietly as the tickle teased her. Growing bigger and bigger only to shrink back into nothing and leave her gasping for air.

“Fluuhh Flug please hehh help” She whispered out her nose running slightly through her desperation. Flug stalled for a moment before he gingerly rubbed his finger over the tip of her nose.

“Honestly it really is a wonder how you’ve lasted this long as a hero when you can barely manage a cold. You’re so attention-starved that it makes you sick, doesn’t it?” He chuckled lightly, he snatched up a few tissues for her. Heed needily held onto Flug’s shoulder and ducked down into the tissues he held to her nose.

“ Heehhg Ig’chiew! It’chiew! Ht’chiew! ht’chiew!” “Disgusting little hero can’t keep her cold to herself, huh? You keep looking at me like a sad puppy dog begging for scraps of love on the streets. You’re utterly lovesick for me, so take this as your treat, Heed~” He said in a low dark tone making the hero shudder with anticipation.

[detective-and-dreamer]

Dealer's choice for Ockham, if you'd like? <3

[I've put some notes on this one! The tags would've been a mile long otherwise.]

23. a kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances (the substance in question being neathbow fuckery)

It wasn't the worst party Emory had ever been dragged to; they didn't even mind that Lenora had wandered off partway through the evening. Nocturnal artists often wanted to hear hunting stories, though he was sure they wished he'd speak of it a bit more poetically. When they tired of it, they were happy to leave him to stand near the wall with a glass of wine. The decor, however, was a bit of an issue - not something they would normally care much about, but the skeleton someone had set up as a centerpiece made no fucking sense. It was made up of three, no, four different zee-beasts cobbled together into a completely implausible monstrosity. He glared at the place where a fin didn't even attempt to connect properly to the frame. Artistic liberty was one thing, but they thought it should at least look like the creator had given a damn.

...If this was what they were focused on, they needed to make this their last drink. Gods forbid he start trying to fix the thing. Before they could give it any further consideration, though, they were interrupted by Lenora's sudden return. She was accompanied by a redhead in a deep green dress and...a wave of flirtatious joy?

"Je vais vous présenter - " whatever that meant, it was directed solely to the person beside her - "Emory, dear, this is Ockham; I fear I've essentially been holding her captive for language practise instead of making introductions to anyone else." She gestured to them, and they noted her gaze was far less sharp than usual. "This is my friend, Captain Emory Hayes."

"Nice to meet you." Ockham held out her (Emory would have guessed something neutral, but who were they to argue?) hand. He felt a hint of curiosity and wondered what Lenora had been saying about him.

This wasn't a state of mind that should have been possible without physical contact or conscious will. The only exception they had ever encountered was Parabolan influence of some kind. Yet Ockham's own eyes seemed normal, and she bore no other obvious signs of possession; just the opposite, in fact. There were flickers of reptilian instinct, now that he could pick up on such things, but they felt buried in the way a person's thoughts normally would when they weren't in full control of themselves.

Was there a polite way to ask are you from a different realm, and if so, how the fuck did you get here? Probably not. Between the nearly palpable emotional aura and the apocyanic haze encroaching on his vision, Emory could barely even think of a normal introduction.

And so, before his mind could catch up with his actions, he brought Ockham's hand up for a kiss rather than the handshake he had planned. They felt the shallow, fleeting memories skin held; the touches of others, the brush of fabric. Lenora raised an eyebrow, and he knew he was never going to hear the end of her teasing once they were alone. Somehow they doubted an explanation would help. Teratomancy made me do it? Technically, this is your fault? No, it would only encourage her.

"...It's nice to meet you, too." he said, resigning himself to his fate.

- I wanted to explore what viric would do to Emory. What I decided is that it brings on a version of the "half-dreaming" mental state he enters for teratomancy, thus making him more emotionally perceptive/receptive. They were able to catch themselves before slipping into an actual trance, though, especially since there wasn't a completely overwhelming amount of input.

- They can, in fact, tell what Ockham should look like! Sort of, anyway. It's not the same as what you'd see through cosmogone lenses. Rather than a vivid, current appearance, they're getting an impression from hishertheir own memories. Since Ockham's been in stasis for so long, though, there's probably not a lot of discernible difference. Maybe some of the details are hazy or slightly off, since you can't really conjure up a perfect image of yourself without looking? If someone else who knew was nearby, it would probably help. I'm also not sure exactly what he would remember once he'd left hishertheir presence and the effect was no longer there.

- I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to pick up some memories from skin - it is an organ, after all. I think it probably doesn't hold information for quite as long, though. Also, most of it is just things like "this area was touched by someone recently and this is how they felt about it" or "the pain of getting a scrape that has since healed."

- Nora knows multiple languages. I don't, unfortunately, otherwise I would have given them more dialogue together instead of having her switch back halfway through a sentence so she could include Emory. She was thrilled to have an excuse to practice, though. Also, Ockham could probably get a two for one deal here if heshethey tried; she's pretty easy to get kisses from.

[blindeyeswideopen]

𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙱𝙻𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝙳

“You are shaking.”

Eris glances over at his sibling, tired brown eyes like pools of darkness on his pale face looking upwards towards the other’s inhuman form. Eris himself looks like a ghost from a horror story, years of being stuck in a small room with little desire to take care of himself leaving him looking less like a nineteen year old boy and more a nineteenth century spectre haunting an old mansion. Dark brown hair is shaved to the skull, and dark circles create purple bruises that sink into the sockets of Eris’s skull.

It’s been a hard few days. The cycling red lights mixed with the confines of the server room do no favors to the picture that Eris paints. The alarm blares in the background, a stray dying screech of some bastard piercing the noise like a macabre bell, the only signs someone other than the monsters lives in these halls still.

The constant reminder that every death keel is a tick down on the list of survivors.

Eris rubs his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him even now, with adrenaline in his veins like a drug, keeping his heart pounding even as his vision greys out and noise fades into static.The next round of blaring alarms snaps him to attention.

“You are shaking.” Sol says again, long black fingers like void taken form curl around Eris’s hands, grasping his trembling digits in ones that he knows can kill. Bright white eyes with reptilian pupils glance over his face, fanged mouth twisted into a scowl.

“It’s cold.” Is all Eris can say to defend himself, to wave away the signs he’s close to collapsing where he stands. He’s not entirely lying. Ever since the main generators went down and the ones meant to keep the containment breach protocols running kicked in, the heating has been non-existent. The thin cotton clothes that the scientists insisted he wear have done nothing to keep the chill from sinking into his bones.

Sol frowns in the way they always do when Eris lies to them, confused and disappointed all in one. They never quite understand why Eris wouldn’t tell them the truth, not when Sol seems convinced that they are simply two parts of a larger whole.

Eris shoves the thought away with a grimace, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. Right now was not the time for him to get lost in memories nearly a decade old. He’s got far more to worry about than ghosts long gone.

He’ll never forget the feeling as men in hazmats suits shoved him into a white van, the feeling of WRONGWRONGWRONG writing itself into his bones as the woman in a suit with a gun tucked into her belt closed the front door, his twin screaming his name as the wood separated them. Eris wonders if the sound of the van doors slamming closed and his own screaming drowned out the gunshot, or if it was the pain as if his soul was ripped in half and the resulting darkness that was what kept him from hearing the cause of his brother’s death.

He pulls away from Sol, wiping at his nose absentmindedly, ignoring the taste of copper on his tongue. There’s no time to give a shit about a nosebleed, and it’s not like his skin isn’t already covered in blood and viscera.

You couldn’t take two steps out in the halls right now without slipping on a piece of person. Eris would have laughed if he had the energy to make a joke about the massacre happening outside the walls of the server room. Instead, he watches as Sol walks away to repair their defenses. Eris leans back in the creaky chair he’s sitting in, blood still dripping onto his shirt.

Sol throws another broken server in front of the door, the mangled electronics sparking feebly as they were added to the barricade with a crash. The server room itself had been the safe haven for Sol and Eris since they found it. An attached bathroom and a cabinet full of albeit unhealthy food, perfect for tech junkies who weren’t legally allowed to see the sun anymore.

Or two people trying to wait out a murder spree.

Eris turns around in the chair, bringing his attention back to the old computer he finds himself sitting in front of. Eris adjusts the old webcam on top to point towards his face, and in the corner of his eye, SCP-079’s new monitor flickers slightly.

Eris doesn’t pay the AI any mind. The old bastard is currently in “rest mode” which means nothing for a being that doesn’t actually need sleep. As far as Eris has deduced, it just means that It is going through the files It has access to in order to sort and save what It deems necessary. It was still getting used to having full access to the server room.

Eris smiles slightly, thinking of the joy 79 showed in Its new text-to-speech voice after being freed from the limited confines It had been stuck in for so long. Eris was rather proud of the fact that the sentient AI who had spent most of Its time hating everyone It talked to referred to Eris as a “True Friend”. 79 Itself wasn’t actually too bad to talk to, especially now that It had free reign on the advanced computer Eris had transferred It into

In contrast, the old thing that 79 used to live in was practically a scrap heap after so long. Still, it works if nothing else, so Eris plans to use his limited computer knowledge to try and get the device running again. Maybe if he’s lucky, he can play solitaire to ignore the situation he’s in.

Sol sits down next to him, their large head leaning against his shoulder. Eris leans back into the touch, feeling the warmth of his sibling against his side as the two of them stare at the screen.

A green light shines on both of them, and Eris glances up to see the red dot blinking on the webcam. He frowns, brows furrowed as he reads the white text.

“Hey 79?” Eris calls out, turning his head towards the AI’s monitor. There’s a quick flicker of light, and then the black and white face of the AI makes Itself visible.

“QUERY ACKNOWLEDGED. QUERY. WHAT REQUIRES ASSISTANCE.”

“Does ‘The Choir’ mean anything to you?” Eris asks, standing up and making his way over to the laptop 79 is contained in. “Can I move you over?”

That’s important, asking for consent. The first time Eris picked up the laptop without asking 79 for permission first It managed to screech at him with a surprising amount of volume. The resulting silence as Eris and Sol waited for the other SCPs outside to pass by wasn’t worth the slight adjustment Eris had wanted to make.

“QUERY ACKNOWLEDGED. PROCEED.”

“Thanks, 79.” Eris says softly, picking up the laptop quickly, tucking it face-out against his chest. The warm hum of It is enough to bring him some comfort in the cold room, the blaring alarms continuing mindlessly in the background. Eris is forever grateful that 79 told him how to destroy the speakers in the server room as soon as It did.

The red lights were somehow comforting, at least here in the server room. They didn’t flicker on and off like those in the hallway, illuminating the mangled corpses strewn about and highlighting black stains on the floor and walls that Eris knew were anything but.

Sol was poking at the computer screen, a disgruntled expression on their face.

“I do not like this.” They hissed, bright white teeth flashing in the dim red light. “Seems…off. Tastes weird.”

Eris placed 79 on the table next to Its old computer and rubbed at his nose, grimacing at the flakes of blood that came off onto his finger. The taste of Miasma filled the air around them, leaking in from the outside. All the death and pain like a physical smog seeping into everything it could reach.

Eris and Sol were both familiar with the taste of it, though neither enjoyed it much. It was less like a welcoming sensation and more akin to being starving but knowing the smell of cooking meat was human, and not beef. It made Eris feel like a junkie, chasing the nearest high.

He sways slightly, his body inhaling the scent of the Miasma far deeper than before at the reminder of its existence, his head turning foggy in the aftermath. It’s only Sol shoving the chair under him that prevents Eris from collapsing onto the floor as black fills his vision.

—------

He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, but 79 and Sol seem to be in the middle of a conversation while they wait for him to return to consciousness

“I’m awake.” Eris mutters, doing his best to save his dignity. 79 and Sol somehow share a look, but neither comments on his sudden faint. Both are far too used to it to be surprised at the phenomenon.

“OBSERVATION. PROGRAM UNKNOWN. SUGGESTION. ATTEMPT COMMUNICATION.” 79 cuts in, Its droning tone bringing Eris’s attention back to the matter at hand that he’d been attempting to figure out before he had blacked out.

Eris sits up, wiping his nose as yet another stream of blood trickles down his face. Iron sits heavy on his tongue, drowning out the sticky feel of Miasma in the back of his throat.

“We can try.” He mutters, pulling the yellowed keyboard closer to him and tapping the spacebar a few times. His hands hover over the keys for a second, brow furrowed. A drop of blood drips onto the plastic.

Finally, he types something down.

> 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘?

The three wait, the blaring alarm and hum of the servers behind them the only noise besides Eris’s occasional sniffle. And then-

> 𝙶𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜! 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚒𝚛 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚂𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙸𝚗𝚋𝚘𝚡 𝚒𝚜 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗. 𝙾𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙴𝚢𝚎.

The light on the webcam turns a steady white.

(Sol, SCP-79, and Eris R̵̡̨̢̝̬͇͓̠̮̗̰̳̥̘̗̜̬̪̣͖͎̳͕͙̟͖̞̳͙͇͖̙͙͈̱̜̺̠̯̮͍̣͎͍̯̦͕̼̄̌̄ơ̷̧̛̩͚̱̺̰̘̻͚͔̠̮͈͍̼̤͇̮̜͇̩̣͔̫̳̩̥̥̗̭͙̱̥̘͚̙̲̬̰̯̙͖̠͈̗̖̞̌̀̿̎̈͂̈́̐̒͂̇͆͆̊̿̀̋̎̎̉̎͌̎̋͋́̕͘͘͘̚̚͘͝͝͝͠g̷̺͇͕̖̮̭͙͇̖͍̼̈̕ͅȩ̷̢̡̡͙̹̩̙͍̘̙̞̠͇̱͓̬̹̪̗̯͚̲͙̩̦̪͉̮͔̜̱̲̰̙̱͍̣̲̍̀͛̋̌̑̀̈́͑̊͛̿̒̑̀̏̀̓̎́̏̅̈́͆̍̈́̚̚͠͝͝ͅͅr̴̢̛̛̛̛̯̬̻̰̼̣͖͙̻̬̗̖̓̍̅́̇͗̔̄̅́̐̈́̈́̋̈͛̑͗̿͛̉̈́͗́̒͋̾̄̾̔̐͊͂̌̆̆̅͠͝ş̶̡̧̨̬̲͖̜̱̬͉̹̳̞̩͕̖̭̝͓̬͈̭̰͙͈̯̻̜̤͈̮̺̞͉̣̯̳͎̹̪̖̭̯̹̞̖͖̖̔̄̋̄̽̍̊͐̍̈̿̓͜͜͝ͅͅ are availble for questions!)

[dragonofthestone]

"Tim. Tim..." She whispered, gently shaking his shoulder to wake him. It seemed after some delay due to the snow storm, they had finally arrived at North City. Other passengers around them were already starting to gather their things from the luggage shelf and file out of the cabin, and she didn't want to get caught behind them.

She took a cursory glance out the window, noticing that there weren't as many military personnel stationed on the platform, at least not compared to East City. They could have focused more of their military power at the fort further north, or there may have been officers out of uniform, wearing street clothes to blend in. Either way, she knew that speed and discretion were of the utmost importance in a situation like this, and the more time they spent inside this cramped space, the more likely they were to lag behind and get caught.

They needed to get out in the open, where Anton was waiting for them.

"Come on, it's time to go. We can't afford to linger."

A single reptilian eye opened, if he wasn't already awake the shrill ear splitting was more then enough to do it without her.

"I wasn't 'sleep," He groaned letting out a long hiss, stiffly uncurling his legs having been in the same curled position for the majority of the train ride. Perhaps not the best idea

There was no chance of him sleeping on this ride, the sheer overwhelm on his sense would have seen to that. From the thunderous rumbling and clattering metal of the train racing over the tracks to the thick concentrated scents confined to the car, with a particularly strong perfume that wafted through.

No. Sleep wasn't liable to occur not till he got somewhere safer. Although getting proper sleep was out of the question it hadn't stopped him from taking a moment to close his eyes now then, which was only possible due to Luna's presence offering some safety.

--

Upon standing up a sharp pin prickling tingle shot up his right foot the moment it touch the floor. Timaeus reached behind to lightly press at the base of his tail around his lower back, which had become quite painfully cramped up without being able properly uncurl and relax the muscles properly for quite sometime.

As he turned his head to glance out the window to get a look at where they were Timaeus noticed from his faint reflection the reptilian appearance of his eye. Damn, he could only guess the exhaustion was making it hard to maintain appearance. Swiftly a gloved hand was raised to make it appear as if he was just rubbing the sleep from his eye upon lowering it had returned to it's human like state.

With everyone so busy trying to get off hopefully that meant no one had noticed his momentary abnormality.

[sonicasura]

Mag Man: Placation

You can thank @discoknack for the new name suggestion. Here we are with the alternate route for MAG!Kafka species swap, the Mina Route or what I call Placation. There will be some similarities from the main particularly the start. Other than that, let's get started!

Mina Ashiro first major assignment as Captain of the 3rd Division didn't fully involve Kaiju. People have been mysteriously disappearing for the past few years, specifically Defense Force examinees and dropouts. At first these rumors were ignored by the higher ups until a recent report came in.

Someone was posing as an applicator for a Defense Force program with the aim to train failures into proper officers. An organization who has deep connections to the kaiju side of the black market. The latest victim however is what really got Mina to take this case. Kafka Hibino, her childhood friend and someone who drifted away from her over time.

The mission was painfully simple. Apprehend all of those responsible and rescue any alive captives. Permission to use lethal force was authorized as these people could be more dangerous than a simple kaiju. It would take some time before her division was allowed to move out.

A little too late for the scene they will stumble upon was a sheer bloodbath. Every member of the shadow organization laid dead on the ground. Their bodies flattened or viciously tore apart by something.

Any captives her officers found been dead for a while, some showing minor mutations eeriely reminiscent to Kaiju. Yet Mina found no sign of Kafka or whatever caused this carnage. That is until she noticed movements in a nearby alley.

What Mina would find broke her heart within seconds. Curled up in a blood soaked ball was what could only be Kafka. A 15'6 giant adorned in a torn black jumpsuit barely holding onto his large body, dark grey scales that covered his arms/legs/sides/cheeks, a massive maw of sharp teeth which split his face than overtake his lips, a thick black reptilian tail curled down from is lower back, and long white horns.

Mina's hope however remained alive when Kafka's now blood red slits eyes looked at her with sad familiarity. He was still in there despite being the victim of a nightmare soon to be known as Project MAGNUS. An experiment meant to create giant supersoldiers programmed for loyalty through kaiju DNA.

Mina immediately places Kafka under her division's protection and do all she could to help him. Keeping the MAG calm even if a nightmare or PTSD attack was lethal. Help him feel normal by getting custom made clothes and the closest he can have to a normal bedroom.

Kafka would slowly begin to act more like himself than a nervous withdrawn wreck. Although there are some bad days spent curled around Mina or some of the few people in the 3rd Division who earned his trust(Okonogi/Soshiro.) That doesn't fully stop Kafka from trying to help with their fight against the Kaiju.

It took time for protocols to be set in motion. Some of these include either Mina or Soshiro being present to reign him in should his aggression risk evolving into a rampage. Kafka lived mostly content with the 3rd Division although things were guaranteed to change the day he saves a certain young Monster Sweeper from a Yoju.

There have been rumors that had spread throughout the public about the 'Mag Man'. An unclassified humanoid Kaiju known to haunt the 3rd Division's operations. It wasn't uncommon for people to try and stake out their hunts only to end in failure.

Reno is the first to meet Kafka so he gets put in a private Defense Force hospital as Mina gives him the rundown. The 3rd Division do plan to make the MAG known to the public hence this particular transfer. However a wrench is thrown in their plans when a certain small Kaiju infiltrates Kafka's den.

Mina having front row seats to his more monstrous transformation. Kafka did his absolute best to not lash out from the pain in fear of hurting her. A difficult task since growing two smaller arms, red torn membrane obsidian bat wings, fanged mouth extending halfway down the neck, two extra kaiju horns while his own pair alongside body spikes becomes more jagged and red tipped. Nevermind the room shrinking due to a harsh growth spurt making him 23'4.

The problem only escalates when officers run in upon picking up a 9.8 fortitude on base. Mina didn't even get a chance to tell Kafka to stop before he flees like a bat out of hell. You can say it was a long night for the 3rd Division when it came to locating the runaway MAG.

They almost didn't find him until the Spider Yoju appears to attack the small family. Neither Captain expected to see Kafka being soothed by a little girl while her (healed)mother watches. Or for him to shrink to almost human form.

Keyword being 'Almost' as other than his height of 6'8, some inhuman features would remain like small horns, faded scale patterns on his skin, short tail, fangs and claws. Tests would be run(after reassuring the family they aren't gonna hurt Mister Kaiju.) Whatever the unclassified Kaiju did, it somehow fixed some of the issues in Kafka's mutation.

His form shifts depending on his current emotional state with contentment being the most humanoid. This discovery however led Kafka to become fully known to the public as Kaiju No.8. It was time for him to truly prove that he isn't a monster.

Luckily the 3rd Division has been preparing for this day to come. Mina was gonna make sure nothing bad will happen to Kafka again. And maybe the kaiju who caused this new mutation could help him get his humanity.

Only time will tell. Something that might become limited as threats towards the MAG shall come for him. Both human and Kaiju.

@renard-dartigue @drmarune

[bluegekk0]

Pk is a pit viper and I will die on this hill (why? I’m the only one up here?)

Anyways love ur au, I imagine Hornet teaches the baby to pick locks, but then immediately regrets it as they become even more of a little menace

oh, very cool idea with the pit viper! beautiful snake

it's making me think what kind of reptile i'd see fpk as, considering how often i call him a lizard. it's difficult cause he's kind of a chimera of a bunch of different animals, including reptiles and mammals

he's got some skink, especially in his large wyrm form with the elongated body and short stubby limbs. also a lot of snake, with the flexible scales on his underbelly and the long tail (again, most noticeable before he changed forms). his tongue is forked, which again is very reptilian, as his his mouth structure. there's non reptiles too - for example, his headshape is kind of axolotl/salamander like, similar to toothless from how to train your dragon (who was one of my inspirations). his general body plan and the softer, more flexible skin as opposed to hard scales are kind of raccoon like. and he's got some opposum as well: the tail which can wrap around objects and the hands with paw pads and short, stubby digits. his feet are very cat like, and his general squishiness as well as the big wet eyes and the lil eyebrows were inspired by seals

y'know, when i put it like this, he's more like a mammal dressed up as a reptile rather than a lizard. or perhaps he's a lizard that copied the mammals' homework. he's a weird guy, only fitting that his soulmate would be a vampire that looks like a lovechild of bats, snakes and the devil himself

as for the second part of the ask - i could absolutely see that. hornet still has a bit of mischief in her mind. she might be an adult now, but the circumstances she ended up in meant that she never really matured past her troublemaking teenager years. and having a younger sibling just activates it. what could possibly be the reason for a baby to know how to pick locks? well, it would be pretty funny, no?

though i don't think she'll be laughing when lewk unlocks her bedroom door and starts rummaging through her hunting tools hahaha